Beautiful pic by Mika

Please read the warnings on Part One. It doesn't get a whole lot better for Mulder in this chapter either.

The Adversary
Part Three
By Xanthe

I'm humming to myself as I fill the Jacuzzi. He's taken such an important step, the darling boy! I did wonder whether or not this might break him of and by itself, but it didn't. I know when they're broken, and he's just damaged, not snapped. He's proving to be very hard to break, as he predicted, and as I had hoped. Physical pain actually hurts him less than when I can inflict emotional blows on his psyche though - he visibly wilts after those. His earlier anger showed me I was getting close to something important to him, whether he realized that or not.

I fold up my sleeve to test the Jacuzzi for warmth, and then return to the salon. I pause in the doorway, rendered utterly speechless by the sight that awaits me there. Oh my! He's never looked more beautiful. He's lying on the couch; the blanket that was loosely wrapped around his body has fallen partially away, leaving most of his body exposed. His head is slumped back, on the armrest, leaving the long line of his throat visible, enticing me to cover it in kisses. I make no move though. I don't want to disturb this delicious tableau. His skin is very pale, and he is covered with little marks; bruises around his ribs, courtesy of my dutymen, and long, red, livid welts all over his body. One butt cheek is just visible, and it burns and glows in the firelight, rosy with pain, in vivid contrast to the pallor of the rest of his body. His hair is dark where it has soaked up sweat, and is a mess of points and stray strands that sweep endearingly across his marble brow. He's much thinner than when we brought him in, which serves to accentuate his ribs and long torso in a way that I find almost aesthetically pleasing. After torture he resembles the young boy he still is inside. He is vulnerable, hurting, and alone…and he is looking to me to fill the void in his life now that he has betrayed his lover. His cock lies languidly, abandoned and neglected on his thigh, and I so look forward to using that particular organ to show him that I can provide pleasure as well as pain. One of his arms is draped awkwardly across his body, and the other hangs, almost lifelessly by his side. The one nipple visible is dark red, swollen from its recent abuse. He reminds me of the painting, Death of Marat - that delicious, alabaster-skinned Marat lying in his bath, perfect in his absence of life. Mulder is absent of life at this moment. I've sucked him dry and now I have the joy of revitalizing him. I tiptoe closer. His long lashes are sooty against his pale skin, and his face is rendered all the more lovely by the pain he has so recently experienced. There are tear-stains on his cheeks, and his lashes are still wet, making them stand out even more startlingly against his flesh. His lips are cut in several places - more from his own bite marks than anything we have done to him, I think, and the jagged, red rips are a flash of bright color on this porcelain statue of perfection.

Ah, but bringing him to this was so lovely. He has been worthy of my skills, an excellent opponent. I wonder if he has any more tricks up his sleeve, or whether he will soon succumb? In a way, I almost hope that he will continue to struggle and surprise me - I think I could play with him until the end of my days and never grow tired.

He moves his head, ruining the picture, and those tragic hazel eyes look at me. He's half out of his mind, and isn't really sure where he is. There is confusion in his expression, and a wild panic.

"Hush, it's all right, my darling boy. We're going to wash you. We'll use warm water to comfort you. Hush."

He cries out as I beckon the dutyman to lift him, and carry him into the next room."Hush, there's no pain now. You've been very good and now you'll be rewarded. I'm going to reward you so well, my darling boy. Hush, hush, hush." I murmur the words to him over and over again, soothing him, as a mother soothes her child to sleep. He's been through so much, and so bravely. What a dear creature he is, to take his pain so well, to suffer so nobly, and with such beauty. I don't think I've known any other recruit suffer to such perfection, not even Charles's spitfire assistant. Oh, but I love him so much! At this moment in time I love him more than words can ever express.

I watch as the dutyman lowers his precious bundle gently into the bath, admonishing him not to allow Mulder's head to knock against the side, and then get undressed, and slip in beside my darling boy. Mulder's eyes have closed again, and his head lolls back. He cried out as we helped him into the water, and I'm sure it stung in places, but now that he's warm the sting is forgotten. I take him into my arms, and he comes, unresisting. I hold him for a long time, taking care to keep his chin out of the water. The lights in the bedroom have been dimmed, and he is lost in a dream. It's just him and me, alone together in this shared, exquisite moment. I allow him to rest, spaced out as a result of the recent pain, weary beyond belief. After half an hour or more of luxuriating in being together, I move him to one side, and go to pick up the soap. He stirs, his hazel eyes full of fear.

"Please! Don't hurt me," he begs, his eyes dark with remembered pain. It's breathtaking. The beauty of that look, and the suffering in those eyes - I can feel a lump rising in my throat.

"It's all right, my dear one. It's all right. I'm not going to hurt you."

It's like winning the trust of a wild animal, trapped and in pain. It's so good to be able to soothe, and mend, and take care of him. When I release him back into the wild again he'll be tamed inside, my beautiful, obedient little fox. Just thinking about that moment makes me want to weep. I pull him close again, and gently and carefully soap him all over. He flinches a little as I work - I have to keep my actions very measured and smooth so as not to scare him. Any sudden movement and he's skittish, like a colt, full of fear. I take my time, and he just lies there, and lets me wash away the sweat, and tears. When he's been soaped, I lovingly take the sponge, fill it with water, and gently squeeze it over his body. I think he likes this. The action of the water running over his body in this way is immensely pleasurable. The pain has heightened his senses you see, and he's receptive to the slightest stimulus right now. He moans in my arms as the water anoints him, washing him clean of all that he's suffered. Finally, I squeeze the sponge over his head, and he shivers, closing his eyes. The water coats those dark eyelashes, and, in the lamplight, in the water, he is like a shining god of despair. I pour shampoo into my palms and lather it into his scalp. I love massaging scalps and I know he loves what I'm doing because he puts his head back and lets me work the lather deep into his skin. It's a special blend of aromatherapy oils designed to soothe, and he blisses out to the feel of my fingers on his head. Darling boy! When I finally remove my hands from his scalp, he gives a moan at the separation, which warms my heart. I pick up the sponge, and squeeze it over his head, and soon he is clean.

"Time to sleep, dear heart," I murmur.

"Sleep," he whispers, in a voice full of longing.

"My darling, I can't bear for us to be parted, so I'm afraid I must tie you," I whisper.

He moves his head, his eyes dark with those tragic, unshed tears again.

"No...please..." he whimpers.

"It's all right. We'll tie you as comfortably as we can - it's a small price to pay for lying in my arms, after all." I smile, soothing him, running my hand up and down his arm. I get him out of the bath with the help of the dutyman, and slide him into the large, inviting bed.

"Here...painkillers." I swirl the soluble tablets around in a glass of water - he's in no condition to swallow them whole - and then press it to his lips. He makes a face at the bitter flavor so when he's swallowed them down, I give him a glass of plain water to wash the taste from his mouth. He wants to curl into a ball; he goes straight into the fetal position as soon as I release my grip on him, but I need to dress his wounds and can't do that when he's all scrunched up, so I painstakingly stretch out his limbs.

"Don't move them, darling boy. Just stay very still while I take care of you." I rub an entire tube of cool, antiseptic gel into his sore body, treating his welts thoroughly. I take this opportunity to examine that bruising on his ribs. I'll be very angry with my dutymen if they've broken skin or bone, or caused any internal damage, but they have been as circumspect as I demand of them. My recruits are not the only ones I punish with the whip, and my dutymen are highly trained. Then it's time to examine him internally. He gives a little cry as I part his buttocks, but I stroke his skin softly, murmuring to him lovingly, and he tries his best to relax. The speculum hasn't damaged him - I'm very careful in my use of that particular instrument - but he's been penetrated recently, and that, predictably, has caused some slight tearing. I soothe cool cream into his rectum. He isn't badly torn, and he'll soon heal with good food, comfort, and rest. Finally, I insert a suppository. Antibiotics will prevent any infection from getting hold. His immune system is very weak right now and needs a little helping hand. He cries out as I push the suppository home, and I hold him close, rocking him back and forth. The poor boy clings to me for comfort, which I'm more than happy to give him. The suppository was for his own good though; he'll be much more comfortable now.

I wrap special, fur-lined cuffs around his wrists, and then tie them loosely to the headboard, giving him plenty of room to move around. His ankles are also cuffed, and chained, and again, attached to the bed. The worst he can do to me now is take a bite out of me. As he isn't broken it's a risk to sleep next to him but I can't resist. I need to be close to him in the aftermath of what we've just been through together. I'll leave my dutyman watching at the door, but even so, Mulder could do some damage if he woke up and felt desperate enough to attack. Like a wild animal, he might just wake up so confused and full of turmoil that he bites the hand that feeds him. Finally, regretfully, after weighing it up, I decide a gag will be necessary to render him completely safe. I fetch a gag of the softest cotton. It's little more than a wad of cloth on elastic, and it won't exacerbate the sores on his mouth. I slip it easily between his teeth and he moans and moves his head, those expressive hazel eyes registering his anxiety, but doesn't put up any real fight.

"There, my darling boy. When you're fully broken we can experience the joy of sharing a bed without the need for these restraints to come between us, but you're not quite there yet."

He makes no reply, merely closes his eyes and lets his head fall onto the pillow. I slip under the sheets beside him, and pull his naked body against my own. I'm very aroused by having him so close, and so docile, and he moans when he feels my hard cock digging into his buttocks, but I must delay my pleasure for now as it isn't the right time to further consummate our growing love. I pet him instead, soothing him with little light caresses on his body. His hair is so clean and smells so divine that I bury my nose in it and inhale the scent of him. It's intoxicating - he's intoxicating. Finally, I rest my face against the delightful curve of his neck, and kiss him there, over and over again. His body is limp and acquiescent in my arms, so heavy, and so perfect.

"You're loved, my dear boy. So loved. I wonder how you could have ever stood your lonely existence before. Here you are loved. I love you," I whisper, and he is still, listening intently to my words. "I'm going to take very good care of you," I continue, stroking his flaccid cock, which doesn't respond in the slightest. Never mind. I'll take care of that in due course. "My love, my darling one, so cherished. Don't disobey me again, my sweet. When you're good, we can share so much pleasure. Ah, so silent, so beautiful."

