Aphrodisia I - Scaling the Last Wall (0-1 of 6)
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: Mulder and Scully explore trust and control issues 
as they embark upon a D/s relationship.

Author's Notes and Assorted Blatherings:
This is a complete departure for me, first in the fact that 
it is a PWP/erotica series, and second in that the smut 
goes *beyond* smut and tiptoes on the line between erotica 
and porn.

I tend to be nervous about pure erotica stories to begin 
with, especially about those dealing with subjects such as 
BDSM, because they are *SOOO* far removed from what we see 
in the show that it's extremely difficult to keep them in 
character.  I'm a characterization snob, and reading a 
story where Mulder and Scully just *aren't* Mulder and 
Scully can be physically painful for me.  There are some 
stories that *do* manage to portray Mulder and Scully 
getting a little kinky and still keep them in character, 
but only for a one-time shot, and even then they tend to 
play pretty lightly.  I have yet to see a long fic where 
Mulder and Scully (by themselves, without Skinner or anyone 
else) explore an in-depth, extended BDSM relationship and 
remain in character.  Can it even be done?

I will confess that I considered throwing characterization 
concerns out the window.  I tried to do it, but my 
conscience wouldn't allow it.  So what started out as being 
pure porn has evolved into what will become a character 
study of Mulder and Scully as they explore control and 
trust issues, and do some healing from their own sexual 
histories, as they go deeper into a Domination/submission 
relationship.  Can I do it and still keep them in 
character?  Well, I guess you, gentle reader, will be the 
judge of that.  But in my own defense, I will say I'm 
trying my damnedest. <g>

One thing to keep in mind is that BDSM games can and do 
involve some altered mental states (not chemically altered, 
but as a result of certain hormones and endorphins released 
during a scene.)  If you see Mulder or Scully doing or 
saying something you think they just wouldn't do or say, 
stick around a while and you may discover that some of that 
behavior was included by design.

This will be an ongoing series, with several long 
installments that track the progression of the 
relationship.  Because it's a PWP story, I figure I can get 
away with calling it a series rather than a WIP, but be 
aware that there will be some downtime between 
installments.  Each installment is fairly self-contained 
though, and while you may be left wanting more, you won't 
be left hanging mid-story with an unresolved plot (though I 
may include a gratuitous "cliffhanger" hook at the end of 
each installment just for shits and giggles.)

Thanks, as always, to my marvelous, and expanding!, beta
crew: Heather, Tiff, Beth, Shelba, Nancy, Christy, and
Sybil.  Thanks to Jen, Trina and the I Want To Believe list
for taking a sneak peak and letting me know what they thought.

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.

"Story of O" by Pauline Reage is also used here without 
permission (but with great respect.)

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. 

Questions, praise, feedback and comments can be sent to 
kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com.  You can find this story (soon) and 
my other fanfic at my website: 
http://www.geocities.com/kristeljohns/

On with the show...



Aprodisia I - Scaling the Last Wall



"Tell me you don't want me, Scully, the way I want you."

Those were the words that signified my downfall.  I stared 
at Mulder breathlessly, my head lolling against the wall 
beside my front door, my lips swollen from the savagery of 
his kisses.  I'd known the moment I let him in the door 
that there was something reckless and wild in his eyes.  
We'd returned from an out of town case late in the evening 
and he had dropped me off, staying in the car while I made 
my way to my apartment alone.  The past several days 
between us had been tense--I wasn't sure why.  Mulder had 
seemed on edge, watching me sharply the entire time.  There 
had been moments when I had felt his gaze like it had 
physical weight.  I had a feeling I knew what he was 
thinking, what he was struggling with as he stared at me.  
I'd struggled with the same things myself a great deal 
recently.  Mulder and I were approaching a point in our 
relationship where we were going to have to make some 
decisions about where we were headed.  But I didn't know 
how to bring it up and so I had assumed the issue would 
remain unresolved, delicately sidestepped until we were 
forced to confront it.  I believed that right up until the 
moment Mulder pounded on my door.

"We need to talk," he'd announced brusquely after I opened 
the door to him.  I didn't play coy, didn't pretend to not 
know what he was talking about.  Instead I stared at him 
expectantly, waiting.  If he had something he wanted to 
say, I wasn't going to stop him, even if it meant breaking 
the silence with which we had enshrouded the issue.  I had 
stepped aside and allowed my wild-eyed partner to enter, my 
mind whirling.

He'd looked at me for a long moment and I met his gaze.  I 
had the unpleasant feeling I knew how this would play.  He 
would make a rash, impassioned declaration and I would 
rebuff him.  But he surprised me.  He had opened his mouth 
once or twice, then growled "Fuck talking!" and swooped 
down on me, his hands gripping my shoulders with merciless 
insistence.  He had pulled me close against his chest and 
his mouth plundered mine, his tongue thrusting between my 
teeth as though the inside of my mouth was his own God-
given territory.  He'd pushed me back against the wall, 
plunged his hands into my hair, and kissed me for all he 
was worth.  He'd kissed me until I couldn't breathe, 
couldn't think, until my knees buckled and moisture flooded 
my sex.  By the time he pulled away, I knew my own eyes 
were as wild as his, my body echoing the throbbing desire I 
felt in his.

"Tell me 'no' if you want me to leave."

"What happened to talking?" My voice was rough and 
breathless.  I knew I should stop him, should sit him down 
and talk this thing through before we got carried away.  
This was dangerous.  It could upset the balance of our 
entire partnership.  But inside I was begging him not to 
let me stop what was happening here.  I had wanted this, 
waited for it--why did I have this instinctive need to 
fight it?  "I think we should--"

"We'll talk later, afterwards," he promised gruffly.  
Before I could respond, his lips had claimed mine again, 
demanding entry, demanding reciprocation.  Melting from the 
inside out, I gave it.  I gave him everything.  His hands 
insistently pulled my blouse from the waistband of my 
skirt, thrusting underneath, cupping my breasts.  I 
groaned, thanking God that Mulder had known, somehow, that 
this was what I needed to make it right.  If he had come to 
me that night as a supplicant, requesting rather than 
insisting, I might have turned him away.  I would have 
rejected the one person on the planet I had wanted with an 
intensity that was a physical ache within me.  I loved 
Mulder, would do anything for Mulder.  But God help me, I 
knew that if he had allowed me an out--other than saying 
'no,' which I hadn't wanted to say and wouldn't really have 
meant even if I did say it--I would have taken it and this 
chance would have been lost.

Mulder moved fast.  This was no slow, gentle seduction; it 
was an eruption of passions that had brewed for years.  
That was all right--I didn't want a tender seduction.  I 
wanted him inside me as soon as possible.  There would be 
less chance of something going awry.  Once our 
coupling was a fait accompli, then we could address it.  
Then we couldn't make it go away, or pretend it hadn't 
happened--no matter how good at denial we could sometimes 
be.

Beneath my blouse, he unclasped my bra and his large, warm 
hands covered my breasts.  His palms rubbed roughly against 
my nipples; his blatant erection ground unapologetically 
against my belly.  His lips had made it to my ear and then 
were on their way down my neck.  They traveled down the 
opened collar of my blouse, pressing scalding kisses to the 
upper swells of my breasts and I moaned my breathless 
encouragement.

My skirt, seemingly unzipped of its own volition, slid down 
my thighs to puddle around my ankles.  One of Mulder's 
hands cupped my sex through my pantyhose, the heel of his 
palm grinding against my mons.  He stroked my clit through 
layers of nylon, satin, and my own flesh.  I felt him 
tugging on the hose and I heard the telltale sound of the 
material tearing.  It didn't matter; I was beyond caring.  
Somehow the pantyhose made it down my thighs and to my 
feet, dragging my dampened underwear with them.  I couldn't 
stifle a low wail as Mulder's fingers found my soaking core 
and delved within.  Mulder covered my mouth with his, 
devouring my impassioned exclamation.

Finally, he pulled back again, searching my eyes.  He slid 
his wet fingers from between my legs and studied me a long 
moment, his eyes nearly black with desire.

*Don't ask me if this is all right, Mulder.  Please, just 
don't make me think about it,* I pleaded with him silently.  
As though he heard my unspoken entreaty, he ripped his tie 
off and began rapidly unbuttoning his dress shirt.  He 
stared at me until I lifted trembling fingers to my own 
blouse and began to strip as well.

I didn't speak, didn't trust myself to talk or think too 
long.  Briskly, I unbuttoned my blouse and dropped it to 
the floor, letting my unclasped bra slide down my arms and 
join it.  I stepped out and over my discarded skirt, nylons 
and panties.  Lifting my head, I walked past Mulder, trying 
to look confident and dignified, as though I had 
orchestrated this entire thing.  The last thing I had 
wanted to admit was that I was as nervous as I was aroused.  
I headed directly toward the bedroom as he pushed his pants 
and underwear down over his furiously engorged penis.

I had only made it about ten steps before he caught up with 
me, grabbing me from behind and pressing his long, hard, 
hot body against my back.  He turned me forcibly around and 
pushed me against the back of the couch, arching me 
backward over it.  He cupped my breast with one hand while 
he thrust the other between my legs.

"Oh, God!" I yelled as his fingers found my clit with 
flawless precision.  He manipulated me mercilessly while 
his cock bumped insistenly against my stomach.  Staring 
into his intent, almost scowling face, I climaxed rapidly 
amidst my own guttural cries and moans.  For a second I 
thought Mulder would lift me and set me down on his cock, 
fucking me right there in the middle of the living room.  
Instead, he took my hand and nearly dragged me into the 
bedroom.  I had to trot to keep up.

He gave me a nudge toward the bed and I crawled into it and 
lay down in the middle.  I was panting and trembling.  In 
slow motion, he knelt on the edge of the mattress and moved 
in over my body.  I opened my arms and legs, welcoming him.   
Trying to scan his dark eyes for some indication of his 
thoughts proved futile; I couldn't read him.  One large 
palm cupped and molded my breast while his other hand 
guided his cock to my entrance.  He slid into me in a 
single, sure thrust.  Oh God, I felt full, so fucking 
full...I moaned, stretching almost painfully, yielding to 
accommodate him.  My own hands, even my vibrator, could not 
have prepared me for the reality of Mulder's cock inside me 
after such a long abstinence.  He descended on my open, 
gasping mouth and began kissing me as though he intended to 
drain my soul out through my lips.

Any semblance of coherency fled.  The twilit room was 
filled with the sounds of moans, grunts, the slapping of 
sweat-dampened flesh, and an occasional startled outcry 
when the head of Mulder's penis collided roughly with my 
cervix.  Mulder shifted, supporting his own weight with his 
elbows braced on either side of my head.  The finely 
detailed muscles of his biceps shifted and flexed subtly 
with each thrust of his pelvis.  I wrapped my legs around 
his hips, my nails scrambling over the sweaty flesh of his 
back, and began to meet his thrusts.  After a moment I 
began shifting my hips from side to side to alter the angle 
of entry.  The pace increased and the rhythm of our thrusts 
broke down into a frenzied pounding.  I tore my lips from 
Mulder's to gulp a ragged, panting breath, then buried my 
face in his shoulder and braced myself to ride out the 
coming storm.

It came, sweeping me up with it.  Lights flashed behind my 
eyelids and I cried out loudly, quickly biting into 
Mulder's shoulder to stifle the ear-shattering shriek I 
wanted to give voice to.  My body quaked and shuddered 
fiercely, my inner muscles contracting and convulsing.  As 
I came down, I was dimly aware of Mulder's final, forceful 
thrusts and his cry of triumph next to my ear.

When I finally regained awareness of my surroundings, 
Mulder was collapsed on top of me, trembling.  His body was 
a heavy, welcome weight on mine.  The moisture on our flesh 
was slowly cooling in the air and I shivered.

Mulder lifted his head to meet my eyes and I felt a spasm 
of fear.  What had just happened between us was seven long, 
frustrating years, finally coming to fruition in this dark 
moment in my bedroom .  Had it been the right thing to do?  
I didn't know anymore; I didn't care anymore.  I just 
wanted to stop thinking so damned hard about everything.  
All I knew was that I was finally where I wanted to be and 
Mulder had brought me here.  But how we handled the next 
few minutes would be the most important trial that we had 
ever faced together.

*I don't want to do this,* I thought frantically.  *I don't 
want to think this to death.  I just want to BE right 
now...*

Mulder shifted off me, moving to lie beside me.  From the 
uncertain expression on his face, I was afraid for a moment 
he might apologize.  It would be just like Mulder to do 
something this rash and hasty and feel guilty afterwards.  
I couldn't let him tell me he was sorry, or try to take the 
blame for initiating this without asking me first.  God, 
knowing him he might even feel like he had forced me.  I 
rolled to face him and opened my mouth to speak, determined 
to stop him before he got started.  Mulder surprised me 
again by placing a finger on my lips, shushing me.

"We have two choices here, Scully," he said gravely.  "We 
can pick this thing apart and analyze it to death, or we 
can just let go and feel for a while.  What do you say?"

Thank God.  No apologies, no regrets, no guilt, no angst.  
The fact that he had so closely echoed my exact thoughts 
made me feel a little more secure in the knowledge that we 
were doing the right thing.  "The responsible thing to do 
would be to talk it out," I murmured reluctantly.  I might 
not have particularly felt like dissecting the moment, but 
if Mulder needed to talk it out, then talk we would.

Mulder nodded.  "That *would* be the responsible thing to 
do," he agreed with a noticeable lack of conviction.  
Silence fell again, until I drew a deep breath.

"I'm tired of being responsible, Mulder," I answered at 
last in a tone of finality.  As far as I was concerned, I 
was in bed with Mulder, where I had wanted to be forever, 
and that was all there was to be said.  What more could 
talking accomplish?  Would anything be made better by 
sifting through the same old tired bullshit?  I didn't need 
flowery, emotional declarations or a long drawn-out 
conversation about the possible consequences.  If issues 
arose, we'd deal with them in their proper time and place.  
There was no sense to borrowing trouble.

Mulder closed his eyes, a relieved expression crossing his 
face, and opened his arms.  I crawled into them, snuggling 
down against him with my head on his chest.  With his 
muscular arms around me, I felt small and protected.  It 
was a feeling I hadn't enjoyed in far too long.  I liked 
feeling that way, but I wasn't sure that I liked the fact 
that I liked it.  I ought to be stronger than that, ought 
to be too independent to enjoy feeling weak.  I needed to 
be rigid, responsible...

In control...

Mulder kissed me again and thoughts of control faded.  The 
kisses were not as furious as those he had given me when he 
first entered my apartment, but they were no less 
demanding, no less insistent.  I yielded to them and 
returned them because holding back was not an option.  His 
hands on my body were gentle, but they wouldn't be denied 
the right to travel over my flesh.  I felt myself growing 
warm and heavy with desire.

I would think about control and strength and responsibility 
later.  At that moment, on that night, though, I let it all 
go and just felt for a while.

End of Part One of Six


Aphrodisia I - Scaling the Last Wall (2 of 6)
Kristel St. Johns
kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com

*     *     *     *     *

Control.

That's the name of the game.

It's my most cherished possession and my most reviled 
character flaw.

You think I don't know what they say about me in the 
bullpen?  You think I don't know I have a reputation for 
being frigid and unapproachable?  Of course I know and 
that's all right, because I've worked damned hard to win 
that control.  I've struggled to have control over my life 
since I was a teenager.

At first it was the typical rebellious teen behavior.  I 
wanted to break the apron strings, so I sneaked a 
cigarette, or went to an R-rated movie when I was only 
sixteen.  I lost my virginity in the back seat of Marcus's 
car the night of the Homecoming dance my senior year.  I 
couldn't tell my parents and my older brother and all their 
lofty expectations to take a flying leap aloud, so I 
carried out my need to make my own choices illicitly, 
usually by doing things that weren't very wise or good for 
me.

Then came college and like an obedient daughter, I went to 
the "right" school and excelled as I was expected to do.  
Now, don't get me wrong--my parents are wonderful people.  
Well, my mom is, and my dad was.  They were very loving and 
I don't feel I lacked for anything, materially or 
emotionally, growing up.  But somehow, the message that I 
would someday grow up to the point where I had to be my own 
person and make my own choices got lost on them.  I found 
myself a slave of their expectations, unwilling to bear the 
censure of their disappointment and therefore trapped in 
the mold they had fashioned for me.  But as I got older and 
bit by bit gained the freedom to live my own life as an 
adult, I would unwittingly turn that little bit of control 
I had over to someone else.

