Chapter 20: Dungeons And
Dragons
Mulder felt as if he was floating. He couldn’t
remember ever having felt this relaxed, or content, this still, and peaceful.
He was warm. The sun was shining through a window, and he was an integral part
of a mound of hot human flesh entangled with a soft, vibrating feline
presence. His head was resting on
a broad chest, his ear tickled by curls of chest hair, and he could hear a
heart beating in time to the steady purr that was emanating from the general
direction of his chin. Lazily, he opened one eye, and found himself looking
into unblinking yellow-green orbs. Wanda gave an explosive purr on seeing that
he was awake, and arched her dainty back along the length of Skinner’s
torso, which was where she was stretched, both front paws languidly draped on
Mulder’s arm which was, in turn, flung over his Master’s chest. Damn but
it felt good here, being part of this feline/human triad: too good to move.
Outside, the sound of waves ebbing and falling on the seashore lulled him,
while inside, the sound of his Master’s heartbeat and Wanda’s purring had
a similar, soporific effect. Mulder lay still, just soaking up the moment, his
head turned fractionally so that he could gaze at his Master’s sleeping
form.
Skinner slept, as always, as if he owned the bed, and everything in it, which,
Mulder reflected, wasn’t far from the truth. That thought gave him a warm
glow of contentment, and he pressed his lips reverently to Skinner’s chest,
and bestowed a tender kiss on the other man’s honey-toned flesh. Skinner
didn’t move. He was a deep sleeper at the best of times and they had been
late to bed the previous night. Mulder loved watching his Master in repose.
Skinner always looked younger and more vulnerable without his glasses, and the
trappings of his status as Mulder’s Master. The cut on his chin had yielded a bruise that stood out in
livid hues against the tan color of his flesh. Mulder found another bruise on
his Master’s ribs, but they were the only legacies of Skinner’s fight with
Krycek. Mulder wished he could have been there to witness his Master taking
care of their old enemy. Somehow, he knew that the event had been accomplished
efficiently, with the minimum of intrigue or fuss. Skinner would have arrived
in the middle of the night, let himself in to the other man’s apartment, and
taken him by surprise. Krycek would have been allowed one free shot in the
scuffle, and then Skinner would have subdued him - quickly, and efficiently,
without raising his voice or losing his temper. Mulder shivered. There was
something particularly ruthless about the thought of his Master calmly
exacting from Krycek precisely what the other man had visited upon
Skinner’s slave. The level of calculation that had taken was more impressive
and chilling than if Skinner had just hit out at his enemy in rage, not caring
where the blows fell. Mulder processed this new information about his Master
in his profiler’s mind, as he gazed at the other man’s sleeping form.
Skinner was a man of such complexity, that he felt as if he was only now
getting to know him.
Here was a man who had run from his own emotions
for so many years that by the time he stopped to face them he was weak from
exhaustion, and crippled by his own feelings of self-loathing. It had taken a
man as clever and devoted as Andrew Linker to draw forth the Master Mulder
knew so well from the wreckage that had been Skinner’s life after his wife’s
death. Somehow, Andrew had found the sensual man inside the AD, and helped him
become the living, breathing embodiment of the perfect Master. Then there were
the contradictions; the big, strong man who was in thrall to a small, dainty,
imperious cat. The experienced, legendary top, who willingly put himself under
the lash when his own emotions got the better of him. The hard-assed boss who
time and again moved heaven and earth for his chosen, troublesome slave and
subordinate. The serious man with an appalling taste in puns, and one line
ripostes. Skinner was stern Master and tender lover, hard taskmaster and
curiously gentle friend at one and the same time. Friend. Mulder paused at
that thought. He had never yet had a lover who had also been a friend. He had
never expected to find a Master who would fill that role. In his fantasies,
his faceless Master had always been cruel, and demanding, almost dehumanizing
– Skinner couldn’t have been more different than the fantasy. After last
night, there was nothing Mulder couldn’t imagine being able to share with
his Master. He could quite literally tell the other man anything and
everything. He had never been in a relationship like this. It felt…good. He
felt happy. Curled up here, part of this Master/slave/Wanda unit, he knew that
he had at last found a place where he belonged.
Mulder dozed for another hour, enjoying the peace and sense of belonging, then
finally stirred, and glanced at the clock – then glanced back in surprise.
It was nearly noon. He couldn’t believe how long they’d slept, and yet
they had both needed the rest after the traumatic intensity of the past few
weeks. Mulder slid quietly out of the bed, and padded along the corridor to
the bathroom. He peed, and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror tiles
that lined the room.
“Shit, Murray – did you have to cover
this entire room in mirror tiles?” he chided their absent host. “I do not
look good right after waking up.” It was impossible to avoid seeing his
naked body from all angles as he peed, and there was something curiously
arousing about watching himself holding his own cock. He finished, and was
unsurprised to find himself half hard. Somehow, he had the feeling his cock
was going to be spending the next couple of weeks in an almost permanent state
of arousal, and, equally, he knew he was only going to be allowed to come with
his Master’s permission. That delicious thought made his cock harden even
more, and it looked absurd, jutting out from his body and reflected back at
him all around the bathroom. If he looked straight ahead, he could see his
butt reflected in the tiles on the walls behind him. His white, unlined butt;
smooth after many spank-less days. Too many.
“You are seriously kinky, Murray,” he
observed. He filled the basin with cool water and washed his face, and
smoothed his sleep-mussed hair, then looked at himself again. The bruises on his body and face had faded almost to nothing,
and all that remained as a reminder of what had happened in Seattle was a
chipped tooth, and the raised scar on his chest. Mulder looked at the carved
wound without flinching. Last night, Skinner had kissed it, and touched it,
and made it his and that had gone a long way to curing his phobia about
the scar. Mulder ran his fingers along the edge of the wound. He still didn’t
like the fact that it was there, but he could at least live with it now.
Mulder left the bathroom, and wandered down the
wooden slatted stairs. It had been late by the time they had gone to bed last
night, and Skinner hadn’t done more than show him where the kitchen and
bathroom were before they both fell into bed, and immediately into a deep
sleep. Mulder was aware of the honor of being allowed to share Skinner’s
bed. He hoped that was a
situation that would continue throughout their vacation, but he wasn’t about
to take anything for granted. He knew he was still on probation. He had won
back the right to call the other man “Master”, but he was still a
collarless slave, without status, and he was bitterly aware of his fall from
grace. Having once been a collared slave, he would do anything to return to
that state again. He wasn’t aware just how much it was a part of his psyche
until he had lost it. The collar had been the outward symbol of his place in
his Master’s life and the lack of it was a constant ache in his heart. He
dreaded that Skinner would take him to another party, and that everyone would
see he was collarless, and disgraced. He accepted that he had deserved the
punishment, but the humiliation of his disgrace went very deep.
Mulder filled the kettle and put it on the
stove, smiling to himself as he considered the irony of his position. He was a
person of extreme independence. He had made his own decisions from a young
age, and he was so determined a personality that nobody and nothing could stop
him when he made up his mind to do something, however foolhardy and risky it
was. Yet for so long he had been a restless soul, eaten up by guilt, and pain,
and a voiceless need that had nearly destroyed him on countless occasions. All
that had changed the moment he had accepted Skinner’s rings onto his body.
They had been outward symbols of an inner truth: Mulder wanted to belong. He
wanted to belong to someone who would allow him to keep his strength but would
channel his self-destructive energies into the service of a Master as strong
as himself. Mulder could turn his cool, rational profiling mind on himself,
and had done, frequently, over the years. He usually understood himself all
too well, with a bitterness and lack of compassion that he showed only towards
himself. Now, though, he could see himself more calmly, through less jaundiced
eyes than before, because now he was loved. Now he saw himself reflected back
through his Master’s eyes, and if his Master found his slave pleasing, who
was Mulder to disagree with the man he worshipped?
There had been many times when Skinner had made
him look at himself. In fact, Skinner seemed to enjoy making his slave view
himself in his most abject and basic condition. Marked, naked, bound, willing,
and eager, his Master’s marks and symbols adorning his body – Skinner had
always taken great delight in displaying his slave to himself. He had made
Mulder look into the mirror, had pointed out the marks he’d made on his
slave’s skin, the rings he’d threaded through his slave’s flesh, the
bonds he used to bind his slave, and slowly, so slowly, Mulder had come to see
himself through his Master’s eyes. Skinner saw not a weak, pathetic slave,
but someone who had handed up his body voluntarily to his Master’s whim,
offering him a gift of all that he was, and could ever be, without
qualification, or hesitation, or proviso, making no terms as to how the gift
was used - merely accepting. He had offered himself in totality, holding
nothing back, because his own self was all he could give to his Master in
return for the other man’s love and affection. Skinner relished his gift,
played with it, adored and protected it like the precious treasure that it was
to him. He wanted Mulder to appreciate it as much as he did. He took such joy
in his slave that he wanted his slave to see what he saw, to love what he
loved – and in some way that Mulder couldn’t even begin to understand, he
was starting to do just that.
Mulder sipped his coffee, then wandered over to
the window, and glanced out. It was beautiful – the sun was high in the sky,
and the sea was a shimmering silvery-blue. He heard a rumbling sound around
his feet, and something soft rubbing against his ankles and reached down to
lift Wanda up against his chest. She nuzzled against his scar, clearly deeming
it irrelevant in her universe, and Mulder smiled, and tickled her ears. She
gazed out of the window at the sea, her ears flicking back and forth, and her
pupils dilating.
