24-7 2. Five Gold Rings


Mulder paced the room, anxiously chewing on a set of fingernails already bitten to the quick. It had been a week since he last stood here, a week during which he had done everything he had been instructed to do. He had complained that a week was too short a time to put his affairs in order, and arrange for his personal finances to be transferred into his Master’s numbered accounts as he had been instructed, but his new owner had been adamant.


“You should also view it as a cooling off period,” his Master had said, his voice echoing around the room, and straight into Mulder’s soul, sounding tinny, and distorted through the microphone. “When you come back here next week, if you’ve done everything as instructed, and if you still wish to proceed, then, and only then, I’ll sign the Master contract. In your presence. After that – there’s no going back.”


Mulder leaned against the wall, and tried to keep still. “No going back…no going back…” the words reverberated around his skull. He wished, profoundly, that this was all over. That his Master had claimed him, tied him up, dragged him back to his lair, and then at least he’d know whether he’d done a Good Thing, or a Very Bad Thing. All this waiting was making him insane. He’d been like a cat on a hot tin roof all week, driving Scully crazy, alternately fidgeting and sitting in a state of slumped lethargy. He hadn’t been able to write up the two reports sitting on his desk – he’d just stared into space instead, rolling his new status around in his head. Fox Mulder – slave. Possession. Owned. Even Skinner had noticed his strange behavior and had asked him if something was wrong. Looking into his boss’s concerned dark eyes, he’d wished for a moment that he did have someone he could confide in, someone who could save him from the consequences of his actions. He was paying the price for not trusting easily. In the end he’d brushed Skinner’s inquiry off brusquely, and Scully hadn’t even dared broach the subject of what was up with him. He was glad for that much at least. Soon it would all be over.


He knew he was being a fool, but all the same he couldn’t stop his head-long plunge into this unknown realm. He didn’t own much, so he didn’t care about the money. His father had left everything to his mother in his will, despite their divorce – maybe as some kind of recompense, maybe to punish his only son – Mulder didn’t know. He had never understood his father. When his mother died, Mulder assumed he might end up a relatively wealthy man, but he wasn’t at this moment in time. All he was giving up to his Master was a few thousand dollars. It didn’t seem too high a price to pay for…for what? Peace? Mulder leaned his head back against the wall, and bounced it there – once, twice, three times, hating himself for the need, and berating himself for his stupid hope that he would find what he sought in this arrangement. That didn’t stop him hoping all the same. He wondered idly what his owner looked like. It didn’t matter, but he was still curious. He wasn’t looking for love – he was looking to be saved from himself.


“Mr. Mulder. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.” The voice rang out, breaking into his reverie, surprising him. Mulder jumped. He’d forgotten how deep and seductive that voice was, how it made his cock jump to know he was being addressed by his Master.


“Do you apologize to all your slaves?” Mulder asked, raising an ironic eyebrow.


That dry laugh rang out. “You’re not. Yet. When I sign my part of the contract it will be a done deal. Until then…”


“I’d like to get it over with,” Mulder interrupted, his nerves frayed, and jangling.


“I take it you haven’t changed your mind then?” His Master inquired.


“No.” Mulder took a deep breath. “You got into my head and found some part of me I didn’t even know existed. I’ve been walking around with a hard-on all week because of you,” he said accusingly, his tone almost bitter.


“My apologies for knowing my trade so well,” the voice said softly, almost in commiseration. “Is the paperwork done?”


“Yes.” Mulder laid his briefcase on the table, opened it, withdrew a file and held it up. “Here it is. The sum total of my life – for what it’s worth. And here’s where you reveal this was all just a giant set-up to fleece me, and you take the money and run.” Mulder tensed, almost expecting that to happen.


“Don’t be stupid,” the voice chided. “You arranged this meeting through James Eckhart and J.M. Lucas, both high profile players with good reputations. Do you doubt their integrity?”