I think I caress him for a full hour, my hard cock weeping with need the whole time. It's the most delicious agony I think I've ever experienced. The sacrifices I make for this dear creature. Of course he doesn't know that I'm not going to insert my hungry cock into his warm, captive body - I think he's waiting for that to happen, but I want him to see that I don't have to enter him in order to possess him. I can show my utter mastery of him just by tying him to my bed and lying beside him. Finally, I allow him to sleep, but I keep him in my arms. I won't relinquish my hold on this precious prize, not now, not ever.

I take only my usual 5 or 6 hours of sleep. I really don't require any more in order to feel refreshed. When I wake up he is still fast asleep. I let him rest - the poor lamb really needs to recoup his energy. I lie still, and just drink in the sight of him as he sleeps. There's a little more color in his skin, and he's breathing deeply through the cotton gag, assuring me that despite his little physical exertions of late, he's in basically good health. He'll take a few days to recover, but he's young, and resilient.

I slide out of the bed, and he moans, and moves into the space I occupied, his chains clinking slightly as he rolls. The change wakes him up, and he glances around, bleary-eyed and confused.

"It's all right, dear heart. I won't be leaving you for long," I whisper, smoothing back his hair. Thus reassured, he closes his eyes and is soon asleep again. I see to my toilet, dress, and then return to the bed with some paperwork, which I deposit on the nightstand. I like sleeping under sheets, but now that I've taken my own rest, I think the boy should be displayed for me to enjoy as I work, so I strip back the blankets to reveal his naked beauty. He stirs again, his eyes opening in panic, perhaps imagining that he will come to harm.

"It's all right," I murmur again, adjusting the temperature on the wall panel so that he will be warm. "I just want you on display, that's all. It's a crime to cover up all this sublime flesh, my love." He shivers, but he's too tired to care very much, and his head drops again, like a brick, onto the pillow. He's no danger to me now that I'm awake, so I remove his gag, and untie his hands and legs, allowing him freedom of movement, and he stretches out, relishing his liberty. He sleeps for four more hours, while I sit beside him, glasses perched on the tip of my nose as I work. I only need glasses for reading - a sign of impending old age, I'm afraid. I used to have 20/20 vision in my youth, but the relentless march of time has robbed me of that. Every now and again I glance up, and allow my gaze to linger on his naked loveliness. He's a delicious pink color now, warm and thoroughly comfortable, nestled up in my bed. His outstretched hand is just touching my thigh and I love the contact. Occasionally it all becomes too much for me, and I have to caress the naked creature; a little kiss to the hollow between his collarbones, a lick along the nearest earlobe, a tiny, gentle brush of fingertips over a nipple. He stirs and mutters when I touch him, but doesn't wake.

The body often shuts down after extreme trauma, requiring far more sleep than usual, but all the same, he must dance to my tune, so I decide to introduce some kind of rhythm to his day. I'll see that he gets plenty of sleep, but he will take it as and when I allow it. The chef makes a particularly tempting breakfast for us, and I take it from the dutyman, and sit on the bed next to Mulder with a tray.

"Mulder, wake up." I pull him sideways so that his face is in my lap. He gazes up at me, blinking. His eyes are full of sadness - it's going to be my pleasure to make them light up with joy in due course. "I have a delicious breakfast for you," I tell him, stroking his hair.

"I'm not hungry," he whispers.

"I didn't say you had a choice, dear one," I murmur lovingly. "You don't."

"I can't," he mutters, his eyes sliding away from mine and into some dark, soulful tragedy all of his own.

"Well, you can eat or you can be whipped."

It's a very simple matter, and it takes him less than ten seconds to open his mouth obligingly. I cut up a slice of bacon, and place it on his tongue, and he chews, thoughtfully, looking up at me the whole time. He swallows, with some effort, raising his head slightly to make the action more comfortable, and when he's done I press some omelet to his mouth. He takes what I give him, chewing interminably slowly, but I have all the time in the world, and I'm a very patient man. When he's eaten a fair sized meal I allow him to sit, and place a glass of orange juice to his lips. He drinks that down without complaint, gulping on it, so it's clear that he was very thirsty. I fill a second glass with water and he empties that as well. Putting aside the food, I bring a pot over to the bed, and, sitting him on the edge, I take his penis in my hand. He looks at me with dull, blank eyes, knowing what he has to do, but even so it takes several long seconds before the first droplets splatter into the pot. He's inhibited, but that will pass with time. After a while the flow becomes steadier and he relieves himself of a considerable sum of fluid, so that, also, was a pressing need.

"You must tell me when you need something, whether it's the bathroom or water," I chide gently.

"I need to go home," he whispers, a faint ghost of my lovely, fighting Mulder in his tone.

"You are home, my dear boy. Home is a place where you're loved, and taken care of. Home is where the heart is - it's a cliché, but true all the same. Your heart belongs here, Mulder, with me. I'll take good care of your heart. I won't let you down as so many others have done before. The man you thought was your father, your lover, your real father - none of them gave you the love you deserve but I will."

His gaze fixes on me, a puzzled expression in those limpid, hazel eyes.

"Why?" He asks, his lips forming the word although it barely has any sound to it. My heart almost breaks.

"Oh my poor boy." I sit beside him on the bed, and take him in my arms. He comes, unresisting. "My poor, darling boy. I'll love you because someone must! You've been neglected for far too long. All you needed was someone to take notice of you, and give you the attention you crave. The other men in your life have all failed you, but I won't."

He gives the faintest sigh, and then is still, and deflated, as if he has lost the capacity to breathe, and when he does take another breath it is noisy and full of fight.

"Lie back," I instruct, pushing him onto the bed. "Let me show you just how loved you are."

I go to the Jacuzzi, dip a washcloth in the water, then return, and gently stroke the cloth over his penis and testicles, parting his legs insistently as I work. He lies there, looking up at the ceiling, his face blank. When he's clean, I put aside the washcloth, and fasten his arms and legs to the bed once again, so that he's spread-eagled and immobile. Once he's secured, I play with his captive body again, enjoying myself, but being very gentle. I stroke my fingers down his chest, and rub each nipple with tiny brush strokes until they harden. They're still very sore, but they can take gentle caresses. I dip my head to suck on each one, and then lick my way down to his groin. He gasps when I take his penis in my mouth. I don't think he expected me to pleasure him like this. He remains flaccid though, despite my best attempts to suck some life into him, and I am rather good at this, if I do say so myself. Usually this kind of stimulus is enough to have most men hard despite themselves, but he's already admitted to a certain degree of impotence, so I wasn't necessarily expecting this to be easy. I relinquish his cock, and move up the bed to gaze down into his eyes.

"Darling, you must come for me," I tell him gently, stroking his hair back away from his forehead.

"Tell my cock that," he replies, his eyes meeting mine for the first time. There's just the slightest trace of his usual wry humor in those listless orbs. "I can't help it if it doesn't perform on cue."

"But of course you can, darling!" I laugh, still gazing down at him fondly. "Look, my sweet, you've been through a great deal these past few days, and it's understandable that you're feeling a little low. That bastard Skinner took a great deal out of you, didn't he?"

His brow furrows, and his lips twist, as if in pain.

"Hush, my love." I stroke his breast gently. "Now, you can get over him. You have me now, and I want to give you pleasure. Your body deserves a little respite after the pain, doesn't it?"

"I can't force a hard on." He shrugs.

"Darling." My tone is firmer this time, and I place a finger over his mouth. "'Can't' isn't a word I want to hear from these divine lips. You can, if you try. If you really want to please me you will. Now, I don't want to hurt you any more, dear boy. You need some recovery time. You need to be cosseted and loved. I want to do that for you but you have to let me."

"How?" He asks, almost wordlessly. I slide my hand down to his cock and grasp it firmly.

"Well, my dear, the dutyman was so kind as to fetch your whip while you were sleeping. I have it here." I nod in the direction of the nightstand next to his side of the bed, where his whip lies, furled. Anxiety creeps into those dull eyes.

"No…you promised no pain here," he says, tugging on his chains. "You promised!" He's like a child who has been told he won't be getting a much longed for treat.

"Hush, dear one." I soothe his hair again until he's calm. "I don't want to beat you, darling. You've been beaten a great deal and while that's been good for you, and necessary, I'd prefer to be making love to you instead of hurting you right now. You need some love, dear boy. All you have to do is accept it."

"Please…if I can, I will...just don't beat me," he implores. He's right to be anxious. He's in bad shape physically, and I couldn't do more than administer the very mildest of beatings - although I will do that if it's necessary.

"Darling, you're going to have to trust me. I need you to allow your body to respond. It's the mind that interferes you see, dear heart." I tap his forehead. "Any cock would respond to what I was just doing to it under normal circumstances. It's your mind that stopped that response. You have to allow it to happen."

He swallows, and nods, and I reward him with a kiss.

"Good boy. It's merely a choice between allowing yourself pleasure, or the inevitability of pain if you interfere or resist. Think of it that way." His eyes register the starkness of that choice, and I smile, and pat his face reassuringly.

"There, there, dear one. Let's try and keep the whip on the nightstand, shall we? It would be so much nicer for both of us that way."

I snake my way back down his body, and end up at his cock once again. This time I take it in my hand and stroke it for quite some time. This won't be quick, but I'm confident we'll get some kind of result; he's desperate to avoid the lash. I watch him while I work. He puts his head back, trying not to fight it, and his eyes fix firmly on a spot on the ceiling. His cock slowly begins to harden. It isn't easy. Every time he looks close to getting what could charitably be described as an erection, he loses it almost immediately. 

"Hold it, dear one. If you don't come then you'll be whipped, so just getting hard isn't enough. You must hold it long enough to come," I urge him.

He swallows, nodding, and grips his chains tightly in both his hands, concentrating very hard. His cock starts to swell again beneath my caress, and this time it looks more promising, so I lower my head and take it into my mouth. He gives a little cry as I skillfully administer a most pleasurable blowjob. He's holding very well, but I know he could lose it at any moment. By raising my eyes I can see how much of a strain it is for him to concentrate on this. His erection suddenly fades, and I sigh in exasperation, sitting up again.

