Slave’s Day

 

Mulder scampered down the stairs and into the kitchen with the sappy, happy, self-satisfied grin of a well-fucked slaveboy on his face. It was Saturday and, as usual, he had been exempt his usual morning duties. Instead, his Master had reached for his slaveboy upon waking, and had made very good use of him indeed, as Mulder’s grin testified. After a leisurely shower, which had included more satisfying sexual activity, Skinner had left Mulder to clean up the somewhat wet and misty bathroom, and had sauntered downstairs to the kitchen to start preparing breakfast. Saturday was the one day of the week when Mulder’s usual slavely tasks were suspended – although he was still, as Skinner did not hesitate to make very clear indeed, his Master’s slave, and available for his Master’s sexual pleasure throughout the day. He was allowed clothes though, and didn’t have to wait on his Master – although frequently he would, partly out of habit and partly just because it gave him pleasure to do so.

 

Mulder loved Saturdays not so much for the relaxation of their normal routines and roles, as for the fact that on Saturdays he got to spend some time with Walter Skinner, the man, and not just his Master. Skinner seemed to enjoy that just as much as he did, and the atmosphere on Saturdays generally had an “anything goes” quality. Mulder loved being able to tease his Master with impunity, safe in the knowledge that he’d be unlikely to get more than an occasional swat by way of a reminder as to who was in charge. He usually found himself calling his Master “Walter” on Saturdays, and they often hung around like any normal couple…with one slight difference:  

 

Saturday was slave’s day. 

 

Which meant that frequently Skinner would treat his slave to some kind of special sexual activity that would leave Mulder breathless and boneless with sheer sated satisfaction. Mulder wondered what his Master had in store for him on this particular Saturday – although he knew better than to ask. Skinner was the kind of Master who thought anticipation was part of the pleasure, and besides, he loved keeping this kind of secret, even if it did torment his slave almost beyond endurance. Mulder was of the opinion that Skinner enjoyed his torturing his slave in this way far too much but he was wise enough not to protest.  

 

Mulder found his Master in the kitchen, clad in a white tee shirt and a pair of faded blue jeans, freshly shaved, clean, smelling of soap and toothpaste, the small fringe of hair on the back of his scalp still wet, and all in all looking utterly and completely edible. Mulder tip-toed up behind his Master and bestowed a kiss on the back of the other man’s head. Skinner grinned and carried on buttering the toast mountain in front of him.  

 

“Soooo…” Mulder said, innocently. “What are we doing today?”

 

“You’ll see.” Skinner grinned again and Mulder was sure that his Master definitely had some specific plans for them both. 

 

“I was just wondering in case you wanted me to dress a certain way…” Mulder said, disingenuously, pushing his luck. 

 

Skinner turned to glance at his slave with a raised eyebrow. Mulder was wearing a pair of blue jeans, like his Master, and a dark, loose navy shirt. He had timberlands on his feet and what he hoped was a completely guileless expression in his eyes. His Master was not fooled. Skinner shook his head and aimed a deliberate swat at his slave’s backside. 

 

“I think you’ll do fine like that, boy,” he growled, before handing his slave the plate of toast. Mulder pouted – but only in the split second when his Master’s back was turned.  He carried the toast into the other room, and noted appreciatively that Skinner had also cooked a whole mound of eggs to go with it. His Master brought in a couple of plates and two glasses of orange juice and they sat down to eat.  

 

Skinner handed Mulder the sports section of the paper, while he read the main news, and they spent a leisurely breakfast in each other’s company. Occasionally Mulder would read out a score and Skinner would whistle or shake his head, and sometimes Skinner would read out a section of an article and they’d talk about it, but as the time passed, Mulder’s excitement level rose until he wasn’t sure he could bear it much longer – he was dying to know what Skinner had in store for him today.

 

It took all Mulder’s willpower not to press his Master any more on the subject – he knew it would do no good and it might even jeopardise the event – Skinner expected his slaveboy to accept his Master’s will in this, as in everything else, and Mulder knew that if he pushed too hard then Skinner wouldn’t hesitate to cancel whatever it was he had planned.  

 

They finished eating and Mulder cheerfully took the plates into the kitchen, bestowing yet another kiss on his Master’s scalp as he passed him. He smiled dreamily to himself as he washed the dishes – he loved slave’s day. Even if they did nothing at all but hang out together, it was precious time spent with his Master away from the pressures of their jobs and that relaxed Mulder more than he ever would have imagined back in the old days when he hadn’t believed himself to be capable of having a long term relationship.

 

He finished washing the dishes and wandered back into the dining room. Skinner was still reading the paper, one long leg resting on the knee of the other, totally absorbed in what he was reading. Mulder got down on his knees, rested his chin on his Master’s thigh, and settled in to wait. He suspected there might have been a beseeching gleam in his eyes but he couldn’t help that and he didn’t think his Master would blame him for it. 

 

Skinner’s hand came to rest, as it often did, on Mulder’s hair, and he played with it absently while he read. Mulder almost dozed off – this was so good that he honestly wouldn’t have minded if his Master did nothing else but stroke him all day…although he was kind of hoping for something more. Finally, after about half an hour, Skinner glanced at his watch. Mulder looked up, eagerly.

 

“Well, I think it’s about time we headed off, boy,” Skinner told his slave. “Before the anticipation completely kills you.” He grinned down at Mulder who grinned back, delighted.

 

“You do have something planned then?” He said, his heart doing a flip inside his chest. 

 

“Of course.” Skinner pulled a neatly folded piece of paper from his pocket, opened it up, and gave it to his still kneeling slave. “There’s a fetish market being held in the city – you and I have some shopping to do,” he said.  

 

Mulder gazed at the piece of paper in surprise. They had never been to an S&M market before, or even a sex shop together – Skinner already had a very well stocked playroom and Mulder had the suspicion that his Master was an extensive online shopper judging by the never-ending supplies of such essential things as lube, to say nothing of the Wartenburg’s wheel he had bought Mulder as a birthday present. 

 

“Do we…I mean, is there anything we actually need?” Mulder asked, getting to his feet, feeling a bit puzzled. This definitely wasn’t what he had expected.

 

“Yes, I believe there is,” Skinner told him. “I was thinking the other day that I’ve never given you a proper flogging.”  

 

Mulder stared at his Master, open-mouthed. His cock lurched, telling him he was definitely interested in the idea, even as his stomach fled into the soles of his shoes, telling him that he was also scared stiff of it as well. 

 

“You’ve whipped me, Master,” he pointed out, remembering the bullwhip and the single tailed whip – both of which hurt and left impressive welts, and both of which Skinner had used relatively sparingly on his slave as a result. 

 

“I know…but I haven’t given you a full flogging – and there’s a big difference,” Skinner informed him. “We have a couple of floggers upstairs, but I’d like to buy some new ones – you can cause a lot of different sensations with different kinds of floggers and I’d like some real variety. I’d also like to go shopping for them with you so we can choose them together.” He put a hand on the back of his slave’s neck and fondled him gently.

 

“I really enjoy flogging,” Skinner said in a low, sexual whisper, directly into his slave’s ear. “I like having a big bare canvas to work on, from the top of the shoulders to the back of the knees. I don’t just concentrate on the buttocks when I’m flogging.” His breath tickled Mulder’s ear, and his words made Mulder’s already anxious stomach squirm as if it were filled with a swarm of particularly lively butterflies.

 

“I’ll tie you upstairs – nice and comfortable as this will take a long time,” Skinner promised and Mulder gave a little moan. Skinner always painted such exciting word pictures for him and he could quite clearly see himself, in his mind’s eye, tied in the Playroom, his arms outstretched, his body naked, ready to receive the kiss of his Master’s flogger.  

 

“Will it hurt?” Mulder asked, stupidly. His attitude towards pain often confused him. He didn’t view himself as a complete masochist and pain slut, and pain of and by itself didn’t arouse him, but when he was in subspace, and when that pain was delivered by someone as skilled as his Master, he invariably found it arousing – although that didn’t stop it hurting too. He loved the endorphin rush the pain gave him though – and he often craved a spanking – or something more severe – for reasons he wasn’t entirely sure he understood, even when he knew it would be extremely painful.

 

He wasn’t in one of those craving moods today, and he was anxious that he might not be able to take whatever his Master had planned – and, being a good slave, he wanted very much to please his Master. Skinner laughed and kneaded his slave’s neck affectionately.

 

“Yes, it’ll hurt some of the time – but there will be plenty of other sensations too. It’ll definitely be a good kind of pain,” Skinner promised him. Mulder’s traitorous cock was now so hard that it was painfully constricted inside his jeans. 

 

“Like the idea?” Skinner murmured, moving his hand lower to cover his slave’s crotch and chuckling at what he found there. Mulder sighed and leaned back against the big man. 

 

“Yes, Master,” he admitted.

 

“Good, then let’s get moving!” Skinner slapped his slave’s bottom affectionately and grabbed his car keys and wallet from the table. 

