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Mulder
was in the middle of deep, comfortable sleep when a voice cut through his
dreams. He struggled to make sense of it, burying his head in the pillow with a
little moan, trying to ignore the insistent tones that were rousing him.
"Wanda,"
the voice said to him. "Wanda!"
"Mmmm?"
Mulder woke enough to wonder whether his Master was trying to find the little
cat, but a second later he felt a whoosh of cold air as the sheets were pulled
from his body. "Wanda!" His Master said in his ear, a discernible note
of irritation in his voice.
"Wha…?"
Mulder gazed around blearily.
"Obey
me, boy!" His Master growled, and then, a split second later, Mulder found
himself being flipped, none too gently, onto his stomach. His hips were grabbed
and yanked up, and he found himself kneeling. He put out his hands to brace
himself, and then came fully to wakefulness as he felt his Master's hands pull
his buttocks open and enter forcefully into his anus with one powerful thrust.
"Oh
shit! What the fuck…?" Mulder shouted, as every nerve ending in his body
jangled at the sudden intrusion into his sleepy flesh. His Master ignored him
and Mulder struggled to stay upright as Skinner pumped into him forcefully.
‘Wanda’ fucks were always of the rough, extremely basic variety, which was
usually a turn on for Mulder, and sure enough, his treacherous cock responded as
soon as his brain got to grips with the situation. He realised that his Master
had woken him early using the 'Wanda' word with the sole intention of making use
of his slave without any finesse. Mulder glanced at the clock – it was 6.30
am, but they had been in the habit of sleeping in over the past few days so it
felt as if he had been woken in the middle of the night. Skinner clearly
intended for this to be an object lesson as well, because he kept up a fast but
controlled pace for several long minutes while Mulder tried to come to terms
mentally with what was happening. The suddenness of the event and the time his
Master was taking was making him sore, and he was all too well aware that this
was part of the lesson – his Master was making his slave fully aware that he
was starting as he meant to go on.
"Shit…please…ow…shit…"
Mulder moaned as the onslaught continued relentlessly.
"Hold
your position, boy. I want to make full use of you," Skinner told him
tersely. His Master's hands were firm on his hips, wrenching them back to meet
his powerful thrusts and there was no way that Mulder could escape from the
other man. Skinner finally came with a low roar and withdrew from his slave's
body. Mulder collapsed forward onto his arms, burying his head in them.
"Jeez, what a wake up call," he murmured weakly, wondering if he'd
ever walk again, although the ache in his cock told him he'd enjoyed the
sensation of being so powerless and available even if he hadn't enjoyed the
actual physical sensation very much.
"Up."
Skinner's hand thwapped down hard on his exposed bottom. "Go to the
bathroom and clean yourself up and bring a washcloth for me, and then get your
ass out here. I am NOT happy about your response so consider yourself in a whole
heap of trouble, boy."
Mulder slid out of the bed so fast he nearly fell over. Skinner sounded pissed
as all hell and, as he headed for the bathroom, Mulder realised why. Skinner had
used his special word, the one that Mulder had chosen, only to be almost
completely ignored by his, admittedly sleepy, slave. This wasn't good. Mulder
washed himself down and then scrambled back to the bedroom with the washcloth.
He knelt beside the bed and held the cloth out to his Master, his eyes down.
"Clean
me," Skinner ordered tersely.
Mulder
did his task quickly, and then knelt back down again.
"All
right – your explanation, boy," Skinner demanded.
"I'm
sorry, Master." Mulder grimaced. "I was asleep…I didn't understand
what you wanted. It took me a few minutes to wake up enough to figure it out and
by then it was too late.
"Maybe
I haven't made myself clear," Skinner told him, in low, stern tones,
"but you are my slave. Your body exists for my pleasure and use, and when I
want access to it I expect it to be given to me immediately. I don't care if
you're asleep – I expect you to be so attuned to your Master's will that if I
came to you in your dreams and commanded you to get on your hands and knees so I
could use you you'd do it, immediately, and without question."
"I'm
sorry, Master," Mulder said again, his cock responding as it always did to
his Master's more forceful choice of words.
"Maybe
you are, but this is an indication of the fact that you've been backsliding,
boy. I can see we have a lot of work to do to make you responsive to me. I've
been too soft on you – you need to be reminded of who and what you are. There
isn't any part of your body that doesn't belong to me. It isn't yours, boy, it's
mine. You will not deny me entrance to your mouth or your ass – and
I'll enjoy myself in both those places whenever I please, for as long as I
please, whether you're asleep or awake. Understood?"
Mulder nodded, his throat dry. "Yes, Master," he said croakily.
"Good.
However, in order to make sure that the lesson has really been learned, I think
a long punishment session is necessary," Skinner informed him.
Mulder
looked up, his heart pounding in his chest. It had been a long time since he had
been on the receiving end of a serious punishment session and he wondered
exactly what it would entail. He was astonished by how quickly his Master had
succeeded in completely wrong-footing him. He had imagined that Skinner would
slowly get him into headspace, maybe play some demanding but highly enjoyable
sex games with him on and off over the next few days, but still be his kind
lover, Walter. At the moment, however, there was no sign of Walter in those
stern dark eyes. Skinner was completely and utterly every inch his Master and he
was making it very clear to Mulder that right now he was a slave and that he
would be treated as such. If Mulder had imagined he would struggle and resist he
felt a very long way from being able to do so at this moment in time. He had
been caught off guard and now he didn't have a clue what he was doing – the
control hadn't so much been taken from him as yanked out from under his feet
completely, leaving him out of breath and disoriented.
"Eyes
down, boy," Skinner barked. "Hold the submissive pose the way
you were taught – or have you forgotten everything I taught you?"
"No, Master!" Mulder said hastily, straightening his back, widening
his legs so that his erect cock was offered to his Master, and holding his chin
up high but lowering his eyes, as he had been instructed a long time ago.
Skinner rarely made him hold these poses nowadays – and Mulder hadn't even
realised that he missed it. Most of the time he enjoyed the comfortable
relationship he had with the other man too much to even think about it, but in
terms of getting into subspace it certainly didn't hurt to revisit some of the
basics – which was what Skinner had warned him they would be doing.
"That's
better. Now, this will be a long punishment session – in fact it will last the
entire day," Skinner told his slave. Mulder felt sure that his gulp was
audible. "By the end of the day I want this to be a lesson you have learned
down to the core of your soul so that if I were to whisper your special word to
you while you were eating you'd present yourself to me the way you were taught
to and the way in which you signally failed to do just now. Do you
remember the position you are to assume when I use your word, boy?" Skinner
barked.
"Yes,
Master!"
"Then
assume it now," Skinner ordered.
Mulder
got up, quickly, bent over the back of the armchair, and presented his ass to
his Master. He held apart his ass cheeks to make his Master's access easier
should he choose to use him, flushing wildly as he did so because the position
was both humiliating and intimate.
"Good,"
Skinner commented. Mulder began to get up. "No – don't move. I like the
view," Skinner said. "And as you didn't present yourself properly to
me earlier you can stay like that for the next few minutes. I'm going to use
your special word several times for the next few days and I expect you to assume
your position as quickly as you did just then – whatever time of the day or
night I give the order. I might not choose to use you on many of the occasions I
give the word, but you will stay in that position each time until I tell you
that you may get up again. Understood?"
"Yes,
Master," Mulder said, squirming at the thought of how he must look,
standing here, his asshole exposed in this way.
"Good.
The choice isn't yours, Fox – you'll do what you're told, when you're told,
for as long as you are told."
A
firm slap on his bottom illustrated this point, and then Mulder heard his Master
go into the bathroom. He listened to the sound of his Master peeing, taking a
brief shower, and then brushing his teeth. Finally, after several long,
degrading minutes, Skinner returned to the bedroom. Mulder watched from under
his own armpit as Skinner pulled on sweats and then glanced at his slave again.
