The Adversary: 1. Part One


A phone call informs me that Charles is on his way over. I’m a little surprised because it’s been less than a week since his last visit, and he’s usually a much more infrequent patron. I’ve often had the feeling that he despises my salon – or maybe himself for needing it. However, despite his disdain, when the mood is upon him he’s always more than happy to take full advantage of the recreational facilities his rank makes available to him here.


He’ll be here in half an hour, so I call the lounge, and have Emilia standing by ready. She’s in her mid-thirties, a beautiful, honey-haired woman, with large breasts, and wide, curving hips. Charles has always had a taste for mature, intelligent ladies he can wine and dine, and later retire with to one of our rooms to make love. I have never known him to be anything other than a gentleman with women – he saves his ill temper and his well-hidden streak of brutality for other men. There are always boys available in my salon of course, but he is rarely interested in them, so I have every expectation that tonight he will dine privately with Emilia in one of our comfortable suites.


Charles looks tired. He’s dressed as impeccably as ever, but his face is gray and his shoulders tense; his work has clearly taken a toll on him. He’s ushered into my salon by the butler, and I silently offer him a glass of brandy, which he takes, and gulps down, in a manner completely at odds with his usual charming demeanor. I say nothing; the Elite come here for rest and relaxation – they don’t want to be annoyed by prattling questions. I have my most recent trainee, Luke, by my side. He’s newly broken, and it’s important not to let them out of my sight for long during this initial period. Luke is far too vulnerable to be allowed time to think or worry right now. He needs reassurance, which I give him by stroking his curly head occasionally, and giving him orders – usually to perform meaningless little tasks, but it gives him some sense of importance and he’s eager to be of use to me, as they always are after breaking.


Charles loosens his tie, sits in the armchair with a weary sigh, and lights up a cigarette.


“I have Emilia waiting for you,” I tell him, and he looks up sharply, a dark expression in his eyes.


“I don’t want her.” His eyes wander over to Luke, who is kneeling naked at my feet. “He’ll do,” he says, in a throaty voice edged with anger. I try not to allow my flicker of annoyance to show on my face.


“Let me call you another,” I tell him smoothly, unprepared for this. “Luke isn’t ready yet.”


“He’s ready enough for what I require,” Charles replies in his usual languid tones, taking a drag on his cigarette.


Luke is 20 years old, with curly dark hair, and large brown eyes. He’s been a pleasure to train – very easily broken – and I have no desire to hand him over at this stage in the process to Charles. The hard work has all been done with Luke, and I’ve been concentrating on showing him affection after all the pain. A night with Charles will considerably set back the trust we’ve built between us, and that’s annoying. The process of training new recruits is very finely tuned, and I don’t like it interrupted before completion.


“He’s only just been broken,” I tell Charles, refilling his glass of brandy. “He hasn’t been fully trained. Another boy would suit you better.”


“I like the look of this one.”


Charles likes to play pointless little domination games. I think he needs them – or rather he needs to know that he commands respect for his status within the Syndicate, and this is one way he can get the affirmation he requires. I consider the matter. Luke, poor love, is kneeling by my side, those brown eyes eager, and devoted. He’s just learned to trust me, to eat from my fingers – it’ll be a shame to throw him to the wolves at this point in his training. I glance back at Charles, weighing the matter up. He is, of course, entitled to take whichever of our trainees he wants. It’s my job, after all, to provide recreational material for the entire Syndicate – with the hectic pace of their lives they often have little time for romances of their own, and finding a mate can be time consuming. It’s only right that they should have access to their sexual partners of choice whenever they require them. Charles is an important man as well – it wouldn’t do to anger him, however irritating or personally inconvenient his choice is to me. I smile, and offer him a cigarette from a small, silver case.


“Of course. If you want Luke then by all means, take him. Just remember he’s a little unschooled. I wouldn’t want his performance to reflect unsatisfactorily upon me. I do pride myself on providing the most willing and able trainees for your use, Charles.”


He grunts, and then gives a little chuckle. “Professional pride, Laurence?” He asks with a raised eyebrow.


“Of course,” I reply with a little smile. “I’ve been doing my job for a very long time after all – I wouldn’t want my skills called into question.”


“Oh, your skills have always been first rate – that’s why we pay you so well,” he laughs.


“Thank you.” I incline my head modestly but his words do irk me somewhat. As if I do this job purely for the money. I like to think that my pride in a job well done reveals me to be more of a connoisseur than a mere mercenary, which is how Charles clearly classifies me. “Would you like supper first, or the boy?”


“Him.” He finishes his drink with one gulp, and nods at the boy.


“Very well. Room eleven is free. Follow me.” I snap my fingers at Luke who gets up, looking confused. Poor boy. He has only been trained by myself and my assistants thus far – he has never been with one of the Elite. I would not have chosen Charles for his first experience, but it’s irrelevant really. This is his life from now on so he might as well become accustomed to it. I usher the boy along to room eleven, Charles following behind, unlock the door, and show them inside. There is a bed and a fridge, fruit in a glass bowl on a small table, armchairs, and soft, warm lighting. I don’t think any of this will make Luke’s experience this evening a pleasant one.


“Luke, Charles wishes to spend some time with you. Be as obedient with him as you are with me,” I tell the boy smoothly, and his eyes widen in alarm.


“Sir…are you leaving me here…?” He whispers, panic stricken.


“Yes, be good, Luke.” I ruffle his dark curls regretfully. Poor lamb. It really won’t be easy for him. Then I nod to Charles, and withdraw.


An hour passes. I purposefully do not eavesdrop on my clients; it would be discourteous. There have, of course, been fatalities – but they are frowned upon, and I do complain to the upper echelons when it happens. All that hard work wasted for a few moments of pointless, savage lust. It’s irritating. Finally, a ring on one of the bells informs me that Charles is done, and requires my presence. I go to room eleven, and knock politely, before entering. Luke is huddled in a corner of the room, sporting a badly bruised lip, and a discolored jaw. He’s whimpering, his arms crossed over his body as if to ward off further harm. Charles is wearing one of the plain red silk robes that we provide for clients.


“The boy resisted me,” Charles grunts. I glance at Luke again. He starts to cry; he knows I’ll punish him later.


“Well, I did say he was unschooled. However, judging by the tension in your shoulders when you arrived here, a struggle might have been just what you needed: something to raise the temperature of the blood. Hmm?” A smile tugs the corners of my lips and Charles laughs, and lights the cigarette I’m offering from the small silver case.


“Damn it, Laurence, you’re so good at this!” he exclaims.


“I like to think so.” I incline my head. “The boy will be whipped though – obviously he has to learn. Now, why don’t you return to the salon and I’ll join you there shortly?” Charles nods, moving his shoulders slowly, as if they are stiff and pain him, and leaves the room.


I turn, and gaze at Luke for a long time. He is unsure just how angry I am with him, and his whimpering becomes more soulful.


“Be quiet, boy. You survived,” I chide softly. “I’m sorry that your first experience with one of the elite had to be with Charles, as he can be a little demanding, but you do have to learn your place and purpose. Come here and let me examine you.” He comes, quickly, without protest – he is broken to my commands after all. He’s bruised in many places, and his ass has belt marks across it, but the rectal bleeding isn’t as bad as I’d feared. “Run along to the infirmary,” I tell him. He nods, and starts to scamper, naked, across the room, his beautiful little cock swinging against his thighs. “And Luke,” I stop him before he gets to the door, and he turns, a questioning look on his face. “I’ll visit you this evening before I retire. 12 strokes with your whip.”


His eyes fill with tears, but I’ve trained him not to anger me by pleading for lenience. He swallows hard, nods, and runs out of the room. I smile, ruefully, and shake my head. Ah, the pleasures of training the dear creatures to my will and word – it never fades, even after all these years, although I’ve been a little jaded of late. I wish Luke had been more of a challenge – I am now so good at what I do that few of the recruits present me with the real satisfaction I used to find in my job. Maybe I’m even a little bored. It’s still good, but I long for a struggle, for something new, and exciting – and for an opportunity to be really creative.


I return to the salon. Charles is sitting in one of the armchairs by the fire, puffing on his cigarette, and looking much less stressed than when he first came in. I’m pleased about that – it is my job to ease the stresses on our operatives after all, and he has a great weight upon his shoulders. I’m told he performs his duties with diligence, passion, and care – and I have enormous respect for him. A terrified little trainee is a small price to pay for taking some of the pressure off this great man.


“You look tired – I do hope everything is well,” I say, pouring him a glass of brandy. He accepts it, and thoughtfully washes the liquor around in the glass.


“Yes. There are just a lot of problems in my work right now.” He rubs his eyes wearily.


“I could call the masseur,” I offer, and he smiles. “I noticed your shoulders were tense.”


“Thank god for you, Laurence,” he murmurs in a heartfelt tone. “Taking care of us all.”


“As you are taking care of us – all of us; the entire world in fact. You deserve a little respite and care. It’s the least I can do. I’m sorry the boy wasn’t pleasing.”


“Oh, he was,” Charles chuckles. “And I’m sorry that I was a little…rough with him. You’re right; his struggles did excite me.”


“Well then – a satisfactory result all around.” I sit down on the armchair facing his, and take a sip of my water, regarding him. He must once have been a handsome man, but now he’s careworn, and he stoops where he must once have stood very tall and proud. The amount of cigarettes he goes through can’t be good for him; his leathery face is lined around the lips – the sure sign of a life-long, heavy smoker. “Would you like to talk, Charles?” I offer. He often does like to talk. There are few people he can unburden to after all, and I am the soul of discretion. I enjoy my work too much, and the perks that go with it, to jeopardize it in any way.


“It’s the same old thing, Laurence,” he sighs.


“Ah. The regrettable Agent Mulder is causing you another headache.”


“One headache too many,” he growls.


“Forgive me – I’ve never understood why you don’t just have him killed.” I sip my water again, and Charles sighs, and gazes into the fire, as if contemplating some great secret.


“I can’t. He’s valuable to us… I wish he was obedient as well. He jeopardizes everything with his foolhardy crusades, and his ridiculous idealism. I offered him a job once; I just wish he’d taken it. If I could have had some time with him, made him see…” Charles closes his fist angrily.


“From all you’ve told me you’d have your work cut out,” I chuckle. “It doesn’t sound as if your Agent Mulder is very malleable.”


“He isn’t – that’s why it would be so satisfying to…” Charles trails off, and stares into the fire again. “Damn, but if he weren’t so important, I’d…” He clenches both fists this time. He isn’t a man given to dramatic outbursts so I know this must be serious.


“You should send him here,” I murmur, taking another sip of water. “He sounds like just the kind of challenge I’m ready for.”


Charles bursts out laughing. “I think even you might find your legendary success rate threatened by Fox Mulder,” he comments wryly.


“I’d enjoy it,” I say, surprising myself. “He’s just a man after all. I’ve broken dozens of them. And I’ve been jaded of late. I’d like to try something new.”


“You’re serious?” Charles turns to face me, his expression suddenly animated, and cruelly dark. I know that he is imagining Fox Mulder writhing under my carefully brutal ministrations, and, to put it bluntly, that arouses him.