 

****

 

The fetish market was held in the upstairs room of a downtown bar. Mulder wasn’t sure what he had been expecting but it was full of a variety of fairly normal looking people, some of them clearly “scene” folk, although he didn’t personally recognise any of them. They were dressed in a variety of different clothing from black leather bondage outfits to normal street clothes but nothing too revealing – it was a Saturday morning after all. 

 

There were all kinds of things on display; sex toys, disciplinary implements, books, clothing, shoes, jewellery…everything that could make a slave’s heart beat faster. Mulder stayed close to his Master, loving Skinner’s reaction to the place. He knew his Master was, at heart, a sensualist. Skinner was a top not because he enjoyed inflicting pain, but because he loved playing with his slave’s body. He was the kind of Master who got hard just watching the reaction of his slave to being stroked. He liked to touch, to taste, to smell – even Mulder’s cries or exclamations of pleasure were a turn on to him. He viewed his naked slave as a dish offered up to him to be slowly savoured in many different and subtle ways, a tasty morsel to toy with and torment before consuming him.

 

Before Mulder had met his Master he had visited many tops, and all he had asked for from them was pain and domination. Skinner had given him those things but had also, slowly but surely, taught his slave that there was so much more to himself and to BDSM than just that.  Skinner’s enjoyment of his slave’s reactions and emotions had revealed to Mulder a whole new dimension to his servitude, and, by seeing himself through his Master’s eyes, he had come to understand both himself and his Master much better.

 

For Skinner it wasn’t, and never had been, about heavy-handed domination. His Master loved the subtleties – the nuances. He loved the tiniest mark made by a fingernail scratched on the underside of his slave’s balls, loved seeing his slave flying high as a kite as a result of a spanking, and most of all he loved seeing the expression on his slave’s face as he fucked him, and brought him to climax. 

 

Now, among all these exotic items, Skinner looked like a man completely at home in his environment. He led Mulder over to a table full of various different floggers and, after a brief word with the stall’s owner, he picked up a flogger and fondled it with his big, blunt fingers. Mulder swallowed hard – Skinner’s fingers were gentle, loving and appreciative as he stroked the implement, and it was erotic just watching him. 

 

“Fox – I want you to choose one flogger that you’d most like me to use on you,” Skinner told his slave as he caressed the flogger. “I will choose one that I would most like to use on you – and the rest we’ll choose together.” 

 

Mulder picked up one of the floggers, wondering, as he did so, what it would feel like on his naked skin. “Deer hide,” Skinner said, nodding at the flogger Mulder was holding. “You might find that a bit heavy. It can pack a punch.”

 

Mulder nodded, mutely, and picked up another one. It was a mid-sized flogger, with several thin black leather tails, and had a hinge at the end of the handle, so that it didn’t take any effort at all to make it swing in a circular motion. Mulder frowned at it.

 

“This one’s weird,” he commented, holding it up.  

 

“Ah,” Skinner held out his hand for it with an expression of pleasure, like a true connoisseur, and Mulder gave it to him. “The point about this kind of flogger is that you use it subtly,” Skinner told him. “That’s what the hinge is for…I could swing this against your skin for hours without my arm becoming tired – with the circular motion all I need do is caress your flesh with the tips. You see, Fox, flogging is an art – it isn’t something to be hurried. It must be done slowly, and with a variety of different floggers – that’s why our session later today will take several hours.”

 

Mulder suddenly felt very hot, and almost dizzy. His cock was rock hard in his pants as his Master’s words, said in his Master’s dark, molten chocolate tones, melted him to the core. 

 

“What about this one then?” He asked, in a distinctly croaky voice, picking up a small black leather flogger with only a handful of tails. “It doesn’t look as if this one would do much.” 

 

“That’s just because it doesn’t conform to your expectations of what a flogger should be. When you think of floggings, I bet you think of one of those corny old Errol Flynn pirate movies where some hapless sailor has been condemned to the cat o’ nine tails,” Skinner commented, taking the little flogger and examining it.  

 

“Hey, some of my earliest sexual revelations were had in front of those old films – don’t knock them!” Mulder grinned. His Master smiled back. 

 

“Well, this isn’t one of those big, set-piece kind of floggers, but trust me, this one is a particularly vicious little implement. If I were to use it hard, just one stroke, within five minutes you’d be able to count exactly how many tails it has by the marks on your skin,” he said. Mulder gazed at the little flogger, transfixed. 

 

“Stand against the wall, hands flat,” Skinner ordered unexpectedly. Mulder looked up, shocked.

 

“Here?” He whispered, looking around. This wasn’t a fetish club – nobody else was engaged in any kind of activity apart from shopping.

 

“Yes – it won’t bother anyone, will it?” Skinner glanced at the stall owner.  

 

“Sure.” The man shrugged. “You’re welcome to try before you buy.” 

 

Not particularly reassured, Mulder placed his hands flat against the wall and a second later he felt a sting on his shoulder blades, and then another – even through his shirt he could feel how much bite that small flogger had.  

 

“Ow!” he complained. His Master grinned and allowed him to stand up.

 

“Never judge a book by its cover,” he said, handing the flogger back to the stall owner. “We’ll have this one,” he nodded. “And the hinged one too, please.” Mulder stood up, glancing around nervously, wondering if they’d been overlooked but nobody seemed particularly interested.

 

Skinner gave a laugh, gently pulled his slave close, and deposited a kiss on his forehead. “I can’t wait to use this little beauty on bare skin,” he promised in a deep, sexy voice. “I’d like to see the marks it makes on your flesh, without your shirt getting in the way.”

 

Mulder moaned and rested his head against his Master’s shoulder. He both loved and dreaded the idea of his skin being marked but afterwards he was always filled with a giddy sense of pride at bearing the obvious signs of Skinner’s mastery of him painted on his flesh, and he knew it was a  huge turn on to his Master to place any kind of mark or decoration on his slave – Skinner got off on it as much as Mulder did. His Master never broke the skin, or drew blood – Mulder wouldn’t have minded going there once in a while but he knew that for Skinner it was a turn-off – in fact his Master would have felt that he’d failed and his skills were in question if he drew blood; it was something akin to professional pride with him. Red marks, welts and even some light bruising were one thing, but drawing blood was something else entirely. 

 

Skinner’s hands found his slave’s butt and he stroked it affectionately, or maybe in anticipation Mulder thought to himself. His dread was equalled by his fascination and sense of longing – he wanted to be flogged but he was scared of it at the same time, and it was those dual conflicting emotions that his Master knew how to play on so well, stoking his slave’s anticipation so that he was already deep in subspace even before they went anywhere near the playroom. 

 

“Okay – I want to browse – why don’t you look around and choose your flogger and I’ll meet you back here in ten minutes?” Skinner suggested, dismissing his slave with another firm kiss. Mulder nodded and was about to move on to the next stall when he saw a woman watching them. She flushed when he looked at her and made a face. 

 

“Sorry – it’s just…this is my first time at a place like this and I just saw your…friend kiss you. I was feeling a bit scared – I thought everyone would be really cold or hard or something – well all the doms anyway.” She gave a nervous laugh. 

 

“Is this your first time anywhere on the scene?” Mulder asked, warming to her honest admission.  

 

“Yes.” She bit on her lip. “It took all my courage to get here today – I saw a flier for it in a leather shop and I really wanted to come but I wasn’t sure what to expect. I love all this stuff.” She sighed and ran her fingers over a cane on a nearby table. “I’ve fantasised about it for ages but…I’ve always been too scared to do anything about it,” she told Mulder. 

 

“What are you? Sub or domme?” He asked her. She flushed again, bright red this time. She was an ordinary looking young woman of about 25, with very dark dyed hair and friendly brown eyes. 

 

“I’m not sure…that is…I think I might be both,” she admitted as if it were a sinful secret. “But…until I do it…I don’t think I’ll know for sure.” 

 

“You could be a switch,” Mulder suggested. “That’s someone who enjoys both roles.”

 

“Is that what you are?” She asked.

 

“Me?” Mulder grinned. “Nope. I’m a sub through and through. I’ve tried topping but it doesn’t come naturally – not that I didn’t enjoy it.” He gave a wistful sigh, remembering his slave, Bear, and how good it felt to have his big, powerful Master kneeling at his feet. “I can definitely see the appeal,” he told the woman. 

 

“And that man… is he…?” She trailed off, gazing at Skinner over Mulder’s shoulder with an awed and slightly terrified look in her eyes. 

 

“He’s my Master,” Mulder told her in a soft voice, glancing at Skinner who was perusing a stall some distance away, a frown of concentration on his wide forehead as he caressed a flogger with those big, capable hands of his. Mulder loved the way it felt to say those words, out in the open, to someone who didn’t know them. There had been a time when it would have embarrassed and shamed him to do that – but now it felt wonderful, like an affirmation of what both he and his Master lived every day of their lives. 