“No. Maybe they might want to teach the pushy sub a lesson though,” Mulder commented wryly.


“There are other ways to do that,” the voice reminded him. “And you won’t be any kind of sub for much longer.”


The door opened and Mulder held his breath – but it was only the servant, who retrieved the file from him, and exited again.


“Your personal possessions?” His Master asked.


“In my car.” Mulder shrugged.


“The lease on your apartment?”


“Put in the name of the company you gave me. Your company?” Mulder inquired, curious, wondering what line of work this man was in. He was ignored.


“The keys?”


“Right here.” Mulder held them up, then, with a deep inhalation of breath, he put them on the table and backed away again.


“This seems to be in order. Go back over to the table.” Mulder felt himself chafing at the peremptory command, then caught himself and shook his head. Better get used to it…


The servant had left a big white envelope on the table, with one word on it : Fox. Mulder suppressed a grimace.


“Is there a problem?” His Master asked.


“My name.” Mulder shrugged. “I don’t like it.”


“That’s a shame. I’ve decided that will be your slave name,” his Master told him, in an amused tone.


“What?” Mulder turned and glared at the mirror.


“A slave must have a slave name – bestowed upon him by his Master. Yours will be Fox.” His Master said in a tone that brooked no contradiction.


Mulder tried anyway. “Why Fox? That’s my real name!” He protested.


“Exactly,” the voice replied. “Open the envelope while I check through these documents you’ve provided.”


Mulder stood there, quivering, hating being this much at a disadvantage, but finding it arousing at the same time. Finally, he slipped a finger under the flap of the envelope, and tipped the contents onto the table. Five gold rings, of varying sizes, slid out.


The largest was a collar – wrought from real gold, thin and light, with his name inscribed on it in beautiful lettering, together with a tiny, perfect engraving of a fox.


“It’s thin enough to be worn under a shirt and tie. I expect you to wear it at all times – day and night,” his Master said softly.


Mulder swallowed, and ran his fingers over the smooth, cool metal. “It’s beautiful,” he whispered, a lump rising in his throat. Considerable care and attention had gone into making this collar – and he knew, without fastening it around his neck, that it would fit him perfectly. His long fingers moved over the other rings. One was mid-sized, but the other three were much smaller – two of them were identical. The third was slightly bigger, and much thicker.


“If you’re thinking it looks like a wedding ring, that’s because it is,” his Master chuckled softly. “Like the collar, you’ll wear it constantly. You’ll be punished if I ever see you without either of these symbols of my ownership.”


“I understand, Master,” Mulder replied, bowing his head towards the mirror, thinking that he wouldn’t want to be seen without them. They were both so exquisite. The wedding ring was simple, plain gold – shiny and new. Inside, his name was engraved again. F-O-X. Never had his own name looked so beautiful. “Thank you, Master,” he whispered.


“Society has its own way of recognizing commitment. It’s important that nobody should think that you’re available. You aren’t,” the voice said firmly.


“No, Master.” Mulder inclined his head again. “And this?” He held up the mid-sized ring, with a questioning, faintly amused eyebrow.


“You don’t need me to tell you what that’s for,” his Master chided.


“And do I have to wear this all the time too?” Mulder asked.


“Unless I remove it myself, or give you permission to do so, yes,” his Master replied. Mulder fingered the cock ring.


“I’ve never seen one in pure gold before.” He shook his head. The cock ring was also engraved with his name, in the same ornate lettering. “And these?” Mulder played with smallest rings.


“I like my slaves to be decorated,” his Master said, his tone smooth, like honey. “Are you pierced anywhere?”


Mulder swallowed hard. Nipple rings. “No, Master.” He felt his cock hardening even more inside his pants.


“We’ll soon remedy that,” his Master chuckled. “If I think it suits you, then I might consider other methods of decorating you – tattooing, maybe branding.”


“Branding?” Mulder echoed faintly.