"Darling, we'll give it one last try, but you need to relax," I croon, stroking the side of his face tenderly. "You're all tensed up, and that isn't getting us anywhere. Just think of any fantasy you want. Maybe you're the center of attention at a party, and there is a line of big, strong bikers all dressed in leather, kneeling in front of you and worshipping your cock. Does that work, hmm? Or pretty ladies, with tanned limbs, and large ripe breasts, their hair sweeping over your abdomen as they suck your penis. Now, let's try again. If this doesn't work then I'm afraid I really will have no choice but to whip you."

His eyes are full of a kind of grim determination and he nods. I return to his cock, and begin stroking it again. If it weren't such a pretty cock then this would be becoming something of a chore, but his whole body is a delight really, and it's so nice watching his unguarded responses. He makes a conscious effort to relax each muscle in his body, and sinks into the bed. His lips are parted, and he's gazing into the distance, humming to himself. His cock begins to harden again, and I take advantage of that fact by deep-throating it in a move that makes him gasp. Smiling to myself I suck down hard and his ass lifts away from the bed, his cock thrusting urgently towards the back of my throat. I allow him to continue with his thrusts and he gets into a rhythm, until finally I can sense that he's about to come. Hallelujah! I draw back, and complete the job with my hand - I do so hate the taste of semen.

"Good boy!" I praise him whole-heartedly when he delivers a small amount of sperm, and he gives a smile of pure relief at having evaded a whipping. "You see. You can take pleasure. You just need to think less and respond more," I tell him, cleaning us both up with the washcloth. He nods, doubtfully. "There now, what were you thinking when you came?" I asked him. "What little fantasy were you playing out?"

He looks me directly in the eye and shrugs. "I imagined you were Walter," he whispers.

Damn! I told him he could use any fantasy he wanted so I can't punish him, but all the same, I'm furious. Oh, I knew that all I'd done was remove Walter from his delirium, and, by means of his betrayal, loosen his grip on the fantasy he's built up around his young lawyer, but I hadn't anticipated this. Damn Walter Skinner. He's there at every turn I take, and there is even the faintest hint of a triumphant smirk in Mulder's eyes. It's as if he knows that he's hurt me - as if he takes pleasure in it. I force a smile, and get to my feet.

"Well, that isn't what I wanted to hear, as you undoubtedly know. I won't beat you for it, but as a punishment you can lie here on your own for a while, and think about matters. I have work to do in any case."

I collect my papers from the nightstand, and take them into my salon. I can see the anxiety in his eyes as I go. He's worried about so many things, not least being left alone with the enormity of his betrayal. The ramifications of that have yet to sink in. It's possible that he even believes I have it in my power to bring Skinner here to take his place. His grip on reality is fragile enough right now to make that a possibility. Well, he can stew on that for a while because I need a rest from him. Breaking new recruits is a great joy but it can be so tiring as well. Damn this old body. I used to have more stamina. I knew he'd be a challenge but all the same…just when I have a breakthrough, he comes back with something unexpected. It makes him fascinating, but hard work as well.

Walter Skinner. He really is proving to be more of a thorn in my side than I had anticipated. I'm drawn to Mulder's file, and glance through it, seeking information on the troublesome Mr. Skinner. After some searching, I find a few lines: Ex-marine, Vietnam, Assistant Director in charge of Criminal Investigations...it's all so tedious. This is why I hate files. They give you the facts without giving you the information. Finally I come across something that does interest me - it's a photograph. On the back is scribbled: Mulder. With Skinner. October 1997. I turn it over, eager to catch a glimpse of my rival. Mulder is the main focus of interest for the photographer, and Skinner is clearly secondary as half his face is cut off, but it's enough to give me a flavor of the man. I put my head on one side and look at him thoughtfully. So this is Walter Skinner, my rival for Mulder's affections. He interesting looking - not conventionally handsome but then neither is Mulder. Broad across the chest and shoulder, and an inch or so taller than my own dear boy next door, Walter Skinner exudes a certain kind of confidence and authority that I dislike intensely. Charles has it too.

Men like these always get their own way, whether in the best choice of mates, or money, power and status. It's galling. What does he have that I do not? What subtleties of personality lie within Walter Skinner's broad breast that Mulder goes back to him over and over again in our discourses? Three or four months, eighteen years ago, and yet the boy hangs on to them so assiduously. Of course working with Skinner must keep the memories fresh, and there is nothing like the pang of unrequited love to keep the emotions constantly razor sharp, like a knife directly to the heart. I need to know more. I need to understand this Walter Skinner. Ah, how I wish Charles could bring him here. I'd love to have my chance with a man such as this. I trace my finger over his outline, pondering the matter. Men like Skinner are a mystery to me. I understand Mulder all too well, just as I understand the demons that drive Alex. These boys are such lost souls, so strong and yet so in need of comfort. Childhood abandonment, loss, the absence of strong father figures and subsequent fixation upon them…all these are issues that I understand, as surely as the boys I break, but Mulder has something else, something I haven't encountered before that gives him that extra dimension. Mulder is right; the fact that he works for the government, and that he is Charles's son, are both powerful motivations for my enjoyment in breaking him. That and his bright, shining intellect of course. I've never met my equal in that regard before. No wonder he is becoming an obsession with me. A healthy obsession of course! I am a man in love, and it's galling to find that I have such a deeply rooted and pernicious rival.

After thinking the matter through for some hours, I can't help myself. I reach for the phone and call Charles.

"I need another file. I'm sure you can oblige," I request. There's silence on the other end of the line, and I take this as an invitation to proceed. "Walter Skinner. I need to know more about him. Could you send me the file you have on him?"

"Very well." I can almost see him blow out a haze of cigarette smoke as he says the words. "How is it going with Mulder?"

"Good. We've had an important breakthrough. That is why I want Skinner's file."

"Then he's broken?" His voice is very hard, almost rasping. I smile. Poor Charles. I sometimes wonder whether he truly wants Mulder to be broken or not. He longs for his boy to be the only one to resist, to show the strength of his own genes, and yet he also longs for an obedient son to do his bidding. What a dilemma!

"No, he isn't broken," I reply.

"Damn it, Laurence! You've had him for weeks."

"And it takes time. It can't be hurried. Remember your assistant? Some take longer to break than others."

"The FBI is looking for him. I've had Skinner tracking me down, breathing down my neck. It isn't easy keeping him at bay."

"I'm sure." I finger the photograph of Walter Skinner. He looks bullish, and everything Mulder has told me leads me to believe that he's a determined man. "Maybe...I could distract them a little," I murmur.

"How?" I can hear the interest in his voice.

"Ways and means." I have the stirrings of an idea, but I must examine it from every angle before I commit myself. The beauty of it is that if I can find a way of making it work then it will also have considerable impact on Mulder.

"The others are growing impatient. They want to see him," Charles says, in a cold tone. "Correction - they want to screw him."

Damn, but I wish they wouldn't keep interfering. "I can't bring him yet. He isn't ready."

"Then make him ready. You have two weeks," Charles snaps, before slamming down the phone.

The trouble with the Elite is that they have no concept of what an art form it is to break someone. It isn't something you can hurry. It has to be finessed. You can certainly just bludgeon someone into submission but that isn't breaking, it's merely training. I could train Mulder from here. He's reached a place where he'll do what he's told as long as I am around to insist. However the point about breaking is that the recruit learns to follow the orders of any member of the Elite, not just myself. I can't be around to supervise them all individually every hour of every day.

I consider my options. Two weeks. It's possible I might break him in that time but I can't count on it - and if I have to get him into shape for a public appearance then that limits my ability to be truly creative. I could make him obedient, and even halfway skilled by then, but broken - no, although the little trick I have up my sleeve might push him further in that direction without marking his body any more, or rendering him less attractive for his debut in the Syndicate Smoking Room. The Elite do not like seeing whipped, demoralized, and bruised recruits who flinch away from every touch. They love the end results of what I do, but they don't want to examine too closely how those results are achieved. They merely want willing flesh, and bright eyes, not downcast, withdrawn creatures, such as Mulder is now. Two weeks. I could restore at least some of his verve in that time, and tutor him in how to give pleasure…but it will mean me accompanying him when he goes to the Syndicate or he won't perform. Damn. Just the thought of sitting in the car makes my flesh crawl. If he hadn't been so stubborn, if I'd been able to break him sooner...no, I mustn't blame the boy for that. I wanted a challenge and I'd have been disappointed if he had caved in too early. Very well. If that's the way it must be.

Mulder is dozing when I return to the bedroom, but he looks up as I close the door softly behind me, and glance at him speculatively. There's fear in his eyes, and they flicker to the whip. Although I said I wouldn't beat him, he's still afraid that I will, and that's a good thing. It shows he's malleable enough to be trained. I often do begin some rudimentary training during the breaking process, so it isn't too inconvenient to have my plans altered in this way, although I'll admit to being a little irked that my hand has been forced. I'm a very precise man, and breaking is an extremely precise art. I sit on the side of the bed and look down on my sweetly disheveled captive.

"How are you feeling, darling?" I ask him tenderly.

"I hurt, Larry," he says honestly, those hazel eyes shining but still downcast. "Inside. I hurt inside."

"I'm sure you do. Hold still, let me examine you." I untie his legs, pull on a latex glove, coat my finger in lubricant, and open his legs. He makes no protest, and a cursory examination reveals that he's doing fine but I'm not surprised he's sore. "I want you to heal quickly, my sweet, because I have plans for you, so I'm going to help you along. Hush…don't worry. My plans are entirely pleasurable. We're about to embark on a great adventure, you and I. You're going to learn so much in the next two weeks. Now open for me again." I insert a suppository, and he bites down on his lip. Even the slightest thing distresses him right now, and it's very beautiful watching him struggling with the pain. These government men, with all their training, don't like admitting that they're just flesh and blood like anyone else. I remove my finger, strip off the glove, and then take away his chains completely. He curls up immediately upon his release, hugging his knees to his chest, his eyes faraway and full of sadness.

"My poor boy." I slide down beside him, and take him into my arms. "It will stop hurting soon, darling. Come here." And he does! Oh, joy. He comes! He turns in my arms, and buries his face in my neck, and I can feel the wetness of his tears soaking through my shirt.