 

“Shit,” she said succinctly. “He looks…scary.” 

 

Mulder laughed. “He isn’t – he’s the nicest, kindest, most gentle man I’ve ever known. Of course he can also be a total hard-assed SOB too,” he winked. The woman laughed.

 

“I love the way you are together. I don’t know what I was expecting when I came here but I was really worried. I thought maybe…”

 

“That the tops would all be giving orders loudly and the subs would be cringing from their blows? Yeah – I think that’s a common misconception of the scene,” Mulder sighed. “It isn’t like that of course – people are still people at the end of the day. They still need love and affection – it isn’t just about pain and domination. In fact, it isn’t even mostly about that – there’s a lot more to it.”

 

Mulder suddenly had an idea. “Look, a friend of mine would be happy to introduce you to the scene – her name’s Elaine and she runs newbie courses occasionally,” he told her. “I can give you her email address if you like? She’s very nice, very welcoming.” 

 

The woman’s eyes lit up. “That would be great. Thank you,” she said sincerely. Mulder nodded, and wrote Elaine’s email address down on a scrap of paper and handed it to her.  

 

“Now, I’d better get on with finding a flogger, or my Master will tan my hide. Not that he won’t anyway of course, but…well, you know what I mean.” He gave her a goofy grin and she laughed delightedly.

 

Mulder moved away, glad that he had been able to make a newbie’s first time on the scene a little less frightening. He could still remember his own first time – in typical Mulder fashion he had jumped straight in at the deep end and gone to an experienced players’ club where he’d felt seriously torn between total fear and abject arousal at being so close to what he had fantasised about for most of his life. He had found it so hard to talk to people, and had been so angry with himself for needing this in the first place that nobody had dared approach him. He had eventually ended up getting into a scene that had taken him a long way beyond his limits and he’d been in pain for days afterwards – not that he had minded that. At that point in his life he had relished feeling as bad outside as he did within. It had taken Skinner some time to gently but firmly disabuse him of the idea that he deserved such extreme forms of punishment and while Mulder still craved spankings as part of his sexuality, he rarely sought them out as an answer to his real life problems any more.

 

Mulder would have been grateful for a friendly face back when he had started out on the scene and was still trying to discover what he wanted from it, and he was pleased to be that friendly face now. He realised how far he had come since then – and mostly with his Master’s help. He had been fighting his submissive streak for years, but he had just admitted to a total stranger that he was sexually submissive and that he had a Master, and it hadn’t been embarrassing – in fact it had been good.   

 

With a little whistle, Mulder moved on to the next stall and began surveying the floggers. He was feeling somewhat self-satisfied, enjoying the role of being an old hand, so comfortable and familiar with the scene that he was able to dispense advice to newcomers. As someone who had never felt as if he belonged anywhere in his entire life until he became Skinner’s slave, he knew what it was like to be the one on the outside, looking in.

 

He picked up a giant black leather flogger, its handle criss-crossed with shoelace finishing, and bearing the legend “Master”, in silver studs along its length. Mulder swished it around in the air a few times, feeling very old and wise, aware that his friend was still shooting him little glances every now and again as she browsed the stalls. He whirled the flogger around more extravagantly, trying to look every inch the expert, and was so deep into his showing off that he was startled when he felt a hand on his shoulder. 

 

“It’s only me.” Skinner grinned at him as he jumped. “Have you decided on the flogger you want to buy yet?”

 

“Yes. I like this one.” Mulder handed it to his Master. Skinner looked at it thoughtfully for a moment, and then took it in his hands and examined it quietly. Finally, he glanced up at his slave.

 

“I’m sorry, Fox, but this one won’t do. You’ll have to choose another one,” he said. 

 

“Why?” Mulder frowned, hoping the woman wasn’t watching them now. “You said I could choose whichever one I wanted.” 

 

“And so you can – but this one isn’t very well made – it would be a waste of money. Oh, it looks nice and menacing, although personally I find this just a little bit showy!” Skinner pointed to the studded “M-A-S-T-E-R” on the handle. “But look, the top is just glued on – it won’t take much for it to just fly off – I’ve had that happen in the middle of a flogging and it can interrupt the mood of a scene. Also, there’s no craftsmanship in this – look at the tails – they’ve all been cut off roughly and diagonally because it’s easier. Compare that to the deer hide one over there…” Skinner pointed and Mulder glanced back at the first stall they’d visited. “The tails on that are all rounded – they’ve been finished off properly and they won’t snag or catch on anything, like that cute little mole on your lower back for example,” Skinner grinned. Mulder stared at the flogger, feeling somewhat crestfallen. 

 

“It is a bit showy isn’t it?” He said finally, laughing at himself. 

 

“Frankly – yes,” Skinner said firmly. “You and I both know what I am to you – we don’t need it written on every available surface. I’m not saying that it can’t add to the mood every now and again to have a toy with this kind of writing on it, but not this one.”

 

“I can see that I need educating about floggers,” Mulder said with a rueful sigh.

 

“Well then, it’s lucky that you’re in the company of an expert,” Skinner replied, putting an arm around his slave’s shoulders and depositing a kiss on Mulder’s cheek. “Come on, let me show you some really quality work and then you can make your decision.” 

 

Skinner led him back to the first stall, which, he said, definitely contained the best floggers at the fetish market. Mulder picked up a small flogger with long, thin, rubber strands that fell neatly, like hair.

 

“That’s a bungee flogger,” Skinner informed him. “It doesn’t look much but all those little strands can sure as hell sting.” Mulder gazed at it, fascinated – like the hinged implement it didn’t look much like his perception of a flogger, but he was quickly beginning to see that there were many different varieties of flogger – something he hadn’t been aware of before. “We’ll take that one.” Skinner motioned to the bungee flogger. “Now, how about this? Is it real horsehair?”

 

The stall owner nodded and Mulder gazed, fascinated, at the horsehair flogger – it had a plain brown wooden handle and a long, swishy black tail made entirely of coarse horsehair. “Beautiful,” Skinner commented, holding the handle lovingly and throwing the flogger into the air. “We’ll have this one too.” 

 

“How about this one?” Mulder held up a plain suede flogger with purple tails – and Skinner nodded so that one was added to their booty.

 

“Okay – I think that’s enough. Why don’t you choose your flogger and I’ll choose mine,” Skinner said. Mulder looked around the table and his eyes alighted on the deerskin one again.

 

“I really do like this one,” he said, picking it up.

 

Skinner gazed at it thoughtfully, and then gazed speculatively at his slave. Mulder found it hard meeting his Master’s searching gaze. He knew he had a tendency, when given the choice, to opt for the most painful implement he could find, and he also knew that Skinner disapproved of him doing so. Mulder wasn’t entirely sure why he did it – whether out of some macho desire to prove what he could take, or whether because he was more in love with the idea of being beaten than the reality of it.

 

“I know you said it was heavy duty but I can take it,” he said defensively. Skinner’s dark eyed gaze didn’t drop as he studied his slave intently. Mulder shrugged. “I know, I know, I always do this,” he sighed. “But I really do like this one.” 

 

Skinner gave the faintest of smiles, and then he picked up the flogger and nodded slowly.

 

“All right,” he said. “It IS very well made and it will make a fine addition to our collection.”  

 

“Which one will you choose?” Mulder asked nervously, both hoping and fearing that is Master would pick the fierce flogger in heavy rubber that he knew would do some serious damage, or the one made entirely of knotted rope.

 

“This one.” Skinner’s fingers loving caressed a beautiful long, white flogger made entirely of what looked like rabbit fur. Mulder reached out to touch it and found that it was as soft and sensuous as it looked. 

 

“That’s not exactly going to do much,” he commented. Skinner grinned.

 

“It’s not all about pain, Fox, as you should know by now. This is a sensory experience – I can assure you that you’ll have all the pain you can handle – and more pleasure than you know what to do with.”

 

Mulder smiled – his Master was undoubtedly right. On the subject of BDSM he was very rarely wrong, after all. As the floggers were packed away, Mulder reflected that, surprised though he had been by their respective choices, he and his Master had chosen precisely what he should have been able to predict they would choose. While he had deliberately challenged himself with his choice of flogger, Skinner had gone for a softer, more sensory option. Mulder knew his Master wouldn’t hesitate to give him precisely as much pain as he needed but, as he had promised, no more than his slave could handle – and with that would come all manner of other erotic and sensory delights. 

 

**** 

 

Mulder was quiet on the journey home. He held the floggers on his lap as if they were the most treasured items in the world, fondling their outlines through the bag. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Skinner’s big hands as they changed gear, and couldn’t wait until those big hands were placed on his body again, mastering him as only they knew how, placing him where his Master wanted him to be, admonishing him if necessary, taking control of him, and making him surrender himself at his most basic level.  

 

Skinner seemed to understand his mood as he was silent and reflective as well, and by the time they had arrived back at the house Mulder’s stomach was a knot of tension. 