"I'm
leaving the room. Remain in position, boy. If you move so much as an inch then
you'll take 6 strokes of the cane before I even begin your punishment session.
Understood?"
"Yes, Master," Mulder muttered, wondering how long he could stay like
this. This really was a reminder of their early days together – Skinner was
uncompromising and demanding and Mulder found himself responding, even if he
knew there was a rebellious, mutinous nugget deep inside himself that would have
to be subdued before he achieved the total serenity that was eluding him.
Although Skinner was doing a mighty fine job of taking him down, Mulder knew he
was nowhere near the bottom of his submission yet – they had barely scratched
the surface. The real challenges lay in front of him – and his cock told him
that on some level he would enjoy every single torment even while his mind
reeled from the knowledge of what was ahead.
His
Master returned a few minutes later bearing an armful of disciplinary
implements, including the hated dragon cane. Mulder swallowed down hard, barely
even daring to look at his Master from under his arm.
"All
right, boy." Skinner clicked his fingers and Mulder sank quickly into the
submissive position at the other man's feet. "First I'm going to clamp
you," he said ominously, opening a little velvet box and showing Mulder a
set of nipple clamps. Mulder gave a low moan – these nipple clamps were the
most vicious ones that his Master possessed and he knew just how painful they
were.
"Fox,"
Skinner said sharply. "You do understand that this is a punishment session,
don't you?"
Mulder swallowed hard, never taking his eyes off those hated clamps.
"Yes, Master," he said, his voice barely audible.
"Good
– do you understand why you're being punished?" Skinner asked. Mulder
shrugged. Skinner tapped his head firmly. "Well?" He asked.
"For
not obeying you more quickly, Master?" Mulder asked with a tinge of
rebellion in his voice. "Although I was asleep, Master," he
added resentfully. Although he had told Skinner to take him down, he hadn't
expected to be so forcefully wrenched back into his slavery and it was rankling
with him. He had expected to be eased down gently with his Master's usual erotic
skill, and after the past few days of peace and quiet and enjoyable togetherness
he was in no mood to be pushed, which was precisely what his Master seemed to be
doing.
"I've
already explained this to you, Fox, but you seem unwilling to accept it,"
Skinner told him firmly. "You're a slave – your sole purpose is to
address yourself to my pleasure. I own you and it pleases me to introduce myself
into any part of your body whenever I wish. I don’t care whether you're fast
asleep, boy. When I want to make use of you then I expect you to open your legs
or mouth for me and immediately make yourself available."
"Yes,
Master," Mulder murmured.
"You do understand that such service is the most important and basic
function of your slavery?" Skinner pressed.
"Yes,
Master," Mulder agreed.
"Then
you will understand why you are being punished," Skinner told him in a tone
that allowed for no contradiction. Mulder squirmed. Put like that then it was
all entirely logical but he had been asleep damnit! And he was a long way from
the early days of his slavery when all this had been new to him and he was alert
to every single nuance of his Master's needs. Things had gotten…comfortable
between them. Routines weren't always followed. They knew each other much better
now, and had settled into a version of slavery that wasn't quite so demanding as
this. Mulder wasn't sure he wanted to be reminded so forcefully of the basics.
"Yes,
Master," he agreed at last, with a resentful grimace.
"You
will also understand why this is going to be a particularly harsh punishment
session," Skinner told him. Mulder felt as if his heart had dropped out of
his chest and into the soles of his feet. He glanced up and met his Master's
eyes for the first time.
"Eyes
down!" Skinner snapped. Mulder obeyed hastily, shivering slightly.
"Yes,
Master," he said at last, feeling as if he was drowning, splashing around
blindly with nothing to hold onto except his Master.
"Good.
I don't want you to be in any doubt about this. I want you to prepare yourself
mentally for an extremely long and painful day," Skinner said. "You
may look at the implements on the bed." Mulder did so, shaking even more as
he took in the array of disciplinary implements lying there. Skinner had brought
down half a dozen of the most no-nonsense implements in the Playroom. "I
will be spanking you every hour, on the hour," Skinner said, glancing at
his watch. "Beginning at 8 am and continuing until your bedtime. For each
spanking you will wear the nipple clamps. It's your responsibility to remind me
when your next spanking is due. Keep an eye on your watch – I can assure you
that your punishment will be considerably worse if you forget to remind
me."
"Yes, Master." Mulder was shaking in earnest now. This sounded so damn
serious.
"I'll
use whichever implement I feel appropriate at the time – although it will
always be one of these 6 implements. You will therefore carry them around all
day in preparation for your next spanking – I don't want them to be further
than an arm's reach from you at any point in time. For this first spanking, I'll
use the paddle." He picked up a hard, wooden paddle. It was plain,
workmanlike, and utterly un-erotic - and Mulder knew from personal experience
that it packed a flat, solid punch.
"However,
as we have another half an hour or so to go until 8 am, I think some silent
reflection would do you good. It will give you time to consider the day's
punishments, how you've brought them on yourself, and what you will learn from
them. I think that in order to give the next half an hour some additional
impact, that you can wear the nipple clamps as well."
Mulder had to bite down hard on his lip to stop himself from protesting but his
heart did a flip from where it was currently residing in the soles of his feet.
"Problem,
slave?" Skinner asked.
"Those
clamps are particularly painful, Master," Mulder said in a voice that
sounded suspiciously like a squawk to his own ears.
"Yes,
they are," Skinner affirmed. "Did I not make it clear that this was to
be a punishment?"
"No, Master…I mean, yes, you did," Mulder replied.
"The
clamps are part of your punishment, boy. They're supposed to be painful. Maybe
the pain will help to focus your mind on where you went wrong this morning and
how you can improve on that dismal performance," Skinner snapped.
"Now, come here and present yourself for clamping."
Mulder
shuffled closer to his Master but didn't dare get to his feet without
permission. He knelt, instead, his shoulders thrown back, his nipples standing
pert and proud on his chest, seemingly unaware of the torture that was about to
be visited on them. Mulder watched in trepidation as his Master removed the
clamps from their box.
"Eyes
down!" Skinner commanded. "If I have to remind you of that again then
you'll receive a lash from my bullwhip." Mulder shuddered and dropped his
gaze immediately. He had no wish to experience the bullwhip while his Master was
in this kind of mood. "Shoulders out, arms behind your back – and keep
them there," Skinner ordered. Mulder obeyed, aware that the action pushed
his chest out even more, leaving his nipples totally exposed and vulnerable. He
waited for what felt like several long minutes, expecting to feel those
torturing clamps on his nipples at any point, wondering what on earth could be
taking his Master so long. Finally he started to tremble in earnest – the
anticipation of imminent pain was almost worse than the pain itself, and he was
on the brink of getting up, and telling his Master it was a mistake, and he
couldn't face it, when suddenly his left nipple was grasped firmly, and a second
later the steel jaws of the clamp snapped shut over it with a resounding lash of
pure pain. Mulder gave a gasping cry, which his Master ignored.
"Now
the other one," Skinner told him.
"Please…Master…it
hurts…" Mulder whimpered. Skinner had never made him wear these clamps
for more than five or ten minutes before. He couldn't imagine how he would
endure half an hour in them, followed by a spanking, which was to be conducted
while he was still wearing them, but Skinner was utterly implacable.
"It's
supposed to hurt, Fox. This is a punishment. I want to hurt my slave in order to
make him understand the full extent of his Master’s displeasure. Now, what are
you being punished for?"
"Not making myself immediately available for my Master's use," Mulder
whispered.
"Exactly
– and as the crime is so serious, I can assure you the punishment will be
correspondingly severe," Skinner told him. Mulder didn't have time to reply
because Skniner grasped his other nipple and fastened the clamp onto it with a
swift movement that took Mulder's breath away.