“What does the apartment cat make of the big
bad world, huh?” Mulder crooned, tickling her under the chin to soothe her.
She trilled and nestled into him, her gaze still transfixed by the sea – or,
more accurately, by the seagulls that were flying around outside squawking.
“So, where’s the dungeon, Wanda?” Mulder asked, which was the thought
that had been uppermost in his mind since he woke. He imagined a basement,
with cold, stone walls, manacles hanging from menacing hooks. He saw himself
bound naked to a rack, his tall, strong Master bending over him, while he
tormented him to ever greater heights of pleasure. Mulder glanced around,
wondering where the dungeon might be, and whether he dared sneak a peek at it,
but he guessed that Skinner would wake soon, and he wanted to give his Master
a wake up call that he wouldn’t forget in a hurry, so, reluctantly, he
decided against further exploration.
Mulder finished his coffee, and placed Wanda on
the kitchen table, then poured his Master a cup of coffee, and padded silently
upstairs to the bedroom. He opened the drapes, and then gazed around the room
in shock. It had been dark the previous night, and he’d been too tired and
spaced out to look around, but the room they were in was frankly…unique. The
bright yellow walls were covered with erotic homosexual art, much of it
primitive and crude, hanging in huge wooden frames. Mulder stared at pictures
of a kneeling man deep-throating a laughing, budda-esque figure that looked
suspiciously like Murray, and swallowed hard. He looked closer at the kneeling
figure and saw that it resembled Hammer. Glancing around the room, he saw that
all the pictures were in fact of their host and his sub having wild,
frenzied, unrestrained sex in all manner of positions. Mulder felt almost as
if he was intruding, although he had to admit that the artwork was definitely
inspiring. That thought made him turn his attention back to his Master.
Skinner was still asleep, his whole body sprawled out over the sheets, taking
up as much room as possible. Mulder smiled, placed the coffee on the
nightstand, and then slid beneath the sheets and located his Master’s
sleeping cock. He licked it, lazily, and it stirred beneath his ministrations,
as it always did. Mulder wasn’t in a hurry though. He wanted this to be a
nice, slow wake up call for his Master. It
had been so long since he’d delivered a wake up call, and he wanted to make
it good. It certainly felt good for the slave; Mulder gently lapped at his
Master’s hardening penis, and then took it into his mouth. He guessed that
Skinner was now awake, because his Master made a small, throaty sound, and
twisted slightly, his hips bucking up into Mulder’s eager mouth. Mulder slid
his Master’s cock reverentially back and forth between his moist lips, and
then finally deep throated it in a move that made his Master gasp out loud. A
hand appeared on his head, and grabbed his hair, and he sucked hard,
delighting in the way he could send his Master into such a frenzied state so
easily.
He tasted Skinner’s come, and continued
sucking until he was sure that his Master was done, and then crawled back up
the bed, smiling to himself, to find his Master wide awake, his dark eyes full
of affection.
“I’m glad to see you’ve remembered your
place, boy,” Skinner murmured, and Mulder grinned and dared to steal a kiss
from his Master’s lips. Skinner grunted, and grabbed his slave’s butt
cheeks, kneading them as he responded hungrily to the kiss. Mulder’s cock
dug into his Master’s thigh, hard, and aroused, but he had no expectation of
being allowed to come. The kiss finished, and Skinner stroked his slave’s
butt, his expression thoughtful. “It strikes me that this butt is a good
deal too cool, boy,” he growled. “It’s been allowed to get away without
correction for too long, and that’s made you bold.”
“Yes, Master, sorry, Master,” Mulder said
without any shred of sincerity, delighting in saying the word Master.
Skinner chuckled, and slapped his slave’s ass again, and Mulder moaned and
lifted his butt up eagerly for more – which wasn’t forthcoming.
“I think I mentioned that you are subject to
some intensive re-training for the next couple of weeks,” Skinner said.
Mulder nodded. “Yes, Master.” He angled his
head forward and stole a kiss from Skinner’s neck, then tried to go back to
his Master’s mouth and was stopped by another slap on the ass.
“Master- permission to kiss you, Master,”
Mulder said hopefully.
“That’s better. Permission granted.”
Skinner pulled his slave’s body close as Mulder angled his head down again.
He opened his mouth as his lips met those of his Master, and their tongues
immediately twined, passionately claiming each other. Skinner’s hands were
never still, constantly kneading his slave’s butt, and occasionally his
fingers disappeared into Mulder’s crease, pushing inside his slave’s body.
Mulder moaned, and twisted on his Master’s fingers, opening up his ass,
hoping that his Master would use him. It was a forlorn hope.
“Very nice, boy,” Skinner chuckled when they
parted. “You know, I think it’s possible that you might have missed me.”
“I did, Master.” Mulder nodded, daring to
drop his head and kiss his Master’s nipple. He was rewarded with a smack on
his butt, which only emboldened him to kiss the other nipple. Another smack
sent his cock leaping. “I’d
like to show Master how much I missed him,” Mulder said slyly. Skinner gazed
at him for a moment, a smile in his eyes. He knew he was being manipulated,
but his expression said that he was more than happy to go along with it - for
now.
“Very well, boy. Show me.” Skinner moved his
pillow and lay propped up on it, looking at his slave expectantly.
“Where shall I begin?” Mulder asked,
kneeling astride his Master and gazing down as if he wanted to consume the
other man. “Perhaps at the top. I missed your head, Master.” He leaned
forward, and bestowed several kisses on his Master’s bare scalp. “I missed
my Master’s warm, naked flesh. I missed kissing it, and licking it.” He
gently trailed his tongue along his Master’s bare head, and Skinner
chuckled, and slapped his butt half-heartedly.
“Keep going, boy,” he ordered.
Thus emboldened, Mulder ended his wet trail at
one of his Master’s ears. “I missed my Master’s beautiful, edible ears,”
Mulder said, nibbling on a lobe. Skinner convulsed slightly, and slapped
Mulder’s butt again.
“Edible?” He raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“Eminently so, Master,” Mulder replied,
grinning.
“Carry on, boy,” Skinner commanded.
“I missed my Master’s dark, expressive eyes.”
Mulder pressed his lips to Skinner’s eyelids, closing them with his tongue,
and then kissed each one, “and I missed my Master’s perfect nose.” He
kissed Skinner’s nose, and his Master grunted, clearly fighting back
laughter. “I missed my Master’s firm jaw, and wide cheekbones, and most of
all…” Mulder bestowed a kiss to each of those areas, and then ended up
eyeball to eyeball with his Master. “I missed Master’s lips, and the taste
of his kisses,” Mulder whispered, stealing another kiss from his Master’s
mouth – one that was given very freely. He disengaged reluctantly, and moved
further down. “I missed the small dimple in my Master’s chin.” Mulder
kissed it, and then went further, “and his broad, strong neck.” He
bestowed several kisses on Skinner’s neck, and then moved again, sliding
back along his Master’s body as he went. “I missed my Master’s broad
chest…” He ran his hands over Skinner’s chest, fondling each of his
Master’s nipples as he did so. “And, of course,” Mulder paused, and drew
back the sheet dramatically. Skinner’s cock stirred under his slave’s
gaze. “His long legs,” Mulder grinned, bypassing Skinner’s genitals.
Skinner growled and Mulder turned, offering his butt to his Master as he
kissed his way down said long legs, and all the way to his Master’s feet.
Skinner used Mulder’s ass as a drum as his slave worked, tapping out a beat
on his slave’s white buttocks. “I missed Master’s cute feet, and his
exquisitely perfect toes,” Mulder said. Skinner guffawed, and then grunted,
and gave Mulder’s ass a sharp swat as his slave took each of his Master’s
golden toes in his mouth and sucked on them. Mulder finished sucking and began
working his way back up his Master’s body. “Hmm…I’m sure there’s
something else I missed,” he murmured, feigning a puzzled look. Skinner was
laughing now, as well as trying to look stern, and displeased. Mulder grinned,
delighted that he was amusing his Master so much. “I remember!” he
announced. Skinner raised an expectant eyebrow. “I missed my Master’s
taut, bite-able butt,” Mulder said, nuzzling his face against the side of
one butt cheek which was all he could reach with his Master lying on his back.
“Bite-able? Just you try, boy,” Skinner
warned.
“I wouldn’t dare, Master,” Mulder replied.
He sat astride his Master again. “I think I’ve finished,” he said, still
grinning.
“Are you sure there wasn’t something you
missed?” Skinner asked, dangerously.
“Hmmmm, I don’t think so,” Mulder replied,
feigning a thoughtful expression.
“Are you sure, boy, or will a trip over my
knee refresh your memory?” Skinner asked.
“A trip over Master’s knee will refresh more
than my memory,” Mulder riposted, glancing down at his half erect cock.
“Perhaps we should see…” Skinner rose up
and grabbed his giggling slave, threw him face down over his knee, and
delivered several deliciously stinging swats to Mulder’s wriggling, eager
ass. Mulder writhed, and panted, and gasped, and called out, all the time
loving every second of the light spanking.
“I’ve remembered something else, Master!”
he cried at last.
“Well.” Skinner righted him and looked at
him expectantly.
“I missed Master’s big, strong, hard,
pounding, throbbing, pulsing…”
“All right, boy. I think I get the idea,”
Skinner interrupted, his eyes alight with amusement.
