ATONEMENT Dorothy Gayle February 4, 1999 Rating: There is no rating. NOBODY should read this, it's so nasty. But since a rating is required, this is a definite NC-17. Disclaimer: Oh yeah, like I could create characters like these! It's just too bad Chris Carter doesn't let them have this much fun. Thanks a million to my friend Julie for the idea, encouragement and assistance. Summary: There is no summary, it's just smut! Oh, okay, how about this one: Mulder has insulted Scully and she is determined to make him pay. ********** It hurt, when he said it, it really did. There we were, having one of our usual disagreements about one of his usual ridiculous theories on a case, when he opened his mouth and out popped one of the most offensive things he's ever said to me. Now Mulder isn't always graceful in his speech but he's never deliberately cruel, and he has hurt my feelings before, although usually unintentionally. He's always been so sweetly sorry afterwards that I've had no trouble forgiving him. I mean really, what woman could resist that face? Those mournful eyes and that delicious pout? He turns that whipped expression on me and I have to admit, in spite of my reputation I'm only human, and I melt just like every other female in his orbit. Usually. Not this time. This time, Mulder stepped over the line. This time he was deliberately brutal, and for that he will pay. I'm on my way to his apartment now to face him down. At the very least he's going to apologize, but perhaps I'll extract some other type of payment as well. Maybe make him take me out to dinner. Someplace really nice. Echoes of yesterday's fight play through my mind, and once again I hear Mulder accusing me of being bitchy due to PMS. That is SUCH a 'guy thing' to say, really. Shows how much he knows, too. That was two weeks ago, and it's lucky for Mulder that it was. Had his accusation been on target I would have kicked his ass then and there instead of walking away. Well all right, I suppose it would be more accurate to say I stormed away, but I really thought removing myself from his presence was the best thing for both of us at the time. It prevented me drawing my weapon. I stand outside his apartment door now, his painful words still ringing in my ears. "Just because you're having your bitchy PMS week doesn't mean you have to take it out on me, Scully!" Take it out on him, indeed. I'm about to take it, all right, I'm about to take it out of his hide. You notice, he called me 'bitchy'--he didn't call ME a bitch. Had he done so I would have killed him where he stood, but that's just not Mulder. I'm sure he privately thinks of me as 'bitchy' when I am having a PMS week, and that thought, one which was supposed to remain private, made its way out of his mouth yesterday in a moment of extreme anger. On the other hand, I'm quite certain Mulder doesn't think I am a bitch. He'd have stopped working with me long ago if that were the case. Besides, it has not escaped my attention that the man is quite fond of me. As I am of him. I kept waiting for him to call me last night and apologize, but the phone never rang at all. I know why it didn't. He was afraid. I was so angry when I left him that he was afraid I wouldn't hear him out, and the rejection, had I refused to listen to him, would have been too painful for Mulder to bear. He thought it would be better to give me the weekend to cool off, and I'm sure I'd have gotten some kind of backhanded apology come Monday morning. See how well I know him? Well I'm not waiting that long. It's been over twenty-four hours and I'm here to collect. I knock on the door and wait, gathering my thoughts and planning what I'll say when he opens the door. I stand there, knocking and planning, for a full five minutes before it dawns on me that he isn't answering. Could it be he really isn't home? His car is outside, and I'm fairly certain he's not out running. Not in this downpour. Finally in desperation I fish out my key and insert it into the lock, preparing to blast him for leaving me standing out here in the hallway like some unwanted door-to-door salesman. The room is dim when I enter, illuminated only by the desk lamp and the rainy afternoon light drifting in through the windows. I take off my jacket , hang it on the coatrack beside the door, and slowly make my way into the inner sanctum of Mulder's apartment. As I come in view of the couch, I stop suddenly at the sight that greets me. I feel the heat start in the lowest reaches of my body and begin to make its way up throughout every part of me--the heat that I have always managed to suppress, deny, obfuscate, and ignore. The warm, liquid heat of desire. I realize now that Mulder didn't answer my knock at the door because he was asleep, no doubt completely exhausted from a night of guilty wakefulness. I was able to rest in spite of my high emotional state, but I know Mulder doesn't work that way. I can see him now, in my mind, pacing his apartment remorsefully, occasionally picking up the telephone and then losing his courage and putting it down again before he dialed my number, telling himself he doesn't