"Oh
shit…" He broke position, his hands coming up to whisk those cutting
steel-jawed points of pure fire from his nipples – only to find the way
blocked by his Master's large hands.
"Back into position, boy," Skinner said firmly, pushing him back down.
Mulder gave a disconsolate cry, and settled back on his heels, tears of pure
pain pricking in the back of his eyes.
"Good
boy. If you take your punishment well I'll be proud of you," Skinner told
him, more gently than Mulder had been expecting. His Master pushed his slave's
sweaty, tousled hair away from his face. "That's good. Go with the pain,
boy. Give yourself up to it," Skinner whispered and Mulder moaned and
leaned his head in to meet his Master's embrace, needing Skinner's strength and
reassurance to see him through this ordeal. His nipples were points of blazing
agony and it still hadn't abated to a manageable level.
"Please…please…"
he whispered, nuzzling his Master's hand hopefully. "I can't wear them for
much longer, Master…please…"
"You'll wear them for the next half an hour and you'll continue to wear
them through your spanking. Only when your spanking is over will I remove
them," Skinner told him, although his tone was loving, almost erotic now.
He bent down, lifted Mulder's chin, and then pressed his lips against his
slave's, claiming him utterly with his mouth. Mulder moaned again and leaned in
to his Master's body, distracted a little from the burn in his chest by his
Master's sweet, loving kiss. "Good boy," Skinner said releasing him.
He crouched in front of his slave and took Mulder's face in his hands.
"This will be hard on you, little one, but it's a lesson you need to
learn," he said, his dark eyes full of encouragement.
"It
hurts so much, Master," Mulder said miserably, leaning his head against the
other man's chest.
"I
know, sweetheart. Go with the pain, bear it as your right and your due. Take it
into yourself, and learn from it," Skinner whispered, stroking his slave's
hair comfortingly.
Mulder
gave a choking cry and tried to do just that. The presence of his Master, gently
stroking and comforting him helped – with Skinner at his side, encouraging
him, he felt he could endure any ordeal.
Skinner
stroked him for several long minutes and the pain subsided into something a
little more bearable although still unbelievably agonising, and then, just as
Mulder thought he might be able to endure this, Skinner moved away and said:
"Wanda."
Mulder looked up at his Master in alarm, and then, seeing Skinner's expression
start to turn thunderous at his slow reaction, he quickly turned, got to his
feet, and bent himself over the armchair once more. Every movement seemed to
jolt his painful nipples unbearably, and he had to be careful how he arranged
himself over the back of the chair so that they didn't dig even further into his
pained flesh. When he had gotten himself ready, he carefully moved his hands
back and held his buttocks open for his Master, should he wish to use him.
Skinner stepped over to him, and slapped his butt sharply.
"Still
too slow. When will you understand that there is to be no delay on this, Fox? I
say your word to you, and you immediately present yourself to me for use.
You don't look at me for confirmation, and you don't hesitate, or play for time.
You just get into position, smoothly, quickly, and demonstrate to me what a good
and available slave you are." Skinner illustrated the word 'available' by
sliding a finger into his slave's anus. Mulder closed his eyes, and tried to
ignore his hard cock – it went without saying that his Master didn't intend
for him to come today but despite the pain and frustration of his current
situation, he couldn't deny that he was turned on, as he always was when Skinner
treated him in this most uncompromising and yet erotic way. Skinner sank his
finger deep into Mulder's anus and Mulder sighed and pushed his butt out as his
Master unerringly hit his prostate.
"Don't move, boy," Skinner warned. "This is NOT about your
pleasure."
"No, Master," Mulder replied, wishing desperately that it was.
His
Master finger fucked him for several minutes, which Mulder thoroughly enjoyed
despite his Master's injunction that it wasn't about his pleasure, and then
Skinner withdrew his finger and walked into the en suite bathroom, leaving his
slave exposed over the armchair, his hands still keeping his buttocks open
should his Master wish to use him.
Skinner
left his slave there for what must have been ten or fifteen minutes. It was the
most unendurably humiliating position, made even worse by the fact that Mulder
couldn’t lean comfortably on the armchair for fear of disturbing the vicious
points of steel that were digging into his nipples. Mulder felt as if he was
going to pass out – the nipple clamps were unbearable and the position he was
in was making his legs shake from the strain but his Master showed him no mercy.
Skinner insisted that his slave remain clamped and in position until 8 am
precisely, and only then did he call his slave over. Mulder stood up, red faced
and winded by the fact that it was only 8 am and the day had a long, painful way
to go before this punishment session was over.
"All
right – time for your first spanking. Get yourself into the grace position,
boy, and prepare to be truly thankful for what you're about to receive."
Skinner gave a macabre smile, which made Mulder shudder. He walked over to the
wall and got into position, his hands flat against the surface of the wall, his
legs wide apart, his butt jutting out, exposed, waiting for its punishment. He
heard his Master approach and then jumped as the other man placed a gentle hand
on his butt, fondling tenderly.
"Ah,
this is such a beautiful bottom. Unfortunately I haven't kept it as red as it
should be. An ass like this should be permanently glowing and I can assure you
that today there will be no opportunity for the lovely blush I'm about to bestow
to fade. I'll keep your ass constantly warm…" Mulder lost himself in the
litany, loving the deep, rich sound of his Master's voice even as he quailed at
the import of what the other man was saying. The caressing hand was removed from
his ass, and, a few seconds later, the hard wooden paddle descended on his
waiting flesh with a resounding thwack. Mulder gave a hoarse cry and was soon
yelling in earnest as his Master rained down blow after blow. He didn't give
Mulder time to get his breath back between swats, and he didn't stop until every
square inch of his slave's bottom had been covered numerous times.
The
onslaught came to an abrupt end and Mulder stood there, still braced against the
wall, his breathing coming in hard pants.
"Good
boy. I'm very proud of you for taking that so well. I enjoy punishing you, Fox.
Your ass looks so good when it's red…I love watching it wriggle as it waits
for my paddle to punish it. You look very sexy when you abandon yourself to me,
head thrown back, legs wide apart…I like that," Skinner said throatily,
making Mulder's cock become even harder, if that were possible. "Good boy.
I'm going to play with you for a while. Hold still," Skinner said, standing
close behind his slave, his sweats rubbing maddeningly on Mulder's sensitised
backside. His Master kneaded his buttocks for awhile, making Mulder squirm and
cry out although he held position – just. Then Skinner's hands went around his
slave's front and he gently rubbed Mulder's chest. His fingers spidered up
towards Mulder's nipples, and then there was a slight jerking tug as Skinner
removed the clamps and a few seconds later Mulder felt a flash of pain so bright
that it almost blinded him. He knew he was howling out loud and reeling as the
blood flowed back into his nipples after their half hour of torment.
"Oh
god! Oh shit!" he cried. "Please, Master…please…" His cries
didn't fall on deaf ears. Mulder felt Skinner's hands on his body, pulling him
away from the wall, turning him, and then his Master's warm mouth descended on
his nipples, soothing them, roving from one to the other, softly reviving them.
After a few seconds of this, Skinner drew back and pulled his slave close,
hugging him to his chest, comforting him.
"Good
boy. I'm proud of you…good boy…well done, Fox…" he murmured over and
over again and that was the only thing that gave Mulder the strength to
continue. He buried his face in his Master's shoulder and held on for dear life
as Skinner fondled, kissed and caressed his naked slave, taking good care of
him.
"Please don't use those clamps on me again, Master," Mulder whispered
abjectly. “Please don't…I'm sorry…please…"
"Hush, little one," Skinner told him, hugging Mulder and rocking him
against his chest. "I will use them again because I promised I would and
because you're being punished. You'll endure it, little one, every hour, on the
hour, although only for a few minutes next time. You'll take it because I ask
you to, and because you have to learn your lesson."