"I'm sorry, Larry," he whispers. "Guess I'm not so much fun as the others you've broken, huh?"

"Oh darling. You couldn't be more wrong. You're just in pain. You need comfort. It's good to accept it isn't it?"

He shudders in my arms, and I know that he's hating himself for needing to feel my hands gently petting his back, and soothing him.

"Yes, Larry," he answers finally, in a low whisper.

"There...you'll feel better soon. It isn't as bad as you fear. The pain will soon go away," I murmur, kissing that abundant dark hair.

"When I said I hurt inside, Larry, I didn't mean that," he whispers listlessly. I draw back and gaze into those dark, tragic eyes. "I meant I hurt inside." His hand brushes his heart, and he looks at me in despair.

"Oh darling." I place my hands on either side of his face, and kiss those full lips, and he accepts the embrace, even surrenders to it. "Darling, I'm sorry I had to leave you. You clearly need me right now. You feel so guilty about betraying Walter, don't you?"

His eyes are clouded now, with some emotion that's hard to read. He closes them, wearily, and when he opens them again they're blank.

"I'd do it again," he says, with terrible self-knowledge. "That's what hurts. You think you're strong, that you'd do anything for the people you love, but that's a lie. When the going gets tough, all any of us care about is our own survival, isn't it?" Those hazel eyes are so watchful. I smile, and deflect his inquiry.

"He wasn't good for you. I'm disappointed that you chose him as your masturbatory fantasy when I sucked you. Darling...you don't think...you surely don't think..." I laugh out loud, and he looks at me, those dull wits sharpened slightly by his own surprise. "You don't still hold on to some absurd fantasy that he'll ride up on his white stallion and rescue you, do you?" I ask. His eyes register a dreadful kind of pain. Ah, so this was his secretly cherished hope. Poor boy! "Darling." I pull him close and hug him. "Poor darling. He doesn't care about you. He abandoned you once and he's done it again."

"I don't believe that, Larry," he says, stubbornly. He glances at the whip again, and shudders, then looks back at me for reassurance. "I'm sorry. I don't want to be punished, but I just don't believe that. Whatever happened between us all those years ago, he's always looked out for me since he took on the X Files. He's looking for me. Him and Scully." 

I'm very intrigued by his Walter Skinner now. Mulder is so very sure of the man as a person, if not as a lover. "Well, my darling, you'll forget about him. He isn't important any more. What is important is you; you and me. Did you enjoy feeling my mouth around your cock earlier?" He colors, and nods.

"Good. Then wouldn't it be nice to return the favor...hmm?" I sit him up and he looks at me, that flush draining from his face. I slide over to the edge of the bed, and beckon to him. He flinches at the movement, clearly expecting a blow, or some kind of coercion. How endearing. Instead, I stroke his face, and he settles a little, leaning into the caress. "Darling, I want you to come and kneel between my legs," I instruct softly. He swallows hard, and his eyes flicker to the whip again. "I won't use it unless I have to," I promise him. "Don't make me have to, my sweet." He nods again, slides off the bed, and staggers, unsteadily, to a position between my legs. Ah, but this is nice! I look down on his lovely face, so full of promise, and put a finger on those divine lips. "You have beautiful lips, my pet," I croon. "They were made to suck cock. You do know that don't you? You were made to suck men, my love. But it's one thing to just suck, and another to perform. We need to teach you how to perform. I know you want to please me, don't you?"

He looks so conflicted. On the one hand he wants to avoid pain, and he also wants to keep me happy so that I'll continue to comfort and love him, but on the other hand he has never exactly seen himself as a sexual being, which is a shame.

"I know you don't have much experience, which is why I'm here to help." I caress his face lovingly. "I'm going to teach you how to be an expert. Men will line up just to feel those lush, warm lips on their cocks, my angel. Do you know that the first thing people think when they meet you is how it would feel to put their cocks between those exquisite lips? They want to bury themselves up to the hilt in this gorgeous mouth. Did you know that, my love?" He looks faintly astonished, and somewhat skeptical, which makes me laugh. "It's true! Ah, you are so estranged from your own sexuality, my dear! Your whole life has been your work, and your quest. You've observed sex, from the comfort of your couch, but you've so rarely ever participated. You haven't come to understand that you are sexual; you burn with sexuality, and I'm going to make it my task to instruct you in how to connect with that sexual side of yourself. When I'm done, you'll be in heat all the time, always ready and willing to suck, and come, and be mounted. Now, for your first lesson, I want you to suck me to the best of your ability. I'm not going to do a thing. I want you to arouse me."

He kneels there, those hazel eyes mute with a variety of emotions. He wants to do as I say, because he wants to lose himself in the oblivion of not thinking for himself. He's still very tired and run down, and he needs time to recover. He dreads any further pain with a vengeance right now, and yet a tiny part of his heart rebels at being reduced to the role of whore. If only he could just let go. Finally, with trembling fingers, he opens my fly, and reaches inside as if searching for a deadly snake, his eyes fearful.

"It won't bite, darling. Be more assured," I instruct, and he nods, locates my penis, and strokes it. It doesn't take much to have it springing into life. Just looking at those lips makes me want to sink myself between them. I'm soon hard, and he steels himself to do what he has to do next. I'm not remotely afraid that he'll decide to take a bite out of me; he might if he thought he could win his escape, but he knows that all he'd do is wound, and that would earn him the kind of pain he can't face right now. He looks at me again.

"Larry...please don't make me," he begins, and I put a finger over his lips.

"You'll enjoy it, darling. You're already salivating to feel my come in your throat. You can't wait to give in to the sexual side of your nature. You can't ignore it forever, my sweet. All these years of repression have taken their toll. You need to be unblocked. When you finally give in to your sexuality then you'll wonder at all those lost years. You'll wish that you had been sucking and screwing and enjoying the manifold pleasures of the flesh instead of sitting alone in a room with your video tapes."

There are shadows in his eyes. The art of what I'm doing is to include a grain of truth in whatever I say. He might want to dismiss it out of hand, but there is always that nugget of honesty that prevents him. He has missed out for years, through his own personality and inhibitions, poor lamb. Now I will release him from those inhibitions. It'll be my pleasure.

He licks his lips as if already anticipating the joy of sucking my cock, and then he lowers his head. His mouth is so warm, and my cock hardens even more as he slides his lips down the shaft.

"All the way to the back of your throat, my dear," I instruct, leaning my hands back on the bed, and watching him critically. "There are a number of little tricks you might like to try. Deep-throating is always pleasurable of course, but you might also like to try fondling the balls as you work, like this."

I put his hand on my testicles, and show him how to play with them to maximum effect. "And you can suck the crown, concentrate there…oh, very nice...lovely. That's delicious…see, I always knew we'd find a good use for that quicksilver tongue of yours." He's a little clumsy, but he's learning. I could come right now, but I won't. I'll hold it for a long time, to give him the practice he needs, and make his jaw ache a little. "Now, darling, you're doing very well, but some more joy in your eyes would be nice. This is such a delicious moment we're sharing isn't it?" His hazel eyes are still flat, and lifeless. They really do need to reflect a little more enjoyment. "Do look as if you're having a good time. Your relish for your work should show in those pretty eyes." His eyes remain resolutely tragic, as he continues to wrap those beautiful lips around my hard penis.

"Mulder!" I snap sharply, and he stops what he is doing, flinches, and glances first at his whip, and then at me. "It isn't a race. You're not simply trying to get it over and done with as quickly as possible. You're taking your time. You're having fun." 

He nods, very slowly and uncertainly. "Fun," he repeats.

"Yes, fun. Let's put it this way - this is more fun than being whipped isn't it?" I pluck the whip from the nightstand and his eyes widen in genuine fear. He leans back, away from me, as if he can escape which of course he can't. "Isn't it?" I ask again, tracing the whip over his naked chest. He nods, licking his lips nervously. "And you see, if I don't think you're enjoying sucking me, then I might just assume that you'd prefer me to be inside another part of your body instead."

"No," he says desperately. "Please don't, Larry. It hurts. I'm torn. You said so yourself. You said so."

"Well then." I put the whip around the back of his neck, and, holding both ends in my hands, draw him back to my groin. "You know what to do." And he does! He's a very quick learner. His eyes are shining brightly as he dips his face once more to his task, and he has a kind of strange grimace at the corners of his mouth, which I think is supposed to be a smile. It's a start.

"You might like to stop every now and again, and tell me how much you're enjoying yourself, how pleasing it is having me in your mouth, how you like the feel of my cock, and it's appearance, how much it's turning you on," I instruct, and he blinks and sucks for a bit more, before he draws back.

"Um, this is good," he mutters, still playing with my testicles in his hand. "This is…hot."

I slide the whip back and forth around his neck. "A little more conviction please, dear heart," I murmur. This is often the hardest part for the new recruits. They can get so embarrassed.

"You taste so good, Larry," he says, his hazel eyes burning with something more akin to rebellion than lust, but he's suffered too much to make that more overt. And he really does want to enjoy himself. He knows that if he could, then it would spare him pain, so he's longing for that. "I want to taste you again." He dips his head for another bout of sucking but I'm content with that much - he'll learn more in due course but he isn't doing too badly for a first attempt. I decide to reward him by pulling him closer with the whip, and thrusting hard into the back of his throat, over and over again, until I'm ready to come. He chokes a little - this level of oral penetration is hard for the inexperienced, but he does have to learn so I force the issue. Then I slow down, draw back a little way, and come on his tongue, so he can taste me, rather than straight down his throat, where he'll miss out on that delight. He swallows, almost retches, and, with one eye on me, tries to smile with an approximation of enjoyment. I release his neck, and smile.

"Clean me up, dear boy. Every single drop." And he tongues my cock clean, but he's become dull and lifeless again, which isn't pleasing. I release the whip, and fix him with a stern glare. "All right, Mulder. That wasn't bad, but you can try harder. Go and stand facing the wall," I instruct.

"Please...no," he whispers, his eyes fixed on the whip which I'm shaking out in preparation for what must come next.

"Five strokes, darling. Then next time you'll do better."

"Please." He buries his face in my groin, and I gently disengage him, lifting his chin so that I can look in his eyes.

