My intention is to post short snippets of this whenever that good ol' BDSM mood washes over me :-) There's lots of great BDSM stuff around now, and it's always tricky coming up with a new angle. Hopefully I've succeeded here. You'll have to trust me on where it's going. And submit of course...<G>

Many thanks to Emma, who told me a very intriguing tale that sparked this story off, as well as providing invaluable technical assistance, and some rather interesting ideas...

Thanks to Alex for the quotation.

German translation of this story available here.

24/7 is an erotic fantasy and NOT a BDSM resource guide. The truth is sometimes exaggerated, or played with, for dramatic effect. For more information, please visit the 24/7 BDSM Glossary.

BY XANTHE

"A truth, still apparent, though disregarded, that
 things move violently to their place, but calmly in
 their place.  To put it another way, everything has
 its right home, the region that suits it, and, unless
forcibly restrained, will move thither by a kind of
 homing instinct."

Mulder sat at the dark, oak table, his casual, relaxed posture belying his sensation of nervous anticipation. He wanted to appear calm, collected, in control of himself - in other words, an attractive proposition, not a wimpy basket-case.

The room was tastefully furnished - just a table, and 6 chairs. No easy chairs, just the dining variety. There were some prints on the wall - nothing erotic - all so very sophisticated, and impeccably stylish. It was what he'd come to expect. He straightened in his chair, and flicked at his tie. An enormous mirror obscured the whole of one wall. He wasn't stupid - he knew that he was being spied on through it. Spied on, evaluated, judged. Mulder couldn't help himself - he began to fidget. This was a big moment - he really didn't want to fuck it up.

Six years. Six years he'd been playing this game, and he was good at it. Damn good. They wouldn't find anyone better. He wouldn't find anyone better. If He was looking for the best sub in DC to play with, He need look no further. Mulder was here, and Mulder was that sub. No false pride - he was good, and he knew it.

"Mr. Mulder." The voice rang out - sounding tinny over the microphone. Deep, dark, chillingly sensual. Mulder swallowed, and tried not to appear gauche by looking startled. He was a player, and a good one. He had every right to be here, in one of the most exclusive private clubs in DC, attending a meeting set up for him by the best players in the city. A meeting where he finally got a chance to present his case to Him.

"You've gone to a great deal of trouble to track me down, Mr. Mulder. I'd like to know why." The voice was smooth, but the inquiry hid a hint of steel behind the polite façade.

"Thank you for agreeing to see me, sir," he said, his tone carefully respectful.

There was a pause.

"Mr. Mulder, you've been pursuing me for over a year. In the end, it just seemed easier to see you in person than to keep evading you."

"You've been evading me…? Why, sir?" Mulder frowned.

"Etiquette, Mr. Mulder. I've been aware of your presence on the scene - who could fail to be? You've played with every top in the city."

"There haven't been any complaints, have there?" Mulder asked, his voice holding a hint of challenge.

"No. None. Except for the short-lived nature of your devotion…you have a tendency to consume your tops, and then move onto the next, Mr. Mulder." The voice sounded almost amused.

"I didn't find any of them…interesting enough to stay with." Mulder shrugged.

"And what makes you think that I'll live up to your exacting standards?" The voice snapped.

Mulder hesitated. This wasn't going the way he'd planned.

"I don't have exacting standards…I just…" He hesitated. How could he explain it? He'd been playing in this city for years, progressing from eager-eyed newbie, to experienced old hand, and the thrill was so transitory. "I need more," he whispered. "After each session I get the high, but it's becoming harder to reach, harder to sustain. I'm well trained - you'll find me exciting to play with."

"The excitement isn't in question. The training is," the voice answered dryly. Mulder stared directly into the mirror, wishing he could see the man behind it. "Explain to me why I should bother with you?"

"You're legendary. Everyone knows of your existence, but hardly anyone knows who you are. You're the best player there is…"

"And you think that you deserve only the best?" The voice challenged.