"I've learned it!" Mulder protested.
"Wanda,"
Skinner murmured and Mulder didn't even register the word for several seconds.
He didn't want to leave the comfort of his Master's loving arms. He wanted to be
rocked here forever. "Wanda," Skinner said again, pushing his slave
away. Mulder gave a moan of protest and got onto his knees. He leaned forward,
and held his buttocks open. "You see," Skinner said, tracing a finger
down his slave's back. "You haven't learned this lesson yet, Fox. You just
want the punishment to stop and that's a different thing entirely. Now, you can
get up and get washed and then come downstairs for breakfast. Remember to bring
your implements with you. And Fox…" He called his slave back as Mulder
walked, disconsolately towards the bathroom. "Don't jerk off in
there," Skinner told his slave, a knowing expression in his dark eyes.
"From now on you don't even touch your penis without my permission – and
that includes going to the bathroom. Ask me if you need to go."
Mulder
nodded miserably. This was a familiar part of his Master's training routines –
and one he hated. He knew that Skinner was trying to remind him that his body
belonged to his Master, even down to the most basic of bodily functions, but it
was humiliating to have to ask permission to touch his own cock in order to take
a piss. Mulder fought with himself for a moment, struggling with what he knew he
had to do, and then he opened his mouth.
"Master, please may I touch your property when I pee?" He asked.
Skinner
nodded. "Very well, slave. And?" He prompted.
"And
may I wash your property in the shower, Master?" Mulder whispered, hating
the words as he fought his own submission. If only this was easy! If only he
could just be in the right place in his head at a snap of his Master's fingers,
but Mulder had to concede that it had been a very long time since his Master had
last taken him this low, and while he fought it and struggled against it, he so
desperately wanted to achieve the serenity and joy that always awaited him when
he made the journey. He remembered, wryly, how he was the one who was always
urging Skinner to take him close to edge play, to make it really count – and
yet now it was happening to him he just wanted to fight it.
"No,
slave. You may not," Skinner told him. "You can allow the water to
wash over you but you won't touch yourself. You can do without soap and you can
dry off naturally by walking around the house."
"Yes, Master," Mulder murmured, only just managing to stop himself
from answering back at the absurd limitations that had been placed on him.
"Well
hurry, slave. Daylight's burning." Skinner shoed him into the shower and
then turned and went back downstairs. Mulder glared after him.
If
Mulder imagined there would be any respite over breakfast he was sorely
mistaken. Skinner swiftly instructed him to kneel beside his chair at the dining
room table, eyes down, and disappeared into the kitchen to retrieve the food. A
few seconds later Mulder was instructed to open his mouth and a spoonful of food
was pushed between his lips. He couldn't see the food so it was only when he
started to chew that he realised what it was – and almost spat it out in
disgust.
"Problem,
slave?" Skinner asked.
"It's
salad, Master," Mulder told him.
"Very
observant, slave," Skinner replied urbanely, pushing a spoonful of beetroot
into Mulder's mouth. Mulder almost gagged on it.
"For
breakfast, Master?" He questioned, swallowing the vegetable down hurriedly.
"That's
right," Skinner affirmed pleasantly.
Mulder
wasn't a great fan of salad at the best of times and his Master seemed to have
gathered together all his least favourite items of food and put them on one
plate. They were all foods he could actually eat – he didn't loathe them and
they didn't make him retch so he could swallow them down - but he didn't
actually like any of them. Skinner continued feeding his slave until
Mulder had devoured a fair amount of lettuce, cucumber, beets, and various other
salad vegetables. Then his Master handed his slave a portion of plain brown
bread, without any butter on it. His Master disappeared into the kitchen and
returned a few minutes later with a plate of eggs and toast, which he proceeded
to devour. It smelled divine and Mulder's mouth was watering as he slowly put
bite-sized pieces of the plain, cold bread into his mouth. His Master didn't
offer him any of his own breakfast though, and he spent a long, leisurely hour
eating his fill and reading the paper, utterly ignoring his kneeling slave.
Mulder felt the nugget of rebellion grow inside him. He couldn't stand much more
of this. On the dot of 9 am, Skinner stood up.
"On
your feet, slave," he ordered. Mulder got up, and was taken by surprise
when his nipples were grasped firmly and the clamps reapplied to them. Skinner
had moved so fast that he hadn't even realised what was happening until too late
and then that familiar flash of agony shot through his chest, making him cry out
loud.
"Good
boy. Now, over the table. I'm going to use the strap on you this time."
Skinner pushed Mulder firmly over the dining room table and Mulder found his
face ended up so close to his Master's plates that he could smell the divine
scent of a really good breakfast. It was tantalising and it distracted him from
his pained nipples – but not for long, as within seconds his Master's strap
was making painful contact with his bottom. The spanking was short and to the
point, and then he was pulled to his feet, and the clamps were whisked away from
his nipples, making him hop, silently yelping with pain as he did so.
"Don't
make a fuss, boy. Take your punishment properly, like an obedient slave who
knows he is deserving of his Master's correction," Skinner told him
sternly. Mulder took several deep breaths, trying to pull himself back together,
his resentment growing. His Master clearly had no idea how damn painful those
clamps were – and that strap had gone about its work with a mighty sting as
well. "Clear away the plates and wash up," Skinner ordered.
"Quickly, slave, we have a lot to get through today." And so saying he
went and sat down on the couch.
"We?"
Mulder muttered under his breath. "We have a lot to get through
today?" He piled up the plates on top of each other and started taking them
into the kitchen. He was half way across the room when Skinner's voice rang out.
"Wanda."
Mulder skidded to a halt, unable to believe his ears. Now? When he had his arms
full of dirty plates? He shot his Master a vicious glance, returned to the
table, dumped the plates back on them, and bent over, grasping his buttocks to
open himself for his Master's use.
"Still
too slow – and next time lose the attitude, boy," Skinner snapped. Mulder
gritted his teeth and tried to keep from growling out loud. His Master made no
use of him. He just left him there for a few minutes and then ordered him to
continue with his task of washing the dishes.
Mulder
found Wanda sitting in her usual place by the faucet waiting for someone to turn
it on so she could drink, despite the fact that she had a full bowl of water
waiting for her on the floor.
"Oh
fuck. Shit, fuck, shit," Mulder growled in a low undertone once he was
alone in the kitchen. "Fuck," he said again, kicking a cupboard for
good measure. Wanda flicked her ears at him. "Nothing personal, Wanda, but
I'm coming to really hate your name," Mulder mused. He rested his elbows on
the kitchen counter and stared morosely at the wall. "Your slave is a total
bastard, you know that?" He told her. She blinked solemnly. "Yes, I
know I told him to take me down, but I didn't expect this. I was thinking
more of a long, hot sex session in the Playroom," he grumbled. Tears
pricked at the back of his eyes, taking him by surprise. "It's so hard,
Wanda," he whispered, and she tripped daintily across the counter and
nestled under his chin, rubbing her head affectionately against his face. He
buried himself in her fur, and she purred delightedly, coaxing a small smile
from him. "I know," he told her. "A session in the Playroom would
have been fun but it wouldn't have taken me down enough to cope with being
branded – and I do want that, Wanda. I just wish it wasn't so hard…Maybe if
it was easy then I wouldn't appreciate it…I dunno. I'm trying to find a silver
lining here because I hate him so much right now." He said that with such
vehemence that Wanda's yellowy-green eyes widened and gazed at him anxiously,
her ears darting back and forth. "It's okay. I didn't mean to scare you.
Come here." He picked her up and gently caressed her until she relaxed
again. Then, with a sigh, he put her down and returned to the dirty plates.