"Mulder, you need to learn the position I expect you to assume for punishment. When I tell you to adopt it you'll do so quickly, without argument. If you argue then the tally just goes up."

"Larry I'm trying," he protests.

"So now it's six and not five. Hurry, dearest. I don't want to hurt you any more than necessary."

He has a brief moment of internal struggle, and then gets up and walks, despondently, to the wall. I follow him there, spread out his arms wide above his head, and slap his thighs apart.

"This is the way you'll stand for punishment, spread-eagled. You won't move during punishment. If you do, then we'll start again. You can scream, but I don't want to hear you talk, or protest. Do you understand?"

He nods, so I step back and begin. I don't do more than the minimum necessary to drum the lesson home, but, as I've said before, if a whipping is necessary at all then it should be delivered properly. There's no point promising one and then delivering something half hearted. He has to know he's been less than pleasing, so that he can adjust his behavior next time. That's the essence of good training. He turns his head sideways, presses his cheek flat against the wall, and grunts with each stroke, but he takes his six without otherwise complaining, and when it's done I turn his shaking, sweaty body around, and envelop him in an embrace. He clings to me, and I soothe him for a while.

"There, my dear boy. You are learning. It could have been so much worse. Now, follow me into the salon and I'll feed you."

I move into the salon, and sit, expectantly, on the couch, and, after hesitating for a moment in the doorway, he comes to sit beside me. His movements are still a little slow and stiff, but we'll soon restore that gangly grace to his limbs. I feed him again, and he opens his mouth obediently to take each bite. We've only just finished eating when I receive a call that one of my old trainees is on his way to visit, at my request. Marcus is one of my success stories. He's long since graduated out of the lounge and onto better things, and holds a position of some importance in the Syndicate now. He isn't one of the Elite yet, but one day he might be. He bounds into the room a few minutes later, a wide smile on his face. He's a very large boy now, quite fat, and his hair is gray at the temples, his cheeks ruddy. It's been about 20 years since I broke him but I still remember every delicious detail.

"Laurence!" He exclaims.

"Marcus." I kiss him on both cheeks, and he goes very still. Some lessons remain with the dear boys and girls forever. Marcus has been taking advantage of our facilities for many years. He lost his looks quite young, but luckily he had initiative and secured the patronage of one of the Elite, who took Marcus under his wing and trained him to use a weapon, and perform simple missions. Marcus progressed from there and I'm very proud of him. He glances at Mulder and smiles as he takes the seat I gesture him to.

"Still working hard I see, Laurence!" Marcus remarks. He's gazing at Mulder with more interest now. "Isn't this…?"

"Yes, it is." I stroke Mulder's hair and he looks at Marcus with hope in his eyes.

"Please, if you can help me…" Mulder begins, obviously imagining that Marcus might be an ally to him. Marcus laughs out loud.

"Hush, darling," I admonish softly, fondling Mulder's hair on my way over to the table where a fresh pot of tea is brewing. "Marcus isn't here to talk to you. He's come to visit me. My former trainees often stop by to spend some time with an old man."

Mulder stares at Marcus with a look of profound disbelief in those hazel eyes. He doesn't really understand how deeply I can affect people's psyches, but he will.

"You're lucky," Marcus remarks to Mulder, accepting the cup of tea I hand to him. "The Syndicate takes good care of their own. I've always had the best of everything. It's a good life." He settles back in his chair, his rather large stomach bulging over his pants as evidence of his words.

"I think we can all see that Marcus," I tease and he grins, and pats his bulk affectionately.

"But what's the price?" Mulder asks, one eye still fixed warily on me in case he's speaking out of turn, but I'm intrigued by what he has to say so I allow him to speak.

"You haven't worked your magic on him yet then?" Marcus glances at me. Work my magic. Ah, what a wonderful way of describing what I do here.

"No. Not yet." I fondle Mulder's hair again, affectionately, and return to the couch to sit next to him.

"I was just a kid when I arrived." Marcus shrugs. "The Syndicate sent me on the best vacations, saw that I had the nicest food, and fantastic clothes. When I turned out pretty smart at using computers, they called in the best tutors to teach me. I saw what a good life it is, and how they take care of their own." He grins. "You'll think the same way too, very soon."

Mulder's eyes are puzzled, but he wisely chooses not to speak.

"Darling." I nudge Mulder's shoulder. "Marcus and I have something we need to discuss. Why don't you go and show him what you learned this morning while we talk." He turns his head slowly towards me, horror in his eyes. "Go on, dear heart. Marcus looks in need of some entertainment." I glance at Marcus and he smiles, broadly, and opens his fly without any further encouragement.

"Hurry, my sweet, or you'll earn another whipping," I urge, settling back in the couch and stirring my tea. Mulder slides across the floor, like a dog with his tail between his legs, looking utterly wretched. Marcus opens his legs obligingly, and Mulder crouches between them. I swear that boy has shrunk since we brought him in. He looks much smaller as he bends his head and takes Marcus's cock into his mouth.

"Marcus, it's your skill with computers that I wanted to discuss," I say, taking a sip of tea. Mulder slurps away noisily, and Marcus takes a sip of his own tea, one hand idly stroking Mulder's dark hair.

"Anything you want to know, just ask!" Marcus exclaims. "Nothing is too much trouble for you, Laurence. Not when you provide such great entertainments." He grins down at Mulder.

"It's very kind of you to say so. You see, I've read about this internet, and I'm intrigued by some of its functions. Would it be possible, for example, to set up some kind of…what are the words…live feed…using a camera, so that somebody could observe events from a distance without them being able to trace the source?"

"Oh sure." He gives a little groan of pleasure, and smiles at me over Mulder's head. Mulder is going about things in his usual somewhat dispirited way. Luckily I have a couple of weeks to improve that side of things.

"Oh, excellent!" I breathe. We discuss the details for a little while, and it really does seem to be relatively simple. Marcus comes, without missing a beat, and Mulder doesn't have to be urged to clean him up which shows how quickly he learns. He really is a very smart boy.

Mulder is so exhausted after this brief interlude that I settle him back into the bed, lightly chained and gagged, and return to the salon to resume my conversation with Marcus. I have no idea how much Mulder either heard or understood of my conversation with my former trainee, but it really doesn't matter. It's irrelevant. After Marcus has left, I tiptoe back into the bedroom, and hold my dear boy as he sleeps. Tomorrow he will learn something new. It's such an honor to be his teacher, and watch him blossoming under my tutelage to become a really useful member of society.

I wake before him as usual, and unchain and un-gag him before sitting down at my desk to work. He rolls over and goes straight back to sleep, which is good for him. It also means that I can have a few hours to myself. Every now and again I pause, and look over at the bed, where he lies sprawled in naked beauty. On one such occasion, I find him gazing at me with those dark, expressive eyes.

"You're awake," I murmur, and he nods, his eyes devouring me. "Well, you should have said so, dear boy!" I exclaim. "You're not chained. You can come over and be with me. I expect you're lonely and need a morning cuddle - hmm?" I beckon and he slides out of the bed, and walks towards me, like a toddler taking his first steps towards a loving adult. He comes straight into my arms, and I pull him onto my lap and hold him, rocking him gently back and forth. "Darling, I have some more work to do, and I know you need to be close to me right now. Why don't you sit on the floor next to me, hmm?" He does as suggested, and his head rests against my thigh in a very pleasing way. After about ten minutes of silent work, I glance down at him, to find him staring hazily into space, his eyes unfocused.

"Darling." I rap him firmly on the shoulder and he jumps. "I'm disappointed in you, dear heart," I inform him and he gazes at me in panic.

"I'm sorry. What have I done?" He asks in a hoarse voice.

"It would have been nice if you'd offered to pleasure me while I worked, my love. I'm very hurt that you haven't suggested it. I don't expect to have to make all the suggestions for our mutual enjoyment."

"You want me to give you a blow job?" He licks his lips nervously.

"No." I sigh. "I want you to want to give me a blow job. Do you understand the difference?" He nods, his hazel eyes intelligently storing all this away.

"Larry, please let me suck you," he says, promptly and obediently.

"What a delicious idea!" I clap my hands excitedly, and move my chair back a little so that he can crawl under the desk. I return to my work and pay him not the slightest heed as he works on my cock. It's soon hard, and it's very comforting to be able to work while my dear boy pays me such loving attention. He finishes, cleans me, and then emerges from under the desk.

"That was lovely, my pet. Now, in future you'll remember to offer, won't you?" I say, and he nods, slowly, and thoughtfully. I pat his head, and continue working.

"Larry." He interrupts me a few minutes later, and I glance down at him over the top of my glasses.

"Hmm, my sweet?"

"Marcus was one of your trainees?" This thought has clearly been gnawing at him.

"Yes, dear heart. Twenty years ago. He was a very able boy. Not a natural between the sheets, unlike you, but still, a very able boy all the same. There isn't anyone I can't train, but few have your innate sexual allure, darling."

"Innate sexual...?" He gives a funny little throaty laugh. "God, Larry, sometimes I wonder what you're on. I'm gawky, my nose is too big, and I have so little sexual appeal it's unreal. Trust me, I really don't ever have to beat back the hordes wanting to date me."

"That's because it's all untapped inside you, dear one. We'll release it, but it is there." I tousle his hair affectionately.

"Marcus…" He returns to the subject that is obsessing him, worrying at it like his namesake fox with a sheep. "He comes and visits you? He works for the Syndicate?"

"Yes. That's what you'll do one day, my love. You'll live in your own apartment, and you'll go to your job at the FBI, but secretly you'll work for us. You'll come and visit me too, my dear. You'll probably make use of the facilities here. Once we get your libido racing I'm sure you'll be more than happy to avail yourself of the many delights Laurence's salon has to offer."

"Twenty years?" He's still busy processing that piece of information. "You've been doing this for that long, Larry?"

"Oh for longer than that." I smile at him. "So you can see what safe hands you're in, my love. I'm very experienced at what I do. You'll be my ultimate - the culmination of my career. I'll take good care of you. We'll break you down and build you back up again together. It isn't such a bad thing. You've seen Marcus - he leads a very happy life. And Alex, your old friend Alex Krycek - he's very content with his lot in life."