 

“I want you to take the floggers up to the Playroom, unpack them, and leave them on the table,” Skinner instructed his slave, handing him the key to the Playroom. “Then come back down here for lunch.”

 

“Lunch?” Mulder grimaced. He didn’t feel as if he could eat a thing with all the armies of butterflies partying in his stomach. 

 

“Yes, lunch,” Skinner said firmly. “I told you, Fox – I want to spend a long time flogging you. We can take little breaks but your flogging will last for some hours. I don’t want you fainting from hunger or getting a headache in the middle of it.”

 

“I can’t eat lunch knowing that you’ll flog me to death later,” Mulder groused, entering into one of his typical pre-scene moods of sheer anticipatory tension. Skinner was well used to this though, and he put his hands on Mulder’s shoulders, turned him around, and pushed him towards the stairs with a firm swat on his backside.

 

“You will eat,” he said firmly, “and then you’ll rest to let your meal go down, and then, and only then, will I flog you – and I can assure you that there is no possibility of you being ‘flogged to death’ at my hands, boy, although I’m certainly going to enjoy making that rear end of yours smart for suggesting it.” 

 

Mulder’s cock did a predictable lurch in his pants but he felt calmed by his Master’s firm words. Skinner knew that the only way to treat him when he was like this was by being extremely stern and no-nonsense. 

 

He ran up the stairs and carefully unpacked the floggers. He spent some time on the task, lovingly caressing each one. Then he stood and gazed at them, lost in thought as he wondered what they would feel like slicing into his skin. He shivered, both terrified and utterly aroused at one and the same time. He was so lost in his contemplation of the new floggers displayed in all their splendour on the table that it took him a few seconds to realise that his cellphone was ringing. He pulled it out of his jeans and answered it. 

 

“Mulder,” he said absently, still stroking the suede flogger. 

 

“Get your ass down here for lunch – if you’re not here in 1 minute then I’ll use my paddle to warm you up before I even start with the flogging,” his Master’s exasperated voice told him. 

 

“I was just…” Mulder began. 

 

“You now have 50 seconds. MOVE!” Skinner growled, and that was enough to shock Mulder out of his reverie. With one last glance at the floggers, he hurried out of the door and along the hallway, crashed down the stairs between the apartments two at a time, and arrived at the dining room table, panting and out of breath, within seconds of his deadline.

 

“Thank you,” Skinner said pointedly. “And for that you can kneel and be fed rather than feeding yourself, boy.”

 

“Yes, Master,” Mulder said meekly, kneeling beside the table where Skinner was presiding over a huge plate of micro-waved lasagne and a salad. The lasagne smelt delicious and was just enough to get his taste buds working again, despite the fact that his stomach was still unsure whether it could cope with food in its present agitated state. His Master clearly didn’t care about what his stomach wanted though as he filled a large fork load of food, and pressed it against his slave’s mouth. With a sigh of total surrender, Mulder opened up and ate the food. 

 

After lunch, Skinner lay down on the couch, pulled his slaveboy next to him, and held Mulder against him until finally, unwillingly, Mulder began to relax. He was totally surprised to find, two hours later, that he must have dropped off to sleep, as he awoke with a start, disoriented, to find his Master gazing down at him solemnly, a dark, deeply sexual look in the other man’s eyes. 

 

“I want you to go and take a long, refreshing shower,” Skinner told him. “Then get dressed again and come to the Playroom where I’ll be waiting to flog you.” 

 

Mulder shivered – the scene had already begun and he was tingling all over with anticipation.  

 

“You want me to get dressed again, Master?” He queried, puzzled. 

 

“Yes – I’ll undress you myself when the time is right. Fox – from the moment you step inside the Playroom I want you to surrender. I don’t want you to think about anything except the flogging you’ll receive and how you will offer yourself up for it. I want you to place yourself completely in my hands – I will undress you, I’ll tie you, and I’ll play with my slave’s body, and, because it pleases me, I’ll flog you. Do you understand?” 

 

Mulder swallowed hard. “Yes, Master,” he whispered. 

 

“Good – then go,” Skinner ordered.  

 

Mulder’s knees felt like jelly but he wasted no time in sliding off the couch and then running up the stairs to the bathroom. He wasn’t entirely sure why Skinner wanted him to shower, but as he let the cool water wash all over him, he realised that it wasn’t because his Master wanted him to be particularly clean – he had showered just a few hours ago after all – but because Skinner wanted him to use the time both to wake up after his nap and also to refresh himself and prepare mentally for what was ahead.

 

Mulder kept the water cool and felt the fuzziness fade from his head. He liked the picture Skinner had painted of him, surrendering himself to his Master. In truth, every day they spent together required Mulder to surrender himself in dozens of ways, some smaller than others, but Skinner was asking for something slightly different in this scene. Often Mulder went through a period of struggle with his own submission – even on a daily basis. While he both wanted and needed to submit, there were days when he was not in the mood for his daily spanking for example, or when he wanted a different kind of sex to that his Master chose to give him, or even when he chafed at Skinner’s authority over him, both at home and at the office. While he had freely chosen to surrender himself to that authority, that didn’t always mean that his surrender came easily to him. In this scene Skinner was asking for his surrender from the beginning – not won half way through by dint of his Master’s sensuous caresses and insistent orders. No, Skinner wanted Mulder to arrive at the door already surrendered, and to accept everything that was done to him in the Playroom without being taken down first. Mulder shivered with tension – it was a challenge, undoubtedly, but all the more exciting for that; Skinner had effectively heightened his already sky-high anticipation about the coming scene. 

 

Mulder thought about it as he slowly dried and then lubed himself, psyching himself into the right place in his head. He was a slave – if his Master chose to strip him, tie him, and flog him, then he had no choice but to submit. He had no rights other than those his Master gave him. His body belonged to his Master, totally and absolutely, and if his Master wished to play with it then Mulder had to surrender to his Master’s desires.

 

Mulder remembered those old movies Skinner had mentioned when they were at the fetish market. A slave in those times would have had no choice – any more than the hapless sailor would, tied to the deck and about to receive a harsh flogging with the cat o’ nine tails. Mulder had a similar lack of choice. He was subject to something outside of himself, a force stronger and more powerful than he, and once that knowledge clicked into place, he felt a curious sense of calm descend on him. He dressed in his jeans and shirt once more, although it took some considerable effort to stuff his now thoroughly engorged cock into the tight denim. 

 

Mulder walked slowly up the stairs to the 18th floor apartment, and then along the hallway to the Playroom. The Playroom door was shut and Mulder knocked on it tentatively. After a little wait that just served to stoke up the tension even more, he heard his Master’s voice within, telling him to enter. He opened the door and paused for a moment on the threshold. It was late afternoon, and still light outside. Skinner had opened all the blinds so that they could see virtually the entire city through the huge, floor-to-ceiling windows.

 

Mulder frowned – usually Skinner drew the blinds when they were playing during the day, perhaps to better focus his slave’s mind on what was happening to him. It would take all Mulder’s willpower to keep his mind on his own surrender when the world outside was so visible and intrusive.

 

Mulder’s attention was focused on the windows for only a split-second though – for in the next he caught sight of his Master and his cock immediately protested its denim prison again. Skinner looked every inch the slave Master from some ancient realm or other time. He was dressed in tight black leather trousers and black leather boots but otherwise was completely naked save for two black leather bands which he wore around his wrists, and a strip of black leather around his neck, from which there hung a silver pendant in the shape of an eagle. He was holding the long, black, deer hide flogger in his right hand, and he had oiled his chest and arms so that his golden flesh, stretched taut over solid muscle, was glistening.

 

Behind him, the city seemed incongruous, as he stood there, silhouetted in the weak, late afternoon, winter sunlight. He looked as if he had been transported from another age, when a slave Master such as this might have walked the earth; tall, confident and utterly sure of his own mastery. Mulder felt as if he knees were going to give way completely. It was all he could do to walk the few steps over to where his Master stood, and then fall to the floor at his Master’s feet. He leaned forward and kissed his Master’s boots in abject devotion. 

 

“You called for me, Master,” he whispered. 

 

“That’s right.” Skinner put the handle of the flogger under Mulder’s chin and lifted his slave’s face. “I was bored, and I thought it would please me to try out my new floggers on my slave’s body.” 

 

“Yes, Master. If it pleases you, Master,” Mulder whispered, the flogger under his chin keeping his head raised so that he was forced to meet his Master’s stern gaze. At this moment in time there was no trace of Walter Skinner in those eyes – this wasn’t the man who sat behind a desk at the Bureau all day, or the diplomat who smoothed over difficult situations, or even the stern boss who occasionally threw his reports back at him with the injunction to write something that the Assistant Director could reasonably be expected to sign off on. No, this was someone else entirely. This was a slave Master, someone born to subject others to his every whim – someone whom no hapless slave would dare to argue with, or deny anything to.  