“Why not?” I glance up, amused by the whole idea. “He’s been a thorn in your side for a long time, Charles. You can’t kill him, but you need him tamed. Well, that’s what I do here, isn’t it? You bring me the raw material, and I shape the dear creatures for their new lives as sexual playthings.” Not just that though – some of those who are brought here show initiative, and eventually work their way out of the lounge. They become valued operatives in their own right, with the freedom to make use of all the Syndicate’s facilities – including the trainees – themselves. I’ve noted how few of them turn down the chance to avail themselves of that privilege when it’s offered. It amuses me considering how hard some of them struggled and fought me during the breaking process.


“No. It’s…insane…” Charles says, although the idea still clearly enchants him.


“You’re right,” I sigh.


“First off, he’s far older than your usual recruits,” Charles continues, rolling his brandy around in his glass. “Not as young and impressionable as you like them.”


“All the more challenging.” I take a long, deep drink of my water. I really am excited. I’ve heard so much about Agent Fox Mulder – not just from Charles either. The man is clearly a menace. I’d love to see what I could do with him. I haven’t met anyone yet that I haven’t been able to break – given enough time. I have no doubt that Agent Mulder will be hard – but those are the ones who give me the most satisfaction, and his age doesn’t bother me. It just gives me all the more material to play with, in fact.


“You’d have to be careful not to kill him,” Charles says, half convinced, despite himself.


“I’ve never killed a trainee yet,” I point out politely. I leave that to the less self-disciplined of our operatives, after all.


“We want him obedient – able to take instruction, to dance to our tune.”


“I’m sure I could manage that.”


“But still able to function in the outside world. Still able to do his job.” He looks up at me, his eyes dark and full of anticipation.


“Your own assistant started out as a trainee with me,” I point out. “He doesn’t have any problems functioning in the outside world, does he? And I believe he’s shown admirable initiative in his time.” I smile into my water. Charles hasn’t always approved of his assistant’s little displays of ‘initiative’, and has even sent him back here for me to punish on more than one occasion. A little correction was all it took to have that particular young man back on track. The trainees never forget me – I can reduce them to quivering wrecks even when they’ve reached middle age, and become confident, ruthless operatives. I like to think I hold a special place in their hearts.


“I would need to get authorization from the others,” Charles murmurs, lost in thought. I feel a wave of heady euphoria course through me. This is just what I need to complete my illustrious career. I’m growing old – sixty next year – and I’ve learned so much about my trade during my years working for the Syndicate. Fox Mulder will be precisely the person to test the full range of my expertise and knowledge on – the culmination of my art.


“Of course. Let them know that I’m happy to help if required. I have always been happy to help in my own way. This is my contribution to our cause, Charles. I know that training these boys and girls is minor work compared to the great sacrifices that you and the other esteemed Elite have made over the years, but, small though it is, I like to think I’ve helped in my own way.”


“You have, Laurence. You’ve taken very good care of all of us, and provided the most diverting distractions,” Charles affirms, and my heart glows.


“I’ve done my best.” We exchange grave nods. I reach out and press a bell to summon the butler. Charles and I sit in companionable silence, both of us still musing the unexpected turn our conversation just took. When the butler arrives I instruct him to have the masseur get ready for a visitor – and put the chef on stand by for Charles to dine later. Charles gets up, still rolling his stiff shoulders, and looks at me, with a new expression of respect in his hazel eyes.


“You know, I’ve never been sure about what you do here, Laurence,” he says, “but this idea…well, it fascinates me. I haven’t been able to bring Agent Mulder in line by any other means. I’m intrigued.”


“And regretful?” I note something else in his eyes.


“I’ll just be sorry to see his fire go, that’s all. I’ve done many things in my time, Laurence – taken action that was personally distasteful to me but had to be done. You, on the other hand…” he considers me for a moment. “I’ve often wondered about your work. Don’t the screams bother you? How do you sleep at night?” He leans forward, and I can smell the liquor on his breath.


“I’m a professional,” I reply disarmingly. “I’ve never killed a man, Charles. I’ve never had that on my conscience.” Unlike you, I think, in silent reproach. He has no business asking questions about my conscience. “I know that I provide a service, and I’m proud to belong to such a great group of men – all dedicated to saving our world. It’s an honor. I hope I’ve made your lives a little easier, and more pleasurable along the way. So many of you have given up any hope of normal lives, or marrying…I hope I’ve made up for that sacrifice in some small way.”


He smiles, barely listening to my spiel. “Yes, but you enjoy it, don’t you?” He asks, still standing too close, in a stance designed to intimidate. It doesn’t work with me. I’ve played and won too many of these domination games in my time. I can see the fascination in his eyes. He knows what he is capable of, but he’s fascinated by what I might have done, and seen. My work is so very different to his, and yet curiously similar at the same time.


“Oh yes,” I murmur, with a little smile. “Of course I enjoy my work, Charles. That is why I hope you will consider this evening’s proposition; I’d like to show you the full extent of my skills, and who better to help me prove them to you than your very own bete noir, Agent Mulder?”


He nods, recognizing in me an equal, someone who is prepared to enter the darkness in search of the greater good – somebody prepared to make that supreme sacrifice of self. More than that, I can see that he is wondering whether I could break him and the answer is, of course, that I could, and if it was asked of me I would – without a qualm or second thought. He knows that, and fears it. He has so much power, so much authority but at the end of the day he is just flesh and blood as we all are, and I know how to bring flesh and blood to its knees, and bend it to my will. Charles’s eyes flicker with the fire of that knowledge, and I know that he fears me for my skills – and he isn’t a man who likes being afraid. In some way, condemning Mulder to me will be his substitute for undergoing the process itself. If Mulder resists me Charles will know that he could have done so as well, and if the Agent submits to me, and breaks, then Charles will know that he, also, would have the same lack of strength. I have no idea why his own sense of identity is so deeply tied to Agent Mulder but it is. Intriguing.


“I’ll let you know,” Charles says in his smooth, languid tones, and then he leaves.


Luke is waiting in his cell when I go down. He scrambles over to me when I enter, and kneels, looking up at me pathetically.


“I’m sorry, sir,” he whispers, his eyes reddened by crying.


“Oh, my dear boy. This was most unfortunate. Just when we were starting to enjoy ourselves as well, hmm?” I tip up his chin, and look into those large, dark lashed eyes.


“I’m sorry. He was just so rough…” Luke whimpers pathetically.


“Quiet!” I snap, in a change of tone that scares and confuses him. “He’s a member of the Elite, Luke – your superior. You must never ever speak a bad word against any member of the Elite. Charles works very hard and is entitled to take his pleasure wherever he can find it. You are a trainee – you should be honored by his touch. You’ll never get ahead if you don’t learn how to please the Elite, Luke. One day you could be like Charles, one of the great men who work in our Syndicate, but you won’t achieve that goal if you continue to behave like a scared, spoiled child. Go and bring me your whip.”


He goes quickly, and returns to my side with the whip. It’s a single strand of worn leather – worn out on him. I start each new recruit with his or her own whip, and can measure their progress by its wear. Some, like Charles’s pretty but truculent assistant, go through quite a few of these whips. Others, like Luke, need only one. He gets into position quickly, placing his hands spread-eagled on the wall, legs wide apart, as he has been shown on numerous occasions. The whip leaves a welt wherever I stroke it. I always go hard; if a whipping is necessary then it should be delivered at maximum strength or not at all. Luke is soon sobbing abjectly, but when it is over, he takes the whip from my hands as he has been schooled, and replaces it over his bed where it belongs, and where it serves as a constant reminder of the penalty for poor behavior.


“Go to sleep,” I tell him, not unkindly, pulling aside the blankets on his bed. He slips between them, shivering, and looks at me longingly for some sign of affection. I sigh – newly broken trainees, while adorable, can be very wearying. I sit on the bed beside him, brush back his curls, and kiss his forehead. “You’re progressing very well, Luke,” I praise him. He relaxes, and leans into my caressing hand. I sit with him for a few minutes to help nurture the bond between us, and when his breathing deepens, I get up and leave. He’s like a child, learning to leave its mother for the first time. However, if the proposition I made this evening is accepted, then I may have to terminate the training process with Luke and send him out into the lounge earlier than is my usual habit.


I retire to my own suite of rooms. I have a large, exquisitely decorated bedroom containing a huge bed, a Jacuzzi, a desk, and other little accoutrements but I do not sleep there except when I am bringing along a new recruit. My real bedroom is a small, Spartan room with a narrow, single bed, decorated in the stark simplicity of black and white. I like it for its clean lines, and uncluttered feel. It is my respite, and my sanctuary, where I plan my strategies and conquests. Nobody is allowed to sleep here with me; nobody may even enter this room. This place is mine, and mine alone. I close the door behind me, undress, and then slowly don the ivory silk pajamas that are my usual sleeping attire. It is my habit to read for quite some time before sleeping; I need to empty my mind of the dramas of the day. It’s just as I’m losing myself in the labyrinthine wonders of James Joyce’s beautiful mind, that I am interrupted by the telephone. I recognize Charles’s voice at once.


“Laurence, I’ve spoken to the others. It’s been agreed,” he says in those quiet, intense tones. I feel a surge of warmth inside – and almost drop my book in surprise. It’s been a long time since I felt such a strong emotion. I try to identify it: tingly, a feeling of nervousness in the pit of my stomach – and excitement. I realize that what I’m feeling is anticipation.


“That’s good, Charles,” I breathe softly down the phone. “When can I expect delivery of our latest recruit?”


“Soon,” he replies with a little chuckle. “Very soon.”




Mulder stopped at a mall on his way home from the Hoover Building, and wandered around aimlessly for a while, looking in the stores, and feeling like a stranger in a strange land. Shopping was something he tended to do twice a year – once for his mother’s birthday and once for Scully’s so it felt weird to be doing it now, in the middle of a workday – as if he was playing hooky from school. He had gone to work this morning as usual, only to be unceremoniously thrown out of his office by the head of Human Resources, aided and abetted by a Scully who had looked as if she was trying hard not to laugh at his most unusual predicament. He was told that his leave time had now stockpiled to such an extent that if he didn’t take a week’s immediate vacation he’d be suspended, without pay. A form had been waved in his face with Skinner’s signature on it, and that had been that. So he was faced with a weeklong unwanted and unplanned for vacation when he had expected to be buried up to his neck in files, which was how he liked to spend his time. He had long since stopped viewing work as work – it was his life.


Mulder withdrew a sum of cash from an ATM, ate his way through a burger, and then wandered around a bookstore for a couple of hours, finding the whole process of having leisure time nerve wracking, and stressful. It was so hard to just switch off, and relax. He liked being buried in a case, working his butt off to find the answer, following clues, and making phone calls to unravel mysteries – that was his idea of relaxation, and he realized he was actually feeling depressed about the prospect of a whole week spent trying to fill his time some other way. The Gunmen were fun but… a whole week spent playing computer games with them? Mulder stared sightlessly at the books in front of him, wondering what the hell was wrong with him that the idea of vacation time filled him with such dread. He’d often thought that if he had some time there were places he’d like to visit, and now he had the opportunity, but the truth was that the idea of all this time on his hands depressed him. He knew all too well the demons that crowded back in when he wasn’t occupying his mind with X Files and conspiracies. He could defeat the demons with the weapons of exhaustion and constant activity, but when those weapons were taken away from him by well meaning friends… Mulder took a deep breath. He needed a project – maybe he could write a paper for one of the journals he occasionally contributed to. It would be a good time to write up some case files, maybe with an eye to publication. My Life As A Ghostbuster, By An FBI Agent, he considered, grinning. Mutants and Monsters – an Expert’s Guide. A small boy became entangled around Mulder’s ankles and was called away by an over-anxious father.