As
soon as he was finished, Skinner clipped his nipple lead on him and took him
upstairs to the 18th floor apartment. Mulder walked to heel, as he
had been taught many months previously – but it had been a long time since his
Master had leashed him and he struggled to remember all the correct moves. They
hadn't been upstairs since the aborted party and Mulder's heart sank when he
surveyed the total mess that greeted them. There were empty glasses and bottles
strewn around, as well as the congealed mess of food on dozens of plates.
"You'll
clean the entire apartment," Skinner told him. "Make sure that your
implements are within arm's reach at all times. I'll sit here and direct
operations." He cleared a space on the couch and sat down. Mulder stared at
him.
"I'm
sure that will very helpful, Master," he said sarcastically, unable to stop
himself. Skinner raised an eyebrow.
"There's
no point in keeping a slave and working yourself," he replied sweetly.
Mulder clenched his fists and tried hard to hold onto his temper.
"Wanda," Skinner said, piling on the pressure. Mulder fought a split
second battle with himself. Of all the freaking times to use that word, now was
one of the worst his Master could have chosen. Mulder knew he was close to the
edge, knew he was fighting a silent battle with Skinner every step of the way
instead of just surrendering himself to his Master's will, but he couldn't stop
himself. He seriously considered not obeying, as Skinner watched him, his
dark eyes studying his slave's response searchingly, although he made no move,
as if waiting for Mulder to come to a decision. Finally, with a growl of anger,
Mulder got on his hands and knees and presented his ass to his Master. He was
surprised a few seconds later to feel the strap on his still warm bottom. His
Master gave him three swift swats. "That's for the delay, Fox. Now get this
hot ass into the kitchen and start washing the glasses," Skinner ordered.
Mulder
scrambled to his feet and disappeared into the little galley kitchen, his cheeks
flushing almost as bright as his butt cheeks. Damn but he really couldn't
take much more of this.
The
day didn't improve. Mulder suffered through 3 more hourly spankings, and his
nipples were now sore almost all the time from the repeated clampings. The
tidy-up in the upstairs apartment went at a snail's pace – mainly owing to
Skinner's insistence that he take his disciplinary implements everywhere with
him, so if he was carrying glasses from the Playroom to the kitchen he had to
carry his implements in one hand and under his arm, leaving him with only enough
room to carry a couple of glasses back to the kitchen. It was infuriating, and
Mulder's irritation level was soon sky high. Skinner stopped the proceedings
after his slave's 1 o’ clock spanking and fed his slave a bean stew – which
Mulder disliked to the point of almost spitting it out. Then it was straight
back to his task of cleaning the upstairs apartment. By 3 o' clock Mulder was
close to the edge. He took a garbage sack around the apartment, picking up
litter, nudging his implements into accompanying him with his foot as he went.
He glanced over to the couch and saw that his Master's eyes were closed –
which seemed like a perfect opportunity to abandon the implements and chase
around the apartment at a much faster pace in order to clear up all the litter.
He worked quickly and efficiently, one eye on his Master as he went, and he was
almost done when he heard a noise behind him.
"I
thought I made it clear that your implements were to be kept within reach at all
times?" Skinner said ominously, rising from the couch.
"Oh
for god's sake!" Mulder snapped. "It'll take all night to get this
done if I have to bring them along every step of the fucking way!"
"Who
said there was any hurry?" Skinner replied smoothly. "There isn't. If
it takes all day then that's fine. If it takes 2 days then that's fine
too." He smiled urbanely. "You aren't going anywhere, slave and I'm
happy to supervise you until it's done."
"This is ridiculous!" Mulder complained. "What the fuck point is
there in this?"
"The point, slave, is that you learn to obey my orders," Skinner said
in a tone of pure steel. "But as I can see you prefer to circumvent them
and as you can't keep a civil tongue in your head I think we need to help you.
Now, stay." He gestured with his hand and Mulder sank reluctantly to his
knees, wondering what was going to happen next. His Master went along to the
Playroom and returned a few seconds later with an item that made Mulder's heart
sink. "Maybe this will keep you quiet," Skinner said, holding up the
large ball gag. "Open." He stood over Mulder, waiting for his slave to
open his mouth. Mulder stared up at his Master, mutely, and they gazed at each
other for several long moments. Mulder could feel himself giving up precious
fragments of his independence with each passing minute and he hated it – and
hated his Master for bringing him to this, for being so implacable, for not
giving an inch, and for making Mulder take everything he handed out. Skinner
didn't give the order again, he just held out the gag, waiting for his slave to
obey. Mulder stared him out for a long time, and then, finally, with a growl of
pure frustration, he gave in and opened his mouth. Skinner strapped the ball gag
into his mouth and Mulder moaned as he realised this was one of the most
punitive ball gags his Master possessed – his jaw was aching within seconds
from the sheer size of the thing. His misery was complete.
Skinner
set Mulder back to work, which he did in enforced silence, his rebellion growing
with every passing second. He hated the ball gag with a vengeance, and longed to
rip it from his mouth and throw it at his Master who was sitting comfortably on
the couch reading a novel while Mulder did all the hard work. What made matters
worse was that while he couldn’t talk, he could drool which was both
humiliating and annoying. The large ball gag made it impossible to stop the
spittle sliding out of the side of his mouth and dripping down his chin and when
he tried to wipe it away with his hand his Master forbade him to touch his
property which just put Mulder in an even worse mood as he had to endure the
slow, steady tide of his own spit rolling down his chin almost constantly.
Mulder stomped around the apartment with bad grace and his next few spankings
did nothing to improve his mood. Skinner made sure that each one was hard and
his bottom was now as sore as his nipples. He couldn't even yell during
spankings because of the intrusive ball gag and the ache in his jaw was getting
worse with every passing second. Skinner didn't remove the gag for several
hours, and Mulder couldn't bring himself to go and beg his Master to remove it
by sitting at the big man's side and giving him his famous pleading puppy dog
gaze. Skinner ignored both him and the atmosphere of total anger and frustration
that was now emanating from his slave. Mulder's movements became noisier and
noisier as he cleared up – if he couldn't speak then he could sure as hell
make his annoyance known by crashing plates and glasses around and generally
making as much of a racket as possible.
Skinner only released him from the gag at dinner-time, when he fed his slave a
watery vegetable stew. Mulder jaw ached so much that for several minutes he
couldn’t do much but kneel, working his jaw back and forth trying to loosen it
while his Master fed him. Mulder was close to retching as he swallowed the
tasteless meal, and then his Master directed him to finish in the upstairs
apartment. It was now 7 o’ clock, and Mulder was exhausted, sore, and in the
worst mood he'd ever been in his life. He finally finished cleaning at 8.45, and
then Skinner inspected the apartment, wiping his finger over all the surfaces to
ensure that they were clean and dust free. Mulder's internal voice kept up a
bitter dialogue throughout as he silently berated his Master for putting him
through such a day from hell.
"Good,
slave. I'm pleased," Skinner said, gazing around the now spotless
apartment. Mulder breathed a sigh
of relief. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go to bed – as
soon as possible. "I'll just inspect the Playroom," Skinner said, and
he walked along the corridor with Mulder at his heels, inspected that room as
well, and then, finally satisfied, he nodded to his slave. "You've finished
now, slave, so I think it's time to mark you. Hand me my cane." He held out
his hand.
"What?" Mulder stiffened.
"My cane, slave, and quickly," Skinner urged.
Mulder
felt the full force of his anger and misery well up inside him. "You cannot
be serious!" He snapped.
"I
most certainly am." Skinner drew himself up to his full height and gazed
imperiously at his slave. "Your ass may be sore but it isn't marked – and
it's time it was."