 

“Get to your feet,” his Master ordered, and Mulder got up, his mouth dry. He stood before his Master, still transfixed by the sheer power and authority that oozed from every pore in Skinner’s glistening body. His Master hooked the flogger to his belt, and then placed his hands on Mulder’s shirt, grasping the fabric on either side of the open collar.

 

“I’m going to enjoy flogging you,” he promised, his dark eyes fierce, his body smelling of a potent combination of oil and sweat. “You can scream all you like, boy, but you’ll submit to the kiss of my lash on your skin.” Mulder swallowed hard, unable to make a reply, too caught up in the transformation that seemed to have taken over his Master. “Are you scared, boy?” Skinner hissed, his face so close to Mulder’s that the slave could feel his Master’s warm breath on his cheek. 

 

“Yes, Master,” he replied, barely breathing himself. 

 

“Good – you should be,” Skinner told him, and then, without warning, he ripped open Mulder’s shirt, revealing his slave’s chest. Mulder gave a startled gasp as the sound of tearing fabric rent the air, and a couple of buttons went flying. His Master grinned, an utterly evil, feral grin, and pulled the two parts of the shirt down to Mulder’s elbows, thereby imprisoning his slave’s hands by his sides. “Such beautiful, pale skin,” Skinner murmured, running one big forefinger over Mulder’s displayed chest. “I’ll enjoy making it burn, turning it red, and making it writhe under my lash, boy,” he promised.

 

Mulder gave a little moan and Skinner grasped his slave’s neck firmly in one big paw, and then, quick as a flash, moved his head in close and licked Mulder’s skin from his collarbone up to his ear. Mulder squirmed, but his Master didn’t release him. Instead he sank his teeth into Mulder’s neck, hard enough to make the bite felt, and held his slave there for a moment. Mulder hung against his Master helplessly, his hands still imprisoned, completely unable to do anything other than just stand there and take the savage caress.

 

His Master released him, and his hands began to play, roughly, with his slave’s chest. He grabbed a nipple between forefinger and thumb, and, with one arm wrapped tightly around Mulder’s body to hold him up, he squeezed down hard. Mulder gasped and sank in against his Master’s big body, grateful for the fact that Skinner was holding him. Skinner grinned and pressed his mouth against Mulder’s whimpering lips, shoving his tongue inside and forcing an almost brutal kiss on his slave at the same time as twisting his nipple almost cruelly. Mulder was lost, utterly and completely lost in the scene. He knew that Skinner’s natural inclination was towards erotic, sensual scenes, and he loved those too – his Master truly could play Mulder’s body like a maestro – but there was a part of Mulder’s psyche that always secretly thrilled to his Master in what he called “caveman” mode. He loved it when Skinner played a little rough, and consumed his slave’s body, seemingly without any thought for his slave’s pleasure. Mulder wasn’t sure why he enjoyed it so much but it was when Skinner was like this that he found he was most easily able to let go, and surrender himself, wordlessly, in the face of his Master’s irresistible onslaught. It took no act of will at all – Mulder’s submission and surrender were simply a natural response to Skinner’s total and absolute Mastery of him.There was no time to think, or over rationalise, or analyse, as Mulder was so often apt to do – he had no choice but to give himself up, and, for a man who tended to exist in his head more than in his heart or even his body, Mulder found this a wonderful release. 

 

Skinner’s hands and mouth roved everywhere over his slave’s upper body, rough, demanding, and utterly insistent. There was simply no possibility of refusal – even if Mulder had wanted to, which he didn’t. Skinner’s caresses were thorough and searching, and Mulder, imprisoned by his shirt sleeves and trapped within the circle of his Master’s big arm, could do nothing but give himself up to them, crying out and gasping in turn as his Master bit down on a nipple, licked his collarbone, and squeezed his flesh between strong, claiming fingers.

 

Then, finally, it stopped. Skinner tore the rest of his slave’s shirt from his body, and threw it on the floor. Mulder was dimly aware that the shirt was beyond repair, but he didn’t have long to think about that because the next minute he felt his Master’s hands at his belt.  

 

“Keep your hands by your sides, boy,” Skinner growled throatily at Mulder, as the slave’s hands came up in a natural attempt to keep his balance and even to aid his Master in what he was doing. Mulder put his hands back down, and Skinner undid his belt, pulled it from his jeans, and then slung it around Mulder’s neck, and pulled him in close for another kiss.

 

Mulder no longer felt as if he had any control over his own body – everything was being done to him, and he had no say, and wanted none. He didn’t want any responsibility for this scene, or any control over it. He wanted simply to accept his Master’s wishes, and go where he was pulled, pushed or guided.

 

Skinner kissed him long and hard and then released him and undid his fly. He pushed his slave’s pants down, revealing Mulder’s huge erection – the slave was so turned on by the scenario that his cock immediately sprang up almost flat against his belly. Skinner grinned, and, taking the hard shaft in his hand, squeezed it hard. Mulder gave an incoherent cry and held onto his Master’s oiled shoulders for support. 

 

“Please, Master, please…” he begged, not entirely sure what he was pleading for. 

 

“This cock is mine. If you come before I’m ready, then I’ll attach clamps to it for punishment,” Skinner promised. Mulder gazed at his Master with luminous eyes, scared beyond belief – his Master had never clamped his cock before and while he really didn’t like the idea of it, he was fascinated by the thought that Skinner might just carry out his threat. 

 

“I won’t come until…unless you give me permission, Master,” he said quickly. 

 

“Good boy. I thought you’d see it my way,” Skinner growled. “Now step out of your pants, boy, and prepare to be flogged.” He removed the belt from around Mulder’s neck and slung it on the table.

 

Mulder did as ordered, trembling slightly as the moment of truth grew closer. Once he was completely naked, his Master pounced on him again, his hands as insistent as ever on his slave’s body. He gave Mulder a thorough inspection, turning his slave this way and that, gazing at his slave’s body in a greedy, assessing way that made Mulder’s cock ache for relief.  

 

“I said you were pale and you are – too pale,” Skinner commented, running a big finger over Mulder’s back and down to his bottom, leaving a whole trail of goose bumps in its wake. “I’m going to mark this skin with my floggers, boy, and raise some heat in it.”

 

“Yes, Master,” Mulder whispered feebly. Skinner held his slave in one arm and slapped his buttocks hard with his other hand. Mulder cried out.

 

“That’s nothing – there’s worse to come yet,” Skinner promised silkily.  “A lot worse – but I like the way your skin pinks up, boy.” He slapped Mulder’s ass again for good measure and then propelled him across the room towards the window. The St Andrew’s Cross was in the other corner of the room, behind them, and Mulder was confused, wondering why they were going towards the window and not towards the St Andrew’s Cross, but Skinner was practically carrying him along, one arm around his slave’s body, propelling him forward.

 

They stopped a few feet from the window and then Mulder saw the hooks in the ceiling above, and the heavy, silvery chains hanging from them which were stretched taut into hooks in the floor as well. Skinner put padded cuffs around his slave’s wrists and ankles, and then ordered him to stand spread-eagled between the chains. It took Skinner only a few seconds to attach his slave’s wrists and legs to the chains and soon Mulder was spread out, like a starfish, his entire body on display to the world through the huge windows. In front of him, all he could see was sky, and the faint shadow of his own reflection and that of his Master, tall and menacing, standing behind him. 

 

Mulder tensed against his bonds, testing them. He found that he was perfectly comfortable, but his arms and legs were stretched out as far as possible, leaving his skin taut and vulnerable.  

 

“This is a good look for you,” his Master purred behind him, his fingernails leaving a trail of fire in their wake as he scratched their tips over Mulder’s vulnerable, naked, exposed body. “This back, this ass, these thighs…all waiting to feel the bite of my floggers.” Mulder gasped out loud as Skinner suddenly grabbed his balls in his hand and fondled them roughly.

 

A second later they, and his cock, were encased in a protective leather pouch. “I want to play with these later so I want them in good condition,” Skinner purred, snagging a nipple again and twisting hard until Mulder moaned out loud. Then he released his slave and Mulder’s head sank down between his shoulder blades as he contemplated his fate. He was naked, defenceless, tied, about to be flogged – and aroused beyond belief. If he looked down, it gave him an added frisson to be able to see the city, a long way below, tiny cars and little stick people going about their normal Saturday activities, unaware that up above them a slave was getting what his Master saw fit to bestow on him on this slave’s day. If he looked up, into the pale blue sky, he could almost imagine that he was flying out there, at one with the clouds, serene and completely without responsibility.