want to compound his sin by waking me from my slumber. Cursing himself relentlessly for the words he allowed to escape unplanned. He probably spent the entire night that way, wondering how he was going make it right, and if he was ever going to be able to put our relationship back together. Mulder in repose is a beautiful sight. Of course, Mulder is a beautiful sight at any time, as most women would agree, but in sleep his face takes on a carefree, boyish look that hasn't been a part of his waking hours in years. He had that look when we were first partnered--wide-eyed innocence and wonder at the things we discovered in our investigations. Then we discovered more than we were supposed to and it began to slap back at us, to hurt us, and he lost that expression of guilelessness forever. We are both much wiser now than we ever wanted to be. The man sleeping silently on the couch before me is a man I have shared much of earth and hell with for the past few years, but in spite of the desire that I know resides in both of us, we've denied ourselves heaven. The reasons are profuse, enormous, and at this particular moment, in my mind at least, irrelevant. If I ever allowed my fantasy Mulder to dress, (and I do have a fantasy Mulder, deep down in the reaches of my imagination where I would rarely admit to anyone that I go), this is what he would wear. From the bottoms of his bare feet to the top of his mussed head, he is perfect. My eyes take in the feet first, because I've always secretly had a thing for Mulder's feet. Rarely do I see them unclad, but when I do I treasure the moment. They are long and tapered, beautifully formed, and my first impulse is to touch and stroke them, feel how soft the skin is and see if I can wrangle a laugh from him. Instead I resist the urge and let my eyes slowly travel upward. His jeans are black, and just tight-fitting enough to show his muscular legs off to perfection. Briefly I wish he were lying on his stomach so I could see how nicely they fit over his ass, but the position he is in, his right leg stretched out long and graceful and his left leg thrown haphazardly across the back of the couch, is too good to miss. Mulder gives a new, sensual definition to the word 'sprawl'. My eyes flit over the slight bulge in his jeans and continue on their journey. His shirt is also black, and just above the waistband of his jeans I see the slight rise and fall of his belly as he breathes. His left hand is resting there, a pen still limply grasped in his fingers, and his right hand has fallen down and grazes the floor. Lying beside it is a yellow pad, and as I quietly draw closer I can see the writing there. "Dear Scully," it says--nothing more. I smile. He was writing to me. A letter of apology no doubt, but Mulder being Mulder, he was probably unable to come up with words that were satisfactory to him, and after having spent his sleepless night finally dropped off in exhaustion. I feel my breathing quicken as I take in the fact that the top three buttons of his shirt are open. A small bit of chest hair peeks out at me, and I unconsciously flex my fingers as my mouth begins to salivate slightly. This has got to be, bar none, the most enticing view of Mulder that I have ever witnessed. The movement of his chest as he inhales and exhales is mesmerizing, and for a long moment I am hypnotized by that small bit of skin just above the open buttons. Then I allow myself to raise my gaze a tiny bit more, and I hear myself give an audible gasp. Mulder wears a suit and tie to work, as does any proper male FBI agent, and because of that I rarely get to see that little hollow at the base of his neck that I find so incredibly sexy. I treasure the moments when he removes his tie and rolls up his shirt sleeves to show me his powerful arms, unbuttoning his top button so that I can see a hint, just a hint mind you, of that delicious neck of his. Now it is exposed to me in all its Mulderglory, his head thrown slightly back as he sleeps, and I feel that heat within myself rising again. My mouth longs to taste every inch of his sweet flesh. This stolen vision of my sleeping partner, while the rain drums on the window and he is unaware of my scrutiny, is one of the most erotic moments of my life, and before I realize it I find myself reaching a hand slowly toward him. Catching myself just in time I draw back and continue my perusal, and am almost done in by the next sight in my catalogue of Mulder's form. Stubble. God help us all, the man forgot to shave this morning. An unshaven man has always been able to get my blood pumping--not facial hair, I never cared for beards or mustaches, but there is something so incredibly arousing about stubble on a man's face and when you put that stubble on a face like Fox Mulder's--oh no. No. Please, I truly can't take anymore. Not the glasses too. They are resting softly on that adorable nose of his, and when my heart starts beating again and I discover the lock of hair falling over his forehead, Mulder's fate is sealed. As is mine. I have decided just in this second what my partner's penance will be. His shapely little