“…huge, delicious, pulsating, claiming,
filling, totally gorgeous, completely edible, and utterly satisfying…”
Mulder dropped his face to Skinner’s hardening penis. “…cock,” he
finished, enunciating the final ‘k’, with a lascivious click of his teeth,
and licking his lips salaciously at the same time. Skinner broke into a wide
smile, and Mulder bestowed a big kiss on the member in question, delighting in
the fact that he could make his Master so full of lust for him that he was
already showing signs of arousal so soon after last time.
“Come here, scamp.” Skinner pulled his slave
back down onto his broad chest, and kissed Mulder’s forehead. Mulder went
obediently, and lay still on his Master’s body, sighing contentedly.
Skinner’s big hands gently caressed his slave’s warm bottom.
“One other thing I missed and am glad to have
back, Master,” Mulder murmured, glancing up.
“Hmm?” Skinner continued stroking his slave’s
ass, gently fondling Mulder’s body.
“The right to call you Master.”
“Ah, that must explain why you’ve been
working the word into every sentence,” Skinner said with an amused grunt.
“Yes, Master. Also…” Mulder paused, not
wanting to ruin the moment. “Will Master allow me some hope of ever winning
back my collar?”
“There’s always hope, boy.” Skinner gazed
down on his slave affectionately. “If you do well during the next two weeks,
and if you can keep that up when we return to work, then I have every
expectation that I’ll be sending out invitations to your collaring ceremony
sometime in the not too far distant future.
“Invitations? You’ll collar me publicly?”
Mulder whispered, his heart thumping inside his chest.
“Of course. Not only that,” Skinner
promised, “if I invite our friends to witness your collaring then I’ll
want to make sure they’re kept amused and entertained. It will be an ideal
opportunity to show off how obedient my slave is, how well he has submitted to
the re-training process, and all the things he’s learned with a willing,
eager heart. I want them to see what a credit he is to both his Master, and
himself.”
Mulder swallowed hard. He saw himself in his
mind’s eye, blindly following Skinner’s every order, no matter how hard or
personally uncomfortable, being watched by a room full of people, and his cock
hardened immediately.
“Thank you, Master,” he whispered.
“My pleasure, slave,” Skinner replied,
stroking his slave’s hair gently. “One thing, Fox. I’ll be disciplining
you in front of our guests as well, so you need to become accustomed to that
idea.”
“Disciplining me…?” Mulder looked up, his
heart sinking into his shoes at this unexpected turn of events. He had only
ever been disciplined in front of Ian and Donald before, and, briefly, in
front of their close friends at the dinner party Skinner had held. He had
found the former occasion in particular to be utterly humiliating, and he had
no wish to repeat it.
“Yes, slave. Any complaints?” Skinner asked,
raising a dangerous eyebrow.
“I won’t like it, Master,” Mulder said,
burying his face in Skinner’s neck.
“I know. Think of it as a final act of
contrition in order to win back your collar. It will be hard, and vigorous –
you’ll cry. I’ll make you do that much in front of our friends. I won’t
stop until you’re begging for it to end. I want you completely chastened
when I put my collar on you again, boy. Then the slate will be wiped clean,
and we can both go forward. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Mulder muttered into Skinner’s
neck, his whole body trembling.
“Good boy.” His Master’s hands soothed his
back gently. “That’s a long way off yet, Fox. For now, I want to
concentrate of relaxing, and rediscovering exactly why you’re the best slave
boy this side of Reticular.”
“I could point out that we don’t know what
the Reticulan slave boys are like,” Mulder said, sitting up with a grin. “Or
any other alien slave boys come to that.
“And I would reply that they could come with
ten foot cocks, and lush, spank-able butts, but the fact remains that you are
the only slave boy I want in my harem, Fox.”
“Thank you, Master.” Mulder’s face broke
into a wide grin.
“Oh, I wouldn’t thank me if I were you.”
Skinner smiled, dangerously. “After all, if I only have one slaveboy, then
he has to do all the work, and submit to all his Master’s vicious impulses,
without having anyone to share the torment with…” He reached up, took hold
of each of Mulder’s nipples, and squeezed, hard. Mulder yelped, and
squirmed. “Stay still, boy,” Skinner growled, “hands behind your back.
Submit to your Master’s will.”
“Yes, sir,” Mulder swallowed hard, his cock
hardening immediately.
“Good boy.” Skinner stroked and pinched the
nubs of flesh for several minutes, and Mulder put his head back, enjoying his
Master’s attention. Last night’s lovemaking was still a beautiful,
treasured memory, and he longed for them to return to their old insatiable
sexual relationship. It turned him on so much being this man’s slave,
worshipping him, and submitting to his every whim, however painful. He was
fully erect within seconds, as Skinner sat up, and pulled him close, then
latched his mouth onto his slave’s nipples, and sucked and nibbled at them
until it was all Mulder could do to keep still. Skinner’s lips gently
brushed Mulder’s scar, kissing and licking at it, reinforcing the message he
had drummed into his slave last night, that his scar was part of him, and as
loved as the rest of him, then his lips traveled back to Mulder’s nipples
again, and attacked them in earnest. Mulder began to moan, his eyes half
closed, sweat breaking out on his body from the effort of keeping in position.
Then, suddenly, it stopped. Skinner drew back, and slapped his slave heartily
on the butt.
“Time for a shower, I think,” he grinned,
and then he eased himself out from under his slave and disappeared in the
direction of the bathroom. Mulder knelt there, reeling from the sudden absence
of his Master.
“Bastard,” he muttered.
“I heard that,” Skinner called from the
corridor.
“Spank me then,” Mulder teased, rolling off
the bed and going to join his Master in the mirror tiled bathroom. “Oh god,
how can Murray and Hammer stand being in this room,” Mulder said, wincing as
he caught sight of his swollen, throbbing cock, reflected back at him all
around from every single conceivable angle.
“Judicious use of blindfolds perhaps?”
Skinner suggested, with a knowingly raised eyebrow. He stepped into the
shower, and Mulder grinned, and stepped in beside him, but there were no fun
and games on offer. His Master didn’t command him to soap his body, and
merely set about washing himself before tossing the soap to his slave, and
stepping out again. He grabbed a towel, wrapped it around his waist and
disappeared into the other room. Mulder stared after him, perplexed, wondering
if these were some new rules he didn’t know about, or understand.
He finished his own shower and then wandered back into the bedroom. Skinner
was already dressed, in a pair of denim shorts, and a tee shirt. Mulder stared
at his Master: he had never seen the other man dressed this informally, and it
was, he had to admit…nice. Not sexy, but just nice. Comfortable. Skinner
didn’t look like his Master any more; he just looked like a regular guy on
vacation. Mulder finished drying himself and toweled his hair, then sat on the
end of the bed, looking a little lost. He didn’t know if he was allowed to
dress – he wasn’t in their apartment, but now they were on vacation, and
their lives had been so different recently anyway that their old routines
seemed a lifetime away. He gazed at his Master as Skinner grabbed some
sunscreen, and started lathering it on his arms, and bare scalp. Mulder felt
this was a task he should perform, but his Master didn’t ask, and he didn’t
know whether that was on purpose or not. Confused, he just sat, watching.
“Hurry up,” Skinner urged, seeing he wasn’t
moving. “I brought your things – they’re in the green suitcase. Oh, and
make sure you slap plenty of this on. It’s looking pretty hot outside and
the only part of your body I want to see glowing red is your ass – and not
because it’s been sunburned.” Skinner tossed him the tube of sunscreen,
and then left the bedroom. Mulder got up, still perplexed. He wasn’t sure
what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t this. True, Skinner had given him
a cursory spanking, but it was a long way from the morning discipline he’d
come to expect. He had expected orders, and punishments, a list of rules, and
tasks to perform – a general framework in which he could show that he had
learned, and grown, that he was truly contrite about the whole Seattle fiasco,
and that he was genuine in his desire to win back his collar. How could he
show Skinner how good a slave he was if his Master wasn’t asking him to be a
slave at all?
Confused, Mulder wandered over to the suitcase, and opened it. He rummaged
through it, and found that Skinner had packed a comprehensive array of
garments, mostly vacation wear such as shorts, and tee shirts, but also a pair
of jeans, and chinos, and a couple of smarter shirts, and even one tie. His
Master hadn’t forgotten anything. There was underwear, footwear, and even a
bag of toiletries. Mulder didn’t bother to unpack. He rarely did whenever he
stayed in hotel rooms anyway – he lived out of a suitcase, and ignored
Scully’s pointed remarks about crumpled suits. His suits usually ended up
covered in green goo, or full or bullet holes anyway, so he had long since
stopped caring about them.
Mulder pulled on a pair of khaki shorts, a navy
cotton shirt, and a pair of sneakers, and then trotted down the stairs. He
didn’t feel like a slave, dressed like this. Was that the point? Was Skinner
saying that after what had happened he viewed Mulder more as a lover, and less
as a slave? Mulder wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He enjoyed being the
big man’s lover. That felt good, and he appreciated having gotten to know
the man behind the Master, but he didn’t feel ready to change their
relationship. The bottom line was - and Mulder smiled at the pun – he wanted
to be Skinner’s slave. He wanted it so badly it hurt.
There was no sign of his Master in the kitchen.
Mulder glanced around, and his heart skipped a beat as he wondered whether his
Master was in the Dungeon, preparing some particularly nasty piece of
equipment.
“Master?” He opened the kitchen door and
found himself on a path leading down to the beach – and there, wearing
sunglasses, and lying sprawled out on a sun lounger, reading a newspaper, was
his Master. Mulder frowned, and wandered down the path.