 

Behind him, through the reflection in the glass, he saw his Master pick up the horsehair flogger and braced himself…but the first blow was like nothing more than being gently stroked. There was a whisper, and a rustle, and then the flogger caressed his back again. He moaned, stretching out even further in his bonds – this felt good. His Master used the horsehair flogger on him for a long time, alternating the strength of the blows but never enough to cause more than a slightly stingy sensation. Mulder began to relax as his back, buttocks and thighs all started to warm up – this wasn’t so bad. He could handle this. A part of him chafed though, wanting more, wanting to really be challenged, to be taken to that place where only his Master could take him – a place from which only his Master could successfully retrieve him as well. Mulder could well remember the days before he had become Skinner’s slave, when he had gone through the tops on the DC scene like a locust, consuming them and moving on. He had treated them like commodities, told them what he wanted and had walked away from them immediately afterwards, back to his apartment to stew in self-loathing for needing the domination so badly.

 

When he came down from the endorphin high he was left only with the pain in his body and an emptiness in his soul. Skinner had changed all that, but Mulder knew there was still a dark, ungovernable part of his being that resisted being known, understood and loved. Skinner demanded ownership of that part of his soul as well, and in surrendering that, Mulder found his peace – but it wasn’t always an easy surrender. 

 

Mulder was jolted out of his reverie by a sharp thudding pain on his shoulders. He threw his head back to find his Master looking at him with stern, brown eyes.

 

“Keep with me, slave. I want you to feel this,” Skinner said, his words both challenge and threat and somehow utterly erotic to Mulder. His Master threw the flogger again and Mulder gave a gasp – this one meant business. He glanced over his shoulder and saw, to his surprise, that his Master had switched to the suede flogger. With its bright purple tails, Mulder had viewed that particular implement as something of a joke but he was beginning to see how, in the hands of a truly skilled Master, every single implement could bring its own, very different sensations.

 

Who would have thought one item could cause so many variations in feeling? Mulder had been caned enough times to know that usually the sensation was pretty much the same, with varying levels of severity. Paddles and straps were similarly uniform, but floggers, it seemed, were a whole different ball game. 

 

His Master had clearly moved the scene up a pace, and now he was thudding down very firm strokes of the suede flogger onto Mulder’s exposed body in quick, sweeping blows that didn’t give Mulder chance to draw breath between them. Even through a haze of warmth that was now bordering on real pain, Mulder was aware that his Master was concentrating on his shoulders and buttocks – leaving his spine and the area of his lower back around his kidneys virtually untouched.

 

The pain was now very real, exciting him, and at the same time the endorphins started to kick in. Mulder gave a satisfied sigh, and began to float away – when a sharp pain on the back of his thighs brought him back down. He cried out loud – Skinner rarely spanked him there and it was a particularly tender area. His Master took no notice of his cries, and concentrated all his blows on that particular area for several long minutes.

 

Mulder squirmed and yelled at the top of his voice but to no avail. In desperation he tried to writhe out of the way of flogger but he was tied fast. He could feel the sweat falling off his face and down his body, streaking him with its moisture, and, when he looked directly ahead, he could see his own very faint reflection in the window opposite. He was struck by the way he looked, suffering like this. He remembered those old movies his Master had mentioned, but found the sight of himself, literally living out this fantasy, far more erotic. His breathing was coming in heavy gasps, and his dark hair was tousled and wet with sweat. His body was twisting and turning as much as the chain would allow, and behind him his Master’s large frame was just visible, taking his pleasure from his slave with his floggers, painting Mulder’s body with lick after lick of fiery sensation, like an artist working on a large, blank canvas. 

 

Just when he thought he could bear it no more, the onslaught stopped, much to Mulder’s relief and chagrin – he wanted it to stop because he couldn’t bear it, but at the same time he wanted it never to end, so he could ride the crest of this wave forever. He watched as his Master, stalking like a panther, strode over to the bathroom and emerged a second later with a bottle of water.

 

He couldn’t tear his eyes off Skinner as the big man gulped down half the bottle, and then, well aware that his slave was watching, Skinner emptied the rest of the bottle over his head and shoulders. The water cascaded over Skinner’s scalp and chest; small droplets caught in his chest hair and hung there, like tiny, glistening gems. Mulder opened his mouth, wanting both water and his Master’s kisses in equal measure. 

 

Skinner grinned at his slave, an evil, feral grin, and returned to the bathroom. He emerged with another full bottle of water a moment later, and strode back to his slave.

 

“Open your mouth, boy. What you can drink is yours – the rest will cool you down.” And so saying he held the bottle above Mulder’s head and tipped it so that a steady drizzle emerged. Mulder tried to catch what he could in his parched mouth, gulping it down fast, but some of it missed his mouth, splashed over his face, and dripped down onto his body.

 

It tasted exquisite – crystal clear and cool and all the more delicious for being given to him in this way, held just out of reach by an exacting Master who controlled every single aspect of his slave’s body, even down to what and how much he would be allowed to drink. Mulder’s thirst was soon quenched and his Master poured the contents of the rest of the bottle over his body. It felt like ice where it touched his hot, sensitised skin and Mulder gasped and writhed. He shook his wet hair out of his eyes and caught sight of himself in the window again. He was enraptured by how totally he looked the part of tortured, flogged slave, utterly in his Master’s mercy. That thought turned him on and his cock started to stir in its protective pouch.  

 

Skinner made the most of the break to touch his slave’s body, playing with him roughly, and then he grabbed Mulder’s hair, pulled him close, and kissed him savagely on the mouth. Mulder melted against his Master as Skinner’s tongue probed his mouth insistently for several long minutes before he released his slave. He traced his fingers over the moisture on his slave’s flesh for a second and then grinned that feral grin once more. 

 

“Wet skin hurts more,” he murmured, as if thoroughly relishing the thought of giving his slave discomfort. Mulder trembled, loving the promise of increased sensation as much as he feared it. His Master disappeared behind him again, and Mulder made a small, anguished sound as he saw that the big man had picked up the little flogger he had demonstrated on Mulder back at the fetish market.

 

A few seconds later its leather strands hit against his back with his Master’s full force behind it. Mulder howled – it had a sharp, flat kind of pain that was completely different to the thudding intensity of the suede flogger. The fact that his skin was wet made the sensation even more intense and he sobbed into his arms as his Master proceeded to cover his back, buttocks and thighs with hard, sharp little blows from the flogger.

 

The endorphin rush began again and Mulder felt himself start to climb to those dizzying heights that threatened to sweep him away into the darkening blue sky he was staring at out of the huge window in front of him. Not for the first time, he marvelled at Ryan and Andrew for building this beautiful room. The fact he was so high up, and the windows so big, juxtaposed the intense, personal, highly emotive state of a good scene against the serene outside world, so close and yet so far away. This room, in which so much that was deeply intimate was taking place, seemed also to put both participants on display to the world – even though Mulder knew, logically, that nobody could see them.At the same time, it satisfied some vaguely exhibitionist streak in him as well as being inherently voyeuristic as well.

 

Somehow, and Mulder wasn’t sure how, the room itself was as much a part of the scene as the two people in it. And, looking out onto the sunset-streaked sky that was so close behind the window that he felt he could touch it, it seemed almost like an invitation to let go and fly – emotionally, physically, and mentally. Mulder did just that, the sensations in his body taking him soaring into space. The harsh, painful strokes of his Master’s flogger now just fuelled him and he longed for the sensation of each sharp blow.  

 

This part of the flogging continued for what seemed like an eternity to Mulder, and then, abruptly, it stopped. He shook the wet, sweaty hair out of his eyes, disoriented, and was surprised when his Master materialised suddenly beside him, holding another bottle of water. Mulder realised how dry his mouth had become again – he knew he had been screaming and gasping in equal measure and now he felt completely parched.

 

He watched as Skinner took a big gulp of water, and then, without warning, stepped close to his slave, put one big arm around him, lowered his face against Mulder’s and kissed him – and in doing so transferred the wet liquid from his own mouth to that of his slave. Mulder drank it, gratefully, some of it flowing out of their mouths and onto their warm bodies. His Master repeated the action, taking another big mouthful of water and then kissing his slave again, and Mulder spluttered and swallowed, giving himself up to his Master’s wish in this, just as he had in everything else since entering this room.

 

Skinner insisted on Mulder drinking far beyond his level of thirst, and finished, once more, by pouring the remaining water over his slave’s body. This time there was even more of a shock – Mulder’s skin was sensitised so much that the water almost hurt, chilling him in its intensity. 

 

He hung there, his head lowered between his shoulder blades, gasping for breath and a second later felt his Master’s hands on his cuffs. 

 

“I haven’t finished with you yet, boy, so don’t start thinking it’s over,” Skinner hissed into his ear. “It isn’t. I want to hurt you a lot more before I’m through. I told you this would take a long time and it will. I’m just going to alter the angle.” He finished undoing Mulder’s bonds and his slave slumped, almost immediately, into his Master’s arms. He hadn’t realised how much his own arms were aching from being suspended above his head, but now that he had been released they tingled with pins and needles.

 

He was grateful when Skinner half carried, half dragged him across the room to the padded massage table. He was deposited on it, face down, and his hands and ankles tied again. He watched as his Master picked up the little hinged flogger and braced himself – but instead of the sharp pain or the dull thud of the previous implements, this one barely touched him. He glanced over his shoulder to see that Skinner was swinging it round, up and down his body, but holding it so that only the very tips touched his slave’s skin. It was like being given little fluttery, biting kisses and Mulder soon relaxed. It barely stung – it just created the most deliciously erotic sensation on his already sensitised flesh.