Daniel was a perfect example.  Older, supposedly wiser, at 
a time when I should have been spreading my wings and 
learning what it was to fly solo, I was letting him choose 
where I was going to do my internship and residency.  He 
told me what kind of clothes he felt looked attractive on 
me, so I wore them.  He told me what kind of food he liked, 
so I cooked it.  He told me how, when, and in what position 
he preferred sex, so that was the way we had it.

Eventually, I couldn't do it anymore.  Daniel had no 
respect for me as a thinking, reasoning adult.  I will 
admit, I gave him little to respect in me.  I had given a 
cardboard protest to his first advances due to the fact 
that he was married, but I hadn't meant it.  The ring on 
his finger made him a forbidden fruit and I couldn't 
resist.  If I had been a good girl, I would have left him 
alone, but I didn't want to be good.  So when he had 
persisted in asking me out, I had yielded.  And that, as 
they say, was the beginning of the end where his respect 
for me was concerned.  As with my parents, particularly my
father, I couldn't stand the idea of failing or disappointing
him, so I became what he expected me to be.  But inside I was 
drowning, suffocating; languishing in a prison of my own 
making.  It got to the point where I began to feel 
claustrophobic when Daniel kissed me.  He'd be atop my 
body, thrusting into me, and I had to turn my face away, 
unable to breathe.

Finding out what our relationship was doing to his family 
gave me the perfect excuse to get out.  And it was an 
excuse.  I'm not proud to admit that if my relationship 
with Daniel had made me happier, I probably wouldn't have 
cared that we were destroying his marriage.  Not at that 
point in my life.  The truth was, I just needed to get as 
far away from him and his domineering influence over my 
life as I possibly could.  In an act of rebellion not only 
against him, but also against everyone's expectations of 
me, I joined the FBI.

My training at Quantico was beyond wonderful.  Not only was 
I doing something *I* had chosen to do, but they were 
providing me with physical empowerment as well.  Martial 
arts, hand-to-hand combat, weapons training.  Surely no one 
could tell me what to do and who to be again now that I had 
all that going for me.

Enter Jack Willis.  Again, he was older, more experienced, 
respected and respectable, and even better, without the 
excess baggage of a wife and daughter.  I found myself 
reverting to the same behaviors I had known with Daniel.  
Soon Jack was making my decisions for me, planning my 
career in the FBI, shaping me into the woman he wanted me 
to be.  But just like Daniel, he didn't respect me or my 
ability to make my own choices.  Again, I found myself 
fleeing the relationship (though, thankfully, this time it 
was nothing so drastic as choosing another career) and 
struggling to establish my own independent footing.

Mulder was the first man I ever met who didn't try to 
change me or dictate to me.  I went into my assignment on 
the X-Files resenting him, defensive because I hadn't 
*chosen* to work with him.  It was a thankless task thrust 
upon me unwilling and I begrudged the hell out of it.  It 
wasn't until I once again bucked the expectations of others 
and supported Mulder, rather than bringing him down, that I 
began to feel I finally had control over my own actions and 
choices.

But that control was not without a price.  I gained my ice 
queen reputation and I pushed Mulder away many times when I 
should have pulled him close and taken comfort from him.  I 
spent years in a lonely bed when I didn't have to.  I 
didn't want him to see me as weak, to lose his respect for 
me.  It wasn't until four years later, in Philadelphia with 
Ed Jerse, that I was finally confronted with a truth about 
myself I hadn't wanted to know.  I hated being in control 
all the time.  I hated being cold and hard.  I had gone for 
men who controlled me because something within me needed to 
be controlled, needed someone else to take charge for a 
while.  Now, that didn't mean my previous relationships had 
been right or healthy.  Those relationships had taken *too 
much* control from me, but there was a proper time and 
place to let go of it and I was denying myself that outlet 
in my determination never to be dictated to again.

Still, I couldn't bring myself to go to Mulder, to be 
anything less than independent and self-sufficient before 
him.  I wanted to--God knows I wanted to--but control had 
become too large a habit for me.  And the truth was, there 
was a while when I wasn't even sure Mulder could be the man 
to give me what I needed.  There were times when he came 
close to breaking, when I had to be the strong one and pull 
him back together.  What if, sexually, he was as needy as 
he sometimes was emotionally?  To be in that sort of 
relationship with him would be the kiss of doom to our 
partnership as well, when things went sour.

What was worse, if I allowed myself to be less self-
controlled with him, how would that make him see me?   The 
fact that Mulder respected me as an equal was invaluable to 
me and I wouldn't give that up under any circumstances.  I 
couldn't bear for him to see me as weak or incompetent, so 
I held myself aloof, apart from him.  For seven years we 
did that, until that night when he appeared at my door and 
stripped all my excuses away from me in a single blazing 
embrace.

Mulder surprised me, make no mistake.  I had never realized 
how confident and sure of himself he would be in bed.  I 
don't know if he had figured me out somewhere along the 
way, if he'd instinctually known what I needed, or if he 
was just naturally that sort of lover, but he made it 
perfect.  He was commanding and determined in bed and 
wouldn't allow me to give less than everything to our 
lovemaking.  He left no room for polite omission and false 
modesty and I yielded everything to him that night.  But it 
wasn't until I looked into his eyes the next time we were 
in the field together and saw that the respect and 
admiration he held for me were still present and in full 
force that I truly accepted what was happening between us.  
Only then did I become comfortable with the idea that, for 
better or worse, Mulder was my lover.

We'd been lovers for a couple months, not long at all 
really, when I shared the rest of it with him.  I hadn't 
intended to do it.  Letting him be the aggressor when 
making love was one thing; outright admitting that I 
enjoyed being controlled by another person was quite 
another.  I was completely content with our sex life and 
didn't think I needed more.  Sure, I had my wild little 
fantasies, but those were just fantasies, right?  As long 
as Mulder didn't know about them I had no reason to fear 
that he would think less of me.

I should have known that nothing is "just" anything with 
Mulder.

It was a Wednesday night when I made my confession.  He'd 
had some errands to run after work and I was to meet him at 
his apartment that evening for what had become, for us, a 
typical "date".  Dinner, maybe a rented video, and mind-
blowing sex before we collapsed for the night.  We were 
still new enough to the relationship and each other that 
the physical desire was nearly unbearable at times.  I felt 
insatiable.  Perhaps after a while things would cool down, 
but for the moment, sex with Mulder occupied a great deal 
of my mental processes and I loved every minute of it.

He wasn't home when I reached his apartment, so I let 
myself in, fed the fish, and settled down to wait for him 
to arrive.  After a while, I grew bored.  Since I was 
getting hornier by the minute from waiting, I began 
perusing his video collection.

Mulder's porn predilection has never offended me and has 
often been the source of many a wondering fantasy.  At 
home, alone in my bed, I would ponder what he did with 
these videos to relieve all those tensions I knew he had.  
I preferred that he had them as a release valve rather than 
seeking out other women.  Personally, though I had tried 
once or twice, I was never really turned on by porn.  This 
is mainly because most of it is written for men, with men's 
desires in mind.  The men in the films tended to be very 
average looking, so as not to make the viewing audience 
feel inferior or insecure (Though conversely, the actors 
were always hung like horses.  So while the male viewers 
couldn't pretend they looked like Brad Pitt, they could 
pretend to have a cock the Incredible Hulk would envy.  Go 
figure.) To make matters worse, the women were all vacuous, 
big-haired bimbos with inflatable boobs.  There simply 
wasn't much there in your average porn to appeal to me.  
But as I dug through the footlocker Mulder kept his tapes 
in, one video cover caught my eye.

I couldn't tell you the title now to save my life, but 
among the photo stills splashed across the sleeve was one 
that made my heart skip a beat and my breathing accelerate.  
Without thinking about when Mulder would be home or what he 
would think of me helping myself, I popped the tape in.  I 
forwarded through the first three segments, the actors' 
bodies pumping and grinding at quadruple speed, the bad 
music and contrived moans and grunts silenced, until I 
reached a scene with a set-up identical to the one shown in 
the picture.

There it was.  The woman was tied to bed with her hands 
above her head, blindfolded.  Her impossibly perky tits 
pointed up at the ceiling like twin war-heads.  A nude man 
entered the scene and began to fuck her where she lay 
spread-eagled on the bed.  The tendon along the backside of 
his cock seemed absurdly large in the close up of him 
plunging into her, glistening and wet as he pulled out.  
Her shaven labia stretched and pulled with his movements 
and I could hear her moans through the bump 'n' grind 
rhythm of the soundtrack.

I watched enraptured, empathizing with the woman in her 
helpless position.  She made a token resistance against her 
bonds, grimacing with pleasure and I felt a surge of 
arousal.  My hand moved of its own volition under my skirt 
and I stroked myself firmly through my panties.  I had 
discarded my nylons before coming to Mulder's apartment, 
knowing by now how he hated struggling with the things.  
Stockings and garters simply weren't practical for me.  As 
I masturbated, the man crawled up the woman's body and 
thrust into her mouth.  I could feel it all.  I could taste 
the salty flavor of him mixed with her own tangy/bitter 
juices.  I could feel the strain of neck muscles as she 
lifted her head off the bed to try to improve the angle, 
and her efforts to open her throat so as not to choke when 
he thrust all the way in.  She wasn't giving him head; he 
was fucking her mouth, gripping her head in his hands and 
pumping in and out.

I sat there, Indian style on the floor, rubbing my fingers 
furiously over my clit, the satin of my wet underwear 
starting to chafe against my sensitive flesh.  When I came 
it was swift and sudden, rocketing through me with electric 
intensity and then leaving me breathless and panting on 
Mulder's living room floor.  As I came back to myself, the 
man on the screen pulled out of the woman's mouth and we 
got the obligatory contrived cum-shot of him spurting over 
her face, her collagen lips and glistening tongue lapping 
at the semen.  She moaned as though him coming on her face 
was the most wondrous experience she'd ever had.  The 
milky-white fluid stood in relief against the black 
blindfold and then the scene faded and the movie progressed 
to another sequence, this one featuring two women and a 
man.  

I lost interest, concentrating instead on straightening my 
clothes and getting my pulse back down to normal before 
Mulder came home.  I was just rising from the floor when 
the door swung open and he entered, his arms full of take-
out.  His eyes darted to the TV screen, where the video was 
still playing, and then to my flushed cheeks, and he 
grinned.

"That's one of my favorites," he said easily, depositing 
the food on the coffee table and coming to stand beside me, 
his eyes on the screen.  I envied him his relaxed attitude 
toward sex.  He wasn't at all awkward or embarrassed to 
find me watching the tape, but I was ready to crawl under 
the sofa and hide.  After a moment he looked back at me and 
gave me a deep, probing kiss.  I placed my hands around his 
neck and he pulled back, looking at me like a specimen 
under a microscope.  He grabbed my right hand and brought 
it to his face, sniffing the fingers before giving me 
another grin.

I was blushing furiously when he sucked one of my fingers 
into his mouth, licking from the digit the scent and taste 
of me.

"Got some to share?"  He asked huskily.  He changed fingers 
and gave the middle one the same treatment he had the index 
finger.  My knees nearly buckled when he finally released 
my hand.

The food was forgotten, the movie playing in the background 
drowned out by the pounding of my own pulse in my ears.  
All I could feel was his tongue swirling around my fingers, 
licking my essence off them.  Before I knew it, I was back 
on the floor with Mulder sprawled on top of me, devouring 
me from the mouth down.

My blouse was unbuttoned, my unclasped, and then Mulder was 
sucking hard on my nipple.  The pressure of his lips and 
tongue sent electric sparks to the tips of my toes and the 
top of my head.  Mulder is utterly unreserved sexually and 
I was steadily, if not without some difficulty, picking up 
his penchant for anytime, anywhere, and any way.  He 
unzipped my skirt and pulled it down my legs, and I lifted 
my hips to assist him in getting it past my ass, taking my 
underwear with it.  No sooner were they gone than he had my 
thighs over his shoulders, his face buried between my legs.

I could hear him inhale, drinking in the scent of me.  
"Ambrosia," he muttered, his tongue sweeping up my damp 
inner thigh.  Slowly, he cleaned one thigh, then the other, 
not going near my center until he had licked my juices off 
both legs.  Then, slowly, he lapped his way up my labia, 
from as far back as he could reach to the thick thatch of 
red curls covering my mound.  He gave the same side the 
other treatment, slow and thorough, before he made his way 
up my cleft, from perineum to clit, stroking firmly.  I 
yelped at the first pressure of his tongue on my hyper-
sensitized clit and he lingered there, pressing hard with 
his tongue, moving in deep, slow circles.  The sensation 
was warm and profound, starting somewhere deep in my gut.  
It was entirely removed from the shallow, electric shocks 
that I feel when my clit is stroked in light, quick 
motions, and I moaned throatily.

He withdrew his tongue after a moment and brought his lips 
into play, sucking my clit between them and rolling it.  He 
slid two fingers into my drenched core, twirling them, 
pressing them against my g-spot, eliciting cries that grew 
in intensity with the increasing pressure of his fingers.  
He ate me out, making growling, humming noises against my 
clitoris while he finger-fucked me, faster and harder until 
I was howling and writhing on the floor, finally quaking 
and shuddering from a thunderous climax.

Mulder withdrew from between my thighs slowly, licking 
softly to catch any lingering drops he might have missed.  
He pulled his fingers out of my body, shiny and slick with 
my moisture, and reached up, wiping them across my lips.  
God, I thought sometimes I'd die of abject embarrassment 
from his complete lack of inhibition if what he did for me 
didn't feel so damned good.  He allowed me to be 
unrestrained sexually in a way I'd never been before.  Of 
course, all my previous lovers had either been 
inexperienced boys or set-in-their-ways older men who had 
lacked anything resembling an adventuresome spirit.  It 
seemed that nothing was too raunchy for Mulder.

So with my lips moist and sticky with my own juices, I 
opened my mouth and invited his fingers in, licking them 
clean.  When I was finished, he kissed me, thrusting his 
tongue into my mouth, drinking my fluids from my lips, 
sharing my essence with me.  When the kiss finally broke, I 
stared at him, breathless.

"Christ, Mulder," I murmured, thunderstruck.

"God, Scully, I need you," he rasped.

I looked down to see the front of his slacks bulging.  The 
look in his eyes approached desperatation.  Without 
hesitating, I reached down and began fumbling with his belt 
and fly.  Pushing his pants and boxers down around his 
hips, I insistently reached for his cock.  I guided him 
between my legs and lifted my hips, spreading my knees wide 
to cradle his weight.  I brought him to my entrance and 
with a low groan, he thrust forward, sliding into me with a 
few sharp pushes.

We moaned in unison and Mulder buried his face in my 
shoulder for a moment, shaking with arousal.  As confident 
as Mulder was sexually, he wasn't ashamed to let me know 
when his need was too great for control.  Pressing a quick, 
almost chaste kiss to my lips, he lifted his weight on his 
arms and, staring into my face, began to pump into my body.

"Let go," I whispered, my eyes fluttering closed as I 
reveled in the full feeling of having him inside me.  "Do 
it.  Fuck me."

Mulder didn't need to be told twice.  I didn't come again 
that time, but the feeling of him moving in and out of my 
body was sublime.  I encouraged him with whimpers and moans 
and impassioned words of pleasure.  He answered me with 
guttural groans and mutterings.  He came shuddering and 
barking my name and then sagged weakly in my four-limbed 
embrace.  I sighed and pressed soft kisses to his damp 
forehead.  Finally he returned to himself and lifted his 
weight off my body.

"So tell me," he propped himself up on an elbow beside me, 
stretching out on the hardwood floor as he recovered.  His 
hand played idly with my breast.  "What was it about the 
movie that got your motor going, Scully?"

It occurred to me, not for the first time, how surreal all 
of it was.  I was lying nude on Mulder's floor, my thighs 
damp with our combined fluids, and about to discuss one of 
his pornography tapes with him.  I looked at the TV screen 
where the tape was still playing. It was the same scene, 
with the threesome.  One of the two girls had gone down on 
both the man and the other woman, licking them 
simultaneously while they fucked.

It did nothing for me, not in any significant way.  
Certainly nothing bearing even the most marginal 
resemblance to what I had experienced during the bondage 
scene.  As the flush of passion faded, I was starting to 
feel embarrassed.  Two months with Mulder and his policy of 
sexual forthrightness did not an entire lifetime of "good 
girls don't" erase.  I pushed off the floor and began to 
slip into my blouse, but Mulder's hand on my arm stopped 
me.