“If it pleases me, yes. These rings are all symbols of my ownership,” his Master said, his voice almost caressing him. Mulder nodded – wondering how the hell he was going to explain the wedding ring to Scully. “In a moment I’m going to put the wedding ring, and the collar on you. Nobody but me can take them off you,” his Master told him firmly. “If youremove them, then I’ll punish you – harshly. The day I remove those symbols of my possession, is the day you are free to leave my service. Do you understand that?”


“Yes, Master.” Mulder bowed his head in awe.


“Good. I’ll put my cock ring on you later – in the privacy of your new home. Have you thought about this carefully, Fox? This is your last chance. Withdraw now, and I won’t speak of this to anyone. You’ll be free to go. If you proceed, then you’ll belong to me – body and soul. There’s no turning back after that.”


“I understand. I want…I want to belong to you, Master,” Mulder said, fingering the collar, and the little picture of the fox.


A deep sigh echoed through the microphone, and reverberated around the room. Mulder looked up in alarm.


“Very well,” his Master said in a low tone. “Lie face down on the floor, Fox, and close your eyes. I’ll come and join you – then you can kiss my feet, and offer yourself up to me for collaring.”


Mulder did as he was told. He was wearing a tee shirt and jeans, so it would be easy enough for his Master to fasten the collar around his neck. Mulder shivered in anticipation, his whole body quivering with the need, the desire, to be this man’s property, and to accept the tokens of his ownership. He laid his face against the carpet, and closed his eyes, stretching his body out, offering himself up.


It took all Mulder’s willpower not to look up as the door opened. He felt his stomach churn and clench, and he bit down on his bottom lip to stop it from trembling. His cock throbbed so much that it hurt. This was better than any game. Better and worse. Certainly more intense. Mulder held his breath as he heard footsteps, and they stopped next to his head. A boot nudged at his hand, and he shuffled forward, and pressed his lips against the shiny surface. He opened his eyes, and slowly raised them – seeing a pair of long, black boots. His eyes continued their slow scrutiny – up a pair of long, long legs, encased in black moleskin pants, over a thick black belt, with a classic, understated, shiny silver buckle, over a pair of slim hips, and a neat trim waist. His gaze lingered on the promising bulge in the pants, then moved on up over a broad expanse of chest, encased in a smooth, silky black shirt, up to a wide neck, and a firm jaw, over the contours of a handsome face, a pair of glasses, and behind them a set of dark, fathomless eyes…


“Oh, fuck.” Mulder put his head down on the carpet, and banged it. His whole body felt limp and useless, and his entire past flashed before his eyes. “You set me up,” he croaked.


Skinner didn’t move.


“No. You did that all by yourself,” he replied.


“Eckhart and Lucas. They contacted you. They told you I was heading for a fall. You just went along with it – to see how far I’d go. Oh, fuck. Is my career over? Is that what all this is about? An FBI agent entering into a contract of slavery with an unknown man. How fucking stupid is that?”


“Very, I’d have said. I could have been anyone. You’re in a very compromising position,” Skinner mused. His boot nudged Mulder’s chin, forcing Mulder to look up into those stern, dark eyes.


“I know. I’ve been an idiot. You caught me. What can I say? Don’t ask me why though. You know why. I told you why…” Mulder’s voice trailed off, his heart beating so fast that he thought it would explode. How had this happened? To be caught, seen, exposed in this way? At the exact moment when he thought he’d found something, someone who’d force him back from the edge of the abyss, he found instead that he’d been tipped headlong into the dark. Mulder could have wept.


“Yes. I know why.” Skinner shrugged.


Mulder lay there, still prostate at Skinner’s feet. He couldn’t move – he felt as if his entire body had been turned to jelly.


“You went to such a lot of trouble to expose me for the fool I am.” Mulder looked up at his boss through long, dark eyelashes. “The five gold rings were a nice touch.” He glanced over at them regretfully. “Of course, I feel kind of cheated about the calling birds, french hens, and turtle doves, to say nothing of the partridge and pear tree, but I suppose that’s too much for a guy to expect from his new Master, huh?”