ass is mine. So is the rest of him, I think determinedly as I allow my eyes to roam up and down him once again, faster this time, again pausing slightly when I reach the bulge at his crotch. Wickedly I wonder how much I can make it grow. I cross silently to the couch and sit beside his hips, causing the cushion to dip. His gorgeous hazel eyes flutter open and he stares at me in confusion. Poor Mulder. He will protest, out of a sense of duty more than anything, and a desire to protect my virtue, but he is lost. The game is over, winner takes all, and resistance is futile. I am a Scully and I have made up my mind. Nuclear weapons could not prevent what is about to happen between us. "Scully?" he mumbles, reaching his hand up as if to remove his glasses. It is a move he automatically makes whenever anyone catches him wearing them, I've noticed, and I firmly grab his arm to prevent it. Now his confusion is more pronounced as I allow my fingers to slide down his arm, eventually interlacing with his. He opens his luscious lips again to speak and I cover them lightly with my free hand. "Don't say anything," I order in a warning tone, and he nods, his eyes wide and fixed on me. I allow the fingers of that hand to slowly caress down his chin and throat to stroke that hollow, the one I spoke of before, the one that tempts me, at times, with the power of Satan. I have been patiently and properly keeping my hands off Mulder for years, and now I decide that my patience is to be rewarded, so I lean over slowly and place a tender, light kiss there. When I raise back up, his look of confusion has turned to one of astonishment. It is a look that Mulder wears well. "What are you doing?" he croaks, as if his mind is burning with the question but his voice refuses to cooperate. "I told you not to speak," I reply. "If you do it again I'll have to stop you." I didn't think those eyes could grow any wider, but I was wrong. On the outside I maintain my stern demeanor, but inwardly I am delighted. I am about to show my unsuspecting partner a side of myself that I normally keep carefully hidden. Removing my hand from his I stand, and he takes the opportunity to rise to a sitting position on the couch. I frown at him, appearing displeased, and am satisfied to see him swallow hard. He opens his mouth to speak and then reconsiders. I nod in approval and his eyes flick about the room for a moment, as if he's wondering who I am and where I have hidden the real Scully. "Go into the bedroom," I instruct him abruptly, and his mouth drops open just a bit. I'd be willing to bet that, in spite of everything odd and unbelievable that Mulder has experienced, this is one of the more shocking experiences of his life. And we've only begun. After a moment's hesitation, he stands up and, keeping his eyes on me as much as possible, walks toward the bedroom. His hand involuntarily reaches for the glasses again but he stops himself. I follow him into the room and he pauses, awaiting further instructions. I've never been in Mulder's bedroom before, and am happy to find it surprisingly neat. It has the look of a room not often used, and I just hope the covers on the bed aren't too dusty. It would completely ruin the atmosphere should we have to change the sheets. Mulder stands in the center of the room, unmoving, uncertainly sweating out what my next order will be. I approach him from behind. "You said some things yesterday that were very unkind, Mulder," I announce in a silky voice, and he gives a heavy sigh. "Sc--" he begins, and stops suddenly. I think he's afraid of what I'll do to him if he speaks again without my permission, and just to drive the point home I step around him and pick up his discarded tie from yesterday where it lies atop the dresser. Running its silken smoothness slowly through my fingers I turn to him and say, "Yes Mulder? You were about to speak?" My face is a giant warning signal, and he just shakes his head slowly. Those eyes of his are so wide by now that I could drown in them. "Good. Because I think you've said quite enough. Your tongue frequently gets you into trouble, doesn't it, Mulder?" I don't wait for him to answer. "It has certainly gotten you in deep trouble this time." His breathing grows more pronounced as I approach him with the tie still in my hands, and I know what he's thinking. He's thinking I promised to shut him up, and that the tie would make an excellent gag. I just love taking this man off-guard. "Turn around!" I order suddenly, and without a second's pause he obeys. His mouth has a grim resignation to it at first, but it drops open in surprise when I cover not his lips with the necktie, but his eyes. I quickly remove his glasses, tossing them gently to the dresser, and wrap the tie twice around his head, knotting it tightly behind him and off to one side. I wouldn't want it to be uncomfortable, for he will be lying on his back for a good portion of the evening to come. When his vision is completely eliminated I walk around to stand in front of him again. His head tracks my movement and he faces me. I notice his cheeks have become slightly pale and wonder