"Tell me," he said, the tone somewhere between a request 
and a command.  It was a voice I was powerless to say no 
to.

"It's not this," I gestured to the TV.  "It was the one 
before."

"Refresh my memory."

"The one with the girl tied to the headboard..."

He gave me that studious look again.  "You liked that?"  He 
asked solemnly.  I think if there had been even the 
slightest note of incredulity in his voice, I might have 
melted through the floorboards.

I nodded mutely.  "Yeah, I did."

"Just that scenario, or is this an ongoing thing with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Is being tied up and taken just an individual fantasy, or 
do you tend to have a lot of submissive fantasies?"

Submissive.  There was a word I'd been avoiding, even in my 
own thoughts, for years.  People think submissive and they 
think needy, weak, helpless.  Being submissive is not a 
respectable thing, most especially in a woman trying to 
make it in a male-centric environment.  It's seen as 
reverting to type at best.  It certainly doesn't jibe with 
the competent, confident, self-sufficient self-image I had 
been cultivating over the years.  Being dominant, well, 
people might think you a tad kinky, but they wouldn't look 
down their nose at you.  But being submissive...

I was again confronted with that same fear, the one that 
had kept me from really discussing my desires with Mulder.  
I wanted to deny it, didn't want to take the chance that 
once Mulder associated me with submissiveness, his whole 
view of me as a person might shift.  But I couldn't.  The 
only thing Mulder had me to change when we became lovers 
was that I not hide anything from him.  This was the test 
of that promise he had exacted.

Mulder, bless him, gave me time to collect my thoughts.  He 
brought the Thai food that had been cooling since he'd 
arrived home and set it out on the coffee table, retrieving 
a couple plates from the kitchen for us to dish the food 
onto.  I pulled on my blouse and underwear, considering my 
next words.

"When I was in the tenth grade," I started slowly, my food 
forgotten in front of me.  The videotape reached its end 
and the screen went to static.  No help there.  "I came 
across a book in a used bookstore.  'Story of O.'"

"Pretty hefty reading for a--what--15 year old girl?"  
Mulder commented.

"Yeah," I agreed.  "A 15 year old virgin, at that.  I spent 
the next two years vacillating between fascination and 
horror, about the book in particular and sex in general.  I 
mean, now I can look back at that book and say, sure, it's 
just fantasy, but back then...I was appalled by some of 
what it described--the gang rape, the brutal sex, the 
whipping, the branding--but I was so aroused despite 
myself.  I hid the book in my mattress and I swear I must 
have read it once a month until I was out of college.  And 
each time, I would cringe even as I got so wet..."

My voice trailed off, my skin becoming flushed, and I 
reached for the beer Mulder had opened for me.  I took a 
long swig before I could continue.  Mulder was watching me 
raptly, his eyes dark with arousal.  "But, to answer your 
question, yeah, I guess I've got an on-going submissive 
fantasy happening.  I used to hate that in my 
relationships, I always seemed to end up being completely 
controlled by my lover, but recently, I've come to realize 
I need that, to a limited extent.

"I spend every day of my life living in a state of rigid 
control, Mulder.  I get so tired of it.  Sometimes I just 
want to let go, but I can't.  It's become too much of a 
habit for me and sometimes I'm afraid that if I let it go, 
I'll never get it back.  But when I'm confronted with it, 
like in that video...God, Mulder, I want it so badly.  
Sometimes I just want to turn it all over to you and let 
you do with me what you will.  Let you control me, not in 
everything, but just for a few moments when we're alone 
together."

I drew a deep, shuddering breath, winded from my rushed 
confession.  Mulder was still watching me with earnest 
intensity and I met his gaze, relieved that I could find no 
censure there.  Finally he spoke.

"I've never been a top," he said softly.  "Not that I have 
a huge amount of experience, but I have had some exposure 
to bondage games."

Bondage.  My mouth went dry at the word.  Mulder tying me 
up and touching me and fucking me, with me helpless to do 
anything about it...I felt that spasm deep in my body 
again.

His voice had gotten quieter, as though he was speaking to 
himself rather than to me.  After a moment, though, he 
looked up and actually addressed me.  "I can give you the 
fantasy, Scully.  A scene like what was on that video, an 
occasional one-time shot.  But if you want more, if we want 
to take it farther than that, we really need to think long 
and hard about it.  Because when you get into that sort of 
thing, there's a lot of really raw emotions that can be 
triggered, Scully.  We have to be sure we're ready for it."

I nodded.  He was right.  The desires ignited by viewing 
that scene were just a little too hot still to make any 
lasting decisions based upon them.  But did I want the 
fantasy?  God, yes.

"I want to do it," I heard myself saying, simultaneously 
excited and frightened.  "I want the fantasy.  I want to 
let it go with you."

Mulder let out a small moan, somewhere between arousal and 
contentment.  "Let's eat," he said, handing me a plate.  
His eyes were glowing with that inner light I recognized.  
That's Mulder when all the internal wheels are spinning.  
"Then we'll see what we can do."

End of Part Two of Six

Aphrodisia I - Scaling the Last Wall (3 of 6)
Kristel St. Johns
kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com

*     *     *     *     *

After dinner, Mulder rewound the tape and we watched the 
bondage scene again, together.  He turned the sound down 
and seated me between his legs on the sofa, so that I could 
feel his erection gouging my back.  While the scene played, 
he asked me soft, murmured questions.

"See how she's tied up, Scully?  Do you think she lay there 
and let him tie her up, or did she struggle a bit first?  
Did he have to subdue her before he could tie her up?"

Of course, I had no way of knowing what was supposed to 
have happened before the cameras started rolling.  He was 
asking me to fill in the blanks on my fantasy.  See, there 
are advantages to sleeping with a psychologist.  Mulder 
enabled me to discuss my fantasy by helping me disassociate 
from it. It wasn't me we were talking about; it was the 
couple on the screen.

"I think she laid still while he tied her up, but I think 
on another day, if she had been in a different mood, she 
might have fought."  That seemed a nice and safe answer.  
Somewhere in my mind, I imagined her kicking up a fight, 
but that seemed a little too out there for me to admit to, 
so I just hinted at it.

"What was she thinking as he came into the room, Scully?  
What did he say to her?  How did it make her feel?"

"She was a little frightened.  He told her exactly what he 
was going to do to her--gloated about it.  Made her aware 
of how helpless she was to stop him."

"How long did he spend touching her before he fucked her?"

I was starting to get into this, imaging how the scenario 
had gone down.  "Hours.  He kept her blindfolded the entire 
time, so she couldn't see what he was doing, and the 
anticipation was maddening.  She never knew what he was 
planning next, and it was frightening as well as arousing."

"See how red her nipples are?  Do you think they're 
naturally that color, or was he pinching on them a lot?"

I was so wet by that point I was beginning to think Mulder's 
sofa was in imminent danger.  I shifted, rubbing my thighs 
together.

"He pinched them--hard.  He pinched them until she begged 
him to stop.  He toyed with her until she begged him to 
fuck her."

"If she got too loud, what would he do, Scully?  Would he 
let her yell, or would he gag her?"

"That depends on if she was good when he was trying to tie 
her up.  If she misbehaved and fought him, he might gag 
her--for punishment.  If she was good, he might let her 
yell."

His arms had encircled my torso and his hands were 
squeezing and molding my breasts through my shirt.  Every 
once in a while he would squeeze just hard enough to draw a 
sharp gasp of surprise from me, then he would run his hands 
lightly over the mounds of flesh, soothing the ache.

"When he came, do you think she was left wishing he had 
done something else before he finished?"

Yes, I thought.  I knew exactly what she was left wishing 
for, but I couldn't bring myself to say it aloud.  I 
searched my mind for some other way to hint at it.  I 
considered how to phrase my answer his hands clenched on my 
flesh--so hard that I cried out in startled pain.

"Answer me."

"Yes!" I exclaimed as he stroked the ache away.  "She 
wished he'd taken longer fucking her, taking her in more 
positions, in more ways."

There, that was nice and circumspect.

Mulder hummed thoughtfully then sighed, kissing my 
shoulder.

"Not tonight," he murmured next to my ear.  "We don't have 
the time tonight, and I need to think about this.  So 
here's what I propose: I'm going to take you into the 
bedroom now and make love to you.  Give me 'til Friday to 
get things set up for the fantasy, okay?"

I nodded, aroused by the announcement he intended to make 
love to me, thrilled he was agreeing to my desire, 
nervous of how this might affect the way he viewed me, and 
disappointed I couldn't have the fantasy right this 
moment.  The video was shut off and Mulder led me by hand 
to the bedroom.  My heart was pounding in my throat.  There 
was a terribly vulnerable feeling involved in knowing 
Mulder now knew my darkest fantasy.  I trusted him 
implicitly, knew he'd take care of me, but God, I'd just 
shown him my last card.

Mulder didn't allow me to dwell on it too long.  Once we 
were in the dimly lit bedroom, he turned and pulled me to 
him, slanting his mouth across mine.  His tongue pushed 
through the barrier of my lips and teeth and I sucked on 
it, savoring the flavor of him, the scent of his skin in my 
nostrils.  I let him take over.  I was glad Mulder turned 
out to be as sexually aggressive as he was.  There were 
times, when I was struggling so hard for control, that I 
thought I might freeze up and never make a move if it were 
left up to me.  It was so nice not to have to choose, not 
to have to think about it.  All I had to do when I was in 
his arms was exist.  I hadn't realized the burden it had 
become to be in control all the time.

He unbuttoned the few buttons securing my blouse and peeled 
it off my arms.  He slid my panties off my hips and pushed 
me back to lie on the bed, my legs dangling off the edge 
from the knees down.  I scooted back and laid down the 
middle of the bed while he stripped, baring his gorgeous 
body to me one article of clothing at a time.

Mulder was tender and slow at first, leisurely exploring me 
then pulling me over him and instructing me to explore him.  
My partner is a tactile, visual and olfactory treat.  I 
don't think there's a single part of him that doesn't make 
me wild with desire.  When, at long last, he lifted me over 
him and drove me down onto his cock, I was trembling with 
need.  I kept trying to pick up the pace, and he kept 
preventing me with a firm grip on my hips.  At his murmured 
request, I reached down and rubbed my clit while he lifted 
and lowered me steadily.  My orgasm, when it finally came, 
was gentle and deep, rocking me in slow, languid waves 
rather than exploding violently through me.

It wasn't until after I stopped moaning that Mulder sat up, 
flipped us over, and began thrusting into me like a pile 
driver.  He grabbed two handfuls of my hair and pulled 
hard, yanking my head back to give him unrestricted access 
to my lips and neck, which he devoured like a starving man.  
My moans and gasps began to meld one into the other, until 
I was making a single continuous, animalistic cry.  I could 
feel him sucking the tendon in my neck, his teeth nipping 
roughly.  I knew I'd have a mark the next day, but I 
didn't care.  This was my favorite time between Mulder and 
I, when he just cut loose with me.  I loved the feel of his 
muscles rippling beneath my hands, the sound of his harsh, 
ragged breathing next to my ear, the drops of his 
perspiration on my skin.  I loved the way he groaned my 
name, called upon God, gasped obscenities.  I loved the 
expression of pain-pleasure on his face when he finally 
came, growling and thrusting wildly.  I loved the feel of 
him limp and sated, draped over my body, cradled in my arms 
and legs.

It wasn't long before he rolled off me and I snuggled 
against his chest, our hearts slowly resuming their normal 
pace.  Long after he fell asleep, though, I lay awake, a 
small knot of tension twisting in my belly.  Friday, he had 
promised me.  Friday he would take my fantasies and make 
them reality.

By the time Friday arrived, I still wasn't sure if I was 
more frightened--or more aroused.

*     *     *      *     *

I am a man who has spent my life pandering to one pet 
obsession after the other.  I've had many over the years.  
But I have finally found the one fixation which will 
consume me to my dying day.

Her name is Dana Katherine Scully and I can't get enough of 
her.

Going to her the way I did that first night had been an all 
or nothing gamble.  All I knew was I couldn't take anymore 
of the stalemate--something had to give.  And I decided if 
I was going to do it and run the risk of destroying 
everything, I'd just as soon be hanged for a lion as a 
lamb.  At least that way, Scully couldn't think I wasn't 
serious, and I couldn't look back later and think there was 
something more I could have done.  But Jesus, I was 
terrified.  If the way I came on to her pissed her off, if 
she pushed me away, it could have ruined everything, 
including our working relationship.

How was I to know that it had been the exact approach she 
had needed?  My taking command was what she required to be 
able to let go and allow what was happening between us to 
happen.  I'd always known Scully was a woman of deep 
passions; it was getting through the rigid barriers of 
self-control that surrounded all that passion that posed 
the largest problem.  I'd been trying for two years to tear 
the walls down, slowly and painstakingly trying to ease my 
way past them.  But it wasn't until I lost my patience and 
hauled out the battering ram that I got anywhere.

So much for the gentle approach.

We spent two months in a haze of passion, living for the 
moments when we could be together.  I don't think I went an 
hour during that entire time without getting a hard-on 
thinking about her.  When we were in the field, Scully was 
everything she has always been: the voice of reason and 
logic, reluctant to believe, stubbornly demanding proof.  
She stood nose-to-chin with me with that look she gets and 
took zero shit off me.  But when we were alone together, I 
began to know a whole other side to her, one I had hardly 
glimpsed before.

She seemed happy to let me be the aggressor sexually, and 
so I was.  Truthfully, it felt pretty damned good to be in 
control for a while.  So much of the time, I'm not.  I tend 
to get swept along by circumstance and there are days when 
I don't know what the hell I'm doing or why I'm doing it 
anymore.  At first I was afraid Scully wanted me to be the 
aggressor to compensate for her own reticence.  I was 
afraid that she wasn't sure she wanted to be doing what we 
were doing and therefore let the responsibility for the 
choice fall on me.  She'd have at least some form of 
deniability that way, should she choose to exercise it.  I 
couldn't allow that, couldn't let her give less than 100%.  
If she wasn't committed entirely, then it wasn't any good.

After the first few times we were together, when I was 
starting to question things rather than simply feeling my 
way, I told her as much.  It was then that I started to 
understand what she really needed from our intimate time 
together.

"It's not that I'm not committed, Mulder," she answered 
solemnly, lying on my chest in bed.  "I've wanted this as 
much as you do, for just as long.  I'm glad it's happening.  
But you struck closer to home than you know when you told 
me we shouldn't analyze this to death.  There are times 
when I want to stop thinking so damned much and just let 
myself go with what's happening.  I didn't realize how much 
I really needed that until our first night together.  It 
felt so good to let you take over, to simply exist in the 
moment for a while.  So it's not reluctance which causes me 
to allow you to be in charge when we're together, Mulder.  
You don't have to worry about me someday turning around and 
saying 'that wasn't what I really wanted, I just went along 
for the ride.'  If anything, you can take it as a 
compliment.  I don't think I could let go this way with 
just anyone."

I couldn't suppress the elation her words gave me.  We made 
love then, slow, sweet, exquisitely tender love, taking 
hours to explore one another and be explored.  I'd never 
made the mistake of touching Scully as though she were made 
of glass.  I knew she'd resent it.  But that night, I 
handled her body as though it were the finest porcelain 
china.  I cradled her breasts in my hands as though they 
were roses in full bloom and I was afraid of knocking off a 
petal if I wasn't careful.  I rubbed her clitoris with 
slow, deep circles as I moved inside her in languid 
strokes, bringing her to a climax that was thrilling not in 
its power but in its profundity.  I whispered words of 
endearment and adoration against her ear as I cradled her 
to me and came inside her, letting her know beyond doubt 
that I was extremely conscious of the trust she had given 
me.  In truth, I felt blessed, and I remained awake most of 
the night--long after she had drifted to sleep in my arms--
thinking about her admission.

She allowed me to guide our lovemaking, to take the reins, 
because she felt secure and safe with me.  There were 
times, even as recently as six months ago, when Scully 
wouldn't have trusted me enough to do that.  I had thought 
that we would become lovers after Antarctica, and we were 
well on our way until the entire Diana Fowley debacle 
created a chasm between us.