"Yes. No! I just meant…that I need something." Mulder's voice faded. He couldn't begin to put his needs into words, to explain the vast, gaping chasm he needed to fill.

"You speak a lot about yourself, and your needs," the voice mused.

"I'd address myself to you and your needs if you took me on," Mulder said hastily. "I'm a player, sir. I know how to please. If you accept me as your sub, sir, I'd do my best to please you, and I'd make you happy. Very happy." He glanced into the mirror with just a slight inclination of his head - a challenge, a promise, a hint of what could follow if this man would just say "yes." He didn't.

"No, Mr. Mulder. You'd do your best to please yourself, and insofar as that pleased me, I'm sure I'd be very satisfied. Beyond that, I'd be left, as you clearly are, with a feeling of emptiness. Your offer is…unacceptable."

Mulder sat down, feeling as if he'd been punched in the gut. "Please, sir…give me a chance," he whispered.

"No." The voice was surprisingly kind. "You shouldn't have come here, Mr. Mulder. If I'd been interested in you, I'd have selected you myself, and you could have spared yourself this…humiliation."

"Oh, haven't you heard? I'm a masochist. I thrive on humiliation," Mulder spat bitterly. There was a sound of a dry laugh from the microphone.

"Masochism," the voice said. "Would you like the dictionary definition?" There was a pause - Mulder assumed it was a rhetorical question. "Masochism. Noun. 1. Psychiatry, an abnormal condition in which pleasure, especially sexual pleasure, is derived from pain or from humiliation, domination etc, by another person."

Mulder closed his eyes, and saw himself hanging from a set of manacles, his body criss-crossed with the lines of his last master's whip. He re-lived the pain, the humiliation, the sheer breath-taking pleasure of both, and his cock responded by hardening almost immediately.

"Does that describe you, Mr. Mulder? Do you view yourself as abnormal?" The voice asked, in an almost gentle tone.

"No." Mulder snapped abruptly. "I know what I am, and I've come to terms with that."

"Really? Shall I continue? 2. Psychoanalysis. The directing towards oneself of any destructive tendencies." Like coming here today, perhaps?" the voice commented, in a dry tone. "Is that what you do in your everyday life, Mr. Mulder? Do you court death and pain? Do you embrace your own suffering all too readily?"

Mulder opened his mouth, and saw himself in a hundred different scenarios - jumping from trains, escaping bomb blasts, chasing after his lost sister - finding her - being rejected by her. He closed his mouth, and nodded, burying his face in his hands.

"3. A tendency to take pleasure from one's own suffering - which, I think, is what you're doing right now," the voice laughed. "Mr. Mulder, let's start again from the beginning. Tell me your experiences, honestly. Tell me what led you from your first sado-masochistic experience to my door, and then I'll tell you whether I'm prepared to change my mind."

Mulder sat up, his whole body shaking. He felt known - he felt as if this man knew and understood him, and it scared him. It reminded him of…

"Phoebe," he whispered. "An old girlfriend - I met her when I was 18. She used to tie me up…and she was cruel to me. I found it…arousing."

"Good. Continue," the voice ordered.

"She did some great head fucks. She'd flirt with other guys to make me jealous - sometimes she liked watching me fight them, physically. I always won…except once." He broke off, stared into space.

"What happened?"

"She went off with the other guy. Spent the night with him - slept with him." Mulder clenched his fists. "The message went home loud and clear. I had to be the best, the strongest, to keep her. She was the prize, the top, and I was nothing. I existed just to serve her."

"Did you find that arousing?"

Mulder sighed. "Yeah. Oh god, yeah. I hated it though. I couldn't handle the insecurity. We broke up. I had some regular girlfriends for a while, and then I started working in DC. I…I couldn't forget Phoebe, so I found the BDSM scene. I only played with women at first…and then one day, the woman I was with gave me to this guy - made me suck his dick. It was supposed to be the ultimate humiliation…but I found myself enjoying it. Men are harder, stronger…the domination is so much more…total. I need to give myself up to that. I'm a strong person. I need to be owned by someone stronger," Mulder whispered. "After that, I sought out men. I've never viewed myself as homosexual, but I like being dominated by men."