“There you are,” he said to the other man.
Skinner glanced up. “Yup.” Mulder stood on
one foot and made patterns in the sand with his other foot, feeling
disgruntled. “Problem?” Skinner asked, shaking out his paper. Mulder
sighed, and shrugged.
“No. Just wondering about breakfast, that’s
all,” he murmured, glancing around the beach. He could hardly believe that
this was the scene, just last night, of the most beautiful, intense love
making of his life. Skinner had been masterful enough then, so why wasn’t he
behaving more like a Master this morning?
“Yeah?” Skinner glanced up again. Mulder
couldn’t see the expression in his Master’s eyes behind the dark glasses.
They both looked at each other, as if waiting for something. Finally, Skinner
sighed. “There’s food in the fridge. I brought groceries, and Murray
always keeps the place well stocked.” He turned his attention back to his
newspaper.
“Oh. Right. I’ll go and check that out. Uh,
do you want some?” Mulder asked. Skinner lowered his paper very, very
slowly, almost menacingly. Mulder had the feeling that he had said the wrong
thing.
“That would be nice,” Skinner replied
politely.
“Right. I’ll go and see what there is then.”
Mulder turned on his heel, and marched back up to the house, feeling decidedly
pissed off. What the hell had that been about? He returned with a
mountain of toast and some fruit juice, and put them down on the sand between
himself and his Master. He wasn’t sure where to sit – there was a small
shed by the side of the house, and it was open, so he presumed the sun
loungers were in there. Should he go and get one? Or did Skinner want him to
sit on the sand?
“Are the sun loungers in there?” He asked in
a neutral tone, pointing to the shed.
“I believe so.” Skinner crunched on a slice
of toast.
“I…could go and get one?” Mulder suggested
feebly. He felt horribly out of his depth. He knew suddenly that this was the
reason why he never came on vacation. Vacations were confusing things, full of
alien rituals, the smell of sunscreen, and too much time to ponder dark, nasty
thoughts. Then there was also the problem of sand getting into your sneakers.
No wonder it had been ten years since had last taken a beach vacation. Skinner
was looking at him from behind those dark glasses, and Mulder had the feeling
that if he could see into his Master’s eyes, he would discover something
very revealing. Finally, Skinner gave a curt nod, combined with a shrug, as if
he didn’t give a damn where his slave sat. Mulder shrugged, and limped off
up the beach with two shoefuls of sand. He dragged out a folded teak chair,
carried it down the beach, and spent ten minutes figuring out how to put it
up, sweating all the time, and thinking how much he really, really
loathed vacations. He finally constructed the chair, sat down on it
cautiously, and laid back. This was nice enough, he supposed, and god knows
his body appreciated the rest after all the recent stresses and angst it had
been through, but all the same, he’d have much preferred to be locked
up in a dungeon facing an array of torture implements in the hands of his
skilled Master.
A couple of hours passed and Mulder started to
get fidgety. Was this it? Was this what they were going to be doing for
the next two weeks? Sitting in the sun? He hated sunbathing. Mulder tried
reading his Master’s cast off paper but the sea breeze kept blowing it out
of shape, and he wasn’t interested enough to continue struggling against the
elements. He idly considered going for a run, and suggested it to his Master,
hoping the other man would come too, but there was no reply. Mulder turned to
repeat the question and then realized that his Master was fast asleep, his
mouth open, and his whole body relaxed.
“How much sleep does one person need?”
he groused, wondering whether he and his Master might be incompatible vacation
companions. Not that it mattered, because he knew there was no question he’d
be allowed to go home back to a nice, comfortable apartment without sand, sea
breezes and marauding wasps. Mulder just didn’t do relaxing. He found
it hard keeping his legs still for long enough. A good hard spanking followed
by some stern orders could probably have gotten him to be still, but that didn’t
seem to be on the vacation menu. Mulder gave a loud, tragic sigh, but Skinner
didn’t so much as twitch and Mulder didn’t dare go so far as to wake his
Master. Finally he got up and wandered back to the house. If his Master wasn’t
going to introduce him to the delights of the dungeon then he’d just have to
find it for himself.
Mulder walked through Murray’s house, Wanda on
his heels, intent upon thoroughly exploring their new abode. The place was
decorated in a somewhat dramatic and eccentric fashion, which was only to be
expected, Mulder thought wryly to himself, remembering Murray’s strange
taste in robes, extravagant gestures, and booming voice. The master bedroom
and bathroom had clearly been merely a taste of what was to be found in the
rest of the house. The kitchen was large, and contained every single cooking
utensil that a person could ever need, and quite a few that Mulder thought
entirely unnecessary. It was a large room, with an enormous wooden table in
the center, around which were arranged several rickety, mismatched wooden
chairs. It had a charming, rustic feel. Mulder found a walk-in larder, and a
laundry room, equipped with state of the art washing machine and dryer. Mulder
shuddered, feeling no desire to linger in there. He wandered along a
corridor, and tried a door at the end, only to find that it was locked. His
curiosity piqued, Mulder crouched down on his haunches, and tried to peep into
the keyhole, but it was too dark to see anything. This had to be the
dungeon. Mulder briefly considered picking the lock, but decided, regretfully,
that it would be a stupid thing to do, and besides, it was no way to win back
his collar, so he turned and wandered up the stairs.
The house was large, and there were three guest
bedrooms apart from the main bedroom. Mulder poked his head around the door of
each, and stifled a laugh at the décor. One of the bedrooms looked as if it
was straight out of a medieval movie, with wooden flooring, rough plaster
walls, and a giant four-poster bed. Delighted, Mulder stepped inside and threw
himself on the bed – then laughed again when he saw that a decidedly un-medieval
mirror was fitted on the ceiling above. The other bedrooms were equally
eccentric. One didn’t even contain a bed – just a load of burgundy and
gold cushions arranged on the floor, and it was decorated like some kind of
Egyptian harem, complete with flowing drapes, and friezes depicting half naked
slave boys in positions of worship. The walls were a dark red, and the wooden
floor was covered in dark rugs. Mulder liked that room. A lot. The other
bedroom was more like a cell, containing one bed, plain walls, and black and
white furnishings. Mulder dubbed it the Puritan room. The cheerful yellow
bedroom with its primitive, original erotica that he and Skinner occupied was
positively normal by comparison with these other bedrooms.
The final room at the end of the corridor wasn’t
a bedroom at all. In fact Mulder wasn’t entirely sure what it was.
Part library, part junk room, part den he surmised, judging by the enormous
bookcases on one side of the room, and the many trunks, covered in tapestry
throws, and the closet on the other. There was a large desk, two comfortable
armchairs, and a worn rug covering plain wooden floorboards. Mulder thumbed
through the books, and was surprised to discover that most of them were plays
or poetry. There was also an interesting erotica section, which he made it his
business to devour for well over an hour. He finally tore himself away and
went to investigate the trunks, only to find them locked. The large closet,
however, was not, and opening it, Mulder discovered that it was full of
costumes. Mulder stared in surprise, until he remembered that Murray had been
an actor, and was still involved in Community Theater. That explained the
plays as well. Maybe this was where the cheerful, rotund top came to learn his
lines and rehearse. Mulder left the room, and trotted back down the stairs. He
hesitated outside the dungeon, desperate to find out what treats lay within,
but again he resisted. He was sure his Master would introduce him to the
delights inside sooner or later – he just hoped that he wouldn’t have to
wait too long.
He wandered aimlessly back outside, only to
discover, to his profound disappointment, that Skinner hadn’t moved. His
Master was still fast asleep. Mulder stared at the other man for a while, and
then, with a sigh, gave in, threw himself noisily down on the sun-lounger, and
closed his eyes, attempting to emulate his Master.
The next two days followed in much the same
manner. The freezer was stocked with food, and there were plenty of groceries.
Skinner was affectionate towards his slave, but while there was plenty of
cuddling, and a lot of kissing, especially of his scar, his Master wasn’t
behaving, well, much like a Master. And that was what was bothering
Mulder. He had been told that he would be re-trained during these two weeks,
and yet nothing was happening. He was confused. Skinner hadn’t even used
him, although he often reached out and pulled his slave into an embrace.
Mulder wasn’t sure whether he was allowed to come or not. His cock was often
half hard, and Skinner hadn’t told him he couldn’t come, and yet, all the
same, Mulder wasn’t sure he should. What made the whole thing even worse was
that he wasn’t sure how to broach the subject – so he didn’t. They ate
in companionable silence on the evening of the second day, and then Skinner
got up, leaving the dirty dishes and plates on the table. Mulder shrugged, and
left his too. His Master hadn’t ordered him to wash them, any more than he
had ordered him to make the dinner. In fact, there was a general lack of
orders all around, and in the absence of them, Mulder just followed his own
inclination. Maybe, he thought, Skinner intended this to be a vacation for his
slave as much as for the Master. Maybe he was giving them both a
vacation from their roles. It was the only explanation he could come up with
as the pile of dirty dishes grew.
By the morning of the third day, Mulder couldn’t
stand it any longer. He woke early, too sated by his frequent daytime naps to
stay sleeping, and glanced at the clock on the nightstand with a groan. 6 am.