It's strange.  When I first met Scully, my motto was "trust 
no one."  It was soon amended to "trust no one but Scully."  
But looking over the last seven years, I realized that 
Scully is less likely to trust someone than I am.  She's 
much more suspicious.  It was true where my informants were 
concerned, where witnesses on cases were concerned.  And 
don't get me started on the whole Skinner thing.  For the 
most part, he's been on our side for five years but Scully 
still doesn't trust him.  I do, but then I know what he 
tried to do for Scully when she was dying of cancer and she 
doesn't.  In Skinner's case, she's wrong, but in Diana's 
case, she was completely right, and I just couldn't allow 
myself to believe it.

It had taken a while after the El Rico disaster for Scully 
and I to finally address the argument we'd had in the 
Gunmen's headquarters.  That's because it had taken me that 
long to figure out precisely why I had felt the need to 
reject her words out of hand.  If we had been talking about 
anyone else other than Diana, I would have taken her word 
for it, even on the purely circumstantial evidence she had 
gathered.  But not that time.

I finally realized what the problem was.  Though the 
relationship had ended, there had been a time when I had 
loved Diana in some way.  And there was this little thing 
called precedent.  Just about every person I had loved in 
my life had betrayed me.  My father, my mother, women for 
whom I had cared...I needed someone to break the trend.  
And if I allowed myself to consider that Diana could betray 
me, then somewhere in my mind, I had to allow for the 
possibility Scully could as well.  And I couldn't 
accept that.

Now, logically, I knew I couldn't compare Scully to 
Diana.  They, and my relationships with them, were really 
nothing alike.  My relationship with Diana had started as 
two casual acquaintances whom had found themselves sexually 
attracted to each other and eventually began to care about 
one another.  My relationship with Scully had started as 
two comrades-in-arms facing impossible odds with no one to 
trust but each other for whom respect had become friendship 
and friendship had evolved into love.  Nothing Diana and I 
had gone through together, even when we both worked on the 
X-Files, came close to matching what Scully and I had been 
through.  But the two women did have something in common--I 
had loved and trusted them both, and that alone had been 
enough to allow me to draw a comparison, however faulty the 
logic.

I could see in Scully's eyes when I had made my confession 
she was tempted to be offended I had dared to compare her 
to Diana.  But she hadn't gone there, because she knew what 
we were dealing with went beyond issues of feminine rivalry.  
We were talking about trust, which was the foundation of 
everything we had together.  And in the end, our trust had 
endured and flourished despite what had happened.  When 
Scully had informed me Diana was dead, she'd been able to 
mourn with me because she was secure enough in my trust to 
accept that my grief at Diana's death bore no reflection on 
my relationship with her.

Our experiences together between the time I explained why I 
hadn't accepted her word about Diana and the night we 
became lovers cemented the commitment of trust we had made 
to each other.  The Padgett thing, Scully's trip to 
Africa...the question of trust never arose again.  And that 
was what had allowed Scully to let down those final walls 
and let me in.  I was awestruck by the gesture of faith, 
and determined never to abuse it.

But what Scully and I had started the night she had made 
her admission to me was the first step of a process that 
would culminate the evening I found her watching that video 
in my apartment.  Beyond allowing me to guide our 
relationship sexually, Scully was step by step letting me 
to know her deepest needs and desires.  She wasn't hiding 
anything, or holding anything back.  Despite the fact that 
the good little Catholic inside her was groaning in abject 
horror, she let go of her reservations and the contrived 
concepts of modesty and decency created by a sexually 
repressed society.

I'm not a stranger to Dominance/submission games.  True, I 
wouldn't call myself an expert--I had gotten out of my 
relationship with Phoebe before I could reach that point--
but neither am I unknowledgeable.  Actually, it was a very 
good thing that I found Phoebe sleeping around on me when I 
did, when I still had enough control over my own will to 
get out.  If we had gone too much deeper, to the point 
where I couldn't claim back my control from her, I would 
have been in big trouble.  A D/s relationship where the top 
has no respect for the feelings and needs of the bottom is 
called abuse, plain and simple.  It was in that direction 
that my relationship with Phoebe had been heading.

All that had mattered to Phoebe was her own gratification 
and I was just the tool by which she achieved it.  About 
the third time I slept with her, she rolled over to face me 
afterwards and, playing with my chest hair, told me that 
sometimes, she liked to play certain games.  She fancied 
herself a Domme, though she'd never bothered to really 
learn anything about how consensual S&M was practiced.  If 
she even knew what a safe-word was, I never knew it.  It 
pleased her to have me at her beck and call, willing to do 
whatever she wished.  You want to tie me up and whip my ass 
with a belt?  Well, Phoebe, I dunno--You'll love me if I do 
it?  Sure, Phoebe, great.  Whatever you want.  You want to 
humiliate me in front of your friends?  Want me to pretend 
to be your slave and call you 'Mistress'?  Well, okay, as 
long as I have your approval...You want me to go down on 
you and get you off, then fall asleep, leaving me with a 
raging case of blue-balls?  All right, if it means I get to 
wake up with you tomorrow knowing I've done something 
right.

Six years living with my parents' implicit condemnation for 
allowing Samantha to be taken had left me with little self-
regard.  I craved approval and I wasn't too picky about 
what I had to do to get it.  And there was something very 
comforting about the knowledge that you really can't 
displease someone if all you're doing is what they told you 
to do.  The problem was, I never seemed to be able to 
really please Phoebe, even when I did everything she asked.  
She would be kind and loving and funny when she wanted 
something from me, but the moment she'd had what she 
wanted, she became a class-A bitch.  When I found her 
fucking someone else, it took every last scrap of self-
respect I possessed to call things off, and even then I 
nearly buckled more than once.

The only thing that kept me from leaving with a really 
negative impression of such D/s relationships was my own 
inherent curiosity.  I was a sensualist, possibly bordering 
on being a voluptuary, and if nothing else Phoebe had opened
my eyes to an entirely new realm of sexuality to be explored.  
There was nothing relating to pleasures of the flesh that 
didn't intrigue me, and so I did my research and learned 
more about BDSM than what I had seen with Phoebe.  And 
though I had never really felt inspired to try playing again, 
certainly not as a bottom, I at least learned enough to 
figure out what I had experienced with Phoebe had been 
wrong in the extreme.  She had taken all my emotional hot 
buttons and used them against me.  In truth, it felt good 
to know I really hadn't done anything wrong, hadn't 
displeased her to the point she felt the need to screw 
someone else.  It was a very liberating realization.

I discovered something after that first night with Scully--
I liked being in control.  I mean, I got off on it, the 
feeling of power, the feeling of having Scully willing and 
pliable in my arms.  I wouldn't have suspected that about 
myself, but there it was.  But I didn't want to tread on 
Scully's toes where her personal control boundaries were 
concerned, so I didn't take it beyond being the aggressive 
party when we made love.

The night Scully told me she had submissive fantasies, 
however, I realized we had a chance to explore these things 
together.  I could begin to understand the thrill I got at 
being in charge while fulfilling Scully's needs.

I spent Thursday night away from Scully getting ready.  
One of the things I had learned when trying to understand 
the concept of BDSM was that there is nothing more 
dangerous than a top who doesn't know what the fuck he (or 
she) is doing.  There's more to being a Dominant than 
barking "On your knees, bitch!"  On the Internet those 
creatures are known by the community as CHuDWas, or 
Clueless Het Dom Wannabes.  Enough said.  There's also a 
concept, essentially the Golden Rule of BDSM practitioners, 
called safe, sane and consensual.  A Dominant who wasn't 
safe in their practices, or who had desires that were 
physically unrealistic, could injure someone, and any games 
played without the bottom's consent are called felonies, 
ranging from battery to rape.

So if I was going to play with Scully, I needed to make 
damned sure I knew what I was doing.  She trusted me not to 
harm her.  I went on the 'net looking for bondage tips and 
then went shopping for the right kind of rope.  When I had 
more time, or if Scully and I decided we wanted to explore 
this further, I could invest in some cuffs that would be 
better suited to bondage purposes, but for now rope seemed 
the more viable, and versatile, alternative.  I then spent 
the rest of the night practicing various knots used in 
different forms of rope bondage.  The information I had 
gathered indicated it was safer to know your knots, 
and that rope bondage, when done properly, can be quite 
artful as well.

While I practiced, I laid out in my mind what I wanted to 
do.  Scratch that, I laid out in my mind what I thought we 
should, and could, do.  The possibilities were endless and 
I was more than a little interested in trying as many 
variations on the theme as possible, but for our first time 
out together--and *my* first experience being a top--it 
would be better to keep it simple, if for no other reason 
than safety's sake.  Also, I wanted to make this a 
wonderful experience for Scully, wanted to give her 
everything she desired.  The problem was, I wasn't quite 
sure what her thresholds and boundaries were yet.

I had tried to get an idea with our little Q&A session that 
Wednesday night with the video.  Her leeriness when I asked 
her if the man in the movie had needed to use force to tie 
the woman down led to the knowledge Scully was hesitant 
about, but not totally uninterested in, rough or "forced" 
sex.  Now, this is not to be confused with wild sex, which 
we'd been having regularly since that first night together.  
Rough sex gets a lot rawer, requiring physical force, and 
usually some element of pain.  Scully indicated to me 
she might be willing to go there some day, but she 
wasn't ready yet.  Since we were basically talking make-
believe rape, I could understand her reluctance.  The idea 
gave me pause as well.

Her statement he had taken hours pleasuring the woman 
while she was blindfolded, before fucking her was a 
statement she was interested in sensation play, possibly 
even involving some sensory deprivation.  Her claim he had 
pinched the woman's nipples hard meant she was interested 
in some erotic pain.

That the man had taunted the woman, told her what he was 
doing and emphasizing her helplessness meant Scully was 
into mental domination, not just physical.  She didn't want 
to lie there and pretend to be helpless, she wanted to feel 
it, to believe it.  Her claim the man in the video 
might have gagged the woman for punishment meant she would 
be interested in the discipline aspect as well, where the 
bottom gave up control to the point where the top had the 
right--and the responsibility--to punish her for 
disobedience.  Just to test that concept, I had squeezed 
her breast hard when she hadn't answered my last question 
immediately, to see how she would react to negative 
reinforcement.  Her remark about positions and styles of 
sex indicated she was not interested in simply lying 
passively in supine acquiescence while being taken.  She 
wanted me to demand more of her.

It had been a very revealing discussion, all things 
considered, and I had a feeling I knew where to start.  I 
could keep it fairly simple and test the boundaries a 
little.  One of the most important things about playing, or 
so I understood, was a debriefing period after the scene 
had ended.  At that point, we could get an idea of what she 
had enjoyed, what she hadn't enjoyed, what she wanted to go 
further with, and if she was even interested in exploring 
the concept in greater depth.

Scully was on tenterhooks throughout Thursday and Friday, 
and I couldn't really blame her.  She had taken a large 
leap of faith sharing her fantasy with me, leaving herself 
in a very vulnerable position.  Unfortunately for her, part 
of the game was the mystery, the anticipation, the not 
knowing what would happen.  So while she knew I was making 
plans and preparations, she didn't know what to expect of 
the finished product.  Me?  I was lapping it up.  I was 
sincerely getting off on her uncertainty.  It meant I was 
in control, and I was growing enamored of that feeling the 
more I was exposed to it.  I suppose that should have 
alarmed me a little, but instead I felt curiously content 
with our state of things.  Everything felt right, as if 
things were finally the way they should be.

When Scully left to grab a bite to eat on Friday, I dropped 
a handwritten note on her keyboard and left early to get 
things ready.  I went to her apartment to set up what I 
needed, and then left before she could get home.  I wanted 
her to have some time alone with her anticipation, time to 
decompress from the workday and get into the spirit of 
things.  Having no place else to go, I went home to change 
out of my suit.  While I was there, waiting for the right 
time to return, I lay on my bed and imagined Scully 
arriving home, imagined her methodically and carefully 
obeying the instructions I had left for her.  I jerked off, 
taking my time, enjoying the mental picture, knowing I 
would have better staying power later if I got off once 
beforehand.  When I came over my hand, I was moaning 
Scully's name, picturing her face.  I looked at the clock 
and realized I had just enough time to shower and dress 
before leaving for her apartment.

It was show time, and I was ready.


End of Part Three of Six

Aphrodisia I - Scaling the Last Wall (4 of 6)
Kristel St. Johns 
kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com


I shouldn't have told Mulder about my fantasy, I thought in
a panic Friday afternoon. I had no idea what he had 
planned for me or how it would go down.  We hadn't gotten 
together Thursday night, because he said he had shopping to 
do.  What kind of shopping, I don't know.  I wasn't sure I 
wanted to know.  All I knew was I had been in a constant 
state of low arousal from Thursday morning until Friday 
afternoon.  In between panic attacks, that is.

The fates were kind. Mulder and I didn't get called out of 
town at the last moment Friday.  Mulder hadn't said a word 
to me about what was going to happen since Wednesday 
evening.  When I had returned to the office after lunch on 
Friday, there was a handwritten note on my keyboard. In it, 
Mulder had instructed me to leave work and head for home at 
4 PM sharp.  The muscles in my groin clenched pleasantly as I 
re-read the note and then shredded it.  I didn't see Mulder 
again before I left.  I can only assume he had taken 
the afternoon off to set up whatever he had planned.  
Apparently, it would be happening at my apartment, since 
that was where he had instructed me to go.  The minutes 
crept by until the clock finally ticked four and I left the 
office.

Mulder's car was nowhere to be seen when I parked on the 
street outside my building and my apartment echoed eerily.  
I hated the sound, because it emphasized the emptiness of 
the apartment without Mulder's presence; I'd gotten so used 
to having him around nearly every night.  I could see no 
sign of Mulder having been there.  Unsettled, I dropped 
my purse on my desk and pressed the button that would play 
back the messages on my machine.

Mulder's rich voice filled the room.

"I'll be at your apartment at 5:30.  I've put a Cobb salad 
in the refrigerator for you to have for dinner before I 
arrive.  Be sure to eat well before I get there; it may be 
late before we can have supper.  I've set out a robe for 
you to wear on your bed.  Be naked underneath it.  When I 
get there, I want you kneeling in the middle of your bed 
with the candles I've placed around your bedroom lit.  Have 
a large glass of ice water waiting for me on the bedside 
table."

That was it.  I stood there staring at the machine in 
disbelief after the message had ended.  Whatever I had been 
expecting, this wasn't it.  I rewound the tape and played 
the message again to be sure I hadn't missed any of his 
instructions.  As I did so, I felt myself begin to sink 
into the confident, commanding tone of his voice.  
Everything was all right; Mulder was in charge.  I erased 
the message and, running on auto-pilot, focusing on meeting 
his instructions, I went to the kitchen and pulled the 
salad he had grabbed for me out of the refrigerator.  My 
stomach was so tense I only managed to eat a few bites, 
then I went to the bedroom and surveyed what Mulder had 
done.

Candles were scattered around the room on just about every 
flat surface.  A blue silk robe was spread out on my bed.  
I stared at it.  I didn't own a blue silk robe.  With my 
heard pounding in my chest, I began to undress.  I slipped 
on the robe, taking comfort in its luxuriant feel against 
my skin.  I lit the candles and fetched a large glass of 
ice water then, with ten minutes to spare, climbed into the 
middle of my bed to await my lover's arrival.

As I waited, I became aware of even the smallest sound in 
the silent apartment.  My own breathing was thunderous in 
my ears.  Distant muffled thumps were my neighbors coming 
and going, depending on how their plans for the evening 
lay.  The covers on my bed rustled with my every movement.  
My mind kept trying to envision what would happen when 
Mulder finally arrived and I could feel my wetness 
spreading from my cleft down my thighs until they were 
uncomfortably slick rubbing against each other.

I was acutely aware of the sounds of Mulder arriving.  I 
heard his key in the front door, his footfalls as he 
entered my apartment, the thud of him shutting the door 
behind him and the click as he locked the door.  He came 
straight for the bedroom, and I was grateful I didn't have 
to wait.  I looked up at him, taking in his appearance.  He 
was wearing a soft blue button-down flannel shirt and 
comfortable, worn blue jeans, and he carried a gym-bag over 
his shoulder that he gently sat on the floor beside the 
door.

It was the same Mulder I had seen practically every day of 
my life for the last seven years, and yet in that moment, I 
was as nervous as if it were a stranger entering my 
bedroom.  My pulse was pounding and I felt the same tense 
elation as I had all those times in my youth when I knew I 
was doing something Dangerous, something Forbidden.  My 
palms were damp as I clenched my fists on my thighs and 
knelt there on the bed under his perusal.

His eyes were dark and inscrutable as they traveled over 
me, taking me in.  His gaze was practically a physical 
thing I could feel through the delicate silk of the robe.  
After a moment he nodded his slow approval.