"I see." The voice was thoughtful.

"I feel…out of control," Mulder continued. "That's what the appeal of this is to me. I can't control myself, or my life. There are things that have happened to me that are…well let's just say that I've diced with death for the sheer thrill of it on more than one occasion. I haven't decided whether I want to live. Every day I wake up wondering whether today's the day I'll die. It's an ongoing decision. I haven't chosen life. It's just what's happened. By default. Death might come the same way. With sex…with BDSM sex, someone else takes that decision away from me. They control me…and for a few hours I have some respite from that decision. I can't make it. I'm not free to. I belong to them." Mulder stood up, and glanced at the mirror, bitterly. "Well thanks for seeing me. Even if the favor wasn't returned," he said, "and for making me spill my guts. I hope it amused you."

"It was…fascinating," the voice intoned. "You interest me enough to make me reconsider."

Mulder stopped on his way to the door, and stiffened, then turned back, his heart beating too quickly inside his chest. "You'll have me? You'll take me as your sub?" He asked.

"No," the voice said in a low, quiet tone. Mulder's whole body slumped. "I wouldn't consider taking you as a sub, Mr. Mulder. That wouldn't suit me, and it's hardly worked for you so far - as is evident. I will consider taking you as my slave though."

"What?" Mulder strode over to the mirror.

"You know what I mean, Mr. Mulder. You've been on the scene for several years," the voice chided softly. "I don't want to have you as a twice a week fuck. That wouldn't interest me, and it won't do you any good either. If you sincerely wish to play with me, then it would have to be a more…permanent arrangement - 24 hours a day, 7 days a week."

"What about my work?" Mulder asked incredulously.

"I don't have a problem with you continuing to work - as long as you keep me briefed on everything you do. You would live with me though - I have special slave quarters - and you'd have a pager. I expect you to be available to me whenever I wish to make use of you - and in whatever way I wish to make use of you, from presenting your ass for a whipping, to fetching the groceries."

"That might interfere with my job," Mulder murmured, wishing that his cock wasn't rock hard inside his pants.

"You would have to ensure it didn't." The voice sounded unconcerned. "I prefer my slaves to have something interesting to talk about at the end of the day. I require my slave to be presentable, well groomed, polite, intelligent, educated, charming, and amusing. It's not an easy lifestyle, Mr. Mulder. There's no question of my slave sitting back and waiting for me to do all the hard work. I expect to be kept entertained, sexually satisfied, and generally looked after. You'll be my valet, chef and housekeeper - all on an unpaid basis - in addition to keeping my bed warmed."

"Sounds like a tough job," Mulder commented.

There was a dry laugh. "It has its compensations. You should think carefully about it before submitting yourself to any such agreement though. Sit down at the table, Mr. Mulder. I'll have my terms brought in, and then you can decide whether or not they're acceptable to you."

Mulder did as he was told, wordlessly, his mouth dry. He was stunned by this turn of events. He thought he had known, when he first came here, what he was letting himself in for. He would charm this top top, this super-dom, and then he'd get what he needed, when he needed it - on his terms. Not anybody else's. He didn't like the way this was going at all…and yet…and yet his body was quivering with arousal at the thought of being so comprehensively owned. It was the kind of relationship he'd had with Phoebe, only without either of them ever specifying as much.

The door opened, and a servant walked in. He was holding a piece of paper, which he placed in front of Mulder. Then he brought over a silver pen and an inkstand, together with a blotter, and placed them by Mulder's right hand. He left the room without speaking.

Mulder looked down on the neatly typed parchment, and read:

1. The slave agrees to obey and submit completely to his Master in all ways. There are no boundaries of place, time, or situation in which the slave may willfully refuse to obey the directive of his Master.
2. The slave also agrees that, once entered into the Slavery Contract, his body belongs to his Master, to be used as seen fit.
3. All of the slave's possessions likewise belong to his Master, including all assets, finances, and material goods, to do with as He sees fit.
4. The slave agrees to please his Master to the best of his ability, in that he now exists solely for the pleasure of his Master.
5. The slave understands that all that he has, and all that he does, shall now move from right to privilege, granted only as He wishes, and only to the extent that He finds useful.