“Jamie! Sorry if he’s bothering you,” the man said, lifting up his small, blond haired son.


“No problem,” Mulder said, smiling at the boy, filled with a sudden wave of sadness. Damn Skinner and Scully for this. He didn’t want time to think about how regular folks lived, or the dreams of a normality that he had long ago turned his back on. What was his life? Was this what he’d wanted it to be, what he’d dreamed of? This lonely existence?


Shopping clearly wasn’t going to be the answer. He’d have to find something else to occupy him, or his own over-active mind would drive him insane. He selected a book at random, something that would occupy him for couple of hours if nothing else, paid for it, and jogged back to the parking garage. An empty evening stretched ahead of him. He hoped there was something good on TV – a really bad old movie, maybe. Or maybe he’d just dig into his porn collection, but he usually saved that for his frequent insomniac nights, and even then he was rarely assured of any release. Perhaps there was a movie he could go to see…anything to fill up the looming desert of spare time that threatened to unsettle the uneasy truce he had with his own demons. He reached his car, pulled out his keys, and slid into the driver’s seat.


“One whole week.” He rested his head on the steering wheel and sighed. The first thing he noticed when he looked up was that there was someone sitting in the seat behind him, reflected in his rearview mirror. The next thing he noticed was that something wet and smelly was being placed over his face. He tried to shout, but only succeeded in taking an inhalation of whatever was on the rag instead, and the world began to swim. He was unconscious within seconds.




Nothing compares to the moment when a new recruit is delivered. Nothing. There are many highlights to the breaking process – the first coupling, the first, faltering confidences, moments of revelation, and betrayal, and not least the exquisite joy of the actual breaking itself – and the subsequent sweetness of winning trust, and giving comfort to the newly born trainees. Still, the moment of delivery is especially beautiful – and one I like to savor. I am called at 4 pm and recognize Charles’s voice immediately.


“Prepare for a delivery,” he says. “Two hours,” and then the line goes dead. I sit there for a moment, just enjoying the anticipation. Two hours. In two hours time I will begin my greatest challenge. Oh, I do hope he struggles. I hope he is hard to break, and resistant, and challenging. I hope his mind is truly as bright as I have been told, and he is as independent and wild as I have been led to believe. I do not want an easy victory. I want this to take time, and I want to enjoy every single second.


Luke is sitting by my side, eager to be of use to me, but the time has come to send him to his duties. He really requires a few more weeks to complete the training process, but he’s malleable, and easy going – he’ll be fine.


“Luke, I want you to go and clear out your cell,” I tell him softly. He looks at me questioningly, his doe-brown eyes alarmed. “The time has come for you to spread your wings a little. You’ll take up residence in the lounge with the other trainees.”


I use the bell to call Brady – he’s in charge of the trainees once they leave my care. He’s a big, bluff man, not very imaginative but then he doesn’t have to be to preside over the lounge. He simply needs to keep order, and administer discipline where required. He must ensure the trainees are always clean, and their rooms kept in an orderly fashion; that they are available for use, willing, and in good shape. Any trainee backsliding, or unpleasing to a client is sent back to me, or my assistants, for Remedial Treatment. It doesn’t usually take much to remind them of their initial breaking, and after a couple of days their attitude improves remarkably and they can be returned to the lounge with renewed zeal for their duties.


“You have a new trainee to take to the lounge,” I inform Brady, who nods, and inspects Luke with a predatory glance. He always tries out each new trainee himself before putting him or her to service. He needs to know their strengths and weaknesses, and which members of the Elite they’ll appeal to.


“Please, sir…” Luke looks up at me, with an expression of despair in his eyes. I smile, and tuck one of his curls behind his ear.


“Now, Luke, don’t force me to punish you,” I tell him firmly. “You belong to the Syndicate, not just to me, and it’s time to go and serve them to the best of your ability.”


“But I’ll miss you, sir,” he whispers.


“Of course you will.” I run my thumb along the side of his cheek. “You’ve been a very dear boy, but you can’t stay here with me forever.”


“But I want to.” He looks close to tears.


“Luke, what have you learned about wanting?” I ask him in a firm tone. His eyes widen.


“That I must only want what the Syndicate requires me to want,” he replies.


“That’s right. If you serve them well you’ll be rewarded. If you don’t, then you’ll be returned to me for Remedial Treatment. You won’t like that, Luke,” I warn, and his eyes are radiating panic now, as he remembers his breaking.


“No, sir. I’ll be good, I promise,” he says sweetly.


“Good boy.” I stand up, gesture him to his feet, and plant a kiss on his curly head. “Run along with Brady now. It’s been a pleasure working with you, Luke,” I tell him gently.


“Yes, sir. Sir…” He turns as he reaches the door. “You won’t forget me will you, sir?” He asks hopefully, still in need of reassurance, which shows that he’s really leaving me too soon.


“Of course not, Luke,” I murmur, and he responds with a beautiful, beaming smile, and then Brady puts a hand on his shoulder, and takes my newest trainee away. I didn’t lie to him. I won’t forget him. I haven’t forgotten any of my recruits – I remember each and every one. I remember their stories, and their struggles, their moment of delivery, and their moment of breaking. I wouldn’t be able to forget any of them. However, the moment he has left the room, Luke, with his adolescent dreams and dramas, and the small agonies of his young life, is consigned to the very back of my mind. I have someone new to concentrate on now, someone who will take all my energy and every single ounce of my ingenuity to subdue, and, eventually, break. I’m beside myself with excitement.


I prepare the Delivery Room with extra care. This will be the new recruit’s home for the next few days, after all. Later he will be transferred to Luke’s cell, to complete the process, but upon initial delivery I’ve found that concentrated spells of deprivation and physical discomfort, combined with sessions of intense pain, work best. The room is not particularly large – I prefer a small space to increase the claustrophobia of the event for the recruit – and help focus his mind only on what is happening to his body, without distraction. There’s simply an adjustable table, complete with plastic bindings, chains, and tie down restraints at regular intervals along each side. Hanging from the ceiling are several horizontal bars, to which the recruit’s limbs can be tied, as required. The room is lined with shelves, containing the equipment I’ll use, and I check each and every single item to ensure it is clean and in perfect working order. I open the cellophane around a new whip – this one is Fox’s inaugural whip, the first, but not, I’m sure, the last that will be saved for use only on him.


The room is warm – I like to work in comfort, and sensory deprivation can be applied later, when the recruit is left alone. The lighting is low – although it’s likely that I’ll keep Agent Mulder blindfolded for some time; he is, after all, a man who likes to control events around him, to initiate, and act, rather than remain passive. Losing the most basic of his senses, his sight, will disorientate him. Charles has supplied me with a dossier ten inches thick on dear Agent Mulder, but I’ve declined to read it thus far. I already know the outlines of his story and the rest I’d prefer to learn from him. I don’t want any preconceived notions getting in the way of the fundamentals of my work: reading body language, and listening to the timbre of the voice. If he lies, I’ll know because I’m good at my craft, not because I’ve read the truth in a file. Besides, I want to hear his perceptions of his own life and personality, not those of the various Syndicate operatives who have compiled the file. The truth lies inside Agent Mulder, not in a stack of papers. I pause, and glance at the huge mirror hanging opposite the table, catching sight of myself. I’m surprised by the brightness in my eyes, and the slight flush of my cheeks. I am really enjoying myself far too much. The mirror serves a dual purpose; it allows the new recruit to see himself under torture, if I wish him to witness that, and I frequently do, but it is also an observation window through which the new recruit can be observed from the room next door. Obviously recruits are monitored at all times, and sometimes it is useful to watch their behavior when they think they’re alone – in fact it can be most illuminating.


Finally satisfied with the room, I return to the salon to compose myself. I feel like an actor preparing to go onstage and give the performance of my career, and a shiver akin to stage fright snakes along my spine. This is my big moment, when the spotlight will shine upon me, and I’ll perform my greatest service to the Syndicate. I can almost hear the swell of the orchestra, but I will take no satisfaction from praise or the crescendo of applause. My pleasure will be in the event itself, not the glory I might achieve from it. I endure the longest few minutes of my life as I wait for the bell to ring, and when it finally does, my heart gives a little leap of nervous anticipation, but then experience takes over, and I get slowly and calmly to my feet, and prepare to walk onstage.


The Delivery Room is in the basement – fully soundproofed, and accessible only to the highest members of my staff. I walk down the carpeted hallways, and then onto the stone floors of the basement itself, and into the Observation Room. I sit in the large, comfortable armchair, and press a bell to inform my staff that I’m ready to proceed. A few seconds later the doors to the Delivery Room open, and three men enter, carrying the unconscious weight of my new recruit. They place him on the table, and gaze at the mirror questioningly.


“Do you want us to tie him, sir?” One of my assistants asks. I press a button and speak into the microphone in front of me in order to reply.


“When was he anaesthetized?” I ask, and the reply comes back that it was less than three hours ago. He has subsequently been injected with another drug that will keep him unconscious for two more hours, so I have plenty of time. I therefore reject their offers of help, and dismiss them.


This is the time I like best – the time when I have my first few moments alone with a new recruit, to examine him or her, and get to know them a little. I watch Mulder for several seconds, just savoring the fact that he is here, in my clutches, and imagining the joy that lies ahead, for both of us. It’s too dark in the Delivery Room to see as much of him as I’d like, and he does have to be prepared for awakening, so the time has come to touch, and taste, and smell. I open the door between the two rooms, and step into his presence. I can hear his breathing, and observe the soft rise and fall of his chest, and then approach to examine him more closely.


So this is Agent Mulder. I reach out a finger, and touch his face, then gently push a strand of hair away from his forehead. If I didn’t know he was in his late thirties I would have imagined he was much younger. He has a peculiarly beguiling innocence about him in repose – he reminds me of Charles’s assistant in that. That illusion was dispelled the moment Charles’s boy opened his eyes though. I wonder if it will be the same with this young man, or whether he retains that youthful innocence when he is awake. He isn’t beautiful – or at least it isn’t a definable beauty, but he does have the most powerfully arresting face I’ve ever encountered in my career, and that makes me even more excited. His nose is a little too long, and his lower lip is quite pronounced, giving him an almost feminine appearance. I like that about him; the faint aura of sexual ambiguity is fascinating. He’s tall – long limbed, and slender. I’ll be able to assess his body better when I’ve undressed him. He’s still dressed in a crumpled work suit with a ketchup stain on his shirt. I do so hate untidiness. It almost offends me. His dark hair is thick, and very attractive – I run my fingers through it, and caress it for several minutes. There is something almost…familiar about him. Maybe it was simply our destiny to meet in this way, and become known to each other. I wonder whether I’ll be able to bear to part with him when the time comes, or whether he’ll bore me eventually, as all the others have done.