if it is due to shock or fear. Perhaps a little of both. I smile to myself, now that he can't see me. I don't want to frighten Mulder, but he will eventually learn that there is nothing to fear. If he obeys me. I reach for his shirt and decide that a few more buttons undone would not go amiss. I intend to drag this out, slowly torturing the poor man, for quite some time, so I allow myself only one more button. Then I think, what the hell, and give up another. Now there is just one remaining that isn't hidden by his jeans. Briefly I wonder what color his underpants are today. I'll find out soon enough. His breathing has become quite labored by now, and I realize he's been standing in silence for some time. "You're doing very well," I praise him. "That's what I like. Obedience." He draws in a breath as if to speak and I warn, "You don't want to discover the penalties for misbehaving, Mulder." I watch in satisfaction as his mouth closes immediately. "Good." I reach out for him, intending to only touch him lightly, but find my hands running insistently over his shoulders and chest in spite of myself. Touching him just feels so damn good, and I realize I'm trying to make up for years of lost time in one afternoon. Finally getting control of myself, I place my palms firmly on his chest and gently propel him backward toward the bed. He shuffles carefully as I shove, and when the backs of his legs meet the mattress I firmly force him to sit. Again his mouth attempts to form words, Mulder's natural curiosity getting the better of him, and this time I stop him with my own lips. He makes a small "Mmph!" of surprise as I take his head in my hands and claim him as my own. I can feel his breath on my face, hot and sweet, almost as hot as I feel right now. My tongue plunders his mouth as my hands roughly thread through the thick, dark hair not trapped by the makeshift blindfold. He falls back on the bed limply when I release him, gasping for air. "Did I tell you to lie down, Mulder?" I demand sharply. "N-no ma'am," he whispers, although I have not given him permission to speak. I straddle his body where he lies on the bed, his legs still hanging over the side, feet on the floor. As I press myself into him I can feel his arousal and I smile. Mulder is enjoying this game as much as I. Taking his arms by the wrists and placing them above his head, I command, "Stay there." He nods once, swallowing again. Now I am ready to begin my feast, and I start with the neck, as I envisioned before. Mulder tastes every bit as good as I always dreamed he would, and I intend to satisfy every appetite and every curiosity I've ever felt about him before this night is through. He shifts uncomfortably beneath me and I raise myself up slightly. "Are things getting a bit tight for you, Mulder?" I ask, my voice dripping concern. "Would you like to get those jeans off?" He nods eagerly. "Too bad!" I snap. "I didn't come here to give you what you want. I came here to extract an apology from you." "I'm sorry, Scully--" he begins desperately, but it is too late for penitence. I have already stood and am striding toward his closet. He can't help hearing me opening the door and I make quite a production of selecting another necktie from the rack I find inside the closet. I return to the bed where I find he has not moved an inch. Climbing back into position atop him, I lay the silk carefully across his mouth. "Speak again and I'll have to take measures to prevent it," I inform him in a voice just this side of icicles. He nods quickly. I would swear the lump in his jeans has gotten even more pronounced. Who knew Mulder would want a woman to take the lead like this? Who knew I would enjoy it so much? It seems we are a matched pair after all. Now I take my tongue and begin tracing small, lazy circles on the skin that is revealed by his open shirt. I hear him gasp behind the patterned tie covering his mouth and I feel rewarded. I want to drive that sound from him again and again. That sound and many more. The fabric of the shirt still covers his nipples, and with my tongue I push it aside and scrape the right one lightly. Was that a quiet moan? I shift my body slightly, bringing the heat between my legs closer to him, and this time I am rewarded with a definite gasping sound...almost a sob. I turn my head toward his face and discover a look there that is a mixture of pleasure and pain, and I decide his jeans have probably tortured him enough. I kiss my way down his chest and belly to the button that holds the denim together, and with a quick twist it is unfastened. My fingers play about the zipper for a few long seconds, and when his breathing becomes ragged I slowly, slowly, sloooooooowly begin tugging downward. Curiously I satisfy myself as to the color of his boxers today. Black silk. Mulder, you are so very sensual. "This is your atonement, Mulder," I inform him in a deep voice as his gasping breaths increase in frequency and depth. "You hurt me badly, and I deserve redress." I smile again at my choice of words. "Do you think I'm being too harsh?" He shakes his head no. No. Ha. He'll agree to