"You've been spanking me all fucking day," Mulder spat. "My ass
hurts so much…I can't take a marking as well, Master. You are not going
to use this fucking cane on me after all the spankings I've taken today. You're
not…YOU ARE NOT!" Some wild urge inside him made him throw all caution to
the wind and he grabbed the cane from the pile of implements and snapped it over
his knee, breaking it in two.
"Come
here," Skinner said in a deadly tone.
"NO!"
Mulder cried. "I've had enough!"
His
Master walked towards him and something in Mulder snapped. He lunged at the
other man, transformed into a sobbing, hissing wildcat. He pummelled his fists
against Skinner's chest, screaming incoherently at the top of his voice. Skinner
endured the worst of his slave's explosion, just standing there, absorbing the
blows, and then he grabbed his slave's wrists and held them firmly behind
Mulder's back. Mulder tried to free himself, struggling pointlessly against his
Master's superior strength for several long minutes, still screeching like a
banshee.
"I hate you! I fucking hate you!" He screamed, fighting for
breath, all the anger washing through him, exploding out of him in a torrent of
abuse. Skinner held him for several long minutes while he struggled, and then
finally Mulder gave up, all his energy leaving him in one go. He almost fell but
his Master, whose hands had been holding him down, now held him up.
"It's
all right, little one," Skinner said softly. "Let it all out. It's
fine. Scream all you want. Let it go. I'm not going to let you fall." He
held Mulder up for a long time while Mulder sagged against him. Finally Mulder's
anger turned into tears and he found himself holding onto his Master for dear
life, burying his head in Skinner's shoulder as the sobs came out of him in
great choking gasps. Skinner released his slave's wrists and his hands came up
and gathered Mulder in close, holding him tight against his chest.
"You
can get as angry as you like, and you can struggle as much as you like,"
Skinner said in firm, low tones, "I'll still be here. I'm strong enough to
take all of it, Fox. I can take all of you."
"I
hate you," Mulder whispered into his Master's shoulder.
"Yup.
I guess you do right now," Skinner said with a low, rumbling laugh. "I
didn't think you'd last as long as you did. You are such an obstinate boy."
"What?" Mulder drew back. "You were testing me?"
"No, I think you were testing me. I was just trying to get all that anger
out of you so we could move on," Skinner said softly.
"I
wasn't angry until you made me angry," Mulder muttered.
"Sure
you were. You wanted to be branded and it didn't happen. You're angry with
yourself for not being able to go through with it and you're angry with me for
not insisting that you did. I can insist, Fox, as I'm sure I proved today. I can
be every inch the implacable, demanding Master whenever it's necessary. I think
in your heart you already knew that, but you needed a reminder."
"Fuck." Mulder leaned his head wearily against his Master's shoulder.
"You've been psyching me out again," he murmured.
"Yes.
I just didn't expect the explosion to take this long to happen – although you
sure as hell have been building it up all day. How's it going in there? Do you
need to kick and scream any more or are you done?"
Mulder glanced up into his Master's amused brown eyes.
"You knew I was going to explode?"
"You
wanted to struggle…you told me so last night. I needed to get that struggle
out of the way so we could move you down into a more serene state of acceptance.
I am not going to brand a slave who is spitting, cursing and hollering at
me all the way through. I just forced the pace a little, to get to the stuff
you'd buried deep. You never can just let something go – you need to get it
out and express it before you can move on. That's just you." Skinner gently
kissed his slave's forehead. "Now listen to me, pup," he said fondly,
and Mulder sighed and relaxed against his Master's chest, comforted by being
addressed lovingly as 'pup' and not the colder and more distant 'slave' which
was how Skinner had been addressing him all day. "Good boy." Skinner
kissed him again. "I know it's hard being taken right down – and we still
have a way to go. It's been a long time since I've made you go this far down but
we'll get there," Skinner said soothingly.
"I just want to be at peace," Mulder sighed, swaying in his Master's
arms. "I want to feel that serenity again."
"I know, and you will – but first you have to give up all the Mulder
stuff," Skinner told him calmly. "You have to give up what you
want, or what you think you want, and you have to remember that first lesson I
taught you – the one about honesty. You have to stop fighting me, boy. I
needed to make you literally fight me in order to move you beyond it. You have
to start working with me. Remember that you don't have any choices…I'm in
charge. Do you trust me, Fox?"
Mulder looked up into his Master's dark eyes, then sighed and replaced his head
on Skinner's shoulder.
"Yes,
Master. You know I do," he said at last.
"Good.
Then surrender yourself to that trust and we can start to make some progress
here. Put aside your own small wants and needs, give up the pettiness, anger and
guilt…and just be, Fox. Find the root of your slavery and enjoy it. Give all
the negativity up to me. Give me the fear – of your own submission, of being
branded and all the commitment that entails because you are afraid of that, deep
inside. Give all that up. Give up your worries about the last time someone put a
mark on your body." Skinner's fingers gently caressed the scar on Mulder's
chest where Krycek had carved his initials into is flesh. "Because you have
been worried about that, pup," Skinner said softly. "This will be
different. This branding will be done with love, and when it happens you'll
welcome my mark onto your body. It won't be done in fear and pain by someone who
hates you."
"How do you know all this?" Mulder felt as if all the most secret
parts of his psyche had been uncovered, and that his Master had found a secret
side of himself that he had not even known existed.
"Because
you're my slave," Skinner said softly. "And you belong to me."
Mulder
rested his head against his Master's shoulder again. Those few words just about
summed everything up, and they filled him with warmth.
"You've
been fighting me, sweetheart," Skinner said, caressing his slave gently.
"Oh not just now, you've been fighting me all day. Instead of giving
yourself up to me, you've fought with me every single step of the way, over
every order. Today was a battle of wills – I expected it to be and it was, and
of course you fought tooth and nail but you didn't win, sweetheart because you
didn't want to – not deep inside. Now…are you ready to trust me properly?
Are you ready to accept my mastery over you? Can you turn off that little voice
inside your head that questions and complains about everything I ask of
you?"
Mulder
bit on his lip, shame-faced. He had done that. Although he had superficially
obeyed his Master throughout the day, he had not done so willingly, and several
sharp retorts had risen to his tongue, whether he had actually spoken them or
not. He had not actually accepted his Master’s right to punish him, even
though he had presented himself for that punishment.
"I
can do that, Master," he said, wearily, feeling better just for saying it
and for starting on the journey to true submission that would bring him the
reward he wanted at the end of it.
"Good boy." Skinner kissed his slave. "Because I can keep being
an S.O.B if I have to."
"I'd
rather you didn't have to, Master," Mulder said softly.
"So would I," Skinner chuckled. "I will keep pushing you though,
boy, because you need that right now. I'd like to make it more erotic for you
though…if you're good, I might even let you come."
Mulder
glanced up eagerly and Skinner laughed out loud. "I can see that's an
incentive. Bear it in mind, pup."
"Yes, Master." Mulder angled up his face for a kiss, which Skinner
duly obliged him with. It was a deep, loving kiss, full of warmth and
reassurance, and Mulder drowned in it for a long time. Then Skinner disengaged
his arms and pushed his slave away. He picked up the remains of the dragon cane
and held them up.
"Very
impressive," he commented.
Mulder
made a face. "I'm sorry, Master," he said with a sigh, although he
wasn't sure he felt all that repentant.
"Fortunately,
I have more than one," Skinner told him brightly. Mulder knew his face had
to be a picture of dismay. He watched as Skinner opened a cupboard and pulled
out another hated cane.
"Please,
Master," he begged. "You're not…you're not still going to mark me
are you?" After the catharsis of releasing his own emotions, and their
conversation, Mulder couldn't believe Skinner still intended to go ahead with
the marking.
"Yes,
Fox, I am," his Master told him firmly.