"Very nice," he murmured.  "I knew that robe would look 
terrific on you the moment I saw it."

I felt an absurd rush of pleasure at his words, pleased 
I had pleased him.  He placed one knee on the edge of 
the bed and leaned forward, pulling me to him in a 
passionate kiss, his hands cupping the back of my head.  
His tongue explored the inside of my mouth, thrusting 
deeply, then he drew my tongue into his mouth, nibbling and 
sucking on it.  I gave a low whimper of arousal and he 
released me, running his tongue around the outline of my 
lips before drawing back and searching my eyes.

He nodded again, as though mentally deciding something I 
wasn't privy to and stared into my eyes.

"Stand up.  Take off the robe and place it across the back 
of the chair over there."

Moving slowly, I climbed off the bed moved to the chair in 
the corner.  I untied the sash that held the robe wrapped 
around my waist and it fell open, the silk sliding across 
my skin.  Drawing a deep breath, I let it drop off my arms, 
baring my body for him.  I draped the robe over the back of 
the chair and stood before him, my arms at my sides.  I 
tried once more to read his expression as his eyes traveled 
up my body from my feet to my head, but I couldn't.  He was 
the most familiar person in the world to me, but I had no 
idea what was going through his head.

I stood naked beneath his gaze for what seemed like an 
eternity before he bent down and pulled something out of 
one of the side pockets of the gym bag he had brought with 
him.  He approached me and held before him a black satin 
sleeping mask, the kind you see rich prima donnas wear in 
movies.

For a moment, his impenetrable expression softened.

"Scully, do you still want this?  I'll stop if you want me 
to."

God bless him, he knew how terrified I was.  I had told him 
I wanted this and I did, but in that moment, with the 
expression on his face and in his eyes so unknown to me, I 
didn't feel the sense of security I usually did with 
Mulder.

"I do," I answered.  "But I--"

"You know I love you.  You know I'll never hurt you, 
Scully," he murmured, wrapping his arms around me and 
pulling me into his warmth.  I could feel the strap 
dangling from the mask in his hands against my back.  "I 
want to give you this fantasy, if you'll let me."

"Yes," I whispered against his shoulder, burying my face 
against his shirt for a moment.  After a moment of taking 
comfort from Mulder, I pulled back, and my voice was 
stronger as I repeated, "Yes."

Mulder nodded and his expression became shuttered again.  
He held out the mask and made sure I had a good close look 
at it before he lifted his arms and placed it over my eyes, 
securing the elastic band around my head.

Light peeked in a little around the edges, but it didn't 
matter since the sensation of my eyelashes rubbing the mask 
each time I blinked annoyed me to the point I simply 
kept my eyes closed beneath it.  Deprived suddenly of 
sight, I felt a shiver run through me as I stood there in 
the middle of the room.  I could feel Mulder mere inches 
from me, hear the whisper of his clothing, but he wasn't 
touching me.   I was extremely conscious of my own nudity, 
knowing he was looking at me when I couldn't see the 
expression in his eyes.  Just the simple act of putting 
that blindfold over my eyes had stripped away all the 
little comfort and support mechanisms I hadn't realized I 
depended on to make me feel secure when I was naked and 
vulnerable like this.

I shivered again and my nipples hardened.  I wanted to fold 
my arms over my chest, cover myself, but I couldn't move.  
An odd paralysis had overtaken my body, and I knew in that 
instant what Mulder had warned me about when I made my 
confession to him, when he told me there can be severe 
emotional reactions to these sorts of games.  There was 
power here, and I was in its thrall.  I couldn't bring 
myself to do anything until Mulder told me to.

"Are you cold?" Mulder's voice reached me from across the 
blackness that had surrounded me.  His voice wasn't the 
comforting murmur of a moment before, but firm and 
confident.  Mulder's voice had anchored me in moments of 
panic for seven years but now it was as unfamiliar and 
intimidating as anything I'd ever heard.

I couldn't speak.  I could not have forced words past my 
throat to save my life in that moment.  I gave the smallest 
of nods and listened, alone and bereft as Mulder walked 
away from me.  Eventually, I couldn't hear him in the room 
at all, but a moment later I heard the heater come on and 
the quiet whisper air moving through the heating vents.  I 
was still cold, but I knew that would go away soon.  Mulder 
had taken care of it.

It seemed a very long time before I heard Mulder come back 
in the room, and he stopped in the doorway, far away from 
me.  I heard sounds which could only be the rustling of him 
digging through his bag again.  It seemed to go on forever, 
and then abruptly stopped.  I heard the whisper of his 
footsteps crossing the floor to me, knew he was 
approaching, but I still jumped slightly when his hands 
fell on my shoulders.

"I'm going to need you to communicate with me here, Scully.  
I want you to remember the word 'flukeman.'  It's what's 
known as a safe-word.  If something goes wrong, if you want 
to stop, just say 'flukeman.' OK?"

I nodded again, and I felt Mulder's fingers under my chin, 
forcing my head up.  "I need an answer.  What's the word?"

"Flukeman."  It came out as a whisper, weak and pathetic 
even in my own ears.  I had no idea why I was whispering, 
except it just seemed out of place to raise my voice.

I should stop this, I thought in a flash of panic.  For a 
moment I regretted I hadn't taken the opportunity to 
call it off when he had given me the chance.  I should take 
this blindfold off and tell Mulder I've changed my mind.  
He won't object--he's just doing it for me anyway.  I'll 
give him the blow-job of his life to compensate for it.

I knew that the intimidation, the fright was a part of the 
game, but I wasn't sure I liked the weakness I was feeling.  
I think somewhere inside I was afraid that if I became that 
person, I might not be able to get back, to become myself 
again.  I was Special Agent Dana Katherine Scully, 
confident, determined, controlled--

There was that word again.  Control.  I had agreed to give 
my control over to Mulder for a while.  Mulder.  My 
partner, my lover.  He would die before he harmed me.  I 
trusted him with my life.  Was there anyone on this planet 
it was safer to let go of my control with?

I swear the man is telepathic.  Just as I was considering 
stopping what we were doing, his voice reached me again.  
"Do you want to stop?"

Did I want to stop?  Yes.  No.  I didn't know anymore.

"No."  The answer slipped past my lips of its own volition.  
I was still mentally spinning my wheels when the word 
escaped.  Well, there it was then.  I was committed.

Mulder rubbed my arms softly, warming my skin.  "Do you 
trust me, Scully?"

"Yes."  There was no hesitation, no doubt in my answer.

"Then let go.  Let me take over for a while."

I felt my body obeying his words even as my mind balked at 
the idea.  I felt relaxed and languid all of a sudden.  
Mulder's hands slid down my arms to grasp my own chilled 
fingers, raising goose-bumps along my skin as they passed.

"Give yourself to me."  He had whispered the words, but I 
felt them as though they were a shout.  I wanted to do it, 
wanted to be safe and powerless in his gentle hands.  I 
nodded and he gently, one small step at a time, turned me 
until I was pretty sure I was facing my bed again, and then 
instructed me to move forward.  He guided me a couple 
paces, walking backwards before me with my hands in his, 
before telling me to stop.

"We're at the edge of the bed," He informed me.  I had 
already figured as much, but of course, being unable to see 
anything, I couldn't have known for certain.  I heard a 
creaking that I though must be Mulder sitting on the bed.  
A soft sound and a gust of air announced something dropping 
to the floor in front of my feet.

"There's a pillow in front of you.  I want you to kneel 
down on it."

He took my hands again to help stabilize me as I went down 
on one knee and then the other.  The peaks of my breasts 
brushed something rough in passing, sending little jolts 
through me.  I realized suddenly what I had touched 
must have been the hair on Mulder's legs.  At some point, 
he must have gotten undressed.  There was another shiver 
that ran through my body, another knot of tension formed in 
my belly, and another surge of wetness spread between my 
legs.

"Lean forward.  You can place your hands on the bed if you 
need support, but don't touch me."

I carefully felt out until I found two spots on the edge of 
the bed on which to brace myself and support my weight as I 
leaned forward.  Something hot and hard and satiny bumped 
my cheek and a scent I'd have recognized anywhere on this 
planet reached my nostrils.  I realized with another wave 
of arousal that it was his cock.

"Take me in your mouth," he commanded, even as I was 
instinctually parting my lips and seeking to engulf the 
bobbing shaft.  "Don't use your hands."

His cock bumped my cheek again and I turned my face toward 
it.  I felt something damp trail across my skin and 
realized that a drop of pre-ejaculate had already collected 
on the head.  I turned my head a little further and the 
head was sliding along my lips.  I licked it softly, 
gratified by his hissing intake of air, tasting the 
remnants of the fluid gathered in the slit at the peak, 
then drew it into my mouth.

I enjoyed giving Mulder head and the taste of him, so it 
was no hardship for me to go down on him.  I was gradually 
learning what evoked the best reactions for Mulder and 
employed that knowledge, carefully applying pressure with 
my teeth, sliding my tongue over his shaft, sucking and 
rubbing my lips rapidly back and forth over the head.

Having Mulder's cock in my mouth was a sensual treat.  His 
scent surrounded me, leaving me drenched in my own wetness, 
and his taste teased my tongue.  I loved the feel of his 
silky heat passing between my lips.  Kneeling there, so 
close to his body, yet barely touching except for my mouth 
on his shaft and the occasional brush of my breasts against 
his knees, my chills subsided, the warmth of his body 
reaching and filling me.

I ran my mouth up and down his cock, sucking, licking, 
nibbling in strategic places.  Giving head without using 
one's hands, while blindfolded, is an interesting 
challenge.  Every time my mouth released him I had to 
search for his cock again.  Finally I gave up using teeth 
and tongue and settled for sucking on him.  I stroked him 
with my lips, my cheeks hollowed out, pulling hard.  I 
pushed my mouth down on him as far as I could go, until the 
head of his penis bumped my soft palate and threatened to 
cause my gag reflex to kick in.  I slid my lips back up his 
shaft and took to sucking on the head.

I was still somewhat awkward giving oral sex.  I'd done it 
before Mulder, true, but always with a sense of reluctance.  
My previous lovers had not had Mulder's easy manner about 
all things sexual and their inhibitions had only 
exacerbated my own uncertainty, especially given the fact 
I was almost always quite a bit younger and looking to 
them for guidance.  Mulder made it so easy for me to behave 
more naturally that I was losing my Catholic-conditioned 
hesitancy where sex was concerned.  But though I was slowly 
gaining confidence, I still lacked something in technique.  
Mulder, bless him, never complained.  Instead, he made low 
moans of pleasure and stroked my hair.  He didn't push on 
my head, or attempt to thrust into my mouth (though in some 
part of my brain I wished he would, to take his pleasure 
from me selfishly) but merely encouraged me and let me 
pleasure him instead.

"That's enough," Mulder murmured, running a hand gently 
over my cheek and cupping my face.  "That was very good."  
He leaned forward and bestowed a tender kiss on my lips, 
and I felt an irrational thrill at his praise.  He'd given 
me a task and I had performed it to his satisfaction.  I 
felt like had he stopped the game there, I would have been 
glowingly content.

He deepened the kiss, plunging his tongue into my mouth.  I 
sucked on it greedily, wanting him inside me, all of him.  
I made a small sound of disappointment when he pulled away 
and reached down, taking my hands again.

"Stand up," he commanded, and using him for balance, I rose 
from the pillow.  My knees were a tad stiff from kneeling, 
and I flexed them experimentally.

"Kneeling for extended periods of time is a bit harder than 
the stories make it out to be," he chuckled warmly.  "I 
won't have you do it often."

"Thank you," I murmured quietly, genuinely grateful that he 
had decided not to make me kneel.  The idea that at any 
moment I could have risen up and refused never even entered 
my mind.  It was as though I had lost all sense of myself 
in my focus on him.  Somewhere in my brain, I fell a small 
thrill that he had implied a repeat performance of this 
whole scenario at some future time.

"Get on the bed," he instructed, his tone solemn.  Feeling 
my way, I crawled onto the bed.  He took advantage of the 
opportunity to stroke my backside, running his hand around 
my buttocks and hips and thighs.  "Lay down on your back, 
in the middle of the bed, and put your hands up over your 
head."

I obeyed, and once I was in position, Mulder crawled onto 
the bed, straddling my torso.  "Raise your arms."

When I had lifted my arms, he slipped something around the 
wrists.  I would have said it was rope, but it was much 
softer.  Several loose strands brushed the outside of each 
wrist, as though he had encircled both wrists with a single 
loop of rope.

I couldn't feel what Mulder was doing, but the cords on my 
wrists began to get tighter, pulling from the space between 
my wrists.  Eventually, each wrist was encircled by what 
felt to be a bunch of soft cords, positioned about 10 
inches apart, but with something solid yet slightly 
yielding between them.  He pulled my bound wrists upwards 
and soon thereafter I discovered I couldn't move them from 
their position by the headboard.

I had no idea what he had done, but I was undeniably tied 
to the headboard of the bed.  The tension of arousal 
twisted in the pit of my gut again. I was bound and 
helpless at Mulder's hands.

I felt his lips start at my forehead and work their way 
down over my cheek and finally to my mouth, where he gave 
me one tender, searching kiss after another, until I felt 
my body relax beneath his.  After a long moment, his lips 
left mine to trail to my ear.

"What's your safe-word?" He asked softly.

"Flukeman," I whispered breathlessly.  After I had 
answered, his body shifted off mine and moved away.  
Seconds later, his hand closed over my breast, his palm hot 
against my cool skin.  His other hand covered the opposite 
breast and they caressed together, molding, squeezing 
gently, tweaking the nipples.  The tips of his fingers 
closed over one nipple and began to squeeze.  I moaned my 
pleasure to him and after a moment he released the nipple, 
performing the same act on the opposite nipple.  My hips 
shifted restlessly, my sex contracting, dripping my juices 
down the backs of my thighs and buttocks to the bedspread 
below.

The next time he squeezed my nipple was harder, bordering 
on painful.  I began to twist in discomfort, seeking to 
pull my nipple away from his hand, even as my breathing and 
heartbeat accelerated.

He left that nipple, soothing away the lingering discomfort 
with soft strokes of his palm, and began to pinch the other 
nipple again.  Gently at first, and growing in pressure 
until he once again had me squirming, trying to get away.

"What's your safe-word?" He asked again, his voice firm and 
commanding.

"Flukeman," I whimpered.  He released my nipple and began 
to soothe it.  I felt his mouth close over it, his tongue 
stroking, his breath hot on my skin.  At the same instant, 
his fingers closed over the other nipple and began to 
squeeze.

The period between gentle pressure and discomfort was a lot 
less this time.  I don't know if he was moving through the 
stages of pressure more quickly or if I had simply become 
more sensitive, but on this round, he crossed the threshold 
to actual pain.  I gave a startled yelp and he let go of 
the nipple.  He did not, however, soothe it as he had 
before, but instead seized its partner, still damp from his 
mouth, and began the process again, eliciting another 
exclamation from me.

When he let go of the nipple, I whimpered again, this time 
in relief.  Even after his fingers were gone, the peaks of 
my breasts were burning and throbbing.  If he had pinched 
any harder, I would have had to say "flukeman" and I hadn't 
wanted to do that.  It sounded too much like admitting 
defeat.  He leaned forward and brushed his lips over mine.  
"I'm going to do that once more, and then I'm going to stop 
for now.  Are you all right?"

"Yes," I whispered against his mouth, amazed by the fact 
the moment he had announced his intention to pinch my 
nipples again, I had grown more aroused.  I was 
anticipating it even though I knew it would hurt.  I opened 
my mouth against his lips, silently pleading for the 
intrusion of his tongue.  He didn't disappoint me.

As he thrust his tongue between my lips and teeth, licking 
the roof of my mouth, his hands grasped my nipples 
simultaneously.  Again, the pressure started.  He squeezed 
the sensitive crest between with the pad of his thumb and 
the second knuckle of his index finger, gradually 
increasing the pressure.  Soon I was squirming, then 
writhing, thrusting my hips up off the bed, kicking against 
the mattress with my bare feet.  God, it hurt, and though I 
yelped and moaned him, he wouldn't release me.  He held on 
as I struggled, my own movements unintentionally increasing 
the pain by pulling my nipples against his grasp.  He 
continued to kiss me all the while, his tongue invading 
deeply, and finally I cried out loudly into his mouth.