It was obscene. He lay there for a moment, thinking about the locked dungeon
downstairs, all the hair on his body standing on end as he imagined what
delights that room might contain, and finally he couldn’t stand it any more;
he had to see that room. He gazed at his sleeping Master, but Skinner
slept long and heavily whenever he was given the chance, so Mulder knew there
was no likelihood of the other man waking soon. Thus emboldened, he slid out
from under Skinner’s arm, and held his breath as his Master grunted, and
murmured something in his sleep, then released the breath as Skinner rolled
over, still fast asleep. Mulder pulled on his sweatpants and a tee shirt, and
tiptoed carefully down the stairs, Wanda scurrying along behind him, clearly
unable to bear the idea of being left out of some interesting early morning
activity.
The door was still locked, but Mulder wasn’t
going to let a little thing like that get in his way. He was, after
all, experienced with locked doors. He removed the lock pick he had brought
with him from his sweatpants, and played around with the lock for a while. It
was hardly the most difficult lock he’d ever picked, and a few seconds
later, the door swung open. It was pitch black inside. Mulder fumbled for a
light switch but couldn’t find one, so, taking a deep breath, he stepped
inside. In his mind’s eye he envisioned a large flight of stone steps
leading down into the dungeon itself, so he took a tentative step forward,
searching for the top step with his toe…but there was nothing. He took
another step forward, growing bold, and then another, and then found himself
falling, his arms flailing. His first thought was that the entrance had been
booby trapped in some way as dozens of objects rained down on him. He landed
with a thump on his ass, and heard Wanda make a loud-pitched squawk.
“Ssh!” he growled, but it was too late for
that – the noise he had made was still reverberating in his ears, loud
enough to wake the dead – and certainly loud enough to wake a sleeping
Master. Mulder tried to get up, only to find himself trapped under a long
handled object. He pushed it aside, and tried to see what the hell it was in
the darkness…when the light was suddenly snapped on, and he found himself
face to face with his rudely awakened Master.
“Perhaps,” Skinner said evenly, holding out
a hand to help his errant slave to his feet, “you'd like to explain what you
were doing breaking into the broom cupboard at the crack of dawn?”
“Broom…?” Mulder glanced around, his heart
sinking. Skinner was right. He was in a small room, containing cleaning
equipment; the item that had attacked him had been a vacuum cleaner. “Oh
shit,” he whispered.
“Shit indeed, and you’re up to your neck in
it as usual,” Skinner observed. Mulder allowed his Master to pull him up,
and kicked a feather duster out of his way. The floor was littered with a
variety of cleaning fluids, and cleaning apparatus that he had stumbled into
and dislodged from the shelving when he fell. “Tell me that you felt
compelled to do a spot of cleaning that was so urgent it necessitated you
picking the lock,” Skinner implored.
“Uh…” Mulder hesitated.
“Rather than using the key which can be found
here,” Skinner continued, reaching up and fishing down the key from its
resting place atop the door surround. Mulder’s misery was complete. He
shrugged, dusted down his sweatpants, and walked haughtily back to the kitchen
with what was left of his dignity.
“So,” Skinner followed him, filled the
kettle and placed it on the stove. Mulder sat at the table, his head buried in
his hands. “Are you going to tell me what this was about, or must I assume
that you have some kind of compulsive cleaning disorder – bearing in mind
that I’ll be extremely skeptical about that considering the amount of
washing up that’s piled in the sink.”
“I was looking for the dungeon,” Mulder said
quietly, seeing any chance of winning back his collar fast disappearing down
the nearest toilet.
“I see. And you thought it might be in the
broom cupboard?” Skinner’s eyebrow was raised, and his lips looked
decidedly amused.
“I didn’t know it was a goddamn broom
cupboard!” Mulder exploded. “I didn’t know what it was because you haven’t
told me where the dungeon is!”
“It isn’t a secret, but so far, you haven’t
deserved a session in it,” Skinner replied mildly.
“I haven’t…?” Mulder looked up,
surprised. “What do you mean? You haven’t given me any orders since we got
here! How could I do anything to deserve a reward?”
“Ah. I see. You’ll only behave like a slave
when I’m behaving like a Master,” Skinner said dangerously, and suddenly
Mulder understood. He glanced at the dirty plates, remembered the way he’d
grudgingly made breakfast, and suddenly it all made sense. “What comes
first, the chicken or the egg?” Skinner murmured. “The Master or the
slave? I wanted to see where our training needed to begin, Fox, and it would
seem that it needs to begin right back at basics.”
“Oh, shit.” Mulder buried his face in his
arms again. “I thought maybe you were giving us both a vacation from being
slave and Master or something,” he explained into his arms. That sounded
ridiculous, even to his own ears.
“Fox.” His Master touched his face, making
him lift it to meet the other man’s gaze. “I thought you understood from
the beginning that this is a 24/7 arrangement. Twenty-four hours a day, seven
days a week. You are always my slave, and I am always your
Master, even on vacation. However, you seem to think your obligations begin
and end with your responses to what I’m doing. They don’t. I expect
you to act like a slave in order for me to reward you for being what you are,
and performing your tasks well.” Skinner’s eyes wandered over to the dirty
dishes piled up beside the sink. “Do I have to keep reminding you what you
are? I had hoped you could truly inhabit the essence of your slavery without
prompting. You made a good start, but then it all just…” He opened up his
hands in a gesture of despair. “I can give you constant guidance if it’s
necessary,” Skinner said with a sigh, “but I want to move on from there. I
want us to reach another level, Fox, where we function effortlessly,
completely in tune with each other, each of us inhabiting our status with
confidence, knowing what we are. I see no reason to indulge you if you
show no inclination to be what you are, and to impress me with how well you
can do so.”
“You could have damn well said something,”
Mulder muttered mutinously.
“So could you. That’s the point,” Skinner
replied. “It all comes back to honesty, Fox. You’ve been holding out on
me. You could, at any point, have asked me what was wrong, and how you could
please me. You didn’t. Instead, you chose to do what you always do – to
find out for yourself, to take the lonely path. We have to get beyond this if
we’re ever to achieve what I want for us,” he said softly, reaching out to
cup Mulder’s cheek in his hand, in an infinitely tender gesture. “Fox, I
wish I could make you understand. I’ve seen a Master and slave working in
tandem, in perfect symmetry, and it’s the most beautiful sight. It’s a
partnership of true equals, each knowing his place, and what is required of
him, each dedicated to the other. It’s like watching the most perfectly
choreographed ballet. I want that for us. I won’t accept anything less than
that. Now, the question is, is that truly what you want, or do you only want
the fun stuff? The sex, the eroticism of being a slave, without any of the
other chores and duties associated with it?”
“I…” Mulder stared at the dirty dishes,
and then back at his Master. Skinner was wrapped up in one of Murray’s worn
old robes, which was two sizes too big for him. It was decorated with large
sunflowers, and looked incongruous on his Master’s burly frame. “I want
you, Master, and I want my slavery,” he said firmly. “I can learn.”
“I know you can.” Skinner smiled. “You
know by now what I require of you, Fox. I don’t expect to have to spell it
out.” He glanced at his watch. “Now, I think another hour or so in bed
would be nice. I’m sure you have things to do.” He bestowed a kiss on his
slave’s forehead, and began walking back upstairs without even so much as a
pointed look at the dirty dishes, and remains of last night’s dinner.
Mulder watched him go, feeling numb. He’d been
such an idiot! Why the hell hadn’t he spoken up before? Why hadn’t he
asked Skinner what was going on? That was all it would have taken.
“Master!” He blurted out before he could
stop himself.
“Slave.” Skinner stopped on the stairs, and
turned to glance down at Mulder.
“You’re right. Even now, after all this
time, I still don’t tell you everything. There’s, uh, something else I
wasn’t honest about,” he admitted.
“Go on.” Skinner prompted gently.
“My scar. I felt sure you were disgusted by my
body and didn’t want to make love to me,” Mulder said quietly, feeling his
face burn. “I thought you were going to end it but didn’t know how. That’s
honestly what I expected when you brought me here.”
“I know that, Fox,” Skinner replied.
“You do?” Mulder was surprised.
Skinner gave the smallest hint of a smile, and
nodded. “And why couldn’t you tell me?” Skinner asked.
“Because…pride,” Mulder admitted finally.
“I didn’t want your pity. I didn’t want you to feel you had to pretend…and
I didn’t want to see the look in your eyes when you told me you still wanted
me and I knew it was a lie.”
“That didn’t happen though, did it? I do
still want you. I think I proved that on the beach the other night,” Skinner
pointed out. “Didn’t I?”
“Yes. You did.”
“So you could have saved yourself a lot of
worry if you’d just said something,” Skinner rebuked gently.
“Yeah, I know that now.”
“So don’t keep making the same mistake over
and over again.”
Mulder took a deep breath, and glanced down at
his bare feet. He wished he could say that he wouldn’t. He heard footsteps
as Skinner left him to muse on that thought, and bit down hard on his lip. He
wasn’t surprised Skinner didn’t want to hang around to debate this issue:
his Master must be bored rigid with going over the same ground again and
again. He was surprised, however, to feel hands on his shoulders a few
seconds later, and then his chin was pulled up, and he found himself looking
into a set of dark eyes.
“Don’t bite that lip.” Skinner ran his
finger over the chewed lip in question. “It’s mine, remember, boy,” he
said, his eyes full of affection. “You’ll get it, Fox. One day,” he
promised. “I’m not giving up on you so you really don’t have a choice.”