A small smile played around the edge of Skinner’s lips, and he leaned over, put a big hand in Mulder’s hair, and pulled his head back. Mulder gulped, as he found himself looking straight into those dark eyes.


“Fox – what makes you think this isn’t for real?” Skinner asked him.


“Are you kidding? Uh…ow…” Mulder felt as if his hair was going to be pulled out by the roots. “The fact that you’re my boss? That we work together? I mean, this has to be a set-up…right?”


“Wrong.” Skinner smiled.


Mulder stared at him fascinated by the sight. He realised that he’d never seen his boss smile before – if this man was his boss. In these clothes, smiling, he exuded a completely different air – as if he was someone else. His teeth were straight, and white…all the better to eat me with…Mulder started to shake.


“I’m sorry, all this has been a shock,” he whispered.


“I’m sure it has. I did try to spare you. As I said last week – I’ve evaded you for as long as I could, but you started to get too close. You’ve always been an excellent investigator, and it was only a matter of time before you found me. In the end, I thought it might be easier to try and dissuade you, without revealing my identity.”


“It’s for real?” Mulder gaped. “You really are Him?” He asked, stunned.


“Oh yes.” Skinner shook him slightly. “And you really are persistent,” he said.


“So why this?” Mulder gestured around the room wildly, taking in the rings, and the contracts lying on the table. “Why the charade? Why the whole ownership deal? The contracts? What the hell did you want with my money? Were you trying to teach me a lesson?”


“No.” Skinner looked down on him. “I listened to your story, and I evaluated you very carefully, as I would any prospective slave. The deal still stands. You’re mine. Signed and sealed.” Skinner held up the Slave Contract Mulder had signed the previous week. “I told you if you wanted to pull out of it you could, but you kept pushing on. Now it’s too late.” Skinner let go of Mulder’s hair, and strode over to the table. He picked up the Master’s contract, and with a flourish of his hand, he signed it. Then he returned to where Mulder lay, boneless on the floor, and dropped the piece of paper on Mulder’s head.


Mulder gazed at the piece of paper as it wafted under his nose. He read it, and remembered why he had wanted it, then looked up at Skinner again. His boss, his owner, was holding the beautiful gold collar between his large fingers.


“On your knees,” Skinner ordered.


“I think…I might have changed my mind,” Mulder muttered, trying desperately to obey, wishing his muscles would do as he told them.


“Why? Because it’s me? I’m still offering everything I offered before,” Skinner said firmly.


“But we can’t… I mean what about work?”


“You’ll be my slave – at work, at home, everywhere. Subject to my command, under my direct ownership. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Nothing has changed.” Skinner told him.


“But what about…?” Mulder flushed. He had a sudden vision of Skinner’s big arms closing around his naked body, of the other man thrusting into him, overpowering, devouring…and he let out an involuntary moan.


“Sex?” Skinner gave another of those truly wicked grins. “I told you – you’re mine, boy. I’ll use you when and where I like, as often as I like, or as little. You,” he ran a finger down Mulder’s forehead, over his nose, and then rested it lightly on Mulder’s lips, “belong to me. Body, heart, mind and soul.” He slipped the finger inside Mulder’s mouth, and Mulder couldn’t stop himself sucking on it. Skinner laughed. “I rest my case,” he said, withdrawing the finger.


Mulder finally managed to make it to a kneeling position. He bowed his head, a thousand thoughts running through his mind, but at the end of the day nothing changed any of it. He still wanted this – maybe, deep inside, he wanted it even more now. Skinner was everything he’d ever had wet dreams about. He didn’t know how it could work at the FBI, but he knew he had gone too far to stop it. This rollercoaster that he had set in motion wouldn’t let him off until the ride was over. And somehow, Mulder had the feeling that the ride was a long, long way from being over.