He released my nipples then, throbbing and aching, stroking 
them gently with his palms and I whimpered one more time at 
the lingering ache.  Mulder ran gentle kisses over my face, 
complimenting me softly.

"That was very good, Scully...you look so sexy when you're 
struggling like that...I didn't expect you to take so 
much...You're so beautiful...so sexy...I'm very 
impressed..."

I turned my face into his kisses, seeking more, craving his 
contact as well as the gentle whispered praise.  His cock 
was lying next to my belly and I could feel it dripping on 
my skin.

"Please..." My voice was a keening, crooning whisper.

"Please what?"

"Please fuck me.  I need you..."

"Mmmm," he hummed in pleasure.  "I like it when you plead 
like that.  It's a huge turn-on."  He rubbed his cock 
against my belly, letting me feel its heat and hardness 
against my skin.  "Feel that?  Feel how hard I am for you?"

"Yes, I feel it...please, just do it..."

"Not yet.  I'm not finished with you yet."

Oh, God...the combination of arousal and nervousness was 
maddening.  I had no idea what he had planned, but if it 
didn't include fucking me soon, I was going to die, plain 
and simple.

He crawled off the bed and rustled around in his bag some 
more.  I could hear quiet clinks and thumps as he set items 
down in the bedside table.  Finally his weight was pressing 
down on the mattress again and I could feel the heat of his 
body as he loomed over me.

I heard the tinkling of ice in a glass and realized he had 
picked up the glass of water I had set out of him.  I could 
hear him gulping and swallowing, and a couple drops of 
condensation fell from the glass to my skin.  I shivered, 
and my sore nipples tightened painfully.

End of Part Four of Six

Aphrodisia I - Scaling the Last Wall (5 of 6)
Kristel St. Johns 
kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com

*     *     *     *     *

"Are you thirsty?" He asked me gently.

I was, I realized.  I hadn't noticed before, but I had been 
breathing and gasping through my mouth for some time by 
that point.

"Yes."

He slid a hand beside my head and helped lift me up enough 
to drink from the glass he held to my lips.  "Careful 
now..."

I sipped carefully from the rim of the glass, swallowed, 
and sipped again, licking my lips to moisturize them.  He 
gave me a third drink and took the glass away.

"Thank you," I whispered, and he kissed me softly.

"I don't want you getting dehydrated, so if you need a 
drink, you have my permission to tell me, ok?"

"Ok," I agreed and he gently laid my head back down on the 
pillow.

There was more movement, more shifting around, and then I 
felt something lightly tickling my collarbone.  It moved 
softly from one shoulder to the other and I wriggled.  The 
persistent tickling did not go away, however.  It was a 
feather, I realized, and Mulder was dragging it softly over 
my skin.  After that realization, I quit struggling against 
it and tried to block out how much it tickled my skin.

"If you relax it won't tickle as much," Mulder advised 
sternly from above me.  I made a conscious effort to relax 
muscles that had gone tense at the first tickling 
sensations, and soon the touch of the feather was just a 
gentle, soothing whisper across my skin.  It encircled my 
nipples, which were still overly-warm from the treatment 
they had received earlier.  When the feather brushed across 
the peaks, I gasped.

"Tender?" Mulder asked.

I nodded wordlessly, and the feather went away.  A moment 
later, something cold and wet landed on my nipple.  I 
squealed and tried to bolt off the bed, only to discover I 
had forgotten I was tied to the headboard.  The bonds 
stopped me short, and I lay there squirming as Mulder held 
an ice-cube to my nipple.

"Hold still."  His voice was firm, authoritative.  It was 
the kind of voice that implied dire consequences if not 
obeyed instantly and completely.  I froze, except for the 
involuntary twitching of my skin, shrinking from the cold 
presence on my breast.

"Breathe," Mulder commanded.  I did so, drawing in a deep 
breath and releasing it slowly.  Eventually my nipple began 
to grow numb.  That was when he switched to the other 
nipple.

While he was holding the ice to the second nipple, warmth 
began to return to the first, tingling sharply.  Mulder's 
mouth came down and covered it, scalding hot against my 
chilled flesh.  One nipple was freezing while the other was 
on fire.  I wasn't sure which sensation was the most 
maddening.

Once the second nipple had gone numb, the ice disappeared, 
and Mulder sucked it into his mouth, warming it as he had 
the first.  Then the feather was back, sliding across my 
belly and over my thighs.  I squeezed them shut against the 
possibility that he might see fit to use the feather on my 
sensitive inner thighs and clit, which was exactly what he 
proceeded to do.  Pushing my legs firmly apart, he pulled 
the feather over my slippery inner thighs and then spent 
long, torturous moments tickling my clitoris with it.  Then 
it was gone again, and something sharp and scratchy began 
to make its way across my skin, starting at my shoulders 
just as the feather had.

Mulder pressed just hard enough with whatever it was to 
elicit discomforted gasps and whimpers from me as it 
scraped my skin.  He circled my breasts with it, spiraling 
upwards toward the peaks, and I could imagine whatever 
it was, it was leaving a reddened trail of scratches over 
my body.  It stopped just short of my areolas, thank God, 
but then rather than scraping the sharp object over them, 
Mulder poked my nipples with it firmly, in a sharp, 
unexpected movement.  They were so sensitive I cried 
out, not necessarily in pain, but certainly in an 
uncomfortable excess of sensation.  He then trailed it down 
my abdomen, almost as though he were drawing on my skin 
with it.  From my belly it went down my thighs to my knees, 
and then back up.

Sensing where he was headed, I slammed my thighs together.

"No.  I can't."

"Yes you can," he answered firmly.  "If I choose for you 
to."

"No.  Please...I just want you to fuck me.  I feel like 
I'll die if I don't have you inside me soon."

I was ready to start sobbing with need, might actually be 
reduced to tears if he made me wait much longer.  I 
couldn't bear the thought of that sharp object on my tender 
flesh when I was in such a desperate, sensitive state of 
arousal.  It would kill me.

"Open your legs for me, Scully."

"Please, no..." I moaned, but I felt my tense thighs 
loosening.  Mulder slid his hand between them.

"I said open them.  I'm not going to force you, but you 
won't get fucked until you do it."

Oh, God, I was going to do it.  I was going to let him do 
it.  Trembling, I spread my legs, my pussy now dripping 
steadily.  I spread them obscenely wide, and they quivered 
and twitched as I fought my own instinctive desire to press 
them together again.  I prayed he was just teasing me 
and would, rather than continuing his journey over my skin 
with the sharp object, crawl between my thighs and thrust 
his cock into me, then proceed to fuck me within an inch of 
my life.

It started at my knees, sharp against my skin, burning a 
quasi-painful path up my inner thighs.  I realized with 
dread that if he scratched the skin there, my secretions 
would sting like holy fire when they touched it.  He 
stopped just short of where my thighs became wet and I 
breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing.

That was when he poked me with the object, directly on my 
clit.

I screamed.  I'd never felt anything like it--it felt like 
my clit was on fire.  It wasn't even that it hurt just 
it was so intense I didn't know what else to do.  I bucked 
and writhed on the mattress, pulling against the bonds at 
my wrists.  It was a long moment, even after the sensation 
had faded, that I settled down.

"I'm going to do that once more, because you gave me 
trouble earlier," Mulder murmured, and I wriggled 
violently, trying to get away from him.  I tried to close 
my legs but he had positioned himself between them, 
blocking my efforts.

"Oh, God...please, don't..."

"Do you want to use your safe-word?" He asked.

"No," I denied quickly.  I didn't want to stop, didn't want 
to lose this encompassing feeling of his power surrounding 
me.  "No, but please...I can't take anymore."

"Then maybe next time you won't disobey me."

Oh, God...I had brought this on myself.  I shouldn't have 
tried to block him, should have spread my legs when he 
commanded me to, rather than pleading with him.  Next time 
I would know better...

Sighing, trembling, feeling dangerously close to tears, I 
subsided.  He stroked my thighs and belly and hips, 
murmuring comfort and reassurances, drawing my tension from 
me.

"You can do this.  You can do it because I want you to.  
And when I'm done I'm going to fuck you," he promised, and 
I felt an answering spasm in my body.  "I'm going to fuck 
you until you beg me to finish.  Are you ready for me?"

"God, yes!" I cried.

"I'd better make sure..." His voice was amused, teasing, 
and he slid his hand between my thighs.  Three fingers sank 
quickly and easily into my dripping canal.

"Mmm, you *are* wet," he commented in a murmur.  "I don't 
think I've ever felt you this wet, Scully."

He withdrew his long fingers and I heard a sucking noise, 
and an instant later they were thrust into me again.  "You 
taste marvelous."

"Oh, God..." I bucked my hips against his hand.  Inside me, 
his fingers had bent and were rubbing my g-spot 
insistently.  He twisted and shifted them inside me and I 
moaned.  And that was when he poked my clit again, a sharp, 
firm jab.  I exploded.  I came screaming, my hips pressing 
hard into the mattress, my back arching off the surface of
the bed.  Breathless, incoherent utterances fell in a 
senseless babble from my lips while I rode out the spasms.

I finally lay still again, panting on the bed with Mulder 
looming over me, his body half covering mine.

"I think you nearly broke my fingers," he murmured in my 
ear, laughter in his tone.  I gave a helpless giggle. He 
shifted, bringing his weight over me, settling his hips 
between my thighs.  "Now I think you're ready to be 
fucked."

"God, Mulder, *please*..." I was begging now, and I didn't 
care.  If I didn't have him inside me immediately I was 
going to come out of my skin.

He lay there a moment, braced over me, teasing me.  He'd 
rub my folds with his cock, then move away.  He'd position 
himself at my entrance, nudging forward just the tiniest 
bit, and then draw back, leaving me whimpering in 
disappointment.  Finally, he rose to his knees and sat on 
his heels.  He gripped me under my ass and scooted forward, 
lifting me up until my butt was resting on the shelf of his 
thighs, my legs dangling in the air past his hips.  He 
shifted forward a little and slid into me in a smooth 
thrust.

I thought I heard a small moan from him, but it was drowned 
out by my own warble of pleasure.  I could feel my internal 
muscles clenching and throbbing around his shaft, could 
feel his answering twitch.  Raising his hips, thrusting 
forward, lifting my body until only my upper back and 
shoulders were still in contact with the bed, he held me by 
my hips and began to move within me.  The angle was 
strange.  It didn't allow for full penetration, but it did 
position his penis so that he stroked my g-spot with every 
thrust.  I moaned loudly each time, overcome with the wave 
of pleasure that washed through me with his strokes.

"I decided to take you this way so I could watch, Scully," 
Mulder spoke from above me.  "All I have to do is look down 
and I've got a bird's eye view of the show.  I can see 
every inch of my cock slide into your body."

"Oh, God..." I groaned.  The mental picture he provided 
with his description sent another lightning-bolt of arousal 
through me.  In the darkness insured by the eye-mask, I had 
no other visual image to distract me.  I could see him 
penetrating me as though I was actually watching it happen.

"I can see your clit," with his words, one of his hands 
left my hip and he began to stroke my clit over so gently.  
"It's red and swollen, and when I touch it, I can feel your 
pulse.  I can feel the racing of your heart through your 
clit."

So could I.  He thrust harder into me, simultaneously 
increasing the pressure on my nerve center, and I squealed, 
utterly beyond coherency.  Then he resumed his slow even 
stokes and gentle fingering of my clitoris.

"I can see your breasts swaying and bobbing every time we 
move.  With you bent backward like this, your nipples are 
practically next to your chin.  I want you do to something 
for me, Scully..."

"What?" I gasped.  He gave another hard thrust, another 
hard press against my clit, and then back to his leisurely 
pace again.

"I want you to lift your head and lick your nipples.  Can 
you do that for me?"

I could do anything for him in that moment, anything at 
all, as long as he didn't stop fucking me.  I tipped my 
head forward, pressing my chin to my collarbone, and sure 
enough, I could feel my breasts wobbling against my face.  
That's the nice thing about one's natural tissue, I 
suppose--it's still subject to the laws of gravity.  
Hanging essentially upside down as I was, it was easy to 
reach out with my tongue, searching for my nipples, lapping 
at the air until I found them.  Getting inspired, feeling 
more confident now that he was doing something as familiar 
and normal as fucking me, I did his suggestion one better.  
Once I had captured one, I sucked it into my mouth.  It was 
hyper-sensitive from the rough handling he'd given them 
earlier, and even the softest strokes of my tongue and the 
gentlest pressure of my lips had a profound effect.  I 
whimpered, my mouth wrapped around my own nipple.

"Open your mouth, Scully.  Let me see your tongue as you 
lick it."

He picked up his pace, fucking me harder, faster.  I was 
grunting each time he thrust into me.  Obediently, I 
released my nipple and then chased down its swaying 
movements, jabbing with my tongue, stroking lightly.  
Determined to give Mulder a good show, I then turned my 
head and did the same thing for the other nipple.

He increased the speed of his strokes again, jarring me 
with each thrust.  "That's it.  That's beautiful.  Scully, 
you are so damned sexy..."

Again, fucking me harder, slamming into me.  I had no hope 
of possibly finding my nipples with my tongue with the 
rapid movements, and gave up trying.

"If you come again before I'm finished, I'll give you a 
reward," he told me, his voice gravelly with desire and 
breathless with exertion.  Considering my state, I didn't 
consider what he'd proposed much of a challenge.  Just the 
tiniest nudge was going to push me over the edge.  But 
then, I didn't know just how close he was, so time might be 
of the essence.

Never let it be said he wasn't beyond fair in helping me 
meet the challenge.  He increased the pressure of his thumb 
on my clit, rubbing almost painfully hard, as I managed to 
capture one of my nipples again.  I sucked hard while he 
stroked me.  Jesus, I was so close...

Mulder's thrusts were getting faster, less controlled, and 
I knew I didn't have much time.  His breathing was ragged 
and labored, his skin slick with sweat.  He kept his hand 
on my clit, though, kept rubbing, helping me along.

"I'm close, Scully," he warned, and he spoke with a hissing 
tone, as though forcing the words between clenched teeth.  
"So close..."

Desperately, wanting so badly to know what reward he had in 
mind for me, I bit my nipple, tugging at it with my teeth.  
Out of sheer chance, Mulder chose that moment to pinch my 
clit between his fingers, and I was lost, coming and 
yelling, thrashing wildly.  I was dimly aware of Mulder 
pulling out of me, he hands no longer on my body.  When he 
spoke, his voice was more controlled than it had been, and 
I suspected he might have pinched off his impending orgasm 
while I was still coming.

"Oh, that was very good.  That was beautiful...so 
beautiful..." he murmured, crawling up the bed to lay 
beside me.  His perspiration-soaked skin chilled my flesh.  
He kissed my cheek, nuzzling my hair, and again I felt a 
warm glow suffuse me at his praise.

"For your reward, you can choose how we finish this.  How 
would you like it?"

The question took me by surprise.  I hadn't expected to be 
required to make a decision.

What would it take to make this encounter my perfect 
fantasy?  What else was left?  I considered the question a 
moment, knowing that the longer I delayed, the further 
Mulder came back off the brink.  I rolled the question 
around in my mind.

What would make it complete?

My body tightening in pleasure again, I realized I had my 
answer.

I had to be on my knees.

"I want you to take me from behind," I told Mulder, a hitch 
of excitement in my voice.

Without hesitation, Mulder reached over my head, and I 
could feel him doing something with the cords that bound my 
wrists.  When he was finished, my hands were still bound, 
but they were no longer secured to the headboard.

"Roll over," Mulder commanded gently.  "Get on your knees."

I did as I was told, laying my cheek against the pillows 
and supporting my upper body with my elbows, since my hands 
were out of commission.  Still denied sight, I could feel 
Mulder moving into position behind him, feel his cock 
brushing my thighs and buttocks before nudging against my 
entrance.  His fingers tested the state of my readiness and 
when there was friction, withdrew.  Our exertions earlier 
had absorbed most of my natural moisture.  He shifted 
around behind me, and then his fingers were back, smearing 
something cold and slick over my labia and into my canal.  
They pulled back again and were soon replaced by his cock.

He pushed into me with exquisite slowness, centimeter by 
centimeter at a time.  We groaned in unison, and I pushed 
my pelvis back to hasten his entry.  He quickly gripped my 
hips to stop me.

"I'm still in charge," he cautioned me, and I obediently 
stilled my movements.  He stroked my hips and ass softly, 
the fingers of his right hand still damp with the lubricant 
he had applied.  Holding me firmly, he began to move.