anything at this point, and we both know it to be true. "Good," I breathe in his ear. "Because we're just getting started." A tiny whimper escapes him now and my grin becomes predatory. I climb off him and stand beside the bed. "Lie down on the bed properly." I begin barking out orders suddenly, consciously imitating my father at his captain's best. "Right in the center of it. Place your arms in position above your head like they are now and don't move from that spot." Mulder, after a long shuddering breath, obeys me without comment. The necktie falls from across his mouth, and I am pleased to notice him feeling around on the bed for it. He finds it, and returns it to its former position. Good boy. Meanwhile I busy myself gathering supplies, making sure to cause a good bit of jangling and banging, and I know his curiosity is incredibly aroused (as is the rest of him) because he can't see what I'm doing and doesn't dare speak. My search takes me back into Mulder's living room and kitchen, where I proceed to make a lot of noise even though I am doing nothing. I want to set him on edge and I know the uncertainty is eating at him. Finally I return to the bedroom to find him stretched in the center of the bed with his arms gripping the headboard rail. I notice that he has taken this opportunity to inch his jeans down off his hips just a bit to relieve the pressure, and I frown. As I sit down on the bed next to him I tug at the waistband in disapproval. "Did you think I wouldn't notice this?" I demand huskily. "You're going to have to be further punished for this act of rebellion, do you realize that?" I can tell he doesn't know whether to nod his head, shake it, or speak. I wonder if he did it deliberately to annoy me, or if he hasn't fully grasped the extent of my determination yet. Finally he settles on a small shrug of his shoulders. Leaning over to reach his arms, I snap the cuffs that I have taken from the dresser around first one wrist and then the other, quite effectively chaining him to the headboard of his bed. "It was so convenient of you to own a bed suited for this purpose," I purr in his ear, and thoroughly enjoy the blush that colors his features. I wonder for a moment if Mulder has played this game with other women, but upon careful inspection I decide this headboard is virgin. No cuffs, ropes, or chains of any type have ever graced it, in all likelihood. I will be the first and God help you, Mulder, I'd better be the last. Now that I have him completely at my mercy I decide it's time to get down to the business at hand. The jeans, nice as they are, have got to go. Climbing off the bed once again, I walk around some more. There are those lovely bare feet again, and this time I don't resist any urges I feel. I stroke my index fingers up the soles of them simultaneously and am instantly awarded a yelp and a squirm away from my evil fingers. Gripping his ankles firmly and holding them down on the bed, I snap at him, "Hold still, Mulder. Unless you want more of that?" He knows no indecision this time as his head frantically shakes from side to side. Mulder, evidently, is quite ticklish. I file this factoid away in my mind for future reference and grip the legs of his jeans, giving a sharp tug downward. He raises his hips slightly to assist me and I pull them the rest of the way off his shapely legs and toss them aside. Now Mulder lies before me with one button of his shirt still fastened, black boxers displaying the fact that he is quite as much into this fantasy as I. I raise his left foot to my mouth and let my tongue slowly trace the path my fingers followed earlier. His sharp intake of breath and frantic wriggling are just what I wanted to elicit. I hold firmly to his ankle and continue my assault on his foot until I am certain it is definite whimpers I am hearing. I swear, if he becomes any more aroused I won't have to rid him of his boxers in the way I'm planning, because he will burst right out of them. I lay the foot gently back on the bed and give him a few moments to catch his breath. Then I pick up the other one. "Mmm!" he protests, turning his face away and clenching his lips together to prevent himself speaking. Mulder obviously does not want me to follow through on my threat to gag him, and that's just fine with me because I want that wonderful mouth accessible. After two licks on his right foot, during which he remains silent except for some strangled noises deep within his throat, I replace it on the bed as well. He gives a deep sigh of relief. I come around to sit beside him again, stroking his sweating forehead and sweeping that enticing lock of his hair back. I want to give him a little time to calm down. "I told you I'd punish you over the jeans thing," I reminded him, "and I always keep my word. But I also reward good behavior, and I was quite pleased at your control over your speech during your punishment. Would you like your reward now, Mulder?" He nods frantically and I stand up again, removing my shirt and dropping it on his bare legs, so he knows exactly what I'm doing. I take off my bra and dangle it over his chest, allowing