His skin is very soft – unusually so – pale and, I’m sure, very sensitive to the touch, which does not bode well for him. I stroke his cheeks for a while, and then pick up his hands and examine them, kissing his long, expressive fingers. I spend a moment sucking each one, and he tastes delicious; salty but with an earthy, sensuous scent that arouses me even more. This exotic creature shouldn’t be an FBI agent; he should be an artist’s model, or a permanent concubine to some rich patron. I already feel close to this dear, sleeping boy. I can hardly wait to begin, but experience has taught me not to rush, to take each moment slowly, and savor it. I remove his shoes and socks first. Expensive shoes, but very worn, molded by constant use to fit his feet, and be comfortable. His socks surprise me by being mismatched. It’s a small detail – and the differences in shades of navy blue are so slight that a less experienced eye would have missed them. I suspect he has more important things going on in his mind than his socks, although his general appearance shows a good level of self-esteem. He’s well groomed, and possibly even a little vain – he’s certainly impeccably presented apart from the socks. I like that. His suit is expensive, and well tailored, the wool soft beneath my fingertips.


You can tell a lot about a man by the way he expresses himself in his choice of tie – and what interesting clues Mulder’s tie gives us! It’s sludge green, and most unprepossessing, verging on the ugly. It isn’t a novelty tie, or patterned with imaginative swirls. It’s what I would call a red herring tie; carefully designed to throw the casual observer off the scent. It’s not only asking people not to look too closely at him, it’s consciously trying to repel their interest. He is a man of secrets. How delicious it will be finding out just what those secrets are.


I undo the tie, and curl it neatly around my fingers, before dropping it into the plastic bag in which I will store his belongings. He’ll need them again one day, but not for many weeks. I move my fingers down to his belt and remove that as well. It’s a simple belt, plain, and dark, and most interesting in its almost careful lack of decoration. I curl that into a ball and put it next to his tie in the bag. Then I remove his watch. He won’t need to know the time while he’s here. On the contrary – I don’t want him to know. Time will lose all meaning for him in here. Everything will lose meaning for him except me. I’ll be his only reality from now on.


I remove his jacket with more difficulty. He’s a considerable weight but I’ve had a lot of experience of undressing the comatose, so he’s no problem really. I doubt he’ll be this co-operative when he wakes up though! The jacket is neatly folded and placed in the plastic bag with his other belongings. After his jacket comes his shirt, each button slowly, and lovingly undone, until finally it falls loose over his slim frame. I push it aside with eager nudges of my fingers, longing to view his chest and torso. He’s very pleasing; wide shoulders, and beautiful pink-brown nipples. I bend my head and suck each one very gently and carefully into little points, and of course he doesn’t stir. Again that delicious flavor, that scent and taste that is the essential essence of Mulder. It almost makes my head swim. I run the back of my hand over his almost hairless chest, feeling the softness, and warmth of his body. Finally I remove the shirt altogether, and survey him again. He has a runner’s body – or maybe a swimmer’s. Perhaps both. He’s built for speed, rather than stamina, which will have an effect on the strategies I use for breaking him, as well as for the possibilities of what kind of pain he can best endure. His pectorals are nicely developed – I suspect he works out in a gym the way young people do these days. I’m indifferent to the appeal of muscles per se, but his are pleasingly toned – nothing more. Finally I undo his pants, and strip them swiftly from his body, folding and storing them with his other clothing. He is wearing soft, pale gray cotton shorts underneath, which cling in folds to his body, a cross between briefs and boxers, nicely molding his flesh. Comfort is clearly important to him. I remove the shorts as efficiently as I have stripped him of the rest of his clothes, and then inspect his genitalia. He’s nicely hung – as with his upper body he is neither grotesquely over-endowed, nor disappointingly small. His cock has a smoothness that appeals to me. It really does have a very attractive shape and circumference. His pubic hair is dark, and curls around a set of slightly larger ball sacs than I’d anticipated. Frowning, I bend and inspect his testicles more closely, moving aside his cock to gain a better view. Weighing them in my hands, I discover they are definitely heavier than I had expected, and that rather pleases me.


He’s still unconscious, and will be for another hour or so, which gives me plenty of time to make my initial examination. I take a step back, and then circle his body, reaching out a finger to touch here or there, and become more closely acquainted with my beautiful new recruit. Of course the body is not as interesting as the mind, but it’s still the tool by which I gain access to the mind, and his body is most arousing. I can feel my penis harden inside my pants, but my own pleasure will have to wait until he’s awake, and able to appreciate receiving me in his mouth, or ass. Certainly the latter to begin with – it wouldn’t be worth the risk of placing myself in his pretty mouth until I can be sure that he fully appreciates the painful penalties for disobedience, and the need for co-operation. Numerous scars, the worst being on his shoulder, and thigh, blemish his body, and yet, far from repulsing me, they add to my appreciation of him. He has a peculiar grace, even during unconsciousness – ungainly, too long of limb, and yet strangely beautiful at the same time. He’s already fascinating me and he hasn’t even said a word yet.


“So this is the dangerous, willful Agent Fox Mulder,” I murmur, caressing his penis in the palm of my hand. It hardens a little in response to the stimulus, which amuses me. Of course he won’t be allowed much pleasure to begin with; I need to keep that for a reward – and also as a psychological tool in order to show him how much he is in my power, and how his body responds to me now, and not to the commands of his own mind. That is why the first thing I do is bind his cock, and confine it in a small metal cage. He won’t be able to become erect, even if he should feel aroused. His pleasure, like his pain, is completely at my command.


It’s time to restrain him in preparation for his waking. I start with his hands, taking each slender wrist, and wrapping it in a comfortable, fleece-lined plastic cuff. Obviously the word ‘comfortable’ is relative in this instance. The cuff has to be comfortable as he is to be tied in a most uncomfortable position and it won’t be long before he loses sensation in his hands – especially if he struggles. Still the cuffs won’t mark him permanently, which would be a sign of poor handling on my part – very clumsy. When his wrists have been comfortably cuffed, I attach them to the horizontal bar over his chest. They hang loosely, but firmly. He can struggle all he likes but he won’t be able to escape. I turn my attention to his ankles, fastening the plastic cuffs around them, before I reach the fun part. I raise his left leg, and rest it on my shoulder. He weighs a ton, but then I’m not as young as I used to be. I’m sweating and panting before I have his leg fastened where I want it – attached by the cuff to the metal bar above him. I fasten the right leg alongside it, so now the two limbs are spread wide apart, and the most intimate parts of his body are exposed to view. Satisfied, I stand back and survey him again.


He looks beautiful, like a captured animal – maybe his namesake fox – all long limbs, and revealed flesh. His body is flat on the table, and his arms tied above him. His legs are in a ‘V’ shape, wide open, and tied high above his waist. If he relaxes into the position it won’t be too uncomfortable – but struggling causes chafing around the wrists and ankles. Somehow I feel sure he will struggle. They usually do.


It’s time to examine him more intimately. I pull on a latex glove and lubricate my fingers, and then insert one into his rectum. Unconscious, he’s unable to resist, and yet the tightness of his anal opening assures me that he’s a virgin. That’s good. I’ll admit that I like it best if they are, both for physical and psychological reasons. The loss of anal virginity affects men profoundly, and can almost be enough to break some men of and by itself. Physically the first penetration is painful, but psychologically it has an even more profound impact, and I always enjoy it for that reason, even more than the sensation of inflicting pain and distress on my recruits, although I’m fond of that as well. Probing, and the addition of an extra finger, leads me to conclude that he’ll find the process of losing his virginity extremely difficult, but that is of little concern. What is more important is keeping him well lubricated, and taking care to stretch but not cause too much tearing. While I don’t mind inflicting a great deal of pain I wouldn’t want him permanently damaged. I take great pride in ensuring that my trainees are all in perfect condition when they are sent to serve the Elite. We’ll stretch Agent Mulder to make him able to take even the largest of his new masters easily, and without injury. It’s an important part of the training process.


I enjoy probing him for several minutes, stroking his exposed thigh with my free hand while I do so, and then I withdraw, and remove the latex glove, throwing it in the trash. It’s a little stained – he’ll require an enema before his first penetration. With a regretful glance at my watch, I realize that our little ‘getting to know each other’ time is coming to an end, so I perform my final task before he wakes up – I place a thick, padded blindfold over his eyes. It’s a shame to obscure even a small part of that striking face, and I’m dying to see what he looks like awake, with his eyes open, but the blindfold is necessary I think. I do want his disorientation to be complete when he wakes up.


Finally, I give his pale, long limbed body another caress, stroking him fondly, and watch him as he moans softly. He still isn’t awake, but he’s clearly starting to come around. I retire from the room, regretfully, and return to the Observation Room where I can watch his reactions as he comes to.




Mulder opened his eyes…and found that it was still dark. His throat was dry, and his limbs felt heavy. For a moment he assumed he’d fallen asleep on his couch. There was a fog in his head that refused to clear, but it didn’t take him long to realize that something was wrong. Sensation returned to his body in a sudden whoosh, and that was when he became aware that he was tied, and painfully. His arms hurt, and his fingers felt dead. Worse than that, he was naked. He could feel a very slight breeze over his thighs, and knew that he had been stripped, and was being held captive. His first instinct was to struggle – but he fought it. Instead he tried to breathe, and remain calm. He moved his fingers, and then his wrists, to figure out how he was tied, and whether there was any point in fighting the bonds. He soon realized that he was bound far too tightly to make it worth his while making what would only be a token, and exhausting protest. He concentrated on his legs, the blood rushing to his face in horrified humiliation as he realized that they were tied spread open above his body. He tried to close them, but found that impossible. A wave of claustrophobia combined with fear washed over him, and he smelled his own frightened, acrid scent in the air, but still he wouldn’t struggle. He blinked behind the blindfold, and moistened his lips with his tongue. The darkness was pressing in on him, and his mind desperately wanted to panic. Only the strength of his will kept him from giving in to that panic. Somehow he was sure it wouldn’t do him any good. He needed clarity of thought right now. He tried to recall how he had been brought here, searching for clues to his predicament. He remembered the mall, and his car – and something being placed over his face. Even so, he’d be missed. They wouldn’t be able to keep him long. Tomorrow morning at work he’d be missed…Scully would find him. Scully and Skinner. Together they’d find him, all he had to do was stay calm, and co-operate with his captors and they would…his heart sank as another memory came back to him. Nobody was expecting him at work tomorrow. He had a one-week vacation. Nobody would even begin looking for him for a week. A lot could happen in a week. He was acutely aware of his legs being open, his ass exposed to the world, and a low moan escaped from his lips. He wondered for the first time if he was being watched, if his captors were nearby. If so, they hadn’t spoken, and were keeping very quiet. He took a deep breath, and then tried to remain as silent as possible, listening for the sound of another person’s breathing. Nothing. There was no sound at all. He was alone. He let out his breath and concentrated on trying to rub his blindfold against his arm, to loosen it a fraction, but soon found it an impossible task. Exhausted by even that small contortion, he banged his head back on the surface he was lying on, and tried to regroup.