Mulder placed his hands behind his back, and pulled his trembling limbs into some semblance of a submissive pose.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “You’re right. I’m yours.” He looked up into Skinner’s calm eyes. The big man nodded, and opened up the hinge on the collar, then slid it around Mulder’s throat. Mulder felt the cold metal caress him, gently warming itself on his flesh. It felt familiar – as if it had always been there. As if it belonged there. Skinner’s eyes never left his as those big fingers adjusted the collar, and then snapped it shut. Done. A look passed between them, of ownership, of submission, of an understanding that went deep into their souls.


“Your hand,” Skinner ordered.


Mulder presented his left hand, and Skinner took it. He caressed his thumb down Mulder’s ring finger, then firmly slid the wedding ring into place.


“Til death us do…” Mulder muttered. Skinner put a finger over his mouth, to shut him up.


Mulder hung there, limply, his hand still held in one of Skinner’s big paws. The moment stretched into an eternity. Brown eyes and hazel ones were locked as the commitment was made between them, and the contract sealed.


Then Skinner laughed out loud, ending the moment. “Get up, slave,” he ordered.


“Yes, Master.” Mulder scrambled to his feet quickly. All the blood raced to his head, and he swayed for a moment, wondering what the hell had just happened.


Skinner walked briskly over to the door. He called the servant back in, and handed him the two contracts. “See that these are witnessed, and a copy placed in the vault, and then return them to me,” he commanded. The servant nodded, and hurried to do his bidding. Mulder could understand the hurry. The Skinner he knew at work had always commanded his respect, and, occasionally, even his fear. However, this Skinner, this Master Skinner, was even more impressive. He lived this role utterly and completely. His body exuded a fierce grace, moving with the tightly controlled, muscled beauty of the panther. Mulder wondered how he had never seen it before. This was a man he could worship, and kneel before. This was a Master he could truly serve.


Skinner turned back to him. “Take the other rings – and keep them safe. I won’t be very tolerant if they get lost. Go to your car, and drive to the Viva Tower. Here’s a garage permit. It’s in your name.” Skinner handed Mulder the card. “Wait for me there,” Skinner instructed.


“Yes, sir.” Mulder did as he was told, collecting his briefcase, and scurrying from the room.




Mulder glanced at all his worldly goods in the back of his car. His computer, a couple of suitcases full of his clothing, several boxes of books. He would never, in a million years, have predicted that they’d all of them be moving in with Skinner.


He drove slowly through the city, his body still shivering slightly from the shock of the recent events. What kind of a Master would Skinner be, he wondered? Kind? Cruel? Strict? Loving? What would he require of Mulder? And would it be more than Mulder could give?


Mulder stopped the car, and considered turning around and heading to Alexandria, to the safety of his own apartment, and his old life, then remembered that it was too late for that. He couldn’t, even if he wanted to. Skinner had the keys, he owned the lease – hell, he could even have sublet it by now.


Mulder laid his head on the steering wheel, feeling trapped, scared, and aroused at one and the same time. Skinner…He thought of how good the other man had looked in his dark clothes, the shiny boots. He remembered that broad chest, the muscular arms, and the sheer power in the big man’s body. Power that he would use to subdue Mulder. Skinner now had the right to whip him, fuck him, and do whatever he wanted to him, whenever he wanted to do it. Mulder glanced despairingly at the bright lights, shining in the dark city.


He put his hand up to his neck, and traced the feel of the collar, light but implacable, against his flesh. It would always be there, reminding him of who and what he was, and who he belonged to. As he put his hand back down, he was startled by the flash of the gold ring in the dark.


“How come, Mulder – how come that the very thing you want to run away from, is the exact same thing you want to run to?” He asked himself. Then he laughed out loud. “No choice,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You don’t have any more choices. You don’t belong to you any more. You belong to him.”


Mulder started the car again, and resumed his journey into the unknown.


End of Part Two


Show Buttons
Hide Buttons