He leaned forward, and captured his slave’s lips with his own, claiming him,
and Mulder surrendered, a warm wave of relief flowing through his body. “Now,
there will be punishment for the broom cupboard incident later,” Skinner
promised when he eventually released Mulder’s mouth. Mulder felt his heart
thump hard inside his chest, and he rested his head on his Master’s
shoulder.
“Yes, Master,” he whispered contritely.
“And we’ll start the vacation again. This
time, I don’t think you’ll be in any doubt about who your Master is, and I
trust he won’t have any reason to doubt his slave?” Skinner said
seriously.
Mulder nodded. “Independence is a hard habit
to break, Master,” he murmured.
“Oh, I don’t want you broken, slave,”
Skinner grinned, drawing back and slapping his slave’s butt heartily. “I
just want you tamed.” Mulder grinned back, and gave a wry chuckle. “And
tamed to my whip, my touch, and my bit and harness only,”
Skinner said, his hand resting on Mulder’s neck, squeezing gently. “Tamed
only for me. You can be a wildcat with anyone else, but with me you’ll be a
pussycat,” Skinner said. Wanda chose that moment to twine between them,
clearly thinking it was breakfast time and they both laughed out loud. Then
Skinner turned and disappeared up the stairs, leaving Mulder to contemplate
the huge stack of dirty dishes with a regretful sigh.
Mulder washed and dried the crockery and
cutlery, tidied the kitchen thoroughly, and then brewed a fresh pot of coffee.
He tidied the broom cupboard, and then wandered upstairs to the bathroom,
where he took a warm shower, and cleaned himself properly, inside and out,
before pushing his fingers into ass and lubing himself thoroughly – and
somewhat hopefully. Then he examined himself critically in the mirror. His
cock and nipple rings were in place, and his hair was freshly washed, and
dried. He was looking much better than he had in weeks. If it weren’t for
the disfiguring scar on his chest, he would be a halfway desirable slave boy.
Mulder placed his hand over the scar, trying to obscure it. He didn’t think
he’d ever really become sanguine about bearing that mark on his body, no
matter now many times his Master kissed him there. He finished his
self-examination, went back to the kitchen, and poured his Master his coffee,
then took it up to the bedroom. Skinner was already awake. He was sitting up
in bed with his glasses on, reading a book. He put it to one side, and looked
up with a smile as his slave walked in.
“Your coffee, Master,” Mulder said
respectfully, placing the coffee on the nightstand, and then kneeling beside
the bed in the submissive position, eyes down, shoulders back, his genitals
thrust forward in a way that was humiliating, like an offering.
“Thank you, slave,” Skinner replied, taking
the coffee and returning to his book. Mulder concentrated on finding in the
still center to his soul, a depth of submission that he had attained on only a
few occasions before – each time enjoying a serenity in his slavery that he
longed to recapture. Minutes passed, and he kept in position until finally he
heard his Master put his book aside, and felt his gaze upon him.
“At ease, slave. Relax,” Skinner ordered,
and Mulder looked up, relieved to be able to kneel more comfortably. “Do you
have anything you wish to ask me before I apply your morning discipline?”
Skinner inquired.
“Yes, sir,” Mulder nodded. Skinner gestured
that he should proceed. “What are the rules, Master? Am I still without
privileges? Do I still have to ask your permission to use the bathroom?”
“No. As we’re on vacation, I think we’ll
ease up on those restrictions,” Skinner told him. “You are, however,
forbidden to touch your cock at any other time than when washing, or peeing
– understood?” Mulder nodded. “Good. You are forbidden to come without
my express permission, and your cock is off limits unless I tell you that you
can touch it. If I ignore it during sex it’s because I don’t wish to give
it any pleasure. You will not attempt to redress that touching it yourself.”
“No, Master.” Mulder brightened. At least it
sounded as if his Master intended having sex with him sometime soon.
“As for the other rules – you’re in deep
submission today, boy. That means you talk only when spoken to. If you have
anything you wish to ask, then you simply request my permission to speak. If
you forget, you’ll be punished. Understood?”
“Yes, Master.” Mulder’s cock decided that
this was the most arousing speech it had heard in a long time and did an
upward lurch.
“We’ll spend today taking you back down to
basics, I think,” Skinner mused, gazing at his slave. “We’ll
re-establish some valuable routines – starting with an examination. Present
yourself, boy. I wish to inspect my property.”
Mulder didn’t need any urging. He scrambled onto the bed, knelt back on his
haunches in position, his hands firmly clasped behind his back, his knees on
either side of Skinner’s chest, straddling his Master, within easy reach of
the big man’s hands. Skinner ran his fingers through Mulder’s hair.
“Time this was cut, boy,” Skinner said.
Mulder nodded. His Master’s hands traveled down, and stopped at his jaw. “Open,”
Skinner ordered. Mulder obeyed, relieved that he’d cleaned his teeth that
morning. Skinner’s finger lingered on his slightly torn lower lip. “I don’t
want to see this again. It shows poor wear and tear of my property, and
it’s entirely self inflicted and therefore unnecessary. There will be
punishment for this,” Skinner warned. Mulder blinked, nodding slightly, his
face still held between Skinner’s big hands. The other man continued his
examination, his fingers tugging on Mulder’s nipple rings, making his slave’s
eyes water as he tried to keep from yelping, and then down to his slave’s
cock and balls. He inspected these minutely, without any sexual interest.
“I’d prefer my slave to be decorated here. A
piercing has gone beyond being desirable – I think it’s a necessity. I’d
like to train you to the leash down here as well.” Skinner tugged on Mulder’s
penis a couple of times and Mulder felt a dizzy tingle of pleasure pass
through his body. He had no wish for his dick to be pierced, and the idea of
being pulled around on a leash attached to a penis piercing horrified him,
but, at the same time, he did love the fact that his Master was so interested
in his body, and how it could please him. “I think I’d prefer you shaved
during this vacation period. I’ll shave you myself right now,” Skinner
mused, as he played with Mulder’s balls, weighing them in his hands. “All
over, so you’re smooth like a seal. You can keep yourself oiled – I’ll
enjoy catching you when you’re swimming.”
“Whatever pleases you, Master,” Mulder said
quietly.
He followed his Master into the bathroom, and
laid in the bath with his legs wide open, resting on the sides of the bath, as
commanded, gazing fixedly at the ceiling. Skinner always insisted on using a
cut-throat razor when shaving his slave, preferring the smoothness of the skin
that way, and Mulder knew it would take all his concentration to keep still
while his Master was waving such a dangerous item so close to his genitals. He
heard Skinner assemble the items he would need, and then felt the shaving foam
being applied to his cock and balls. A few seconds later, he heard the scrape
of the razor, and the tingly, tickly sensation of it on the most prized parts
of his anatomy. He clenched his fists, and tried not to think about what was
happening. After several minutes
of this torment, his chest was shaved, and then he was ordered to raise his
arms, and they were stripped clean of hair as well. Finally, Skinner ran the
razor over his slave’s legs, and then he was ordered to turn over. His
Master shaved his slave’s buttocks, and the back of his legs, until Mulder
was hairless, having already shaved his face earlier. Then Skinner turned on
the water and ordered his slave to wash off all the foam and dead hair, and
Mulder did so, watching with a strange sense of loss as all his hair
disappeared down the plug hole. His whole body felt so weird without hair:
cooler, and just plain strange. He got out of the bath and dried himself, and
then Skinner handed him some oil. “Coat yourself all over and remember to
re-apply it regularly throughout the day. It’s sun block oil, so it serves a
convenient dual function,” he added. “When you’ve finished come back
into the bedroom, and present yourself for the rest of your inspection.”
“Yes, Master,” Mulder said meekly. He poured
the golden oil into his hands and warmed it, then rubbed it in to his naked
body. This felt good. The oil glistened on the surface of his skin, without
hair to prevent it from forming an all over sheen. Mulder made sure he was
thoroughly oiled from his face down to the souls of this feet – he even
rubbed some up into his ass, delighting in the smooth feel of it on his inner
skin. He finished up, returned to the bedroom, and climbed onto the bed as
commanded.
“Turn around. Present your ass to me,”
Skinner ordered, and Mulder turned and knelt, with his elbows on the bed, his
ass raised for his Master’s perusal. Skinner tapped the flesh a couple of
times. “I’m sure I don’t need you to tell me what’s wrong with this,
boy,” he growled.
“No, Master.” Mulder smiled to himself,
envisaging his perfectly white buttocks in his mind’s eye.
“Good, then we’ll redress that later.”
Mulder gasped as a finger entered between his
butt cheeks without warning, or preparation, but the thorough lubing helped
made the entry smooth. “I’m pleased to see that you’re prepared for me
– remain that way, boy. I expect you to be always clean and ready for use,”
Skinner said, one hand fondling his slave’s buttocks, while his first finger
had now been joined by another. Both probed deep into Mulder’s anus. “Hmmm,”
Skinner mused after several minutes. “Well, you’re still responsive, but
you need to practice keeping yourself open for my attention at all
times. I think the trouble is that you haven’t been used enough of late. You’re
a little tight – not relaxed enough. We’ll have to take care of that. I
want my slave to be open, and accepting of his Master’s caress, whatever it
might be – at all times. Is that clear?” He punctuated this question by
several sharp slaps on his slave’s buttocks. Mulder’s cock went into
spasm. The situation, his Master’s words…he found both intensely arousing.
“Yes, Master,” he replied obediently.