The silence covered him like a shroud. He could be dead. He might be dead very soon. He had read enough reports of criminally insane behavior to know that he could very well be the victim of a serial killer. Certainly the way he had been tied seemed to suggest that his captor had a sexual motive so it was unlikely that he was being held by one of his enemies. Mulder lay very still, fighting the sheer terror that threatened to overwhelm and paralyze him. This was the worst, the not knowing…at least if he knew… He became used to the sound of his own breathing, and the steady thump of his frightened heart, beating too fast. He could feel goose bumps rising on his flesh – he was a little cold, but he suspected that was more from shock than anything else because the room was pleasantly warm. After a while he decided that he had played this game for long enough – the darkness was pressing in on him, almost hurting him with its intensity, and he needed some relief. He opened his mouth, tentatively, and licked his lips again.


“Why did you bring me here?” he croaked, his throat too dry to form the words properly. He swallowed hard and tried again. “Release me,” he demanded. Nothing. Silence for a long time. “What do you want from me?” He tried again but there was still no response. Dispirited, he allowed his head to slump back once again, and tried to remember to breathe as deeply as possible. His continued captivity was starting to make his wrists and ankles ache. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could tolerate being in this position. A thought occurred to him. Supposing nobody came? Supposing he was left here to die? Slowly. Terrifyingly. Surely. Dying in his own excrement and urine…Urine. His cock ached…and he struggled to comprehend why. He couldn’t make sense of what had been done to his cock – it hurt, just a little, and it didn’t feel right. There was something touching it – no, something around it. Damn but if he wasn’t wearing this blindfold…another wave of sweat broke out on his skin as he considered the full horror of not even knowing what had been done to his own body. Not even being able to see what had been done.


The silence now had an oppressive weight of its own. Mulder gulped for air, but still refused to give in to pointless struggle. He dangled…and waited. His overactive mind processed the information it had access to, and he tried, desperately, to form some kind of hypothesis for what was happening to him. He needed a reason why. It didn’t make sense to him that somebody would tie him in this position and not stay close to see his reaction on waking. Only a sexual sadist would tie somebody like this, and such a person would want to spend time with their victim…maybe they already had. Mulder bit down hard on his lip as he considered how he must have been stripped, and tied…maybe he had already been violated in some way…and yet…most deviants liked to observe their victims, and relish their discomfort, and he could imagine the first moments of waking would be particularly arousing to the kind of sick bastard who would think of tying him like this in the first place.


“Have you watched for long enough?” He asked, in a normal, everyday voice, not allowing his fear to be evident in his tones. “You have me tied up, and at your mercy. You’ve seen my initial reaction. I’m awake and I know you’re looking at me.”


More silence. He closed his eyes, and tried to compose himself. Sleep was impossible, but intellectually he knew that he had no choice but to surrender himself to this experience. There was no way out. There was no point in fruitless struggle. He had to accept, for now at least, that he was at someone else’s mercy, and that his future was not in his own control. He had to accept that, and remain vigilant, waiting for a hint of weakness, or a chance of escape. He concentrated on his breathing again, dozens of images running through his mind. He could see Scully, smiling at him from the doorway of his office, and Skinner, standing in the cold directing an operation, holding a cell phone to his ear, a distracted look on his face, his warm breath steaming the air. They would find him. They would save him. He would be rescued. They were the only two people in the world that he trusted…and they had sent him on vacation. They had sent him to this…


“No!” He took a deep breath and for the first time struggled against the cuffs that were keeping him bound. A wave of panic overtook him, and he writhed helplessly, his wrists and ankles chafing against their bonds.


“Agent Mulder.” A voice beside him made him jump, but there was nobody there. He knew there was nobody there! He could sense no body heat, could hear no breathing, and there had been no sound of footsteps. Damn this blindfold! “Agent Mulder, please calm down. You’ve shown admirable restraint so far. Struggling is pointless.”


“Then untie me,” he replied quickly. He heard a wry chuckle in his ear, but he could swear there was nobody there. He moved his head, trying to sense another body nearby.


“You don’t give the orders here, Agent Mulder. On the contrary, you obey them.”


“You haven’t given me any orders. I’ll do whatever you want, just untie me,” he replied.


“Not yet.”


“What do you want from me?” He asked. “Why did you abduct me like this? I’ll be missed…” His voice hitched as he said that, none too sure that it was true.


“Will you?” That calm, detached voice questioned.


“I’ll be missed when I don’t show up at work,” Mulder argued.


“You’re on vacation. You withdrew a sum of money from an ATM earlier this afternoon. You have a history of running off without leaving notes or even informing your partner of your whereabouts. Why should you be missed? They won’t even begin looking for you for a week.”


The word ‘begin’ chilled Mulder to his soul, and another wave of terrified sweat broke out on his naked body. It was true. He had to endure a week before anybody would even know he was missing. And a week of what?


“What do you want?” he asked, his voice croaking in his dry throat.


“Ah, it would be easier if I wanted something tangible, like information, wouldn’t it?” That maddeningly calm voice chuckled. “I’m afraid I don’t want information, Agent Mulder. What I want is you.”


“You’ve already got me,” Mulder pointed out, clanging the metal rings of his cuffs against the bar above him.


“Physically, yes. I want what’s inside you, Agent Mulder. You’ve been causing the people I work for some…consternation.”


“And who would that be?” Mulder asked, craning his neck, longing to be able to see.


“You know the answer to that already. Suffice it to say that they’ve had enough. They don’t want to kill you, Agent Mulder. You’re too valuable, and they have no objection to you continuing to do your work – under our guidance of course. You’ve been allowed to run wild for too long. They’re bringing you in from the cold.”
“I don’t know what the fuck you mean,” Mulder retorted angrily.


“Yes you do. You are our creature, Agent Mulder. You belong to us. We’re just bringing you in for an attitude adjustment. I’m going to explain a little of what will happen to you, so you can understand what’s expected of you while you’re my guest.”


“Guest?” Mulder inquired ironically.


“You don’t like the accommodation?” The voice sounded peeved. “Oh dear. It can be changed – but first we have to see a real commitment from you.”


“Go to hell.” It was a mindless, pointless protest. He knew that. It didn’t even make him feel better but he had to say it.


“Ah. Well, that’s not quite the commitment I had in mind,” the voice chuckled. “All right, Agent Mulder, let me explain things to you. I don’t want anything from you – nothing you can say, or do, will stop your pain, or what will be done to you. There are no magic words, no answers. What is happening is out of your control. You’ll beg, and you’ll even volunteer information that you think will help your case. You’ll plead, and you’ll cry. You’ll appeal to my better nature but you can save yourself the trouble; I have none. There is no easy way out of your current predicament, but there is light at the end of the tunnel. When I’m through with you, then you’ll be released – and you’ll be a much happier man. All the uncertainties will be gone, taken away from you. You’ll be ours from then on. You see, Agent Mulder…”


He heard a door open, and the man’s voice moved from beside his ear to the other side of the room. It was disorienting. He lifted his head in the direction of the soft footsteps.


“We have only your best interests at heart,” the voice said, coming close now. Mulder knew that his tormentor was standing right beside him.


“That must be why you’ve got me trussed up like a fucking chicken,” he commented.


“That’s right. Nobody said the path to happiness was easy,” his captor chuckled. “There is only one significant thing that will happen here in the next few weeks, Agent Mulder, and that is that I will break you.”


It was said so simply, and it caused a chill to run up Mulder’s spine, and another wave of desperate sweat to break out on his naked flesh.


“Ah. Goosebumps.”


Mulder let out a surprised shout as he felt a finger on his arm, running the length of it from shoulder to wrist.


“I can see that last statement had an impact, Agent Mulder.”


“I’m sure that was your intention, wasn’t it?” Mulder growled back.


“No, it was simply a statement of fact. I’ve broken dozens of young men and women, Agent Mulder, and you’ll be no different. You’ll come to love me eventually. They all do. Oh, they’re scared of me of course, but they love me as well. You’ll love me.”


“I don’t think that’s fucking likely,” Mulder spat. “Ow!” He gave a cry of pain as something lashed down on his unprotected thigh.


“This is your whip, Agent Mulder. It’s yours and yours alone. I’ll use it whenever I feel like it, but there are ways you can avoid it. Swearing or cussing at me is guaranteed to make me a little irritated, so you might like to keep that in mind.”


“I don’t fucking care what irritates you,” Mulder ground out, and flinched immediately, waiting for the next blow.


“You should,” that voice purred in his ear. A second later the whip cracked in the air again, and striped him across his chest. He gave a hoarse shout of sheer pained outrage. “Let me explain,” his captor said patiently. “The people I work for are great men and women. They have sacrificed themselves, and their happiness, for the rest of us. It is only right, and fair, that they receive something in return. They do lonely work – and need some respite, and the comfort of willing bodies.” There was silence for a moment.


“You mean you run a whorehouse,” Mulder observed. He didn’t expect the lash and when the whip descended again, this time across his upper thighs, he gasped for breath, sobbing in pain.


“Not a whorehouse, no. I help train boys and girls to take their place in our Syndicate. I have broken each and every one of them, and when I’m done they are much more fulfilled than they were before. They would’ve led empty, pointless lives without me. I liberated them, Agent Mulder, as I will liberate you.”


“By turning me into some kind of prostitute?” Mulder laughed. It was absurd. “Look, in case you don’t know, I’m crap in the sack. I don’t have lovers. The last time I went to bed with someone she was after my blood, not my cock. I’m a lousy lay.”


“That’s because nobody has unlocked your potential,” the voice purred in his ear, and Mulder felt a wave of nausea in the pit of his stomach.


“I have trouble getting it up,” Mulder admitted frankly. “I’ll be useless for what you have in mind.”


“When I’ve finished with you you’ll become erect on order – not that it would matter if you weren’t. Your ass will be in great demand among the Elite, and I’ll make sure they all get to try our latest recruit,” his captor said in a tone of vicious glee. Mulder shivered.


“Don’t…” he whispered.


“You’re afraid.”


“Yes. I’m sane. Any sane person would be afraid,” Mulder replied, craning his head in the direction of his captor.


“Well, you do have to endure a good deal before you come to love your captivity,” his tormentor said, “so your fear is justified. Don’t worry though, I’ll be here when you break.”


“That’s so comforting,” Mulder murmured, his whole body convulsing with the need to break free, and escape from this madness.


“Hush.” A finger ran down his body, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake. “Hush, hush, hush.” Cool fingers caressed his skin, and he tried to twist away, revolted by the caress. “You’re a very intriguing man, Agent Mulder. It will be a pleasure to break you.”


“Oh, the pleasure will be all yours, I assure you,” Mulder snapped.


“I’m sure you’re expecting some rules, and strictures. There aren’t any. You will simply take what I give until you break, and then we’ll see about releasing you,” his captor told him. He felt fingers on his ass, and then they were penetrating him.


“Shit, NO!” He cried, writhing in his bonds.