"But…Master,
I thought…that is…I'm not fighting you any more, I promise…but I really
can't stand any more tonight," Mulder said desperately. Skinner put the
dragon cane on the massage table and walked over to his slave. He put his hands
on Mulder's shoulders and looked into his slave's eyes.
"Yes
you can, sweetheart. If I ask you to, you'll take it. You'll take whatever I ask
you to, however hard, because you're my slave, and you want to obey me,"
Skinner said.
Mulder
bit on his lip again and looked down at the floor, trying to get control of
himself. He could feel the tears threatening to well up again and fought them
down. He had made enough of an idiot of himself for one day…but he really
couldn't bear the idea of being marked. His ass felt sore and sensitised from
all the spankings it had received during the day, and he was tired and
over-wrought and just wanted to go to bed, lie down in his Master's arms, and
recover.
"Fox."
Skinner put a finger under Mulder's chin and tipped up his head so that his
slave had no choice but to look at him.
"My
ass hurts so much, Master. Please, can't we do this tomorrow?" Mulder
asked.
"No,
little one, we can't," Skinner told him, gently, but firmly. "You
understand it intellectually but you aren't feeling it yet, Fox. You're
my slave. You don't have a say in what I do to you, sweetheart. You aren't
making the choices around here - I am. It pleases me to mark you – and you
need to know that there's no way out, and that when your Master promises
something, he delivers it."
"I do know that. I'm just asking…" Mulder began. Skinner hushed him
by putting a finger over his mouth.
"Come over here, Fox," he said, leading Mulder over to the heaped
array of cushions in the corner of the room.
Skinner
turned off the lights, casting the Playroom into darkness, and then settled
himself down on the cushions and pulled his slave between his open legs. He
wrapped his legs and arms around his slave, effectively imprisoning him, and
they both gazed out at the city beneath them. There was no more beautiful view
than that from the huge Playroom windows at night, Fox thought to himself as he
surveyed the sight. Gradually he felt his tense muscles relax and he melted back
against his Master's chest. Skinner stroked his arms and kissed his hair and
then, when Mulder was almost asleep, he started talking.
"Once
upon a time…" he began.
Mulder
opened his eyes. "You're telling me a story?" He interrupted.
"Yes, I am," Skinner said. "I'm going to tell you a story and I
want you to keep this story in mind for the next few days. When I've finished,
I'm going to mark you with the cane – 3 strokes, Fox."
Mulder shivered, whimpering slightly, and his Master gently soothed him with his
hands.
"Once
upon a time," he began again, and Mulder tried to listen and not to think
about that cane descending on his vulnerable flesh, "in an ancient world,
long, long ago, there was a warlord. He rode into battle and was always
victorious, and his fame spread throughout the land."
Mulder
found himself fascinated despite himself. He would never have imagined his
Master to be a story-telling kind of man, but Skinner's deep, baritone voice
soothed him, and he was intrigued by the subject matter, despite himself.
"The
warlord had many slaves," Skinner continued, "and he used them all
well. He bought men and women in the slave markets or won them as spoils of war,
and they worked in his house and on his fields, and he worked many of them in
his bed as well. Remember that this was an ancient society, Fox. His slaves had
no choice but to serve him and submit to his will. He wasn't a harsh master but
he was unhappy because despite all his success, he had never been in love. The
slaves came and went from his bed but he barely noticed – one body was so much
like another, and he didn't love any of them – nor did he find any free man or
woman to love either, not even among the nobles with whom he mixed. He had
simply never been in love and began to wonder whether he was even capable of it.
He was an intelligent, literary man, and it pained him that he could not
identify with the great classic romantic stories. It also pained him that the
one thing he was good at was warfare – he knew that he was a genius at that,
and it worried him greatly that he should be good at something so destructive
and yet fail at something as simple and beautiful as falling love. The warlord
became desperate – he tried to find something in his slaves to keep him
interested, but failed. They all bored him and he cast them off, one after the
other, as a result. One day, the warlord went to battle and met the spoiled
young prince of a neighbouring city in a fight. The young man was beautiful and
strong, and he fought well. He wore the most sparkling breastplate, and his
sword was decorated with the most magnificent jewels – all of which made our
warlord laugh. He wore more comfortable clothes in which to do battle - a little
torn in places but weathered and practical. He didn't need adornments – he
knew he was there to fight and to win, and that was what he did. As he fought
the young prince, he decided that when he won he would take this pretty,
overdressed young man as his slave, and enjoy himself with the spoils of this
particular battle."
Mulder leaned further back against his Master's chest, loving the story. His
cock was semi-erect as he imagined the spoiled young prince as the slave of the
strong, lonely warlord. Skinner paused and Mulder looked up.
"He
did win, didn't he, Master?" he asked, anxiously.
"Yes,
Fox, he did win, and he took great pleasure in stripping the lovely prince of
his fine cloak, his jewelled sword, and his sparkling armour. He tied the
prince's hands in front of his body and then dragged him back to the camp behind
his horse. The prince ran well, the warlord noted, and he often turned back so
that he could see the young man's long legs chase along behind the warlord's
horse, keeping pace with him. When he got back to the camp, he untied the prince
and took him to his tent. He ordered his other slaves to bring warm water and
then he commanded the prince to kneel in front of him. He explained to the young
man that he was no longer a prince – he was now a slave, a spoil of war, and
subject to the whim and will of his new master."
Skinner's
hand reached expertly for Mulder's now erect cock and caressed it firmly, and
Mulder sighed and leaned back.
"Much
to the warlord's surprise, his new slave didn't protest, or howl, or scream, or
struggle, or complain as many before him had done. Instead, he knelt at his
master's feet, and offered to wash his master's bruised body. The warlord was
taken aback – he had not expected this - but he allowed the prince to wash
him. Then the young man asked for permission to oil his master's battle weary
body, and, surprised once more, the warlord agreed. The prince took a long time
slowly, almost reverentially, massaging his fingers into his master's skin. When
he had finished, he knelt at his master's side, awaiting his orders. The warlord
was delighted. He instructed his new slave to remove what was left of his
expensive clothing, and then he inspected his new slave's beautiful body."
Mulder
moaned and thrust up into his Master's hand. Skinner squeezed the top of his
penis hard.
"Uh-uh,
boy, not until the end of the story," he instructed. "The warlord took
a long time inspecting the prince – the young man was exquisite, if a little
bruised from battle, and the warlord was delighted with his new acquisition. He
took the young man to his bed, and used him hard, still high from the adrenaline
of battle. He expected his slave to cry out and flinch from him, as so many had
done before, but this strange, exotic new slave responded in a way that none of
his other slaves ever had. Instead of flinching from his master's touch, his
slave returned the warlord's passion with a passion of his own. He begged for
his master's kisses, and covered his master with caresses. When the warlord
finished with his slave the first time, the young man rested in his master's
arms, and kissed him, sighing with contentment. Instead of cowering at the far
side of his master's bed, he stayed close to him, and, when his master had
recovered from his first climax, his slave asked permission to pleasure him
again. He brought his master to climax over and over again during the course of
that night and the warlord was stunned and delighted. He was so strong that his
slaves often feared him, but not this one. This one took all his strength and
matched it with his own. His new slave sighed and moaned in his master's arms
and came as many times as the warlord. He was excited by the warlord's slightest
touch, and begged for more. He begged to feel his master's hard cock in his
mouth and up his ass, begged for his master's kisses – he even begged to feel
his master's whip on his back and butt. The warlord had never had a more
exciting lover, and for the first time he felt the cold around his heart begin
to thaw. Over the course of the next few weeks, he spent many a long hour
pounding into his slave…"
Mulder
gave a little cry and struggled hard not to come…this story was turning him on
so much.
"And
when they were not making love, the warlord talked to his slave and discovered
an intelligent man like himself, a literary man who shared his love of the
romantic classics. They had so much to talk about that the warlord found himself
growing besotted not only with his slave's beautiful body but also with his
mind…and this scared him."