“Good boy. Go and get me a damp washcloth, and
bring me the silver box from the closet,” Skinner ordered. Mulder did as he’d
been ordered, and returned with the cloth, which Skinner used to wipe his
fingers. He knelt in the submissive position as Skinner opened the silver box
– to reveal an array of dildos, ranging in size from slender, through the
size of an average man’s cock, to one so enormous that Mulder hoped it would
never be stuck up his ass. Skinner picked out one of the smaller ones,
and applied a coating of lubricant to it, and then he ordered Mulder back on
the bed again, ass in the air. Mulder obeyed, and a few seconds later the cold
tip of the dildo was inserted in his ass. He found his muscles closing
involuntarily against the freezing intrusion, and was punished for this by a
slap to his buttocks.
“Keep your body open, boy,” Skinner growled.
Mulder closed his eyes, his cock crying out to
be milked, but he knew he wasn’t allowed to touch it. Skinner slid the dildo
back and forth inside his slave’s ass, in a rhythm that made Mulder thrust
his body back to meet the sliding intruder, enjoying the penetration.
“Good. Time to move on to something a little
more challenging,” Skinner murmured, removing the dildo. Mulder watched as
Skinner’s fingers lingered over the larger dildos.
“Please, Master,” he whimpered pathetically,
and then he gave a cry of surprise as his Master slapped his buttocks hard.
“Don’t speak without permission, slave,”
Skinner said sharply. Mulder hung his head, and watched out of the corner of
his eye, as Skinner selected one of the larger dildos, but not the huge
monster one. “I intend to make you take the largest one though, even if only
for a short time, so prepare, boy,” Skinner ordered. Mulder swallowed hard,
and watched as his Master slathered the larger dildo with lube, and then he
felt the cold tip of it pressed between his ass cheeks. He concentrated on
relaxing, and opening up, and a second later the dildo slipped easily into
place. This one filled him nicely. It was about the same size as his Master’s
cock, and it felt good. It exerted just enough pressure to make itself felt,
but not so much that he couldn’t take it. Mulder moaned, and rocked back and
forth in time to the rhythm Skinner was using to slide the dildo in and out.
Finally, it was removed, and he felt his Master’s fingers enter him again.
“Okay, this is nice and loose. Now, as part of your punishment for that
unauthorized trip to the broom closet this morning, I’m going to make you
take the large one.”
Mulder closed his eyes, his body shaking with
arousal, wondering how he was going to bear this. He wanted to feel that
monster dildo inside him, but at the same time, he was scared that it would
hurt too much, or, worse, that his body would close against it, denying his
Master access. He concentrated on keeping his anus open, ready to accept
whatever his Master wished to do to his body. It was so humiliating, to be
kneeling in this position, ass in the air, just waiting to be penetrated by
this cold, inanimate object, and it almost made him beg out loud to feel his
Master’s warm cock inside him instead, claiming him for his own. Skinner
clearly didn’t intend to allow him that pleasure just yet though. He wanted
to make sure his slave had earned it by showing his obedience, and by enduring
something hard, and painful first.
Mulder held his breath as he felt the tip of the
monster dildo nudge his anus. He willed his rectal muscles to stay relaxed.
They had been loosened by all the previous probing play and that, combined
with his arousal, and obedience to his Master, made it easier. However, the
lubed dildo was truly enormous, and for a moment he didn’t think he could
physically take it. He gave a little cry as he felt his muscles distend, but
kept his ass as open and welcoming as he could manage.
“Good boy.” His Master’s praise meant more
to him than anything else in the world, and Mulder closed his eyes, imagining
that it was his Master’s monster dick he was taking into his body. His ass
felt impossibly stretched, and just when he genuinely thought he couldn’t
take it any more, the widest part of the dildo had breached the ring of
muscle, and he was fully distended. The rest of the dildo slipped home easily
from there, and Mulder gave a gasping cry, trying to remember to breathe, as
he was filled by a larger object than he’d ever taken inside his body
before. He could feel his muscles clenching around the intruder, trying to
adjust to the impossible width, and then he was aching from the size of it
within him.
“Please, Master,” he croaked.
“Is it hurting, boy?” Skinner asked. Mulder
considered that for a moment. It wasn’t really hurting. It was, though,
supremely uncomfortable and he would have done anything at that moment in time
to be relieved of it.
“No, Master,” he replied honestly, “but it
aches. Please, please…”
“You’ll hold it for longer,” Skinner said
firmly, and Mulder felt a wave of sweat break out on his body. His cock was
aching almost as much as his ass muscles, and he thought he’d explode from
this slow torture. Then he felt Skinner’s fingers on his ass, and the dildo
was slowly worked out, much to his relief – only to be slid carefully home
again almost immediately. Mulder gave a cry, the sweat running down his face
in streaks.
“Oh god. Oh please. Oh…god…” He tried to
get up, but his buttocks were firmly slapped, reminding him to stay in place.
He put one hand behind his back to try and relieve the pressure, to release
that tormenting dildo just a fraction from its deep insertion in his body, but
his hand was pushed back.
“Is this what you call obedience, boy?” His
Master asked.
“Sorry…just…” Mulder closed his eyes
again, and for a moment he was alone with the sensations in his body. He felt
as if he was being overloaded. He was sure that if he had to carry that large
mass in his body one second longer his nerves would explode, but at the same
time he loved the feel of being so comprehensively owned and stretched by his
demanding Master. He loved being made to endure this exquisite torture, with
its dual sensations of pleasure and pain.
Skinner set up a steady rhythm with the dildo,
moving it back and forth inside his slave until the ache went, leaving Mulder
with the most intense burning sensation which seemed to be wired straight to
his cock. That massive dildo couldn’t fail to miss his prostate, and soon he
was floating, the endorphins flooding through his body.
“Oh god…oh please…” he whispered
incoherently, and this time it wasn’t a plea for his Master to remove the
dildo, but to keep on pushing it back and forth, relentlessly, inside his
slave’s body.
“That’s enough. I think it’s time to
administer your morning discipline now,” Skinner said, thrusting the dildo
home, deep into his slave’s rectum.
“No…you can’t…oh god…” Mulder
protested, not wanting the delicious ‘punishment’ to ever end.
“You’ll take your spanking with the dildo in
place,” Skinner told his slave firmly. “Over my knee, boy. Now.”
Mulder moved slowly into place, his movements
hampered by the enormous dildo lodged deep inside his body. He lay, supine, on
the pillows Skinner had placed on his knees. He felt Skinner’s large hand on
his butt, and groaned as the first slap hit his white buttocks. The oiled
condition of his skin somehow made the slaps sound louder, and they certainly
stung more. Worse than that, each swat moved the dildo, making him even more
aware of its presence, burning deep inside his body. Skinner started slowly,
as he usually did, administering merely light swats, but soon he moved the
spanking up apace, and then the slaps rained down on Mulder’s willing
bottom.
“Please stop…please…” Mulder gasped,
unable to writhe because of the dildo that Skinner was keeping in place with
one hand, while he spanked with the other. “Oh shit!” Mulder almost jumped
out of his skin, as his Master’s large hand landed on the dildo, pushing it
deeper inside him, hitting his prostate, making his eyes water, and almost
causing him come on the spot. He ground his cock into the pillows, desperately
wanting release as the spanking continued. Skinner occasionally moved the
dildo, or pressed it in even further until Mulder was a mass of sensation,
unsure even what his name was.
“Why are you being punished?” His Master
asked. Mulder blinked the sweat out of his eyes. Was he being punished?
It was so intense, and arousing that he couldn’t be sure. His Master’s
large hand cracked down on the top of his thighs and a hazy memory returned to
him.
“The broom cupboard, Master!” he yelled, as
Skinner’s palm slapped down again on his bottom. “I’m sorry. I should
have just asked you about the Dungeon. I’m sorry!” He yelped again as the
spanking intensified in pace and strength until his bottom was on fire both
inside and out, and he knew he couldn’t answer any more questions because he
was flying far away into space, transported to a different plane entirely.
“You can come,” a voice whispered in his
ear, and he was profoundly relieved to be given permission because he couldn’t
hold it any more, and ejaculated into the pillows, then lay, exhausted, and
aching over his Master’s knee, the onslaught over. Skinner dropped the tempo
of the spanking, and lightly ran his hands over his slave’s buttocks, before
finally grabbing hold of the dildo, and removing it swiftly in a motion that
made Mulder gasp out loud.
“That was…fiendish, Master,” Mulder
moaned, and was rewarded almost immediately by a sharp slap.
“And that was against the rules. Remember to
talk only when spoken to today, boy,” Skinner growled. “Now, this butt is
looking a nice shade of red, but I’m afraid I haven’t finished with it
yet.”
Mulder lay there for several seconds as the import of this statement sank in.
He loved being spanked, but right now he was shattered – and pretty positive
that he’d had enough. That wasn’t his choice though. Skinner continued
stroking his buttocks for a long time, and he dozed, contentedly over his
Master’s knee, and then, dimly, as if from a great distance, he heard a
clicking noise. He ignored it, and a few seconds later he heard it again. He
glanced up, and realized his Master was giving him the signal to get into the
submissive position by snapping his thumb and forefinger.
“Let me warn you that even the tiniest
slowness, or disobedience will be punished today. After this morning's little
broom cupboard performance I’m not in a mood to overlook anything,”
Skinner told him. Mulder swallowed hard, and half slid, half climbed off the
bed, his whole body still shaking in the aftermath of his explosive orgasm. He
knelt beside the bed, head down, genitals and chest thrust out, and waited for
his next order.
“Dress me. Now.”