I have read and fully understand this Slavery Contract in its entirety. I agree to give everything I own to my Master, and further accept His claim of ownership over my physical body, heart, soul, and mind. I understand that I will be commanded and trained and punished as a slave, and I promise to be true and to fulfil the pleasures and desires of my Master, and serve Him to the best of my abilities. I understand that I cannot withdraw from this Slavery Contract.

Signed:

"Absolutely not." Mulder put down the pen, got up, and walked furiously over to the mirror. "You must be insane. I don't even know you - I haven't even met you. This is ridiculous."

"Fair enough," the voice said smoothly. "It's been interesting meeting you, Mr. Mulder. Please close the door on your way out."

"Fuck you." Mulder kicked the wall angrily. "My possessions? My heart, my soul…?" he floundered breathlessly.

"I suspect that neither your heart, nor your soul, are areas that disturb you very much, Mr. Mulder. The part that caused you anxiety was, I suspect, your 'mind'."

"It doesn't matter. You can't really own another person. It's crazy." Mulder thumped his head against the mirror, and stood there for a moment in anguish, leaning his head and forearms on that brightly polished surface. He needed this. He really needed this. Only he, and, he suspected, the man behind the mirror, knew just how much that contract turned him on. It was the ultimate thrill - to live in a state of constant submission. He knew his own nature all too well - he only ever feigned his submission during sex play, in order to get off on it. He wouldn't be able to do that under the conditions laid out in the contract. This was the Real Thing. It scared him. It excited him. A claustrophobic part of himself was already chafing under the idea of the restriction, even as his cock throbbed in anticipation of such ownership. Mulder looked up, into his own eyes, into the eyes of the man behind the mirror.

"What about you?" He whispered at last, hardly believing that he was seriously continuing this conversation. "I see a lot in this contract about my obligations - what about yours?" He waved his arm at the piece of paper.

"Good question." The voice sounded as if it were smiling.

The door opened, and the servant came back in. He laid another sheet of paper on the table, and stepped quietly away again. Mulder returned to the table cautiously, curiously, hating himself for being so interested in this whole process. He had no intention of signing. He couldn't. And yet…

1. I accept this slave into my loving care and protection as his Master.
2. I will provide the physical and emotional necessities of life for my slave, and he will know my love as I choose for him to know it.
3. I will use my slave's body as I wish, such usage to be limited only by my responsibility not to damage either his physical or mental being.
4. I shall establish a clearly understood set of rules for my slave, and I shall enforce them in a firm but responsible manner. These rules will be for his protection as well as his discipline, and will - to the best of my ability - foresee every eventuality and control the most minute aspect of his behavior.
5. Within the self-imposed limitations above, I undertake to train and discipline my slave in a manner calculated to guide him toward a perfection of obedient submission that I know he can never achieve. In doing so, it will be my goal to reward his efforts by dispensing the punishment he requires and deserves.
6. I shall endeavor to provide for my slave's necessities of life, even in the event that I should die or otherwise be rendered incapable of caring for him.

I have read and fully understand this Master Contract in its entirety. I agree to accept this slave as my property, body and possessions, and to care for him to the best of my ability. I shall provide for his security and well-being and command him, train him, and punish him as a slave. I understand the responsibility implicit in this arrangement, and agree that no harm shall come to the slave as long as he is mine. I further understand that I can withdraw from this Contract at any time.

Signed:

Mulder closed his eyes and leaned his head back, then opened them, and gazed at the plain, white ceiling, but he found no answers there. This Contract spoke to some need, deep inside him. The Master's contract spoke of caring, of punishing… of protecting him. The use of the word security echoed in his mind. He didn't feel secure, or loved, or cared for. He felt adrift. He wanted peace - would this contract give him that?