"Alex Krycek was never exactly my friend," he snorts. "Christ, Larry, how did all this start? How did you figure out how to break the first person, and why?"

"You have such an eager, inquiring mind." I smile at him fondly, deliberately not answering his question. "But you really do need to learn not to call me Larry. I did ask you to call me 'sir'."

"I know." He looks up at me with a cheeky grin on his face. "But I think you like me calling you Larry."

He's right, damn him! It's hard not to laugh at that wicked smile he has. He's teasing me! I can't remember when I was last teased. Few recruits dare, but then Mulder has always been different. He was different from the beginning. It's so strange - either they call me 'sir' as requested, or they show their defiance by calling me all kinds of unpleasant names, until I beat that out of them. None of them has ever called me Larry, or tried to make me smile. I know I should have corrected him before about his use of the diminutive form of my name, but there's just something about the way he says it; it sounds so affectionate, and intimate.

"Let's keep Larry as a secret between us," I tell him in conspiratorial tones. "When we're in public I really must insist that you call me 'sir', but in private, maybe I'll let you get away with certain liberties." Sharing a secret is such a furtive, special thing! It's something lovers do. "Then again, maybe I won't." It's good to unsettle him. This way I can still punish him for it if I want, or not, however I please. "Now, my darling, I really must finish my paperwork. However…" I glance at him speculatively. "The dutyman over there looks a little bored." I gesture with my head in the direction of the doorway where the dutyman actually looks pretty much the same as usual. "Why don't you go and ask him if he'll let you suck him, hmm?" Mulder recoils. He glances at the dutyman, with real fear in his eyes. "What is it, my pet?"

"He's one of those who pissed on me," he mutters.

"He did what?" I frown. Mulder looks up, hope in his eyes.

"They pissed on me, Larry."

"Why did they do that? Did you upset them?"

"I wouldn't run for them. They wanted me to run for them."

"And you wouldn't?"

"No. I lay down so they pissed on me," he says, his eyes registering the full horror of that experience.

"Hmm. Well, that just won't do. I'll take care of that later when I've finished my work." I smile at him and he smiles back, genuinely heartened by my words, poor lamb! This gives me a delicious idea! I finish off my work quickly, and then put a belt on Mulder, and fasten his cuffs to it, before placing his blindfold over those beautiful eyes.

"Where are we going?" he asks, clearly worried that he's being taken back to the Delivery Room.

"Don't worry. I'm merely addressing the problem you had with the dutymen. Come with me." I pull him along the hallway, and he follows me so trustingly down to the dutymen's common room. The place is always a mess, and it smells, but it's their room, so I don't interfere. I remove Mulder's blindfold and unfasten his hands when we get there, and he glances around at the occupants of the room, blinking nervously.

"All right, dear one. Point out to me the dutymen who urinated on you," I tell him. He swallows nervously, and the dutymen stare back at him, impassively. I can see various thoughts running through his head, not least of which is what retribution the dutymen will receive and the implications of that on his own safety. Finally, seeing no other option, he points out five faces with little nods of his head. I call the men forward, and have them stand in a line, then I turn back to address Mulder.

"Darling, I'm very upset that you chose not to co-operate with my dutymen when they asked you to run for them," I tell him, and his eyes widen in a combination of surprise and confusion. "The dutymen do a very dull and boring job, watching over you, and occasionally having to pick you up and carry you when you get tired. It's only fair that they have a few little rewards here and there."

"They raped me," he chokes.

"Well they're allowed to play with you, my darling!" I laugh. "Now, in order to make it up to them I want you to go to each one and ask his permission to suck him." He stares at me, soullessly. "Run along, my dear boy. Don't make me wait or I might have to send you back to your room. And remember to enjoy yourself," I chuckle as he walks slowly towards the line of men. "Kneel, darling. That's right. Now ask him." Mulder looks up at the first man and swallows hard.

"Please will you allow me to…" he falters, and we all wait. He must complete his task properly. "Suck you off," he finishes, his face as white as chalk.

"Go ahead." The dutyman grins at me over Mulder's head, while Mulder reaches out to unzip the man's fly, and fondles him in a way that's fast becoming expert. Oh this is good! I had worried he'd fight some more and I'd have to beat him, but he's clearly terrified of going back to his room - or worse, the Recreation Room. He bends his head to the task, his eyes closed tightly, and although he performs adequately, he doesn't quite manage to imbue the act with any sense of enjoyment, despite my exhortations. He works his way down that line, asking each man for the honor of pleasuring him, and then applying himself to the task as if it's some kind of grim duty. He swallows down copious amounts of semen, which leaves him looking a little green when he's finished, and then he returns to my side. 

"Beautiful." I hug him, and then replace his blindfold and cuffs, and walk him back to the bedroom where I remove his restraints again. "We really will have to work on the enjoyment issue though, my sweet. Get into position. Five strokes."

He goes without speaking this time, and accepts his strokes with the same silent sadness as he did the previous day. Afterwards I envelop him in another warm hug and hold him tight while he convulses against me. His eyes are dry, but he's weeping all the same, spasming with unshed tears.

"It isn't much to ask is it, dear one?" I murmur. "Just to enjoy your work. It would save you so much pain."

"I can't pretend it, sir," he whispers, and the absence of his usual wry-toned 'Larry' lances deep into my soul. I hadn't realized how much I'd miss it until it was gone.

"Not pretend, darling. I'm not asking you to pretend. I'm asking you to really feel it. It feels good, doesn't it? Being sexual, giving pleasure." He gives no answer, but there is a look of such hopelessness that I feel myself becoming quite aroused. "Let's practice in private. We'll go over it until you satisfy me," I tell him, sitting on the side of the bed. "If you do well, then we'll eat, and take a Jacuzzi together. If you don't then I'll send you back to your room to be tied down harshly for the night."

 It hasn't been very long since he last pleasured me, and I'm astonished by how aroused he makes this old man. I don't think I've ever trained a recruit who had the power to arouse me more. I sit on the side of the bed, and, after thinking about it for a moment, he comes over. I'm annoyed that he has to think about it, but that's something we'll work on. He's still putting too much thought into everything; he needs to accept, to act more on instinct and order. He should be interpreting less and responding more. He kneels in front of me, and rests his hands on my knees.

"I'm tired, sir," he murmurs, looking at me hopefully. This is the interesting thing about him. He knows that I am the source of his most intense suffering, and yet also that I am the only one who will comfort him, or offer him any kindness. The duality of that role sometimes confuses recruits, but he seems to have a very good handle on it. He's always trying to reach the Larry who comforts, while at the same time he's trying to disarm Laurence with smiles, and that dry toned, almost inflectionless, teasing voice of his. It's possible that he might even succeed on occasion - but not this time.

"I know, my love. Just do this properly and I'll allow you to wash out your mouth, and eat, and then sleep some more."

He swallows, and it's clear that the idea of being able to wash out his mouth is very appealing to him right now.

"But what if I can't please you?" He asks. "What if I'm just not good enough?"

"You can be, darling. I'm convinced of that. I just want you to let go, and put everything you can into your task. Do that, and I won't have to send you back to your room."

He fixes me with a steady gaze. Even despite his suffering, there's something going on in those hazel eyes, something I can't always read, and that disturbs me a little. I'm usually very good at reading my recruits and while sometimes Mulder is quite transparent in both thought and feeling, at other times, like now, there is something going on behind the surface of those thoughtful orbs that eludes me.

He takes a deep breath, and manages a smile. I see that he's resolved to do his best. He opens my pants, and my cock springs to life, eager to be out of its confinement.

"What have we got here?" Mulder murmurs. "Looks like you're pleased to see me, Larry." Ah, the return of the 'Larry'. I can't tell you how much that makes my heart sing. "I like that I can make you so hard," he whispers. Oh, this is very good. I reward him by stroking his hair and beaming at him encouragingly.

"You're pretty big, Larry. Very impressive," he comments. In truth I'm no more than average in size, but it's a sweet compliment all the same. "I can't wait to wrap my mouth around your big, hard dick," he says, his eyes shining in a dreamy kind of way. Oh! Adorable!

He lowers his head, and takes one long lick along my shaft, his eyes raised to my face the whole time with a cheeky, knowing look. Then he actually winks at me, and we share one of those 'moments' that make the world stand still - and my cock goes rigid with need. A second later, without any warning, he takes my whole cock into his mouth and sucks down hard, making me moan out loud in surprise and pleasure. His talented fingers find my testicles, and he plays with them as he works. He includes all the little tricks I've taught him, tonguing the tip of my cock, then taking me whole into his mouth, and all the time he has a look of rapt, joyful concentration on his face. He doesn't look at me again - he is completely obsessed by my cock, and in between licks and sucks he's murmuring sweet nothings about how much he loves doing this, and how hard I am, and how he's going to make me come harder and faster than I've ever come before...it's quite phenomenal. I knew he could be as focused in sex as he has been in his quest, and it's a joy to be on the receiving end of all that ability. Finally, unable to hold on any more, I come inside that beautiful mouth, and he continues to slide my spent cock between his lips until my convulsions have subsided, and I'm utterly sated.

"Oh darling!" I exclaim, pulling his head up to my waist, wrapping my arms around him, holding him tight, and petting his hair, back and face. "That was perfect. You see - it's easy when you try isn't it?" I grasp his lovely face between my hands and look down on him with gleeful affection.

"Yes, it is," he agrees, a little smile playing on his lips. I caress the upturned corners of his mouth with gentle strokes of my fingertips; so playful, smirking almost, even...triumphant? My grip on his face becomes tighter, and I wrap one of my fists in his hair, pulling his head back.

"You were thinking of Walter weren't you?" I hiss, and his eyes flash the answer before his lips say the word. He doesn't lie; he knows there is no point in lying.

"Yes," he replies. "I'm sorry, Larry. Yes I was."

A fury rises in my breast, and before I realize what I'm doing I find myself slapping him hard across the jaw, first one way, and then the other. He hangs in my grasp, his jaw stained a blotchy red by my blows, and I gaze at him in surprise. Was that anger? Real, genuine, blinding anger? I can't remember the last time I lost my temper with a recruit at this stage in the proceedings. Usually I'm so in control. Damn him. I drop him, and he scuttles out of arm's reach and crouches down in the tiny gap between the nightstand and the bed, his arms around his knees for protection. I take a few deep breaths and decide on a course of action to remedy the situation.