it to graze his flesh before it drops. Kicking off my shoes, I remove the sweatpants I had put on that morning, before I made my impromptu visit to Mulder's apartment that resulted in this little game we are playing. The pants I toss aside, but when I take off my panties I drag them lightly over his face. He can tell by the feel and the smell what they are, and he turns toward me, quite interested now. I remove the necktie that is lying across his mouth and before he can react I have straddled his head with my hips. Placing my hands on either side of his head, I guide his mouth toward me. His tongue darts out and finds my soft, pink flesh eagerly and I let go of his head and grip the headboard above his bound wrists. I've always suspected Mulder would have a talented tongue--just look at what he can do with a sunflower seed--and I am proven correct once again. I have been so aroused by the play we've already engaged in that I know it won't take me long to reach my release. But then, Mulder decides to take back a little of the power. At least he thinks he will. I am breathing heavily, hands clutching the wood in front of me, almost ready to fall over the edge when he pulls his tongue back into his mouth and closes it, resting his head back on the bed. It takes me a moment to realize what has happened, and when I do I sit quietly on his chest, considering my next move. An idea hits me suddenly, something I read in an erotic short story once, and I decide to give it a whirl. "You do know you'll pay for that, don't you?" I ask silkily as I rise from the bed again. I know he can hear my feet pattering into the hallway and when I reach the kitchen I noisily open the freezer and extract an ice cube tray. Grabbing a large glass out of the cabinet above my head, I empty the entire tray into it, making certain there is plenty of clinking to accompany the cubes. When I reenter the bedroom, I find him tugging frantically at the cuffs. Apparently he has figured out what's coming. Too bad. I sit down and place the glass on his chest, holding it with one hand while the other unfastens his last remaining button. Then I slide the glass slowly down his stomach toward that mysterious bulge in his shorts, letting the sweat that has accumulated on the glass mingle with his own. The coldness of it makes him wriggle, but there is nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Lazily I glide it up and down, up and down, coming closer and closer to his arousal but never quite touching it. Then I pick up the glass and allow him to hear me removing one of the ice cubes. There is a definite yowl as I place the cube over his right nipple, followed by a gasp when I take the left one in my hot mouth. I suckle energetically at him while the ice cube begins to melt down to nothingness as I rub it over his sensitive skin. When the cube is completely melted I take another, over his moan of protest, and this time I switch nipples, sucking the cold right one into my mouth while the ice douses the heat in his left. When that cube is gone I reach for the glass again and his voice stops me. "Scully, please stop," he begs breathlessly. "Why?" I question. "Because you're driving me crazy!" he groans. I straddle his hips again, grinding my naked body down over his erection which is still trapped inside his boxers. "But that's exactly what I intend to do," I inform him softly. "And you're speaking without permission, Agent Mulder. I told you if you did again I'd have to do something about it." That said, I grab another ice cube and force it between his lips, taking care not to push it in far enough to choke him. Mulder makes another "mmph!" sound and tries to spit it out, but my hand prevents it. Finally he resorts to chewing frantically in order to remove the coldness from his mouth. As soon as he swallows the ice chips I ravish his mouth again with another hot, wet kiss, and this time his tongue finds mine for warmth. I explore every crevice there before I pull back, making certain that his tongue and lips have reached their original level of heat. "Now, let's try that again, shall we?" I inquire pleasantly, positioning myself over his face again. This time when his mouth finds me I can tell he has learned his lesson well. Just in case, I make it a point to remind him that I still have many, many ice cubes left in the glass. At those words he begins working me even faster, and soon I have reached the edge where I was before and been pushed ecstatically over it. My hands clench the wood of the headboard and my body grinds into Mulder's mouth desperately as I try to prolong the sweet agony. At last I draw back, satisfied, and allow him to rest. "You've been a very good boy, Agent Mulder," I remark as I climb off him. "Do I get a reward now?" he asks jokingly, and in response I shove another ice cube in his mouth. He chomps on it easily while I pick up his jeans from the floor and fish around in the pocket. "You do deserve a small reward for that performance," I admit, and swiftly remove the blindfold from around his head. He blinks a few times and when his eyes grow accustomed to the dim