It didn't take long for the pace to accelerate, until he 
was pummeling into me.  I gripped the headboard with my 
bound hands, bracing my elbows on the pillow alongside my 
head to prevent being shoved against the bars.  I tightened 
my internal muscles around his cock to increase the 
sensation for both of us.  His response was a barking gasp 
that sounded vaguely like my name.  He was holding my hips 
hard enough to leave bruises, thrusting into me with all 
his force, and I was moaning in rapture.  I felt his body 
tense, knew he was getting closer and cried out my pleasure 
and encouragement.

His right hand slid over my ass, stroking, then to my 
astonishment I felt a single lubricated finger rubbing 
gently at my anus in slow circles.  I stiffened in a 
combination of fear and arousal, turned-on beyond words, 
but afraid.  My muscles had tightened, clamping around his 
cock, which only heightened the pleasure for both of us.  A 
particularly deep stroke drew an impassioned cry from me as 
he hit my cervix, and while I was still focused on that, 
his finger pushed firmly but painlessly into my ass.

I screamed, climaxing a third time with devastating force, 
and Mulder was right there with me, giving me a hammering 
thrust with each spasm of his body, pouring himself into 
me, calling my name.  He sagged back onto his knees and I 
felt his sweat-dampened face and hair drop onto my 
buttocks, resting as though on a pillow.  I knelt there, 
gasping for breath, shell-shocked.  After a moment, Mulder 
stirred, raising himself off of me.  His left hand stroked 
my back softly and he carefully withdrew his finger from my 
anus.  I shuddered as he did so, unaccustomed to the 
sensation.  It was not uncomfortable or painful as I had 
thought it might be. Just strange.

He gently removed the mask from my eyes and I blinked in 
the candlelit room, grateful the light was just candles 
rather than harsh incandescent bulbs.  The first thing I 
could see was my bound hands in front of my face, still 
gripping the bars of my headboard.

He had wrapped the soft cord several times around my 
wrists, and then taken what was left and wrapped it evenly 
around the slack between my hands.  He had created what was 
in essence a short bar of rope between the loops encircling 
my wrists, flexible but unyielding.  And completely 
comfortable.

I settled in beside him, snuggling up, unwilling to ask him 
to release my hands.  He pulled an afghan spread at the 
foot of my bed over our bodies and we lay there together, 
breathing heavily.  After a moment, Mulder pressed a kiss 
to my cheek.

"That was amazing," I sighed.  Despite my languor, I felt 
strangely energized, giddy even.

"*You're* amazing," he replied, smiling at me.  "I don't 
think I've ever come that hard in my life.  I think we 
killed some brain cells."

I chuckled, feeling marvelously alive and carefree.  
"You've got plenty to spare," I replied.  He gave me a 
mock-ferocious growl and rolled over, pulling me on top of 
his body.  I held my hands up between us.

"What is this?"

Mulder smirked.  "I don't know, Scully, but it looks like 
your hands to me."

I gave a huff of exasperation.  "No, smart-ass, the rope."

"Oh, that!" He feigned sudden understanding and I jabbed 
him in the ribs.

"Maybe we killed more brain-cells than I originally 
assumed," I commented dryly.  He chuckled, the sound of his 
laughter washing over me.

"Silk parachute cord," he finally answered my question.  "I 
did some research on bondage material.  You can get it 
through surplus stores.  It's some of the strongest and 
softest bondage material out there, and very versatile.  
Experts say specially prepared hemp rope is best, but it 
takes some time and practice to use comfortably.  The 
parachute cord is a close second.  It's also much better 
for your wrists than hard ropes or handcuffs would have 
been, and easy to cut through quickly in case of an 
emergency."

I paused, staring at him, realizing how much trouble he 
must have gone through to set this up for me.  Such things 
as the rope and eye-mask must have been what were on his 
shopping list when he was gone last night.  I glanced over 
at the bedside table and saw a long white feather lying 
there, and a large pocket knife I'd never seen in his 
possession before, safely folded into its own handle.

Curiosity prodded me as I wondered what the knife was for.  
Surely not..."What were you poking me with?" I asked 
cautiously.  I glanced down at my chest and sure enough, 
there were swirls and squiggles of faint pink lines over my 
skin.  If he told me he had used the knife on me, had 
touched my clitoris with it, I was not going to be 
responsible for my actions.

"You really wanna know?" He asked, taunting me, looking 
very smug.

"Mulder, you didn't--"

He shook his head at me, smiling.  "The knife is for 
cutting the ropes if we got into trouble."  He reached over 
and picked up the feather, flipping it so that the stem 
pointed in my direction.  "They're not just good for tickle 
torture, you know."

I laughed.  I don't know why, really.  Sheer happiness, 
perhaps?  But the enraptured expression on Mulder's face 
when I looked down at him was enough to bring tears to my 
eyes.  It brought him sublime happiness just to see me 
laugh.  This was not a man I'd seen happy many times over 
our seven-year history.  In fact, he could be a downright 
moody bastard, but seeing me smiling and lighthearted was 
all it took to bring him joy.  I was so overcome with love 
for him in that moment, I didn't think my heart could 
contain it all.

Unsure of what to do, I kissed him, tenderly at first, then 
with increasing passion.  I cradled his face in my hands 
with the rope between my wrists under his chin and held him 
while my tongue sought entrance into his mouth.  He sighed 
softly and his lips parted for me.

I moved from his lips down his body, pressing kisses to 
every inch of skin I could reach, laving his chest with my 
tongue.  I made my way to his hips and took his flaccid 
penis into my mouth, sucking gently.  My goal was not so 
much to arouse him as to bring him pleasure, like he'd 
brought me tonight.  There was no rush, no urgency, even 
when, after a certain recovery period, he did start to 
harden in my mouth again.  I continued leisurely sucking 
and licking him, stroking his hips and groin and sac with 
my bound hands.  He buried his hands in my hair, holding me 
to him, thrusting gently into my mouth.  It was an eternity 
later when he finally came, gently, with soft whispers of 
love and encouragement and none of the fury that had 
engulfed us earlier.  He spilled his seed in my mouth and I 
drank it in, savoring the essence of him on my tongue.  
Then I crawled up to lay beside him again.  Drowsily, he 
unwrapped the silk cord from around my wrists, lightly 
rubbing the impressions it had left in my skin, and we 
settled in to sleep.

End of Part Five of Six

Aphrodisia I - Scaling the Last Wall (6 of 6)
Kristel St. Johns 
kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com

*     *     *     *     *

I think I'm addicted.

Great sex is a self-perpetuating phenomenon.  The more you have it, the
more you want it. 

After our scene on Friday night, which could not possibly have gone more
perfectly, we spent the entire weekend together.  We took a long nap after
we had finished playing that night and awoke starving.  It was nearly
midnight, but that didn't prevent us from getting dressed and heading to a
24-hour diner to get something to eat.  We were both giddy, laughing and
talking animatedly over our omelets, and I think the waiter at the
restaurant thought we were high on something.  When we had finished
eating, we headed back to Scully's apartment.  By the time we reached the
front door, I was devouring Scully from the mouth down.  We didn't make it
to the bedroom.  Hell, we didn't even make it out of our clothes.  We
ended up making love against the wall in the hallway, her legs around my
hips, my pants around my ankles.  We never got around to taking our shirts
off.  Oddly, neither of us minded. 

Before we slept, I made sure to question Scully about the scene.  I needed
to know how she was feeling about what had happened. 

"It was wonderful, Mulder," she said solemnly.  "It surpassed anything I
had ever imagined." 

"What did you like best about it?" 

"What didn't I like best?  God, Mulder...all of it was incredible." 

"I'm glad, Scully, but I need more detail." 

She fell silent, considering the question a moment.  "I liked that you
pushed it.  That you were firm with me.  If you had just tied me up and
fucked me and then released me, I don't think I would have been satisfied. 
But instead, you said things and did things that made certain I knew you
were in control--you were intimidating and stern.  Your tone of
voice--Jesus, Mulder, it gave me chills.
 I was frightened, but at the same time, I couldn't bring myself to stop
it." 

I breathed a sigh of relief.  I thought maybe I had taken the dominant act
too far, seemed too arrogant in ordering her.  Truth was, I didn't have
the first fucking clue how to dominate Scully, but I knew if I had gone to
her as the Mulder she's always known and trusted, she wouldn't have taken
the game seriously.  And I had the feeling Scully was the type who would
want the game to be *very* serious. 

"Was there anything that happened that you weren't comfortable with?  That
you don't want to have happen if we ever decide to do this again?" 

She considered for a moment, then shook her head.  "No.  I mean, at the
time, I can remember thinking 'oh God, I can't do this' at certain points,
but looking back, there was nothing there I wouldn't willingly--and
happily-- do again." 

"What about physically?  I--um--I kinda improvised there.  I wasn't really
sure what your limits were as far as erotic pain went, so I was afraid
maybe I was pushing too far.  Did I hurt you?" 

Her eyes grew distant, as though re-enacting our scene in her mind.  "You
did push it, Mulder," she said at last.  "But that wasn't a bad thing.  I
probably wouldn't ever have had the courage to ask for it, really, even
though I had considered it.  I don't think I could really feel I had truly
given myself over if there hadn't been something that pushed the limits of
how much I was comfortable with." 

"Thank you," I told her, kissing her forehead and feeling enormously
relieved.  "And just so you know--I thought it was wonderful, too." 

Satisfied, we fell silent and soon drifted off to sleep. 

We slept in Saturday almost to noon, woke up, made slow, sweet love,
showered together, had lunch, and settled in on the sofa to watch the
Saturday afternoon matinee movie on some cable network or the other.  As
luck would have it, it was "The Blue Lagoon" which, though fairly
unsophisticated by today's standard, we were both old enough to remember
when it was the hottest and sexiest movie of the year.  Of course, it was
edited for television and all the really good stuff got the chop in that
process, so we supplemented what was on the screen with our own action. 
Funny, I didn't remember the movie being that good when it was out in the
theatres. 

I took Scully out on a date that night.  The romantic in me reared his
sappy, besotted head and I couldn't help myself.  I made reservations at
DeNicola's Italian Restaurant, told Scully to get dressed up, put on the
spare suit I've taken to keeping in her closet and took her out for an
evening of wining and dining.  She wore a tight red knit dress with a wide
neckline that bared most of her shoulders and long sleeves.  It stopped
mid-thigh, so I got a generous view of her shapely legs, turned out nicely
with scarlet spiked high-heels that had straps criss-crossing over the top
of her foot and up her ankle.  The first sight of those shoes was the
birth of what would become a serious foot-fetish on my part. 

It was late before we got back to her apartment. 
 We had decided before the evening began to take a taxi rather than drive,
so we could both imbibe freely of the expensive Italian wine, and on the
way home we gave the cabby quite a show.  I couldn't get enough of
touching Scully. 
 I felt like I'd die if I didn't have my hands on her body, and she seemed
just as voracious.  I've loved Scully for years, but I can't remember ever
being as passionately infatuated with her as I was that weekend. 

"Christ, Scully," I vowed, running my mouth over her cheek before taking
the shell of her ear between my teeth.  We were just inside her door,
which is exactly where we started our first sexual encounter.  "I don't
think I've been this horny since I was sixteen." 

She gave a rich, throaty laugh.  "As long as you have more staying power
than you did at sixteen, be my guest." 

I unzipped the back of her dress while thrusting my tongue into her ear. 
She gasped as my hands made contact with her bare back.  "Lose the shirt,
now," she commanded and I pulled away from her and practically tore the
shirt off.  She peeled the crimson dress off her body and unhooked her
bra, tossing it aside so that her breasts swayed freely with her
movements.  The dark nipples were pebble hard, poking straight at me.  I
pulled her to me again and they burned like twin brands against my bare
chest. 

I ran my hands down her back and over her curvy ass.  Earlier I had
discovered, much to my delight, she was wearing stockings and garters. 
While she licked her way over my shoulders and chest, I slid my hands
inside the elastic waistband of her satin underwear, cupping the soft
globes of her ass.  While I squeezed her flesh in my hands, she closed her
full red lips over my nipple and began to suck.  Soon the suction was
replaced by the scrape of her teeth, and she tugged firmly.  I was so hard
I thought I was going to split my trousers.  I crushed Scully to me and
ground roughly against her belly. 

"Mmm, Agent Mulder, feels like you've got a problem..." Scully commented
against the skin of my chest.  She began to slide her mouth down my torso,
and before I knew it she was on her knees in front of me, her sure hands
making quick work of my belt and fly.  She pushed my pants and underwear
down my hips in a single motion and engulfed my cock in the scalding heat
of her mouth. 

"OH!  God!  Scully!" 

I fell weakly back against the door, unable to support my own weight.  She
grabbed my hips with both hands and began to move up and down my cock
while I closed my eyes and started doing multiplication tables in my head
to avoid blowing my wad like that horny sixteen year old I had referred
to.  I twined my hands helplessly in her hair and held her head to my
groin.  Her lips were like exquisite silk sliding up and down on my shaft. 
She tongued the head, lapping up the fluid that had gathered in the slit
there, humming softly.  She wrapped her mouth around me and slid down
again, then dragged her teeth lightly up my cock. 

I gave a wordless shout.  I wasn't going to be able to take much more of
this.  The multiplication tables weren't doing any good.  I was up to
quadratic equations and headed for advanced calculus, but Scully wasn't
done with me yet.  In the next instant she had taken me as far as she
could go into her mouth, but instead of drawing back, she kept pressing
forward.  I felt the slightest popping sensation and then her lips and
nose were buried in my pubic hair.  My cock was engulfed to the hilt. 

Christ-on-a-crutch, Scully was deep-throating me!  I made a strangled
noise, but I was so amazed that my need to come lost some of its urgency. 
She'd tried it before and had confessed a certain frustration she hadn't
been able to relax enough to do it.  Truthfully, I hadn't minded.  I'd
never felt it before and couldn't miss what I didn't know.  Besides, she
had more than enough oral talents to keep me a sublimely happy man, though
I think she questioned that occasionally. 

I looked down at Scully.  She opened her azure eyes and rolled them upward
to meet my gaze. They were glowing with triumph.  The sight of her staring
smugly at me through black fringed eyes while my cock was buried in her
mouth, combined with the pressure of her throat around the head of my
shaft nearly killed me. 

"Scuh--Scully...gotta stop...gonna come..." I barely managed to gasp out
the warning.  Slowly, she slid her lips off my cock. 

"Do it," she murmured, opening her mouth again and moving forward. 

"No!" I grabbed my cock and squeezed the base.  I closed my eyes and
focused on my breathing for a moment.  When I looked down again, Scully
was blinking up at me.
 "I wanna fuck you," I told her, knowing I sounded needy and desperate as
I practically begged.  "Please...I wanna be inside you when I come..." 

I grabbed her upper arms, not particularly careful to be gentle and pulled
her to her feet.  I shoved my hands into her underwear again, and bless
her soul, she had been kind enough to put the panties on over the garters. 
I pushed them down her legs and maneuvered them past her shoes. 

"I'm going to fuck you with these shoes on," I growled, breathing hard
between clenched teeth, regaining my confidence with the crisis of the
near-miss past me and sheer animal hunger upon me.  I shoved a hand
between her thighs and pushed my fingers into her oh-so wet tunnel.  With
my fingers probing her, I grabbed her around the waist and propelled her
backward toward the sofa. 

She was making loud, feral moans as I thrust my fingers in and out. 
Withdrawing them, I wiped her juices on her breast and pushed her back so
that she was perched on the high arm of the couch.  Intuiting my intent,
Scully grabbed me around the neck while I grasped her thighs and pushed
them open, guiding her legs around my waist.  With her spiked heels
gouging my buttocks, I shoved my cock into her body. 

"Hang on, Scully," I advised her gruffly and began to thrust.  I was in an
agony of wanting, beyond consideration for her pleasure, and I didn't
particularly care if this was the shortest ride in our personal books, as
long as I came and came soon.  I pumped into her wildly, mindlessly, only
distantly aware of her grunts and moans with each impact.  Her shoes
bumped and scraped along my ass as I moved.  When I climaxed, I came so
hard it was painful, my cock burning with each jet of semen.  The orgasm
exploded through me and I yelled, my fingers digging in where they gripped
her thighs. 

My knees sagged, my sated body going limp as my cock gave a couple final
twitches inside Scully's body.  I think the only things keeping me from
collapsing to the floor were her arms around my neck and her legs around
my hips.  I panted harshly against the skin of her neck, sweat beading and
dribbling down my face. 