 

Mulder was now so blissed out that he couldn’t have soared any higher if he’d tried. He was dimly aware of his Master bringing the hinged flogger in closer and occasionally increasing the tempo and force of the blows and then reducing them again, but he was too out of it to really notice any more than that.

 

Mulder was sure that this part of the flogging went on for a long while, but he had completely lost track of time and had no idea how long. He was so lost in his own headspace that it jolted him to feel a sharp, stingy sensation on his skin. Looking round he saw his Master had moved on to the bungee flogger and now Mulder’s skin began to prickle uncomfortably.

 

He started to cry out more, but his Master was relentless and Mulder gazed transfixed at Skinner as he worked, his large, skilful hands plying his floggers like the expert he was, thrumming out a pattern on his slave’s body, bending Mulder utterly and completely to his will. 

 

After a stop for more water, Mulder found himself released, and lifted once more. His Master pushed him roughly back to the chains and tied him again. 

 

“You’re doing well, boy. Your skin is glowing red with my marks,” Skinner growled, his voice low and throaty. “I’m enjoying playing with you but I’m not finished yet.”

 

Mulder groaned – he was tired beyond belief, and so hazy he would have been hard pressed to remember his own name, and yet at the same time he didn’t think that he wanted it to end. 

 

His Master grinned and pulled him in close for another kiss.  

 

“You have no say, boy,” he whispered, his voice both a caress and a promise. “I’ll flog you until I’m done, and then I’ll fuck you. Maybe that’ll help you remember who you belong to, and why.”

 

“I do remember…” Mulder protested, angling his head forward for another kiss.

 

 “Then give it up to me,” Skinner told him, his fingers insistent on Mulder’s body, claiming him. “Give it all up to me.

 

 Mulder nodded – he knew that he had, in the past, had a tendency to cut himself off from his tops when they had finished playing with him, refusing to be held, or cuddled, or indeed to accept any kind of affection from his tops when the scene was over. Skinner had forced that on him, had made him crave it as much as he craved his Master’s body, but in the process it seemed sometimes to Mulder that he had opened floodgates that Mulder now had no control over. He found it so hard to give up this last vestige of self, and lay himself bare, weak, vulnerable, helpless, and worst of all – needy. Skinner insisted on a kind of submission that went to the very core of Mulder’s soul but all the same Mulder was grateful that Skinner accepted nothing less than his total submission, because it brought with it the kind of profound sense of peace and happiness that he loved so much. 

 

“All right, boy, let’s see what we can do with this flogger.” Skinner unhooked the deer hide implement from his belt, and held it up so that his slave could see it. Mulder’s throat went dry. Now he regretted choosing such a heavy flogger – this would hurt more than he thought he could stand after the thorough flogging he’d already received. 

 

He braced himself for the blow – only to find, when it came, that it was as light as the lightest caress. He gasped in surprise, and a split second later another muffled blow hit him. He turned his head to look at his Master, to find Skinner grinning. 

 

“The thing about a flogger is not what it looks like but how it’s used, boy, remember that,” he said, lifting his arm again and throwing another teasing blow onto his slave’s body. It was like being hit by a large pillow, and didn’t hurt at all. Mulder was dimly aware that he’d been taught a lesson but it didn’t end there.

 

“I know you want to see what this can really do…so I’ll show you,” Skinner told him. He raised his arm again and brought the flogger forward with a smooth, hard stroke. It impacted on Mulder’s shoulders making his slave yelp – this flogger had the potential to really make itself felt. He braced himself for another blow of similar intensity so was surprised when instead he felt his head yanked backwards. His Master had a handful of his hair, and Mulder gazed at him, upside down, blinking the sweat out of his eyes. 

 

“All right, boy, you have a choice,” Skinner told him. “I’m going to fuck you. Now, you can choose whether I fuck you in the scene or whether we come out of it…wait.” He put a finger over his slave’s lips as Mulder started to reply. “If you choose the scene, then I’ll give this deer hide flogger of yours more of a thorough workout, and I’ll fuck you rough and hard. You won’t be allowed to come in the scene – although I might take pity on you after I’m done. If you choose to end the scene, then I’ll take it down a level and we’ll go nice, and slow, and easy. What’s it to be?”

 

Mulder gazed, still upside down, transfixed by the sight of his Master’s lips from this angle. He was still floating on a haze of endorphins but he knew what he’d been asked, and he knew, deep down, what he wanted.

 

He so rarely got to see his Master this uncompromising, this hard, and stern and even sinister. It scared and thrilled him in equal measure and he wanted to see it through to the conclusion. He wanted to be flung around, and manhandled, wanted to be bent over, to have his buttocks pried apart and this dark, intense slave Master’s hard cock thrust deep inside him, reminding him of his slavery right down to the very core of his being.  

 

“I want to stay in the scene, Master,” he whispered, beyond wise cracking or the usual Mulder sardonic wit. Skinner’s eyes flickered, and then became hard and focussed once more. 

 

“Very well, boy. Although you might come to regret that choice,” he said, his words making Mulder thrill with anticipation. His head was released and pushed back, and his Master picked up the flogger once more. Mulder started howling even before the flogger hit his body with full force. It hurt – god it hurt – but it felt so good too. He writhed under each subsequent blow, giving himself up to it like the slave he was, struggling, shrieking, begging, and pleading under his Master’s lash, safe in the knowledge that his Master wouldn’t stop until he was done with his slave.

 

Finally, after several long minutes during which he came to have a healthy respect for the deer hide flogger, the onslaught stopped. Mulder gasped for breath, salty tears running down his face, and a second later he felt his arms being released from their bonds. He fell forward, and was caught halfway by his Master’s big arms, but then, instead of being lowered to the floor, he was pushed roughly the rest of the way, and came to rest, painfully, on his hands, knees, and elbows. His legs were still tied, wide apart, and a split second later he felt his Master’s hands on his buttocks. 

 

“I’m going to fuck you, boy, until you scream for mercy,” Skinner hissed in Mulder’s ear. Mulder’s cock rose up inside its leather pouch at the sexual threat inherent in the words. He was excited by just how strong and uncompromising Skinner could be when he really got into role.

 

This dark, aggressive man behind him seemed a world away from the tightly controlled, thoughtful individual he knew so well. Skinner really did seem to have become the slave Master from some previous time or other era – he was wild and unrestrained, totally forceful in his lust and desire to take his slaveboy hard and rough. Mulder yelled as he felt those big hands descend on his sensitised buttocks. “That’s it – scream,” Skinner growled. “Scream all you like, boy, there’s nobody to hear you. Wait until my fat cock is inside you – then you’ll scream even more.” He pulled his slave’s buttocks apart and the head of his cock slipped inside his slave’s anus. Mulder grunted – he had lubed himself after his shower but he had no idea how long ago that had been and his Master hadn’t put any fresh lube on his cock. That knowledge thrilled Mulder – it made the scene even more intense, made it seem more real. He gave a groan as Skinner grabbed his haunches and plunged deep into Mulder’s ass with a roar of sexual triumph. Mulder almost passed out – he fell into a pit of blinding white light, and felt a wave of pleasure so intense that he lost all sense of his body for a moment. When he came back to himself, his ass was burning as Skinner thrust in and out in hard, fast strokes.

 

As promised, he was rough with his slaveboy, almost brutal, plunging in and out with all the phenomenal power at his disposal. Mulder knew he was howling out loud – his prostate was being stimulated to a point that was almost unbearable and he was so incredibly aroused by the raw earthiness of their sexual frenzy that his own cock cried out with need. He ignored it, knowing he would not be allowed to come until his Master was done with him, but as Skinner continued his powerful thrusting, Mulder felt himself being transported into an orgasm that was not centred on his cock but in his ass, and he climaxed in a way he had rarely ever experienced before. His cock was still hard and he didn’t come because he knew he wasn’t allowed to, but his body was quivering with orgasmic pleasure as Skinner had his own climax and ejaculated deep inside his slave’s body.  

 

In the post-orgasmic silence, Mulder was acutely aware of his Master’s cock, buried deeply inside him, of Skinner’s warm breath on the back of his neck, and his Master’s hands on his thighs, almost bruising in their harsh grasp. He could smell the other man’s sweat and could feel his Master’s semen beginning to seep out of his ass and trickle down his leg. 

 

Mulder loved the image of himself – naked, fucked, used without any thought for his own pleasure, and he began to lose himself in those emotions, going deeper and deeper inside himself…and then, completely to his own surprise, he found himself going to a dark place inside that he hadn’t visited in quite awhile. This was a place he used to go to frequently, before he had become his Master’s slave, and although it wasn’t a good place to be, it beckoned him, like a siren song. Transfixed, Mulder moved towards a darkness that contained his own guilt and self-loathing.