“Hush, hush…” He was soothed, as if he were a child. “It’s merely preparation, Agent Mulder. I’m not going to penetrate you just yet – I’m saving that for later.”


“You fucking bastard!” he screamed at the top of his voice, and the next thing he knew the whip had sliced across his chest, biting deep.


“Be quiet. Here.” A cup was placed against his lips and he drank deeply, thankfully, eager to ease his sore, dry throat, but the next thing he knew he was spinning dizzily into the darkness and he knew he’d been drugged.


He awoke on his front. His arms had been pulled out sideways, and were tied firmly. His legs were still spread but not by the bar this time, by something else, and by tighter bonds. He was completely immobile.


“First of all punishment for disobedience, then the enema in preparation for our first moment of intimacy,” a voice said in his ear. He tried to struggle again but he was bound too tightly. He felt the whip rest against his ass, and then it was lifted and brought down to imprint its fiery kiss deep into the flesh on his butt. He gave a hoarse scream, but the whip rose and fell inexorably, and his tormentor took no notice of his cries. Finally, exhausted and dripping sweat, he rested his head on the table, and bit down hard into the vinyl surface. The whipping continued, but he barely felt it. His mind was humming too much with pain. When it finished, he didn’t notice at first, but then he became aware of something hard pressing into his ass. He clenched his buttocks tightly together, and then roared out loud as his captor slapped his ravaged flesh. The enema bulb was pushed deep inside, and he felt warm water flood into his bowels. He had an urge to squat, and expel the fluid. The table was lifted, and he found himself in an upright position. He felt his butt being held against a bowl and he screamed, and tried to fight, but his body was his own enemy, and soon he was defecating into the bowl, all the time screeching his defiance. The process was repeated, and his arms hurt too much in their bonds to struggle. He hung, limply, and allowed it to happen, and then suffered the indignity of being hosed down, as if he were some kind of dog. Finally the table was returned to a horizontal position, and he was dried with a rough towel. He closed his eyes, fighting the humiliation of what was being done…what was about to be done to him, without his consent, against his will.


“All right, you’re clean. Now, I want you to relax, and enjoy what I have planned for you,” his captor said and Mulder laughed out loud, a bitter, outraged laugh.


“Enjoy…? You’re going to fucking rape me,” he growled.


“Oh no. You and I are going to enjoy a special moment together. I hope you remember this moment as much as I will. I always enjoy the first coupling – it’s the moment when I first get to know my new recruit, to fully experience and taste him or her with complete intimacy. I like the way that feels, and I like the knowledge that they are subdued to my touch, and mastery. It’s a beautiful moment.” The voice sounded almost dreamy. Mulder shuddered. He felt something slippery enter his ass, and guessed it was his captor’s finger, probing him. He clenched his muscles around the intruder, and then cried out as his sore ass was slapped once again. “It’s going to happen whether you resist or not,” the voice said in his ear.


“Fuck you,” he spat.


“No, Agent Mulder. It’s you who is going to be fucked,” his captor laughed. “This is a special table – cut away in the center, your legs tied to each separate surface, so I can walk between your outstretched thighs, and have access to your anus. See.” He could feel the wool of the other man’s pants on the tender flesh of his open thighs and felt sick as he realized his captor was standing between his legs. “All right, time to begin. Hold still.” He could do nothing else, as he felt warm, wet lips on his sore ass, licking, and kissing him. A cold sweat broke out on his back. “Hush.”


The playing went on for what seemed like hours. Little kisses, and nibbling bites, like a lover, but in a twisted parody of any kind of love.


“Beautiful…you’re lovely. I like the way you taste,” the other man said. “I might have to taste you more often. A little bite here or there…” he sank his teeth into Mulder’s back and the agent screamed. “Good boy. Let it all out. I’m sure you have a lot to scream about. I’m sure you’ve led a difficult life. We can change that now. Hush…let us become one, and then you can scream some more as you come to understand your new duties. It’s cathartic. Give in to it,” the voice soothed, and cajoled, and Mulder ground his face into the surface of the vinyl table, tears running down his cheeks. He heard the sound of a zipper being undone, and then a sigh of pleasure. “Ah, if you could see how hard you’ve made me, Agent Mulder. I knew you would make me hard, but it’s been a while since I’ve been so aroused by a new recruit. I’m very erect, very eager to enter you, and make you mine. Hush.”


He trembled as hands gently pulled his buttocks apart, and he clenched his rectal muscles tightly closed. Nothing happened. He could feel something hard stroking against his inner thigh and bile rose in his throat as he realized it was the other man’s cock. He screamed again, choking on his own vomit, but nothing was happening. His buttocks were being held open, and the other man was just talking to him. Little words – meaningless, soothing. “All right. I’m going to take my time. We’ll wait a moment. I want you to be calmer before I join us together. I want you to fully appreciate the moment. Psychologically speaking it’s very important. If there’s anything you want to say to me while we’re connected then I’ll give it my best attention. Be as vocal as you like – nobody will hear you scream except me.”


Mulder slumped, exhausted again, every muscle in his body aching. He felt detached, dislocated from time and his own body. This couldn’t really be happening to him. He didn’t believe it was happening. Then there was movement behind him and he flinched, and clenched his ass again.


“It’s okay. I’m just going to lubricate myself. I want to glide in easily. This feels good…” He heard the sound of a hand slapping against flesh, and sliding back and forth. “Of course if you resist me then it’ll be harder on you – I do quite enjoy a fight, but you’re tied too tightly to be able to prevent me gaining access to the very depths of your body. I want to discover the treasure that lies there, deep within. I want to find out what part of you resides there.”


“It’s my fucking ass,” Mulder snapped. “Not a fucking oracle.”


“It’s a beautiful ass. Very red. You have a number of welts – and there will be some bruising in the morning,” his tormentor told him. “All right, time for our first milestone. Hold still, Agent Mulder while I enter you.”


He cried out loud as his buttocks were pulled apart again, and then he felt something hard nudging the entrance of his rectum. He fought it. He fought with all his might, clenching his muscles, and struggling in his bonds for as long as he could, but he failed, just as they had both always known he would. His captor had time. Languidly, he waited for Mulder’s struggles to subside, and when eventually they did, when Mulder put his head down, the sweat liberally dripping from his skin, his captor calmly parted his buttocks again, snubbed his cock into the entrance and pushed. Mulder yelled as that hard cock entered his body. He yelled over and over again but his tormentor didn’t seem to care. The other man paused at regular intervals, until Mulder’s screams had subsided, and then pushed himself in further, just a fraction, going ever so slowly. That first penetration seemed to take forever. Mulder thought he was going to die from the pain as that cock slid inch by inexorable inch into his body until he was sure it could go no further.


“Please stop! Please…take it out…please…” he writhed, crying hoarsely.


“Nonsense. It’s exactly where I want it to be,” the other man said, patting Mulder’s ass. “A little further. You can take more, can’t you?”


It didn’t matter that he screamed that he couldn’t, that he begged for that hard cock to be removed from his ass, the other man continued sliding it into his body until he was stretched so wide, and impaled so deeply, that he wasn’t sure he could breathe.


“Ah, this is good. You feel so good, Agent Mulder. I could stay here forever,” his tormentor purred. “Hold still. That’s good. Let me adjust…”


Mulder gave a shrill shriek as his captor shifted position, his hips gyrating to gain better purchase, and thrust in a little way further.


“Delicious. Very warm. Very tight. In fact you are excessively tight, Agent Mulder. I’m sure there will be a little bleeding but that’s to be expected. Hold on.” A movement of hips backwards, the lessening of that deep, lancing pain, and then it returned, three times as bad, as his torturer thrust his hips forwards. Mulder screamed with each thrust thereafter, until his throat became so dry that no sound came out, only a silent whisper of distress. “I like the first intimacy to take a long time,” the man behind him was saying. Mulder blinked into his blindfold.


“It would be easy to come too soon with you. Very easy. You’re so beautiful, trembling and defiant beneath me. However, I know it’s important for you, mentally, to understand the full importance of what I’m doing to you. I know you need this to last for a considerable amount of time in order to appreciate your position. For your sake I’ll hold on for as long as possible, to increase the sensations, and prolong your current discomfort. Please scream all you like. You’ve gone very silent.”


Mulder tried to wet his dry lips to reply, but found he had nothing left to moisten them with. He put his head on the table with a throaty moan. The other man was lodged deep inside him. He could feel the pulse of his captor’s cock within his ravaged rectum. The other man pounded into him, ruthlessly, over and over again for what seemed like hours, and then, just as he appeared to be reaching a climax, stopped, buried deep in Mulder’s ass, and waited until his climax had receded before starting again. In other circumstances Mulder would have been impressed by his captor’s self control. During these pauses the other man would fawn over him, which he found almost as sickening as the rasping pain of the thrusts. He was shaking uncontrollably, his muscles exhausted by struggling.


“There, this is good. I’m enjoying this. I’m so delighted that you’ve chosen to share your virginity with me, and given me the honor of being the first man you allow into this delicious ass. You have a spectacular body, Agent Mulder. I like the way your muscles move under the skin – very beautiful. And your ass is tight – one of the tightest I’ve encountered, and that feels very good I have to say. We’ll work on you so that you’re more open. What I’ll do, in time, is arrange for you to be visited by a succession of the larger endowed of our clients. I know they’ll appreciate your tightness as I do, but we must make you more welcoming and accepting of your betters. They will wish to use you frequently, I’m sure, knowing your history, and novelty value, to say nothing of your beauty. When you’re trained you’ll just open up for anyone who wants you, but until that time we’ll have to work on you. We need to make this path a little more accessible and easier to travel for even the most casual of visitors, hmm?”


Mulder could smell his own pain it was so tangible. He bit down onto the vinyl of the table again, weeping softly, the tears running down his cheeks.


“It’s not unusual for a new recruit to cry. Please don’t hold back on my account. I enjoy the sound,” his tormentor said, sliding back and forth, rocking into Mulder’s body. “Do you understand a little of the bond we’re building here, Agent Mulder?” he was asked, as his captor paused for breath again, his hard cock deeply embedded in Mulder’s body.


No, Mulder wept silently, but it wasn’t true. He was tied face down on a table while another man brutally raped him, and he could do nothing to prevent it. He knew what was being done, and he knew exactly what kind of twisted bond was being built here.


“What’s happening is that you’re beginning to understand what is required of you. It’s a slow process, but you’re an intelligent man. You’ll become used to feeling me inside you – I’ll be penetrating you frequently, and when I am not in the mood one of my men will take my place. You do need to get used to a variety of people touching you, and entering you, Agent Mulder. I am one of many who will enjoy this tight little hole. You’ll learn to accept it, in time. Eventually you’ll welcome it – when I’ve broken you. And I will break you. You do know that, don’t you?”


It was asked almost conversationally, and Mulder stared into a dark abyss.


“No,” he replied in a shaky whisper, because he had to, but he feared that might not be the truth. He didn’t know the limits of his own strength, and he didn’t know whether he could withstand the daily diet of torture and rape being outlined to him.