Mulder
groaned, as Skinner dropped the tempo on his cock, soothing it more slowly now.
"He
was scared by how much he loved the prince, and, because of his fear, he decided
that he had to remind the young man that he was just a slave. So, he took his
whip to his slave. When he had finished, the prince crawled to his master on his
hands and knees, kissed his whip, and thanked him for his attention. The warlord
was astonished – and even more in love than before. And because he was so much
in love he became jealous, and decided that he must show the world that the
prince belonged to him and was his slave – so he resolved to brand him."
Mulder glanced up, jolted out of the story, but Skinner's eyes were warm and
reassuring as he continued.
"He
told the young man that he was no longer a prince but was now his slave, and he
wanted to put his mark on him to proclaim that fact to the world so that
everyone would know – and, more importantly, so that the slave himself would
fully understand and appreciate that fact as well. The young man trembled but
knelt before his master and kissed his master's feet. He had no choice – his
master wanted to brand him and the prince could do nothing to prevent it. He was
a slave, a possession, a belonging and his master could brand him if it pleased
him to do so. The warlord tied his slave, heated a brand in the fire, and then
pressed it into his slave's flesh as if he were a calf, or some other animal.
When he released his slave, the warlord was amazed when the young man sank to
his knees again and kissed his master's feet. When he raised the prince's head,
his slave's eyes were full of tears. The warlord was filled with remorse but his
slave brushed his concern aside – he told his master that they were tears of
joy because at last his master had chosen to acknowledge his love by placing a
brand on him. The warlord hadn't branded any of his other slaves so the prince
took this as a sign that he was special, and beloved."
Mulder
sighed, and grasped his own Master's arm. He stroked it gently, and Skinner
smiled down on him and kissed his forehead.
"The
warlord was disturbed and he took himself off to his tent to be alone. He was
afraid. Although he was a big, strong, powerful man he was afraid of his own
emotions because falling in love made him feel vulnerable, and weak. He sank
into a decline, and refused to allow anyone to come near him - but his slave was
not so easily dissuaded, and one night he managed to bypass the guards his
master had placed at the entrance to his tent, crept inside, and knelt at his
master's side, watching him as he slept. His master woke and, in despair, asked
his slave why he was there, and his slave replied: "Where else would I be
but by my master's side?"
The
warlord was upset by his slave's words. "You are so devoted to me, despite
everything I do to you," he said, taking hold of the young man's face and
gazing deep into his eyes, searching for an answer to this enigma.
"Why?"
His
slave smiled. "Because I know that you whip me and brand me because you
love me, and that makes me happy," he replied.
The
warlord shook his head. "I do love you," he said, no longer able to
fight it, and amazed to find that he had finally fallen in love after so many
long, lonely years. "But what I don't understand is why you should love me
when I enslaved you."
"Oh, master, you didn't enslave me - I gave myself to you freely," his
slave replied. "I followed your exploits for years, my lord. I watched you
go into battle, and you were so strong and noble and yet also so alone and lost.
You became an obsession with me and I longed to bring happiness into your life.
I was a spoiled prince but I had always known in my heart that I longed to
worship at the feet of a strong man like you. I knew that I had fallen in love
with you but I also knew that you only ever took slaves to your bed and I was
sure you would reject me if I approached you any other way. So, I decided to
meet you on the battlefield. If you killed me there, then I could at least die
happy, having been felled by your beloved hand. If I survived, then I hoped you
would find me interesting enough to take as your slave. I was lucky - you did
– and as soon as I felt your touch I knew I was where I belonged. It was as if
I was consumed by fire - I'm still burning for you and always will be. I'm
yours, master, which is all I ever wanted to be. You can do what you like to me
but please don't turn away from me because I worship you, my master."
The
warlord gazed at his slave, shocked. "You gave yourself up to slavery
because you loved me?" He asked, uncomprehending.
"Yes,
my lord," his slave replied. "And I have never been happier."
The
warlord smiled, finally understanding that in this young man he had found the
ideal complement to himself – the other side of his own coin. He pulled his
slave close. "Even if I whip you, or use you harshly?" he asked.
"You love me, even then?"
"I am yours, master. I love the kiss of your whip." His slave smiled.
"And you may use me in any way that pleases you, because I am your
slave." The young man kissed his master, and his master held him tight. And
the warlord was never lonely again from that day forward – he loved his slave
until the end of their days and sometimes, as he looked at his naked, sleeping
slave, he would trace his finger over his slave's brand and wonder who, exactly,
had enslaved who."
Skinner came to an end, his hand still grasping his slave's cock firmly.
"That
was beautiful, Master," Mulder said dreamily.
"I'm
glad you liked it, little one," Skinner said softly. "I want you to
use it. Over the next few days I want you to remember the prince whenever you
feel that you can't go on, or you don't want to obey me. I want you to think
about the joy he took from his own submission, and I want you to find that same
joy inside yourself."
"Yes,
Master," Mulder agreed readily. He wanted that too.
"Now…I'm
going to allow you to come, and then I'm going to mark you," Skinner told
his slave.
"Yes,
Master," Mulder agreed, no longer protesting. He thought of the prince,
back in a time when he truly wouldn't have had any choice in what his Master did
to him, and he found that thought unbearably erotic. It took no more than a
couple of strokes of Skinner's hand on his hard cock to make him come. Skinner
smiled and held his panting slave against his chest in the aftermath of his
climax.
"Good
boy," he murmured. He waited until Mulder's breathing had returned to
normal and then squeezed Mulder's shoulder lightly. "Get up, Fox. I want to
mark you," he said.
Mulder
got to his feet quickly, eager to accept his Master's mark onto his flesh. Yes,
his butt was already sore, but he didn't care about that any more. Like the
prince in the story he was his Master's slave and Skinner could do what he
wished with him. He waited, in a dreamlike state, as his Master tied the leather
pouch over his genitals, and he obeyed immediately when Skinner directed him to
lie over the spanking horse. He shivered as he felt the tip of his Master's cane
between his knees.
"Further apart, slave. Offer this ass up to me for marking," Skinner
ordered. Mulder opened his legs wider, and pushed his bottom out to meet the
cane. "Good boy." Skinner rested the cane on his slave's buttocks for
a long time, and then Mulder heard a sudden whoosh followed by a deep, stinging
pain. He gave a little cry, but didn't break position. The second stroke hit the
sit spot with a powerful force and Mulder gave a gasping cry, but still he
didn't break position – instead he just pushed his ass out even further,
making an even easier target for his Master. He repeated the litany over and
over in his head – he belonged to Skinner, he was his Master's beloved slave,
his Master could do what he wished with him. He was proud to bear his Master's
marks on his bottom and would be even prouder to wear his Master's brand,
proclaiming who and what he was, the proof of his Master's love and ownership
burned into his flesh. The final stroke took his breath away and he lay over the
spanking horse, gasping, for several seconds until his Master helped him to his
feet, enveloped him in his warm arms, and deposited a deep, heartfelt kiss on
his slave's lips. Mulder swayed dreamily in his Master's arms, utterly lost in
the possibilities of his own submission.
"Well
done, slave. I'm proud of you," Skinner said. "Now, I think it's time
for bed."
"Yes, Master!" Mulder agreed readily.
They
went back downstairs to the main bedroom, and Mulder slid eagerly under the
sheets. Skinner emerged from the bathroom, took one look at his slave, and shook
his head.
"On
the floor, pup. You'll sleep at the foot of the bed tonight," he ordered.
Mulder gazed at his Master in dismay – after the day he'd had, he longed to
sleep curled up in his Master's arms.
"Quickly, slave. On the floor."
Skinner pointed and Mulder scrambled hastily from the bed. He lay do |