"Darling, I'm sorry." I bend down in front of him, and hold out my hand. "I was taken by surprise. Come on out, my sweet. I won't beat you. I just want to talk to you." He eyes me warily, and I move a step forward. I could call the dutyman to move the bed, but then the whole matter would get blown out of all proportion and I don't want that right now.

"Darling…just take my hand. I want to put a cold washcloth on your jaw. You'll be fine. I don't want you to bruise. Not when you're starting to get your pretty looks back. Come here, my sweet."

His eyes are still cautious as he weighs it up, but he knows he can't stay there forever. Finally, slowly and hesitantly, like his namesake fox creeping close for food, he reaches out his hand and slips it into mine, so I can help him slide out from his little sanctuary. I sit down on the bed, and draw him onto my lap, clasping him around the waist, and just hold him. After several long minutes his arms slowly, oh so slowly, move into position around my shoulders, and he rests his head on my shoulder, his cheek against my face.

"There, that's good. Tell me, my sweet, because I need to understand. The Walter you used to talk to, your young lawyer, who you would look at sometimes, and speak with - he went, didn't he?"

Mulder exhales a long, deep, tragic breath and nods against my shoulder. "I don't think he was real, Larry. He went away when I betrayed him. He hasn't come back since."

"Very well…so when you fantasize now, are you fantasizing about him?"

He's still for a long time, and then I feel him shaking his head against my shoulder, and his fingers clutch onto me for support.

"So, when you just sucked me, you weren't remembering him, your young lawyer - you were using a more recent masturbatory fantasy?" I inquire gently, pushing him away and looking into his eyes. "You were thinking about your boss, weren't you?" He blushes furiously, but he nods, his eyes downcast. "You've probably sat in meetings with him, and imagined taking him in your mouth. It must have been hard, knowing that you once had the right to do that - you once had the intimacy to pleasure him, in the way you loved doing, but now so many years have passed, and you no longer have that right...and yet the emotions are still there, stronger than ever. Is that so, my darling?"

"Something like that, Larry." He gives a lop-sided, bitter grin. "Walter's one of those men who gets better looking with age. I was a bit thrown by the lack of hair, in the beginning," he gives a little laugh, "but now it kind of obsesses me. It's a part of him I haven't known and I want to. I sometimes wonder what it would be like to run my hands over his bare scalp, and to lick it," he admits, shamefaced.

"I see. So, now your lawyer has gone, but the Assistant Director has taken his place."

"I don't have any other frame of reference, Larry," he tells me honestly, his hands still clutching onto me for dear life. "He's the only man I ever slept with. I know you probably think that's weird, and you're right…my sex life has always been a disaster. I've wanted other men since Walter - hell, I've wanted women, but I don't have the right skills to get them into bed. I bore them senseless talking about my work, or I don't have anything to say at all. Sometimes I think I've spent too much time in my office, too long wrapped up in my quest. I don't have the ability to just be with normal people any more. I know so much. I've seen so much…I guess I find it hard making allowances for people who don't know, and haven't seen. They seem so...I don't know. We have nothing in common. Skinner though…he knows about me. He understands."

It's quite a little speech. I hug him reassuringly. "I know, my darling," I tell him. "I understand."

"With all due respect, Larry, you don't," he replies in that dry, flat, monotone. "You just see me as some kind of sex object. You seem to think my work isn't a part of me when it's been almost all of me for years. You don't want to know about my work on the X Files, you just ask about my sex life, my past liaisons, what I feel, what turns me on. You're not really interested in me, Larry, only in making me into the same as everyone else you've broken."

What an interesting analysis. I knew there was so much more to him than I've ever found in my other recruits. I love the way his mind works; so thoughtful, so smart.

"Darling, you think too much," I tell him with a little squeeze. "You need to think a lot less. Now, I have a little plan to help you with your Skinner issues." It would seem that while I have rid him of his lover, the lawyer, Walter, I have yet to disengage his affection from his object of desire, the boss, Skinner. I think what I have planned might do that. "I want to help you, to free you of Walter Skinner so that you can enjoy yourself."

He stiffens in my arms. "Ah, I can see you remember the last time I helped you on this issue." I smile at him, and his eyes are almost incandescent with fear. "I'm sure you don't want that to happen again, so I want you to throw yourself into your work for the next few days. If you do that, then I won't have to beat you, will I?" I murmur, stroking his hair. "I don't want to beat you - I want this lovely white skin unblemished. Will you be obedient, dear heart? Will you do your best?"

He nods, eagerly, anxious to avoid a repeat of his most recent experience downstairs. He has no idea that he's playing into my hands in a way that will be equally devastating to his psyche. Hopefully, by the time I take him to the Syndicate building he'll be under control, and obedient, even if he isn't broken yet, and will still need constant supervision.

That train of thought reminds me of the impending nightmare of leaving my little salon and venturing outside. I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck rise, and a wave of nausea deep in the pit of my stomach. I have no choice, I'm aware of that, but the fear sickens me. I find myself holding onto Mulder now, my hands trembling slightly as I stroke his body in an attempt to soothe myself. He doesn't know what's going on, but he seems to sense something. His arms are big, and strong, and warm around me. He has such pleasing muscles. I can see why his Walter Skinner appeals to him. He isn't as broad as the Assistant Director, but he's still an imposing man. His hands stroke my back in little circles. Does he know he's comforting me or is he just comforting himself through the human contact? He is certainly smart enough to have figured out that when I'm stroking and caressing him then I'm not whipping or hurting him, and his strategy recently has been to play on that, and to try and induce a caring response in me wherever possible, and not to anger or cross me. It takes me some minutes to compose myself. I wish I didn't have this visit to the Syndicate hanging over me. I wish I could just enjoy being with him, and breaking him. My mind goes over my plans in respect of Walter Skinner. Really, that man is most fascinating. I look forward to having some contact with him, and measuring up my rival on a one to one basis. Mulder is sleepy. I can hear the change in his breathing. It's time to bring our little tete a tete to an end. I gently disengage him and help him to lie down on the bed where he closes his eyes and falls asleep almost immediately. I fetch a cold washcloth and press it against his slightly reddened jaw, but I'll feed and bathe him properly later. It'll be a pleasure. For now, I need some space to recover from what was almost a panic attack. I also need to set some plans in motion.

After four days of hard work, I finally have a Mulder who is ready. I've spent considerable amounts of time training him in the art of giving pleasure with his mouth, and now he goes about his work with relish, and skill, although it's clear to my expert eye that the former is entirely feigned. I haven't beaten him for days, and he's been fed the finest food and given painkillers, as well as antibiotics. His hair is starting to shine again, and his bruises have faded. We've nearly come to the end of this particular lesson. I'll soon be able to start sinking myself into his ass again, which is a joy I'm looking forward to. As I've taught him how to give efficient, spirited fellatio, so I will teach him how to also give pleasure during anal intercourse. By the time I bring him before the Elite, only an expert would be able to tell the difference between him and my broken recruits; and the Elite are not experts.

I decide that the 'event' I have planned will have to take place in the Delivery Room - that's best equipped to deal with the complex technological requirements. I leave Mulder asleep in my bed, and retire to my salon, where I sit for a while, drawing my thoughts together for the call I'm about to make. I have Walter Skinner's cell phone number, and, when I've composed myself, I dial it. It rings twice before he answers it.

"Skinner." It's a deep, steady voice. Not flat, like Mulder's tones, but charged, and firm, full of resolve.

"Hello, Mr. Skinner. I'm delighted to finally make your acquaintance. I've heard so much about you."

"Who is this?" I sense a trace of impatience. He isn't a man who likes to be toyed with. How unfortunate for him.

"I'm a friend of a friend," I purr, warming to my theme and feeling a delicious thrill running through me.

"Is this about Mulder?" He comes to that conclusion very quickly. Mulder is clearly on his mind.

"Yes it is. I understand that you've been looking for him."

"Do you know where he is? Do you have him? Can I talk to him? Is he all right?" Ah, such a worried torrent of questions. I can just imagine that wide brow furrowed in puzzled concern as he talks. He's clearly very anxious. Maybe he still carries the same candle for Mulder in his heart that Mulder carries for him. It wouldn't surprise me. I think the pair of them are idiots, to be honest. So many years of wasted time; it's criminal.

"He's more than all right. He's very well. He won't be coming back just yet though, I'm afraid. He's enjoying himself far too much."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? Look, is he there? Put him on. I want to talk to him." He's so imperative, so dismissive. It irks me.

"You don't give me orders, Mr. Skinner," I snap. I hear him take a sharp intake of breath, but he's playing for Mulder's life here, so he's not about to screw this up.

"I'm sorry, Mr…" He waits, but I don't supply a name. "Look, I'm really worried about Mulder," he continues. "Can't you tell me where he is?"

"I told you, he's fine, but he can't come to the phone right now."

"Then how do I know he's okay?" He asks desperately. "How do I know this isn't some kind of hoax?"

"It isn't a hoax, Mr. Skinner. I can prove that to you. If you want evidence that Mulder is alive, and well, and doing fine, then be in your apartment, in front of your computer screen, at 8 PM. You have internet access?"

"Of course. What the hell…?"

"Just be there, Mr. Skinner. And keep this line free so that I can give you directions when the time comes."

And with that, I end the call. He won't be able to trace it. It was too short, it was to his cell phone, and, in any case, all Syndicate calls are routinely re-routed in the most torturous way so they travel halfway around the world before reaching their destination.

I treat Mulder to the most perfect day. I let him help me with my paperwork - settling some simple little invoices and filing them - but he seems delighted to be given something to do that doesn't involve sex. Maybe he thinks I'm starting to see that 'other side' of him that he spoke about, but really I just want to keep the boy occupied before his big performance. The chef makes him his favorite meal - meatloaf followed by chocolate pie, and I allow him to eat it sitting up at the table in the salon, using a knife and a fork, rather than having him suffer the indignity of being fed. He grins delightedly all the way through.

"What is this, Larry? Is it my birthday, or something?"