“Yes,” his captor said firmly, illustrating the point by a series of vicious thrusts that made Mulder gasp out loud, his fingers opening and closing uselessly as if trying to form a fist to fight with. “At first I find my new recruits very exciting, and can hardly keep my hands off them, so you can expect me to enter you frequently, almost casually for the next few days, maybe even weeks. I do like the intimacy of being part of my new recruit’s body. I like the moments we have alone together, moments of sharing, and deepening our bond. There now, hush. I’ve said you can cry. Cry, Agent Mulder.” And he did. He convulsed against the table, the tears falling onto the vinyl surface of the table, and washing salt water over his dried, cracked lips. “There, my dear boy. What a lifetime of sorrow you must have in those tears. Cry it all out. Cry it out.”


Mulder gave into the wave of desolation as his captor slowly ground himself into his body over and over again, stroking him as he did so, speaking to him, and comforting him, inflicting the pain and offering platitudes against it at one and the same time. The other man seemed almost excited by Mulder’s tears, and his thrusts grew more urgent until he came, with an energetic grunt of satisfaction. Mulder felt warm semen, or maybe blood, dripping down his thighs, and cried deep into the smooth surface of the table. His captor seemed in no hurry to withdraw, and kept his limp cock embedded inside his prone victim as he leaned over Mulder, licking the sweat from his naked back, and continued stroking his ass and thighs with cool hands.


Mulder cried out as the other man finally withdrew. He felt more warm liquid trickling down his thighs. For all he knew he’d wet himself. He didn’t know what was happening to his own body. He didn’t even know the face of the man who had just savagely stripped him of his dignity and humanity so completely. He lay exhausted on the table, and didn’t even move when his ass was opened again, but he cried out as a cool, lubricated finger was pushed into his sore rectum.


“Hush, my dear boy.” His bottom received a pat, and then a suppository was pushed into him, and he felt it melt inside his rectum. “That will help fight any infections. I would give you something for the pain but I really need you to experience your discomfort to its fullest extent right now. Later on I might be more merciful, but you’ll have to earn pain relief, like everything else. I’m going to leave you to get some rest now. I’ll turn the temperature up a little as you’re shivering – you won’t be allowed any material to cover you for now. We must keep this beautiful body on display at all times. It would be a crime to hide it from view.”


Another pat on his ass, and then he felt lips on the side of his face but he was too exhausted and traumatized to move away from the lingering kiss. He accepted the vile caress, but it was only when he heard footsteps moving away, the opening of a door, and soft closing of it, that he gave in, finally, to the full depths of his misery. He lay in a silent, choking spasm of distress that was as wordless as it was deep. He choked up his own soul, and found, in the darkness, no solace.




That all went very well. I love his reactions! The way my new recruits react on first waking tells me such a lot about them, and his veneer of calm, his attempts to stay quiet, to think his predicament through…all speak of a strong will, and a personality that refuses to surrender to the obvious. He is truly beautiful, mind and body. When he did finally struggle, it was with the will and desperation of a man with too much imagination, or maybe knowledge, garnered from his years in the Bureau. He knew what would very likely happen to him and his fear was real, tangible, but never enough to overwhelm that multi-faceted mind of his. I can’t tell you how refreshing I find him. Most of my new recruits have struggled and screamed their heads off upon waking to find themselves naked, and tied, in the Delivery Room. Few have just waited, or attempted conversation with me. He’s going to be such a delight! Honestly, if I were a cartoon character I’d be rubbing my hands together in gleeful anticipation right now. I so long to find out more about him! A less patient man, or one with less experience, would go straight back in there to continue, but that would be a mistake. He needs this time of quiet reflection, to come to terms with what has been so brutally and easily done to him. That, I think, will be what eats at him – how easily the veneer of dignity and liberty can be stripped from a man. With that realization will come the knowledge of how hard an adversary I will be. I took something precious from him without hesitation, or compassion for his suffering. That will prey on his mind. He’ll consider engaging me in conversation, attempting to understand me, in a kind of reverse manifestation of Stockholm Syndrome, but of course it won’t work. I’m too old and too wily for that, Agent Mulder.


I return to my salon to see to business. Normally I’d take a shower, but you know, I don’t want to wash the delicious scent of him from my body. Instead, I sit at my desk and replay that exciting scene over and over again in my mind. It really couldn’t have gone any better. His rebellion, his ability to answer back, even under duress, the sharpness of his mind, combined with the abject surrender of his body to my will…all excite me. The way he said the pleasure would be all mine, his frank admission of his own impotence…I find that intriguing. Many men would die rather than admit their own sexual inadequacy. He fascinates me. What, I wonder, is at the root of his inability to take sexual pleasure? In fact, what is his sexual orientation? Until I saw him, I just assumed he was another heterosexual G-Man, clumsy and clueless, in need of considerable tuition to make him pleasing to my clients, male and female. What I found was a very different class of recruit. Someone locked inside a body that refuses to respond to stimuli, someone sexually blocked. I’ll enjoy unblocking him. What am I to make of his strange sexual ambiguity as well? He was certainly a virgin and clearly hasn’t lead a vigorous homosexual lifestyle, and yet… I’m getting ahead of myself, but I can’t help it. Imagine his horror, and the profound implications on his psyche, when he discovers that I can bring him to an orgasm that he cannot achieve by himself – when he finally realizes that in this place not even his own body is his to command. Delicious. I was right to eschew the files; unpeeling him layer by layer will be so much more exciting.


A few hours are all he needs to recover and ponder. I return to the Delivery Room around the early hours of the morning when all the clients have been safely dispatched to rooms with their respective trainees. Fox – such an appropriate name – is lying still on the table. His limbs are long, and white in the dimly lit room, and he’s quiet. He isn’t sobbing, or in any obvious distress. I would have been called if he was – I keep my new recruits under observation at all times. Instead he is just lying where he was left, a little pool of semen mingled with blood smearing his ass and thighs. He isn’t sleeping though. He tenses when I come in, and lifts his head.


“Ah, you’re awake, Agent Mulder.”


“Did you seriously expect me to sleep?” He asks, still defiant.


“It would have been wise. You should sleep whenever you can – we do intend to put you to fairly vigorous use during your breaking, so you’ll need to recoup your physical energy whenever the opportunity presents itself.”


“Why are you doing this?” His voice carries such abject despair that it’s heart-warming. I go to his head, gently stroke his hair, and am rewarded when he flinches. I merely continue fondling him, almost feeling the heat of his revulsion through his skin.


“I’m doing this because you need to be taken away from yourself, to start again, with a clean slate. I can give you that clean slate, Fox.”


He stiffens at my use of his first name. “You don’t like your name? Or you don’t like me using it?” I ask him.


“Both,” he says in a low, tense tone.


“Well I could call you something else – would that help? Agent Mulder is too formal for lovers, I think.”


“What?” He chokes.


“Lovers,” I purr, pressing my lips to the side of his face, and trailing them down the tear streaked skin. “That’s what we became earlier this evening. Our bodies were joined together.”


“That was rape,” he states flatly.


“No, my darling, it was a beautiful, delicious intimacy – the first of many – and there was an almost spiritual intensity to it,” I murmur. I wet my index finger and thumb, reach under his chest, and gently pinch a nipple between them. “Surely you felt it too?”


“No, I fucking didn’t,” he chokes, and I squeeze tight, causing him to tense in his bonds, a cry struggling for release from between his lips.


“We still haven’t resolved the problem of your name.” I take the whip down from above the table and stroke his exposed body thoughtfully, raising goose bumps in the wake of my caress. “Did you have a nickname as a child?”


“I don’t fucking remember,” he snaps, and my whip cracks down almost immediately over his exposed back. He sobs, gasping for breath. “I don’t remember,” he repeats, in a soft, strangulated whisper.


“I’d like to call you by a name you’ve chosen yourself. A name you like.” By giving him this choice, he’ll be able to pour all of himself into his new identity, and pretend this isn’t being done to him but to the entity he has chosen to bear his pain and humiliation. This gives me a weapon over him – when I come to the moment of breaking I’ll identify him so irrevocably with his pseudo-personality that the realization will throw him over the edge. Only he takes the wind out of my sails with his next words.


“Call me Mulder. That’s what everybody calls me.”


“Even lovers?” I ask.


“I don’t have any lovers,” he replies, flatly.


“Mulder is so formal.”


“Then call me Fox if you must.” His tone is weary. “Names don’t matter. I don’t give a fuck what you call me.” And of course I’m forced to whip him again. He screams, his muscles twitching in pain, and when he lowers his head down on the table it’s a gesture of such despair and suffering that I have no choice but to turn his sweaty head and kiss his lips firmly. He gives a low growl, and tries to bite me, but I draw back, sensing his intent, and bring the whip down hard on his body once more. He moans in pain.


“Mulder, I’m going to clean you up. You’ve been lying in this urine, blood and semen for several hours. You look messy,” I tell him bluntly.


“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says in mock contrition, and then he flinches, expecting a blow from the whip that isn’t forthcoming.


“I like my recruits clean,” I tell him, as I adjust the hose. Deciding that a little further discomfort is appropriate, I make sure that the temperature is freezing and then spray him with the water. He gasps, and his back arches as much as it can within his bonds. His flesh turns white, the livid red marks on his back and buttocks standing out pleasingly in contrast. I go slowly, taking great care to wash out his ass as thoroughly as I can, concentrating the spray there, and using my finger to wash inside him. His hair and face are stained with both sweat and tears, so I take some time washing those as well, and after initially turning his head gratefully to quench his raging thirst, he then starts to choke and shake his head to try to escape from the jet of water, but this is merely another indication that he must submit to my training methods and accept that he has lost control of himself.


Finally, I dry him with a large towel, taking my time, caressing and fondling him. When I’ve finished I inspect his rectum. He’s red and sore, but there’s no real tearing to worry about – I resolve that he must be penetrated again while he’s in an appropriate condition to endure it. I am very careful about tearing as it interrupts the training process, so it’s a matter of professional pride to me to be able to get a penetration just right, and I certainly succeeded on this occasion.


“All right, Mulder. I’m going to untie you from the table.” But first I’m going to ensure his co-operation once he’s free. I fasten a belt around his waist, and attach his wrist cuffs to it, thus preventing him from hitting out. Then I undo his restraints and help him to sit up. He does this slowly, cautiously, and I know he’s feeling considerable discomfort. “Hush, Mulder. That’s it,” I say encouragingly, as he hisses in pain. I place my hands on his shoulders and kiss his forehead softly, and he tries to lean away from me, but can’t escape. Then I undo the cage and binding around his cock, allowing his genitals to swing free, which is really very pleasing. “Now, you’ve been very brave, so it’s time for your reward.”


“Don’t tell me, you’re letting me go,” he says ironically, and I laugh.


“Not yet, no. You aren’t broken yet, Mulder. No, but I am going to take you to a place where there is no pain, and where you can say what you like without worrying about the whip. Come with me.”


I attach a length of chain to the belt around his waist, and tug him off the table. He lands awkwardly, unable to see, and not yet able to trust me to lead him. His body has been tied and abused, and he’s in shock, so his muscles aren’t exactly lively either. I give him time to get used to the flow of blood in his legs, and then pull him slowly towards the door.