 

These were emotions he hadn’t felt strongly in quite some time, but which would always be with him, a legacy of his damaged childhood, the loss of his sister, his inability to help his mother or connect with his cold, distant father. They were familiar emotions, which was why he moved towards them easily enough, even knowing as he did how much they had the power to consume and hurt him.  

 

Dimly he was aware of Skinner disengaging with considerably more care than he had entered. Skinner helped his slave to his feet, and then, much to Mulder’s confused surprise, he tied him to the chains once more. 

 

“Master?” Mulder asked hazily, trying to drag himself away from the darkness for long enough to focus. Skinner smiled, and bestowed the gentlest of kisses on his slave’s lips.

 

“Hush…that was your ending…now I want to take mine,” he said. Mulder wondered what the hell could be coming next as his Master disappeared behind him once more. He heard the sound of a flogger being swung and waited longingly for the blow, wanting more pain, needing it to feed the negative emotions he was wallowing in. When he was hanging here like this, he could forget that it was his Master doing this to him; his Master, Walter Skinner, the man who loved him more than anyone in his life ever had, the man who meant everything to him…but the dark part of Mulder’s psyche shut Skinner out of the scenario altogether, changing the flogging into something else, something infinitely more sinister. He wanted to be hurt, to be degraded and treated harshly in order to embrace his own self-hatred, maybe even to confirm that this was what he was worth – this was all he was good for.

 

Now the scene was no longer sexual for him, it was feeding a bitter nugget at the core of his soul, and he wasn’t even aware of how far down he was sinking into that mindset. He braced himself for more pain, welcoming it…only to be wrapped instead in a sensation of warm bliss, as something soft beyond belief caressed his thighs. He realised that it was the fur flogger – it had been soft when he had felt it at the fetish market, but on his already sensitised flesh it felt utterly delicious, and he gave a moan of pleasure.

 

His Master flogged him tenderly with the fur flogger for several minutes, pausing at times to stroke his slave’s body with his hands, gently, soothingly, and Mulder felt himself becoming aroused once more – something he wouldn’t have believed possible after that amazing orgasm of pure white light he had just experienced. He shivered as he felt his Master’s lips trail along his spine and down to his buttocks, then gasped as Skinner applied his warm tongue to Mulder’s flesh. The skin was so sensitive after the prolonged flogging that everything felt amplified to an amazing degree, and even the slightest touch had a profound effect on the bound slave. Skinner came around to his slave’s front and applied the flogger to Mulder’s chest and thighs. Mulder had been flogged and fucked without mercy and was now being made love to, tenderly and erotically, without mercy too. He struggled to stay in the darkness, to hold onto the self-loathing, but it became harder and harder as his Master worked so tenderly on his body. Skinner’s lips fastened on his slave’s nipples, lapping at them softly. Mulder braced himself for a bite but none was forthcoming – Skinner was gentleness personified. He kissed and licked his slave’s body and then unfastened the pouch from his slave’s genitals. He traced lines down his slave’s body lightly with his fingernails as he sank to his knees and gently took his slave’s cock in his mouth. Mulder gave a strangled sob – his Master’s touch was exquisitely tender. 

 

Maybe it was the juxtaposition of so much rough violence with so much careful, loving attention to his body, or maybe it was something else entirely, something too profound for Mulder to really understand, but he felt his eyes become warm with tears. He tried to blink them away but they fell, heedless of his struggle to stop them. One fell on Skinner’s scalp where he was working on his slave’s cock and he looked up. Seeing the expression on Mulder’s face, he got up and gently wiped the tears from his slave’s cheeks. 

 

“Hush…it’s okay, little one,” he said softly, wrapping his big arms carefully around Mulder’s shaking body. He kissed Mulder’s lips softly, over and over again, gently dipping his tongue into Mulder’s mouth and when Mulder had calmed down he took his slave’s cock in his hand and, kissing his slave the entire time, pumped Mulder to climax. Mulder came with an explosive sigh and laid his head against his Master’s shoulder. Skinner let him rest there for a long time and then began to undo his slave’s cuffs. He caught Mulder before he fell, and swung him up into his big arms. It never ceased to amaze Mulder that his Master could lift him as he was a considerable weight, but Skinner carried his slave across the room, out into the hallway, and down the stairs to their bedroom. 

 

“I can walk,” Mulder protested, but Skinner stopped his words with a loving kiss. He kicked open the bedroom door, and deposited his weary slave on the bed. Then he got on the bed beside him, gathered his slave in his arms, and held him. Mulder floated, feeling warm and content, nestled against his Master’s chest. After a long time, he looked up, into his Master’s dark brown eyes. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For losing it like that at the end.” 

 

“That’s okay,” Skinner said softly. “It isn’t always possible to know what kind of emotions a scene will bring to the surface. Sometimes it reveals things that have been buried very deep inside us – things we hadn’t expected. 

 

“It’s so strange…even after being your slave for all this time, some parts of it still surprise me,” Mulder murmured.  “I was overwhelmed back there for a moment. I was enjoying you treating me so roughly and…” He flushed and buried his face in his Master’s neck.

 

“Fox?” Skinner raised his slave’s chin and looked searchingly into his eyes. “What else was going on for you? I need to know.” 

 

Mulder nodded.  “Right at the end, I shut you out of the scene. I went to a dark place inside – a place I used to go to with my old tops, a place where I can kind of wallow in my own negative emotions. Then when you changed and made love to me so gently…it just brought me back to myself with a bang, and reminded me that you…” He flushed again and bit his lip. Skinner stroked him gently, encouraging him to continue. “Reminded me how much you love me – and that was when I lost it. It’s hard to stay in the middle of all that self-hatred when someone is making love to you with such care.” 

 

Skinner nodded, and kissed his slave’s mouth gently. “I had a similar experience with Andrew once. I know that a really powerful scene can bring up emotions that you don’t expect – even after years of playing, when you think you know yourself very well, a scene can still throw you for a loop every once in a while,” he said softly.  “How are you feeling now?” Skinner asked him, stroking his cheek. 

 

Mulder thought about it for a moment and then came up with the only answer that made any sense. “Cleansed,” he said, “and…comforted. And completely fucking blown away.” He smiled up at his Master. “That was such a hot scene, Walter,” he said. “The flogging was fantastic – absolutely amazing. Thank you so much.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Skinner replied with a smile. “You always respond so well – it was such a turn on watching you move and cry out under the lash, and you have some pretty little marks on your back and ass, although not as many as I think you’ll be expecting and once the redness goes down you won’t be able to see a whole lot at all.”

 

“Shame.” Mulder made a face. “I get a secret thrill when I’m at work and I know that I’m marked. Every now and then I’ll remember the marks on my skin and sometimes it makes me hard just thinking about it.”

 

“It’s a good thing I like keeping you well marked then.” Skinner smiled affectionately.

 

“Uh, that shirt…” Mulder grinned suddenly.

 

 “A total loss,” Skinner laughed. “It felt damn good to rip it off your body though. Well worth the loss of a shirt I think.”

 

 “God that was hot.” Mulder gave a satisfied smile as he recalled the moment – then he frowned. “Was the last part okay for you? When I pushed the ending I wasn’t sure,” Mulder said, anxiously, needing to debrief in some way. The emotion of the scene and all the sensations had affected him deeply, and he needed to reconnect with the reality of their lives once more. 

 

“Well, I gave you the choice and I wouldn’t have if I hadn’t been happy with that.” Skinner shrugged. “I admit I have to psyche myself up to let go and be that rough, but I enjoy it too – especially when I know it’s working for you.” 

 

“I enjoyed your ending just as much as my ending,” Mulder commented. “I hadn’t expected that.” 

 

“Well, that’s fine – there’s nothing that says we can’t have both,” Skinner replied, stroking his slave’s cheek gently. Mulder was surprised to find the tears welling up in his eyes again. Skinner didn’t say a thing; he just pulled his slave close and held him. Mulder snuggled up, at peace with himself and his own demons. He knew that he was no longer in any danger of losing himself in that dark place inside his own psyche, because in Skinner he had a guide, someone who could and would always lead him back to the light. 

 

“You know I think today was maybe the best slave’s day ever,” Mulder murmured.  

 

“Despite how intense it got for you?” Skinner asked, his brown eyes searching his slave’s face. 

 

“Maybe because of that.” Mulder smiled.  He had been Skinner’s slave for a long time now but it seemed that his Master always had something new to teach him. He knew that he always chose the harder, more extreme path, like buying that deer hide flogger and asking for the scene to continue, but that was just the way he was, and probably always would be – he was grateful that while Skinner didn’t hesitate to give him what he wanted, he also knew how to give him what he needed as well – and that was just as important.  

 

For on this slave’s day he had learned that it was the softest flogger and his Master’s most gentle kisses that had the power to touch him the most.

 

The End

 

Index