"Sorry," I muttered as I slowly came back to myself, pressing soft kisses
on the upper swells of her breasts.  I was well aware of the fact Scully
hadn't come.  I made a mental promise to take care of that as soon as I
could move again, which hopefully would be sometime this year. 

"Don't be," she whispered, stroking my back softly.  "I'm not.  I wanted
to feel you come, to watch you and hear you with nothing distracting me
from the show.  It was gorgeous." 

Have I mentioned I am madly in love with this woman? 

My penis was growing soft inside her, slipping out a tiny bit at a time,
and I knew our combined secretions were dribbling out of her body, coating
our thighs and probably the sofa arm as well.  Neither of us really cared. 
Sex is a messy process.  If it ain't, you're not doing it right. 
Necessity being the mother of invention, you can see why we have showers
and upholstery cleaner.  This certainly wasn't the first time we had
christened her couch and worried about the mess later. 

"Mmm," I hummed in contentment, listening to the beating of her heart from
where I rested with my head on her breasts.  "Gimme a minute to recover
here and I'll make that up to you." 

"Don't you dare," she stated, and I looked up at her, taken aback by her
vehemence.  "I don't want you to.  I want to go clean up a bit, and then I
want to go to bed and feel you fall asleep in my arms.  I could have come
tonight if I'd wanted to, but I didn't.  I wanted tonight to be about you. 
After what you gave me last night..." 

Her voice trailed off, and she glanced away.  When she looked back, her
eyes were suspiciously shiny.  "Mulder, this has been the most incredible
weekend of my life.  I just--there aren't any words for it.  I just want
to focus on you right now.  Besides," she gave me a sly grin.  "I know
you're good for it tomorrow." 

I kissed her deeply, thoroughly.  It was a kiss of love rather than of
passion.  When it was over and our lips had parted, we stood there a
moment, foreheads pressed together in silent communion.  Then I stood
straight and took her hand, helping her down off the arm of the couch. 

"Come on.  Let's go to bed." 

* * * * *

I finally left Scully's apartment Sunday.  Sunday is her day with her mom,
usually.  She goes to Mass in the morning and then to her mom's house for
dinner.  Scully has told me more than once that if I wanted to hang around
her apartment while she went to church, I could go over to Mrs. Scully's
for dinner with her afterward, but I declined.  I think it's important she
have time with her family apart from me.  This had only become an issue I
cared about after we had become lovers.  When we just worked together, I
hadn't given a great deal of thought to how much time she spent with me
she could've been spending with her family.  When we found ourselves
together during nearly all our off- hours as well, I realized it was very
important to me that she have time with her family away from me.  I didn't
want to take over her entire life and I was afraid I would try to do
precisely that if I wasn't conscientious. 

Mrs. Scully is fond of me, in a cautious way.  When Scully was missing, it
had created a bond of fear and concern between us, but a lot has happened
since then.  Unlike her son, she doesn't blame me for all that has
happened to her daughter, and her family, since Scully and I began working
together, but she's still a mother.  She worries about her child and
rightly so.  As fond of me as she might be, I think it possible she'd
breathe a sigh of relief if Scully stopped working with me.  I don't want
to create any awkwardness between Scully and her mother by imposing on
their family time, so I always politely decline Scully's repeated offer,
telling her I'll see her on Monday. 

I hadn't expected to see Scully again that day, so when I woke up Sunday
morning, a good hour earlier than was required to pack up my gear and go
home, I took advantage of the opportunity.  With Scully still sound asleep
beside me, I gently pulled the covers off her nude body and stared at her
for a moment. 

I don't think I've ever seen a more beautiful woman.  She lay leaning
forward, half on her stomach, half on her side, so while most of the front
of her was blocked from my view, I had a great view of her shapely back. 
I think one of my favorite parts of the feminine anatomy is where the
straight slope of the torso dips down into the curve of the waist and from
there, flares out into the hips.  I thought the top of my head might blow
off the other night when Scully asked me to take her from behind.  We
don't do it often, because while it provides me with a great view and
deeper penetration, it makes it harder for me to reach her clit, and the
angle is wrong for me to really get her g- spot, with a cock that tended
to thrust upward.  She has to be very aroused to even get close to coming
that way.  But when we do make love in that position, it's a visual treat,
make no mistake. 

She was sleeping on her left side and so her tattoo was clearly visible. 
It was an object of combined fascination and anger for me.  Whatever her
claims, we both know what she had done that weekend she had done to strike
out at me.  I don't blame her, really.  She felt like I didn't respect
her, like I took her for granted and maybe I did.  But she had jeopardized
her own safety in the process.  She had broken some internal Golden Rule I
didn't even know I had.  Thou Shalt Not Harm Scully.  It wasn't even that
she may or may not have fucked Ed Jerse.  That detail might have driven me
up the wall with a jealous rage I really had no right to, but what truly
got to me was her careless disregard for the danger she had been courting. 

Going out with a virtual stranger--ok, not the brightest idea, but she's a
trained federal officer.  She could probably take care of herself. 
Getting drunk in the presence of said stranger--well, we're tipping the
scales toward downright foolish there.  Going into a seedy tattoo parlor
and letting someone you don't know, whose credentials and record with the
health department you haven't checked out, stick a needle in you--the
scales have done tipped and broken under the weight of their burden. 
Going home with the virtual stranger, drunk and flying an endorphin high
from getting the tattoo--that one goes right past foolish and touches upon
insane. 

But at the same time, the tattoo represented a side to Scully I hadn't
known before.  It was a side that took risks, that got off on danger, that
broke free of that rigid control I now know she simultaneously cherishes
and despises.  I was intrigued and aroused when I considered it, but then
I learned of her cancer and any thoughts I might have had about trying to
get to know that side of her better got pushed into a dark corner and
forgotten.  By the time we were sure she was going to live, those ideas
had been all but forgotten, part of a past I didn't really care to look
back upon. 

All those considerations aside, it was visually a gorgeous tattoo.  The
blood-red dye against the paleness of her skin, the slightly rough,
indented texture--when I wasn't twisting what the thing might or might not
mean for Scully and I in the great scheme of things over in my mind, it
was sexy as hell to look at.  Combine that with the silhouette I mentioned
before, the subtle motion of her finely toned muscles beneath her skin, an
ass that's more shapely than any one woman has a right to and it's easy to
see why I would enjoy the occasional tour driving from the back seat. 

Once my eyes had drunk their fill, I crawled to the foot of the bed,
getting a close-up view of her magnificently muscled legs as I did so. 
Her calves were taut and well- defined, curving elegantly down to her
ankles.  Looking at her feet, all I could do was remember those shoes she
had worn the night before. 

After we had made our way into the bedroom, Scully had sat on the edge of
the bed and began to untwine the straps that had crossed over her feet and
around her ankles.  I had knelt beside her on the floor, taking her leg
into my hands.  Balancing her sharp heel on my bare thigh, I had slowly
removed the shoe, stroking her legs and foot. 

"These are gorgeous," I had commented, eyeing the shoe appreciatively. 
"You know, you made one of *my* fantasies come true tonight.  The moment
you came out wearing these all I could think about was your legs wrapped
around my waist with these things on your feet." 

Scully gave a slight smirk.  "Well, I imagine that's why they're known as
'fuck-me' shoes, Mulder." 

"I think these shoes are probably illegal to walk in along most major
highways," I replied.  "It'd be a traffic safety hazard." 

Scully had chuckled softly.  I took my time removing the shoes and
stockings and garters, pausing to stroke her leg and rub any tense muscles
I found.  I started to give Scully a foot massage when she stopped me and
reiterated the request she had made earlier, that we should go to sleep
with the peace and contentment of our last lovemaking still upon us.  Oh
well, can't blame a guy for trying.  I had agreed and climbed into the
bed, stretching out with a weary sigh.  Scully had curled up beside me and
I had fallen asleep with her eyes still upon me. 

I had no intentions of being sidetracked this morning, considering it
would probably be a good 36 hours before I would be alone with Scully
again.  I sat up and drew her foot into my lap, holding it between my
hands.  With my thumbs, I began to rub the front pad of her foot, just
behind her toes, in slow, firm circles.  Scully began to stir and I moved
down to the arch, sliding my thumbs back and forth hard enough not to
tickle.  She sighed in contentment, her eyes slowly opening to stare at
me. 

"Mmm, I like a man who's persistent," she remarked before yawning hugely. 
Grinning, I moved on to her heel, listening to her groan of pleasure.  I
went slowly, spending long moments on the first foot before moving on to
the next.  Scully arched and stretched sensuously, content to let me
pamper her.  Relaxation quickly turned to arousal when I lifted her foot
and began slowly sucking and licking the toes. 

"God, Mulder," she murmured.  "You do find erogenous zones in the
strangest of places." 

"You like this?" I asked.  Scully nodded, her eyes darkening with passion. 
I changed feet and began working that one over with my mouth as well.  By
the time I was done, Scully was squirming and giving soft moans of
pleasure.  When I looked up at her, she was watching me breathlessly,
waiting. 

She had made a brief tour as sexual aggressor last night, but now she had
stepped back again, waiting for me to call the play.  In anyone else, I
might have considered it a sign of reluctance or shyness, but looking in
Scully's eyes, in light of the discussions we had had, I knew better.  It
added to her pleasure, the anticipation, waiting for my decision,
wondering what I would come up with next.  It was a rush to know there was
very little I could ask of her that she wouldn't willingly and happily do
and take pleasure from.  But I needed to know her thoughts, her desires. 
Her allowing me to call the shots would wear thin pretty quickly unless
she was confident that my decisions took into consideration what she
wanted, too. 

"Tell me what you're thinking," I said, using the tone of voice I had when
we were playing Friday night, the one that brooked no refusals.  Scully's
eyes fluttered shut the moment I spoke, an expression akin to ecstasy
claiming her features for an instant. 

"I'm thinking how great it felt last night to pleasure you," she murmured. 
"I'm thinking how proud I was to take your cock all the way into my
throat.  Mulder--I can't stop thinking about Friday night," she confessed
breathlessly.  "Every time I look at you, I think what it was like to be
helpless and totally in your power and how the only thing I wanted in that
moment was to obey you.  I've never felt like this before.  I mean, I've
always tried to please my lovers, but only because they expected me to do
what they wanted when they wanted it, and I didn't know how else to
respond.  But this--

"I wanted to please you that night because I knew it would make you proud
of me, and how proud I would be of myself, to succeed in meeting that
goal.  It was an accomplishment for me--to let go of that control and,
rather than feeling weakened and cheapened by the loss, find myself so
empowered instead.  Every time you told me how good I was, every time you
praised me, I felt like there was nothing in the world I couldn't do.  And
what I did last night, when I took command of the moment--I went down on
you not because you expected it or would have asked it of me, but because
I *wanted* to do it.  I deep-throated you because it was something *I*
wanted to accomplish.  And I look back at my past sexual experiences and I
realize I would never in a million years have done that before--I would
have waited to be asked, and then I would have performed out of a sense of
obligation.  But I wouldn't have felt any pride and I wouldn't have pushed
myself to do more, to do better, to make it the best experience you'd ever
had.  I--I don't even know how to describe it, Mulder, but I feel
different.  I feel like I've visited someplace very special and I want to
go back there and visit that place again." 

I was simultaneously moved beyond words and a little afraid.  I was
thrilled more than I could comprehend that what had happened between us
Friday night had been so profound for her.  I had given her something
she'd never had before, something that perhaps no one else could give her. 
But I was frightened.  I knew from experience how easy it was to lose
yourself in a situation like this, to go so deep wanting to please someone
that you can't find your way out.  And with Scully, I couldn't take the
risk of that happening. 

I moved up the bed and pulled her close. 

"Scully, I need you to understand something.  And even if you think you
already know what I'm going to say, or think you've got it in hand and
nothing I can say will make a difference, I want you to listen to me
anyway, and I need you to *hear* me, please?  Will you do that for me?" 

Scully nodded solemnly, her eyes wide. 

"I told you some pretty powerful emotions could be triggered when you get
into this sort of thing, and you just proved me right.  I know exactly how
you're feeling right now and believe me when I tell you I'm feeling the
exact same way.  What we did Friday night was one of the most powerful
things I've ever experienced.  Just the trust it took for you to turn
yourself over to me like that...I was in awe. 

"But we need to be careful.  When you're feeling something this powerful,
this overwhelming, it's very easy to lose yourself in it.  You get swept
up in the rush and it's nearly impossible to get back out.  You told me
that when you let previous lovers control you, they took over your life
and that was why it had become so important for you to seize and hold
control over yourself and your surroundings.  You can't let that happen
again, Scully.  I can't let that happen.  Aside from what it would do to
our relationship, professionally it would be a disaster in the making." 

I saw Scully blink suddenly, as though coming out of a trance, when I used
the word "professionally."  It had surprised her, because we often took
great pains to leave the office outside the door during our personal time
together.  Truth be told, I hated to introduce it into the discussion
here, but it had to be done. 

"I want you to step back a bit, Scully, and really consider what you want,
and where to draw the line, because when you're together both personally
and on the job like we are, sometimes the line can get very blurred.  It's
a good idea for both of us, because I'm in just as much jeopardy of going
too far and too deep, too fast with this as you are.  Maybe more." 

I paused, overwhelmed for a moment with emotion.  "I need you to know I
don't expect you to please me, or pleasure me.  You've given me a great
gift in your willingness to do so, and an even greater gift in allowing me
the control to guide how we go about pleasuring each other, but understand
I regard it as exactly that--a gift.  Not a right, or my due, but as a
privilege.  I love you for it, Scully, as well as for a thousand reasons
established long before you gave it to me.  But I *don't* expect it, and
*wouldn't* demand it and I don't ever want us to get to the point where,
in our daily dealings with each other, you don't feel you can tell me
'no.' Because when we're outside the bedroom, I need you to remain the
strong, controlled Scully I've always known.  I rely on it.  I rely on
*you*.  And if we lose ourselves in this to the point where you're not
that person anymore, or where *I* become a person who doesn't appreciate
that in you, it will be all wrong.  It will destroy everything we've built
together and I can't lose that." 

Scully nodded again, and some of the glow had faded from her eyes.  When
she spoke, her expression was very solemn.  "Mulder, I hear what you're
saying.  And I agree.  You're one hundred percent correct we have to know
where to draw the line, especially as it relates to our work.  I don't
know what you experienced all those years ago, but I can tell from your
reaction it wasn't a positive experience.  It didn't leave you feeling
very good about yourself.  I can understand why you'd be a bit leery of
taking a chance that might happen with me.  But Mulder, the difference is
what we've done so far *has* left me feeling good about myself.  Better
than I have in a very long time.  I feel-- liberated, like I was carrying
some terrible burden and now it's been lightened.  And I have no fear
you'll take advantage of it or take my willingness and eagerness to please
you for granted.  I solemnly promise you, if you try it I'll kick your
ass." 

She tossed that last comment out with a jaunty grin and I couldn't help
but laugh.  After a moment, I stroked her face and kissed her forehead
gently. 

"Promise me one thing." 

"Just one?" 

"I'm serious, Scully." 

"You're right.  I'm sorry, I know you are.  Go on." 

"Let's take some time off.  Give it a few days, time for the glow to wear
off, before you make any decisions about what you want to do and where you
want to go with this.  Maybe until Friday.  We'll step back, take
inventory, figure out what's going to work best for us, and then we'll get
together Friday night and discuss it." 

"Friday, huh?"  She didn't sound terribly enthused with the prospect. 

"I promise you this is hurts me as much, if not more, than it does you." 

"Well, if I have to wait a whole five days," she started, pushing me onto
my back and draping herself over my chest, "we should probably make this
time count." 

"You're going to be late for Mass if you don't start getting ready now," I
warned her. 

"I'll tell Mom I had a headache this morning and couldn't make it." 

"Hmm, I don't think I should let you put your immortal soul in jeopardy
for a little last-minute nookie," I replied, trying for a stern expression
and falling far short. 

"Let me?" Scully repeated incredulously, straddling my hips.  "Let me? 
Agent Mulder, I don't recall giving you much of a choice." 

By the time I thought of a suitably witty rejoinder, I had this new,
improved, not-so-submissive Scully's tongue in my mouth and couldn't
speak. 

End of Aphrodisia I - Scaling the Last Wall

Questions, comments and feedback can be sent to Kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com

Look for Aphrodisia II to be posted around October 18.