light they widen at the sight of my naked form. Quickly I check his erection. Magnificent. Wouldn't want him to lose it. His pleasure at my nudity is quickly replaced with a look of consternation when I hold up my hand to allow him a glimpse of his own Swiss army knife. It was right in the pocket of his jeans, just as I knew it would be. Men are so predictable. He wants to question me, I can see it in his eyes, but then they drift toward the glass beside the bed, still half full of ice cubes, and his lips clamp shut. His gaze turns back to me as I extract the shining blade, and I can see him swallow nervously. "Do you trust me, Fox?" I ask with a truly evil grin, knowing he hates to be called 'Fox', knowing he's wondering just how angry I still am, knowing his entire world has been thrown off-kilter by my behavior this afternoon. Slowly he nods, after a second's consideration. He must have decided I'm not about to slice his throat after all--but wait. I'm bringing that sharp knife closer and closer to his exposed flesh and his huge eyes are following it down, down, down...until I pick up the fabric of his shirt and neatly cut away the sleeve. I note with delight the momentary look of relief that crosses his face, his eyes closed tightly for a brief second and a the long breath he was holding is released. I make short work of the shirt and now I am left with the boxers. His erection has diminished just a bit, probably from the little scare I gave him, and I stare at him reprovingly. "You know, this atonement is for my benefit," I remind him. "It's nothing to me whether or not you get off." Oh, Mulder. Talk dirty to you and you get so turned on! I see his cock twitch inside the fabric. "For all I care I could just leave you here right now--maybe come back Monday morning to release you." Definite attention. Is this healthy? I decide I don't give a damn, because it certainly is fun and he's enjoying it as well. Maybe it's a harmless way to blow off steam. "But," I say with a small sigh, "then I'd have to deal with your complaints. And besides, this," I continue, indicating his now back-to-impressive erection with the knife in my hand, "is something I've been promising myself for years." His eyes widen even more, and I realize that what I've just said and done could be misinterpreted to mean I wanted to castrate him. Wickedly I look pointedly at the blade and again at his boxers, then I set to work. I pull the elastic waistband away from his skin and insert the knife blade there, carefully pointing the sharp edge away from his skin. The fabric makes a ripping noise as I slice down the side, and Mulder makes another of those strangled sounds. Oh, I know. I didn't have to cut them off him. I could have just pulled them off like I did his jeans--but where's the fun in that? Thoughtfully concentrating on my task, I move to the other edge of the bed and slice down that side as well. The ruined garment is still covering him, and like a girl opening a special gift I slowly grasp what's left of the waistband and draw them down, pulling the fabric out from under him and tossing it aside. My eyes survey him hungrily. He is everything I thought he would be and more. Much more. Mulder's slacks are always perfectly tailored, and don't think I haven't checked this out but I really can't see much in them. Just enough of a lump to entice me and get those unprofessional thoughts stirring around in my mind. Jeans are easier to work with, they help the imagination along quite a bit. In each of these situations, however, Mulder has been quite relaxed, and every time I've seen him naked--well, sex has been the farthest thing from both our minds. Now I see him in all his glory and I am truly pleased. I allow my eyes to travel upward to his face again, and I'm pretty sure I see a blush. Do I care? Not a bit. His cruel words ring through my mind once more--I had all but forgotten them in the excitement of the afternoon's play--and my resolve is strengthened. Time for more torture. I begin to kiss him. Starting with his lips and working my way down that luscious neck that I enjoy so much. I take my time with my descent, feeling him twitch madly beneath me. I know what he wants, but this is my game and I set the pace. Each of his nipples receives attention from me again, and I play teasingly with them before dragging my tongue down to dip into the soft hollow of his bellybutton. This draws a real groan from him, and I look up delightedly to see his eyes are closed, head thrown back, a look of intense pain/pleasure on his face. Slowly I inch closer and closer to him until I know he can feel my hot breath wafting over him. Then, without any warning at all, I engulf as much of him as I can take in my mouth. His reaction is wonderful. He pushes up into me at the same time his mouth forms unintelligible words and his hands yank at the cuffs, clanking them furiously in his attempts to free himself. After working him up and down a few times, I raise my head and regard him thoughtfully. His eyes open at the loss of my mouth on him, and he stares back at me, wondering what torment I have