Mulder stood up, and waited for his Master to
choose his clothing. Skinner eschewed shorts and tee shirt this morning, and
opted instead for a pair of plain black jeans. Mulder helped to smooth them up
his Master’s long legs, but when it came to fastening them, he was aware of
how his Master’s semi erect cock hadn’t had any attention yet, and he
desperately wanted to take it into his mouth. He knelt, and nudged the
swelling cock with his lips, and his Master grinned, and placed a hand in his
slave’s hair.
“You like that, huh, boy?” He asked in a
throaty tone. “You want to suck it, yes?” Mulder nodded, looking up
hopefully. “Go on then - quickly.”
Skinner guided his cock into Mulder’s willing
mouth, and his slave accepted it like an offering from a god. He licked it
reverentially, and then took it deep into his throat, eliciting a little moan
from his Master. He was well on the way to pumping his Master to climax when
he felt his head being tugged away.
“Enough,” Skinner said, in a low tone that
implied that he was close to coming. Mulder could have wept. He wanted his
Master to come – he wanted him to come deep inside his throat. He wanted to
taste his Master’s semen, to gratefully accept it, and it was being denied
him.
“Please,” he whimpered but Skinner merely
tucked his cock inside his jeans, ignoring his slave’s pleas. “Not yet. I
have other plans,” Skinner grinned, his jeans bulging magnificently as he
confined his cock inside them, zipping them up. Mulder wondered at his Master’s
self control. He didn’t think he could have drawn away at that point, or
have imprisoned his hard cock in such a cruel prison. “Get up and follow me,
boy,” he said. Mulder did as he was told, following his Master out of the
bedroom, and along the corridor. “You’re so interested in finding the
dungeon, that I think now is the time to show you,” Skinner said. Mulder
looked at his Master in surprise. He’d been in all these rooms, and none of
them was a dungeon. Skinner stopped at the door at the end of the corridor,
opened it, and ushered Mulder inside. Mulder looked around, surprised. They
were in the library-cum-storeroom.
“This isn’t the dungeon, Master. Is it?”
He looked at the other man, his eyes wide, and Skinner laughed out loud.
“Fox, we all have our favorite names for the
places where we play. Elaine calls hers the 'Boudoir', and I have another
friend who refers to his basement as the 'Sanctum'. ‘Dungeon’ is a pretty
common one, as is our own 'playroom'. It doesn’t mean it has to have stone
walls and instruments of torture all over the place.”
“Oh.” Mulder looked decidedly disappointed.
He had never shown much interest in the niceties of what people called their
playrooms. Whenever he had been driven to ‘play’ before becoming Skinner’s
slave, it had been such a consuming need, and one he’d fought against for so
long, that by the time he ventured out on the scene all he wanted was someone
to give him the pain he required. He hadn’t engaged them in conversation and
he sure as hell hadn’t asked them what they called the room where they
dished out what he needed so much. “So this is it?” Mulder muttered.
“Don’t look so upset! Skinner grinned,
clicking his fingers. Mulder knelt obediently, still feeling let down and
resentful about the so-called ‘dungeon.’ “Watch me,” Skinner ordered,
and Mulder looked up. “Everyone has their own way of playing, Fox,”
Skinner said softly, as he walked around the room. “Murray was never
interested in the S/M aspects of our lifestyle particularly – he was
attracted to Dom/sub role playing. You know Murray. He likes to act – it
turns him on basically.” Mulder suppressed a smile, remembering the larger
than life Murray, striding around his mansion, his loud voice booming. “Hammer,
on the other hand, just enjoys sensual pain.” Skinner shrugged. “He
submits to Murray’s role play scenarios because they’re hot – and
because that way he gets what he wants. Murray, for his part, has learned how
to give Hammer the kind of physical sensations he requires in exchange for
being able to dress his boy up in costumes, and act out fantasies. This room
is perfect for that. I believe Murray enjoys playing stern headmaster to
Hammer’s scared schoolboy.” He gestured at the large, imposing desk.
“Oh god,” Mulder choked at the image of
Hammer in long white socks and shorts that Skinner’s explanation conjured
up. Hammer was the sturdiest, toughest looking sub he had ever encountered.
The idea was ridiculous.
“Now if you want a basement dungeon, with all
the manacle fittings, I’m sure I can arrange something,” Skinner grinned.
“Maybe as a treat one slave’s day. I know a few people in DC who have
them. This place though, is a dungeon of the imagination. Look.” He opened
the cupboard to reveal a huge array of costumes, picked one out, and held it
up. It was the school uniform Mulder had so recently choked at the idea of
Hammer wearing. There was a white shirt, striped school tie, blazer – even a
cap. “You’d look good in this,” Skinner grinned. Mulder blanched.
“Over my dead body,” he growled, forgetting
himself.
“No, over your nicely spanked body,” Skinner
grinned. “I like the idea. I’ll consider it for later.” He pulled out a
schoolmaster’s gown and mortarboard, and held them up. “I think I’d cut
an imposing figure in these, don’t you? Complete with an accessorized cane
of course,” he added smugly.
“You’d look a lot sexier in that,
Master,” Mulder pointed to a white naval uniform, complete with cap, and
ceremonial sword. He wasn’t sure he wanted to encourage his Master to be
thinking about canes.
“We’ll see.” Skinner eyes were twinkling.
“I think that we should take advantage of Murray’s huge collection of
clothing though. Let’s see…” He rummaged through the closet, and then
drew out a pale cream, gossamer thin pair of harem pants, decorated with gold
piping. “Perfect,” Skinner murmured.
“Hmm.” Personally Mulder thought his Master
would look stupid in harem pants.
“You don’t like them? That’s a shame
because I want to see you dressed up like a proper, old fashioned slave boy
from ancient Egypt,” Skinner grinned. “Ah, the imagination is a wonderful
thing. Stand up, boy, and put these on while I find some more decoration for
you.”
Mulder gave his Master the most disgusted look in his repertoire, and reached
for the harem pants. They were made of some gauzy, floaty fabric, and they
were entirely transparent. He stepped into them, pulled them up to his waist,
and then realized, much to his dismay, that they were also crotch less and had
been cutaway at the back to reveal his naked, glowing, glisteningly oiled
butt.
“Oh shit,” he said.
“Delicious,” Skinner grinned, coming over,
clearly having the time of his life. Mulder regarded his Master sourly. “You’re
not wearing them properly,” Skinner scolded, his large hands playing with
the folds of fabric at the front of the pants. “Your cock should be on full
display at all times. Like this,” he commanded, pulling Mulder’s newly
shriven penis into place so that it was clearly visible, hanging proud and
pink at the front of his pants. “Turn around.” He motioned with his hand
that Mulder should do a twirl, and, flushing all over his body from his
glowing butt cheeks to his glowing face cheeks, Mulder did as ordered. “Beautiful.
The perfect slave. Don’t forget your slippers though.” Skinner handed his
slave a pair of gold, embroidered slippers, and Mulder took them, with a half
growl. They had ridiculous pointed, and slightly curled up toes, and open
backs. He slid his feet into them, hoping they’d be too small, but
unfortunately they weren’t. “Lovely,” Skinner announced appreciatively,
with just the slightest note of teasing camp in his voice. Mulder glared at
him suspiciously. “Your torso needs decorating though.” Skinner went over
to one of the trunks, and unlocked the smallest one. He drew out a clear bag
full of gold chains, and considered Mulder for a moment, before making his
selection. Then he beckoned his slave forward, and clipped a gold chain to
each of his nipple rings, connecting them at the center. He drew forth a gold
chain body harness, and placed that over his slave’s head, so that a
multitude of chains decorated his upper body, tinkling when he moved. “And,
just so that you keep your status firmly in mind…” Skinner pulled a case
out of the trunk and opened it, to reveal several shining gold-colored butt
plugs all with multiple chains attached. Mulder closed his eyes, and sighed
tragically. “Bend over the desk boy,” Skinner said, undoing a tube of lube
and liberally applying it to the plug. Mulder did as he was told, bending over
the large oak desk, his cock and bare stomach pressing against the cool
surface. “Legs open wide,” Skinner ordered, and he moved his ankles
further apart, then, a moment later, felt Skinner insert the butt plug into
his stretched opening. The butt plug was slender at one end, but much thicker
at the other, and Mulder made a face and took a sharp intake of breath as the
wider end was pushed home, stretching him once more. “That’s good. Stand
up.” Mulder obeyed, trying to get used to the feel of the butt plug inside
him. Skinner grinned at him, and picked up the chains hanging from the end of
it. They were long, and he attached one to the harness chains on Mulder’s
back, and threaded the other through Mulder’s legs to the front, and
fastened it to his slave’s cock ring.
“There. Perfect,” Skinner said, eyeing his
slave appreciatively. “We’re not finished yet though. Come here.” He
opened a small side door, and ushered Mulder into a tiny shower room, complete
with the usual wall-to-wall mirror tiling that Murray seemed so fond of.
Mulder shuddered as he viewed himself in the mirrors.
“Oh god. Kill me now,” he muttered as he
took in the sight of himself, resplendent in his gauzy outfit, a grown man
looking like a ridiculous harem boy.
“Not quite yet. I still have plans for you,”
Skinner said, tapping his slave’s bottom reprovingly. “Here.” He pulled
out two tiny gold baubles from the bag he was carrying, and pressed one on
each of Mulder’s ears.
“No!” Mulder croaked, closing his eyes so
that he wou