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