planned for him now. "If I take the cuffs off, can you behave?" I ask severely. He nods. "And will you complete your penance to my satisfaction?" Another nod. I reach for the handcuff key beside the glass, now containing more water than ice, and in a moment he is free. Mulder breathes a sigh of relief as I rub his wrists to encourage circulation there, and he lays limply on the bed allowing me to do with him as I will. "Move over," I command, and he scoots quickly to one side of the bed. I lie down in the spot he has vacated, tossing the cuffs safely across the room lest he should decide to turn the tables on me. "Now," I order him, "show me what you can do." He looks a little startled at this sudden gift of autonomy, but after a second he picks up my hand and begins sucking on my fingers, one by one. The tingling that runs through my body surprises me, and I shift my legs to relieve the sudden tight sensation I feel between them. Mulder smiles and begins licking and kissing his way down my arm toward my shoulder. When he reaches the flesh of my neck he puts his teeth against my skin and suckles it, marking me as his. After his brand is firmly affixed to my body his tongue runs slowly up and finds my ear. I gasp at the sensation and concentrate on remaining perfectly still. He seems to go on forever until eventually he works his way down to my breasts, and his face holds an expression of pure happiness as he gently kneads them and then bends to take one in his mouth. I close my eyes and give myself up to the sensations he is causing, feeling myself floating to the ceiling in my consciousness. Finally I can stand no more and I grab the sides of his head with my hands, twining my fingers through his hair and forcing him downward. He obeys me and soon I feel his warm tongue lapping at my thighs, his nose nudging me, urging my legs farther apart. I comply and before I have even stopped moving his long tongue darts into me. "Oh!" I gasp at the unexpected sensation, and as his tongue plunges in and out of me slowly, his fingers find my nub and begin working it. My hands are still in his hair, holding him in place, and this time when he tries to draw away and leave me frustrated he gets a sharp, painful tug on his scalp for his efforts. "Finish!" I say in my most domineering voice, and he does, lapping at me faster and faster until I come, screaming his name and tightening my grip on his hair. I hear his slight moan of pain but am completely unable to stop myself. When I do come back to the present I massage his scalp in apology as he rests his head on my thigh. "What now?" he asks in a low, throaty voice, and I consider. Now I must make a decision. Do I dress and leave him frustrated, thereby driving home the point of my displeasure at his behavior the day before, or do I give us both what we want and carry this scene to its logical conclusion? I lie here in limbo, pondering this dilemma, for all of one-tenth of a second. "I want you inside me," I snap out in my domme voice again. "Yes ma'am," he grins, apparently forgetting that he has not been given permission to speak. He positions himself above me and gently raises my hips, sliding inside me with a familiarity that belies this first time. We fit together, he and I, in every way there is. We were made to be together in every way there is. We both know it and now he proves it to me by beginning to move back and forth inside me in a manner that I know will quickly bring me to that sweet edge again. I dig my fingers into his back and slide them down to his round ass, forcing him deeper inside me with every thrust. He holds back as long as he can, but I have kept him on the edge for a long time and before either of us is ready for it to end he stiffens, his eyes tightly shut, and then drives into me furiously as his climax overtakes him. I've reached that edge again, and force myself over it this time in order to be there with him. When he finally relaxes atop me the sweat from our bodies mingles and his hands slowly stroke my arms. "Scully?" he says finally. "Yeah, Mulder?" I ask drowsily, worn out from the exertions of the afternoon. "I really am sorry about yesterday." I sigh, my eyes closed, and snuggle my face into his convenient neck. "I think you've paid in full, Mulder," I tell him. He lies there, breathing evenly for a few minutes, and just when I've decided he's fallen asleep on top of me he speaks again. "Scully?" "Hmmm?" "If I insult you again, are you going to punish me like this?" My fingers reach for the discarded necktie that has been shoved to the corner of the bed, and I trail it gently over his back, tickling his bare skin. "Don't test me, Mulder," I say warningly. THE END =============================================================================== "Atonement" by Gayle, Dorothy This story was downloaded from the Gossamer Project on 10 October 2010. Do not archive stories elsewhere without permission from the author(s). See the Gossamer policies for more information: http://tooms.gossamer.org/local/policies.html ===============================================================================