I just smile, and pat his arm tenderly. I don't eat anything myself. I'm far too keyed up about the coming event. Later, I bathe him, and then I massage him all over, with a blend of oils that smell almost as divine as the dear boy himself. Finally, as evening approaches, I rouse him from his nap, and fasten him to his belt, before placing his blindfold over his eyes.

"Where are you taking me, Larry?" He asks, anxiously.

"Back to your room, dear boy," I tell him, tugging on the chain fixed to his belt.

"My room? Why? I've done everything you asked me, Larry. I've tried!" He protests, stubbornly digging his heels in, and refusing to move. "You haven't had to beat me for ages, Larry. Please don't take me back there."

"You do try, Mulder, but you don't convince me," I tell him harshly, enlisting the aid of the dutymen to manhandle him out of the door and along the hallway. He comes finally, his breathing harsh and labored, and I can see that his overactive mind is supplying a plethora of atrocities that will soon be committed on his naked, vulnerable body.

I remove his blindfold and unbuckle his belt and cuffs when we get to the Delivery Room, leaving him completely naked, and he blinks in the dim light.

"Please, Larry…sir," he says urgently. "I thought you were pleased with me."

"Not quite pleased enough." I smile pleasantly. "You see, the problem is that while you do very well in your sessions with me, you don't apply yourself so well when I ask you to pleasure other men. I need to believe that you'll do your best when I ask you to suck other men, even if I'm not in the room to supervise you, but at the moment you're nowhere near achieving that. It's a failing we need to address, Mulder."

"I'll try harder. I'm sorry," he says desperately.

"Well..." I pretend to hesitate. "I suppose I could give you one last chance."

"Please…just tell me what you want me to do," he asks eagerly, his eyes glancing nervously around the room, and over to the instruments of pain that are displayed neatly on their shelves. He shivers as he notices the speculum, and that's a very sweet sight.

"Well, why don't you put on a little show for me?" I beckon over the dutyman I have selected for this task. He's a handsome man, tall, with dark hair, and broad, muscular shoulders. "I tell you what, Mulder. I'll go next door and watch while you impress me. How does that sound?" He's certainly smart enough to have figured out that the mirror is of the observational, two-way variety.

"I can do that, sir," he says urgently. "I'll do my best."

"Good boy. If you aren't convincing enough then I'm afraid that I'll have to keep you down here for a few days, so make sure you do your best work. The dutyman's name is Paul. I want you to pleasure him to the best of your ability. If you do well then you can come back upstairs. Otherwise..." I give a shrug, and allow my gaze to flicker over to the large, steel anal speculum. Mulder licks his lips nervously, and keeps nodding, psyching himself up.

Paul takes up the position I have already discussed with him. He'll keep Mulder in place, right beneath the overhead camera Marcus positioned for me earlier. It's in a dark corner of the room, and Mulder won't see it. He has other things on his mind after all, and it's very unobtrusive. The camera is carefully positioned to focus on the two men, and doesn't pry into the shadowy shelving, where the more alarming equipment is stored.

"I'll be next door, watching, dear heart," I tell Mulder, kissing those dry lips in order to soothe him. "I want you to really take your time, and remember to talk to Paul, and make him feel appreciated."

He nods, and I unlock the door to the Observation Room to step inside. Marcus is already there, shirtsleeves rolled up, a broad grin on his face.

"How did you think this shit up, Laurence?" He asks. "It's crazy, and so fucking good."

"Natural genius, my boy." I pat his arm fondly. "Are we ready to go?"

"Oh yeah. This is the website." He brings up the site on his laptop computer screen. "And we just bring in the live feed."

He presses some buttons and the next thing I know Mulder and Paul flicker onto our screen. The room is dimly lit, lending the footage an orange tone, but all the same the film is clear enough.

"Ah, the marvels of modern technology!" I smile at Marcus fondly. "You really are very clever, my dear. I have no idea how it's all done!" He flushes slightly, and looks immensely proud of himself. It's good to know that my praise still means so much to him, even after all this time. I glance back into the room. Mulder is reaching into Paul's pants for his cock. Paul says something, and Mulder pushes the dutyman's pants down around his ankles, revealing his naked butt. It looks so much more intimate that way. Then Paul removes his tee shirt, as previously instructed, and asks Mulder to play with his nipples. Mulder does so immediately, with eagerness, those beautiful lips kissing and caressing. His mouth trails down to Paul's groin, and I glance at my watch; five minutes past eight. Skinner has had a few minutes to sweat. I turn to Marcus, and nod to him. "Send him the email."

Then I pick up the cell phone Marcus has provided, and call Skinner.

"Skinner. Are you the man who called earlier?" He asks, almost immediately.

"Yes, I am. I have that proof you required, Mr. Skinner. This is a live visual. I want you to go to your email program and follow the link we've sent you. Then you'll see your Agent Mulder alive and well."

"What the…?" I can hear tapping, so I presume that he's doing as instructed. A few seconds later I hear a muffled, "Christ."

I glance through the window, and see Mulder sucking Paul with considerable enthusiasm, his hands kneading the dutyman's naked buttocks.

"What the fuck is this?" Skinner demands. "That isn't Mulder."

"Oh yes. It is. Hold on while I prove it to you."

I put him on hold, and press the intercom between the two rooms, signaling to Marcus to cut the sound to the website momentarily, so I can give Mulder some stage directions without Skinner overhearing. "Very good, darling, but draw back a bit, do some talking. I want to see the expression on your face."

Mulder does as he's been told, and now there can be no doubt that it is indeed he; naked, kneeling in front of a handsome man, giving head with considerable relish and enthusiasm. I signal to Marcus to restore the audio.

"Your dick is so big, and hard. I'm going to make you come, Paul," Mulder's saying, desperately trying to convince me not to torture him.

I pick up the phone again. "Convinced, Mr. Skinner?" I ask him.

"Christ what is this? I don't understand," he says in a low growl. "What have you done to him?"

"Done? Nothing. He's just enjoying himself. You can see what a good time he's having. He clearly isn't being forced. No, your Agent Mulder has just gotten in touch with his true nature. I'm sure you understand what that is, Mr. Skinner."

There's a shocked silence. "What the hell are you talking about?" He asks, in a grim, low tone.

"Fox has told us all about you. How you were his first. He's found other, more compatible mates now, though. He's much happier with us than he ever was with you."

There's silence. Mulder deep throats Paul, who gives a moan of contentment. He winds his hand in Mulder's hair. "That's good, Fox. That's so good," he murmurs over and over again.

"What has he told you?" Skinner asks, in a neutral voice, but I can sense pure steel under the reasonable tones; this is a dangerous man.

"That you were a disappointing lover. That he's been looking for someone better. He and Paul have gotten very close. Fox has decided to stay here for a while so you can stop looking for him, Mr. Skinner."

"I don't believe a goddamn word you're saying. If this is true, let me talk to him," Skinner says, in a low, hoarse voice.

"I'm sorry. His mouth is otherwise engaged at the moment, and besides, he doesn't want to talk to you. However, if you'd like more proof…" I press the intercom again. "Dear heart, are you enjoying Paul?" I ask. Mulder stops what he's doing, and looks at the mirror. His lips are swollen from sex, and he looks sultry, and sensual. His dark hair has flopped into his eyes and he's glowing with a fine sheen of sweat.

"Oh yeah," he says, smiling, putting on the performance of his life for me.

"Good. Is he better than Walter Skinner?" I ask. My tones ring out in the small room, clearly audible on the computer, as well as next door. Mulder hesitates, his eyes unsure, but he knows what I want from him.

"Oh yeah," he says again. "Much better. This is so hot." He moves his head forward and catches Paul's cock in his mouth once again. I cut the connection and return to the phone.

"So you see, Fox is fine. He doesn't need any help. He just wants to be left alone to enjoy his sexuality."

"I don't believe any of this," Skinner whispers hoarsely.

"Why not? Just because you couldn't give him any satisfaction doesn't mean that someone else can't," I laugh, taunting him. It feels good to land a body blow on my rival. I can imagine that he doesn't look so powerful and in control now. I can see him in my mind's eye, the top couple of buttons on his shirt undone, his tie loosened as he paces around his apartment, always remaining in sight of the screen.

"Why don't you sit down, put your feet up, and watch for a while," I invite. "It's a hot scene. Fox is putting on a little show for us. He's quite an exhibitionist. You might like to open your fly and jack off."

"Who the fuck are you?" He sounds almost faint, and disgusted beyond belief. Our Mr. Skinner is clearly as buttoned up and repressed as his ex-lover.

"I'm a friend of Fox's. He and I are pretty close. Doesn't he look good, Mr. Skinner? Aren't you aroused? Maybe you'd like to imagine it's your cock he's sucking." I let that thought hang between us.

"Listen, you son of a bitch, I don't know who the hell you are, but I'm going to find out," he snaps.

"Mr. Skinner," I chide. "Fox told me about you, and how you won't believe unless you see with your own eyes. Well, you're seeing, Mr. Skinner. Believe. Fox doesn't want to be rescued. Fox is enjoying himself far too much. He's sick of you and the Bureau. Sick of the hypocrisy and lies he's been fed all his life. Here he can be himself, and that's why he wants to stay. It's his choice."

"His choice?" Skinner's tone is skeptical.

"Well doesn't he look like he's having a good time?" I urge. There is silence for a heartbeat, and then two.

"You're such a stallion, Paul," Mulder is saying. Oh dear, the poor boy really has been watching too many porn videos. "I love having you in my mouth. Come inside me, Paul." Paul's head is flung back, and he's thrusting to and fro in wild abandon.

"Well?" I ask Skinner.

"Mulder's okay?" He asks, clearly uncertain about what he's seeing. "He isn't hurt?"

"He's fine. You can see for yourself." From this angle, with this lighting, none of the fading whip marks and bruises on Mulder's back and buttocks are evident.

"Are you making him do this?" Skinner's tone is confused, and strangulated. I can just imagine that he can't tear his eyes away from the screen.

"Even if we were holding a gun to his head out of the range of the camera, do you think that he could perform with such relish, and skill under duress?" I taunt. Mulder chooses this moment to glance up, a look of total, if feigned, lust in his eyes.