"I see you get to end the contract whenever you like, but I don't," he commented bitterly.

"There will be times you might be tempted to act in haste - and repent at leisure," the voice replied.

"That's a saying usually used about marriage, not slave contracts," Mulder murmured ironically.

More dry laughter. "If you're wondering whether there's a difference, trust me, there is. A significant one. However…" The voice was thoughtful. "I have no wish to keep an unwilling slave. If you wished to break our Contract, I'd listen to your arguments and treat them seriously - although I'd probably refuse your request. I have no legally binding hold over you - the laws of this land would uphold your freedom, except in regard to your property of course, which would be signed over to me. I might return it to you at my own discretion, if I terminated our contract. It is doubtful that I would do so if you chose to leave. In addition - if you decide to leave without my permission, then I wouldn't accept you back. I also suspect that you'd have to find a new playground. Nobody in this city would play with another man's property without his permission - and it's unlikely that I'd give such permission."

"Dammit this is absurd! Surely you can see that!" Mulder pounded his fist on the table. "This is about sex, not everyday life. I cannot…I will not…give myself up to this."

"No. I'm sorry. You won't ever find what you're looking for, Mr. Mulder, precisely because of that fact."

"I'm not looking to become someone's slave!" Mulder protested.

"No. I agree. However, in so doing, you might discover what you are looking for." The voice had a tone to it that implied a shrug.

"Don't I even get to see what I'm letting myself in for?" Mulder questioned. "You've had a chance to inspect the goods - what about me?"

"I think not. If you choose not to sign the contract, then I'd prefer for my identity to remain a secret. You came looking for me, remember. I don't have any obligation towards you."

"What about negotiation?" Mulder asked despairingly. He always negotiated prior to playing. He and his prospective partner would talk about what sexual practices they enjoyed, and how far the top could go. He was so adept at them that he could talk easily on subjects some people might find highly embarrassing. It was standard safe practice on the scene - for good reason.

"There is no negotiation. There's just the Contract," came the reply. "If you're my slave, I own you. There's no discussion about it. You have to learn to trust…and submit."

"So, safe-words wouldn't be an option then?" Mulder asked, making a face.

"That's right, Mr. Mulder. They wouldn’t," the voice replied dryly.

Mulder paced around the room, thinking furiously. Shit, this man could be anyone - hell, it could even be that cigarette smoking bastard. Not that it would matter if he were. Mulder would just walk out, and not come back, if that were the case. So what if he couldn't play in this city again - at least he'd keep his integrity. And what, truthfully, was the point of playing here again? He'd been through every top, and yes, he'd consumed them, as this man had so accurately pointed out. He felt as if was spinning out of control, seeking ever more dangerous risks, more intense thrills…and this…this was the ultimate risk, the ultimate trip into the unknown, the ultimate thrill. If he signed this piece of paper, anything could happen to him. During a sex game he wouldn't have any control, or the buffer zone of a safe-word. He'd be totally, completely, at the mercy of his Master. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week… Shit, but this man reminded him of Phoebe. He seemed to have gotten into his head - he knew exactly the way to scare him and excite him, at one and the same time.

"Yes," he whispered. There was a silence. "I said, the answer is yes, damn you!" He roared.

"The pen is on the table," the voice replied implacably, clearly unimpressed by this display of temper.

Mulder went over to the table, and sat down. He picked up the pen, and closed his eyes. He saw Scully's face in his mind's eye. She was frowning at him, yelling at him, asking him how the hell he could do something this stupid. He saw Skinner, standing over him, shouting at him - asking him why he'd risk his career over something so crazy. He opened his eyes again, trying to shut out their faces, their voices, their concern. How could he ever explain this to them? All he could hope was that this man he was giving his life over to was benign, and that somehow he'd keep him back from the brink of the dark abyss he walked.

Mulder placed the tip of the pen to the paper - and signed his life away.

End of Part One.

Feedback? Yes please! To xanthe@xanthe.org

Part Two can be found here.