“You have to learn to trust me, Mulder,” I tell him gently. “I promise that I will always lead you carefully and you will never have to be afraid to take the next step.”


“Yeah. Right,” he snorts, feeling the way with his foot, and I sigh, as if in profound disappointment.


“I mean it. While walking blindfolded, on the end of a chain, you’ll always be guided with utmost precision. You’ll have to allow yourself to trust me.” My repetition of the word ‘trust’ is deliberate. “Now just relax and follow on behind.”


He pointedly ignores my injunction, and continues to feel his way with his feet as we walk, but he’ll learn that it’s a waste of energy. I will always guide him safely. I walk him along the basement, up into the main part of the building, and along the carpeted floors to the salon. I guide him inside, and then instruct him to stand still, while I summon my dutymen to stand guard just inside the door, before dimming the light so that it won’t hurt his eyes. That accomplished, I turn back to my beautiful captive, and seat him in an armchair over at the far side of the room. Then I unclip his wrists from his belt, and remove his blindfold. I’ve played with his body – now it’s time to play with his mind.




Mulder blinked in surprise as his blindfold was whisked away from his eyes. It took him several minutes to grow accustomed to the soft lighting, and then to take in the details of the room. He was sitting in a tastefully patterned, faintly worn, comfortable armchair. The room was decorated like something from a Victorian men’s club, complete with darkly elegant wallpaper, and plush, burgundy carpeting. There were paintings on the walls, including some that he was sure on closer inspection would prove to be originals and worth a considerable sum of money. Tall pot plants splayed fronds of green leaves against the walls. It was all neat and uncluttered and yet somehow also curiously fussy. Finally his eyes rested on the man sitting on the couch opposite, a couch positioned – deliberately he was sure – by the fire, blocking any of the heat from reaching Mulder.


The man who sat there was older than he had expected. Exquisitely elegant, dressed in a pale blue shirt with a cravat tied at a precise angle around his scrawny neck. He was tall, and very thin, his fingernails immaculately manicured, his thick, lustrous white hair set with lacquer. But it was his eyes that drew Mulder. The man’s eyes were the most beautiful he had ever seen – deep blue, almost violet in hue, vivid, intense, and chillingly, shockingly cold. Like diamonds: beautiful and yet icily indifferent. Mulder took a sharp intake of breath at finding those dazzling, gleaming orbs fixed so purposefully on him. In another time and place it might have been flattering to be the object of such focused attention, but instead it made him shiver. That was when he became aware, with a wave of sickening humiliation, that his own nakedness was in stark contrast to the fact that the three other occupants of the room were fully dressed. Mulder felt his scrotum contract, as if trying to crawl back inside his body. He covered his genitals with his hands, almost instinctively, and then realized just how futile a gesture that was after the way he had been tied and raped earlier. The action had been almost reflexive, but it was also pointless. Mulder’s eyes flickered over to the two men by the door, and then back again, deeming them unimportant – mere thugs. The only person in this room he needed to worry about was the man sitting on the couch regarding him with such interest from those glittering, inhuman eyes. Mulder hurt. He knew that at some point he would have to deal with what had been so brutally done to him just a few hours earlier, but right now it was his very survival that was in question, and some part of his mind had taken over and was blocking out emotion, panic, and the implications of his own rape, and was just trying to keep him alive.


“You must be hungry – and thirsty.” That voice, emanating from the scrawny man opposite, dispelled any doubts he might have had that this was not his tormentor. Mulder was surprised by the hiss of recognition that rose to his lips. So this was the man who had raped and beaten him? This emaciated, graceful, bird-like figure?


“Please, help yourself.” The man pointed at a small table beside Mulder, upon which, incongruously, was balanced a parody of some elegant Bostonian tea drinking ritual. There was a patterned china cup, a teapot, a plate of sandwiches, milk, lemon, a bowl of sugar, and a selection of small cakes. Mulder looked at the proffered meal, and laughed. His captor raised an eyebrow, and sipped from his own bone china cup.


“You can eat as much as you like in this room,” he said. “I suggest you make the most of it. This is the only place where you will be offered food, and you’ll need to keep your strength up.”


“So that you can keep on raping me?” Mulder asked. “Thank you but I don’t need to be conscious for that. I’ll happily starve myself if it’ll give me oblivion.”


His captor surprised him by merely smiling. “A little weight loss won’t do you any harm. I only eat sparingly myself – I find it keeps my senses alert. You’d have to starve yourself for quite some time to reach the level of oblivion necessary to avoid noticing your own penetration, Mulder.”


“You are evil – you do know that, don’t you?” Mulder asked in a tone of some wonder. It had been bad enough being tied down, raped, and beaten by a disembodied voice, but being able to see the man who was hurting him in this way, being able to put a face to the voice, sitting in this room as if he wasn’t being tortured half to death…that was what made it really chilling. He glanced down at his body, as if expecting to find it changed in some way, but apart from the occasional welt and bruise he was remarkably untouched.


“I’m very skilled. I know how to maximize pain while minimizing actual bodily harm. We do intend for you to be pleasing to our clients after all – and whip marks and scar tissue generally aren’t considered very pretty.” His captor smiled.


“I can hardly imagine that your clients will be particularly interested in me,” Mulder said with a shrug. “I’d have thought they’d prefer someone with more in the ass and tit department. I’m assuming most of your clients are men?”


“Yes they are, and you’re wrong. Of course there is always demand for the ladies that we provide here, but our clients do a difficult job and sometimes need to let off more steam…and boys are more appropriate to their mood. There’s no stigma here to enjoying the services of boys, and men in high-powered jobs are notorious for needing sexual stimulation of a more varied kind. We offer all kinds of facilities.” The man took another sip of his tea, his face bearing an expression of what Mulder could only define as professional pride.


“Boys?” Mulder questioned. “I’m hardly that. I can’t believe your ‘clients’,” he inclined his head at the word, “would find someone pushing forty, and scarred by gunshot wounds, remotely interesting.”


“You do yourself a disservice.” The other man reached out for a sandwich, and took a small bite, chewing thoughtfully. Mulder’s mouth started to water. “You are an exceptionally attractive man, with a very pleasing body. Not only that, but you have a certain novelty value. Our clients will seek you out because you are the infamous Fox Mulder, a man they will undoubtedly have had fantasies about subduing. I predict that you will be extremely popular.”


Mulder closed his eyes momentarily, fighting the many aches and pains in his own body, and trying to dismiss the image of himself that the other man had just painted. Reduced to a fuck toy, a means by which his enemies took revenge on him, as well as reduced to an object, a piece of meat, something without will, or reason. It was such a negation of self that it made him want to be physically sick.


“My dear boy, you look faint. Take a sip of tea,” his captor advised.


Mulder opened his eyes again and stared at the other man numbly. “Fuck you,” he said. He didn’t know what he expected, but he flinched anyway, remembering the impersonal, biting fire of the lash back in the darkness. This time there was no reprisal. Instead his rapist merely laughed at his obvious anticipation of pain.


“There’s no punishment here, Mulder. You can say whatever you like in this room. This is your respite, where you can drink, and eat, and talk without censure or interruption.”


“Why?” Mulder asked blankly. His captor smiled, smugly. “Who are you?” Mulder questioned desperately. “Why are you doing this to me? You can’t think you’ll get away with this. You’ll need more than one fucking week to break me.” His voice hitched and he realized he had given away a pawn in the psychological game of chess that had become his life. He had implied that he was capable of being broken, given time, and to be honest, he believed that was the case. He was sure that anybody could be broken with the right degree of pressure. “In a week, Scully will start looking for me,” he stated, trying to cover up his error.


“Scully. Is she the person you want to find you?” his captor asked.


Mulder frowned. What the hell kind of question was that? “I don’t give a fuck who finds me, I just want to see your sorry ass locked up in prison and the key thrown in the ocean,” he snapped.


“Well that’s unlikely to happen. I’m far too well protected, and of course I know too much to ever end up in prison.” The other man smiled, smugly. “Now, you asked who I am. My name is Laurence but you will call me ‘sir’.”


“I don’t fucking think so,” Mulder snorted.


Laurence smiled. “In time you will. Now, I asked you a question and I’m intrigued by the answer. Are you sure you don’t know who you’d like to come charging to your rescue?” Mulder stared uncomprehending at the other man, his mind trying to keep up with the dizzying sweeps of logic required to fight his corner, and resist this ‘breaking’ process for all he was worth.


“I just want to go home,” he said, surprising even himself by the way his voice broke as he said that last word. Laurence looked up, his eyes luminous with some kind of weirdly inappropriate compassion.


“Of course you do, and you will, just as soon as we’re done,” he said sympathetically. “We have no wish to tear you from your life irrevocably, Mulder. This is simply to render you more amenable to us, and our objectives. There may be a time when we require your co-operation, and when that time comes we must ensure that you are one of us, and not standing outside in the cold, where you’ll be so alone. We want to bring you inside, to take care of you, and keep you warm, and safe. When you leave here you’ll be one of us, Mulder. You won’t be alone any more.”


Mulder stared, helplessly at the other man. What could he say? How could he even begin to understand the kind of twisted mind that talked this way? He closed his eyes and thought for a moment. Despite his ordeal he was still relatively strong right now. The longer he stayed, the weaker he would become. The man opposite was old, and thin – he could be easily overpowered. The men by the door were a more serious problem, but if their master was threatened, then maybe they could be forced into releasing Mulder. He had nothing to lose by attempting to escape. He had already been raped and beaten. The worst they could do was to repeat the process and it seemed likely that they would do that anyway, despite the incongruously polite unreality of the tea party he was currently attending. Mulder made his decision swiftly, and was on his feet before he even opened his eyes. His ravaged body didn’t let him down, and with three steps he was across the room, his right hand had grabbed a knife from a plate as he passed, and he was holding it pressed against a scrawny throat. The guards had moved into a position of alertness, but were clearly well trained enough to do nothing without instruction.


“Don’t be silly, Mulder,” Laurence chided him, as if remonstrating with a small child. “They have guns – and you have a sandwich knife. It’d take you several minutes to make any impact on my flesh with that – by which time you’d be lying on the floor with a bullet hole in your leg. They’d take care not to kill you of course. We’d simply patch you up and then continue where we left off. Now do please take your hands off me, dear boy, so that we can continue our conversation.”


“Not fucking likely.” Mulder tightened his grip around the slender throat, glancing around wildly, and was surprised when a sharp, pointed elbow thudded deeply between his ribs, winding him. He struggled to regain control of the situation, but his grasp had been weakened, and Laurence was stronger than he looked. The older man stepped back purposefully onto Mulder’s bare foot, and in the resulting confusion slipped free of him, and stepped almost casually out of reach, leaving him standing naked, clutching a dinner knife, and facing the prospect of retribution. It was at that point that Mulder lost it. He gave a bellow of sheer fear and frustration and hurled himself towards the men at the door, scrabbling desperately for escape. His fear lent him real strength, and he even managed to half open the door, before he was overpowered and disarmed. Even then he didn’t give up. He became like his namesake fox, caught in a trap, and spat, bit, hollered and hissed as he struggled in their grasp, inflicting real damage on them, aiming to gauge out their eyes with his fingernails, and bite into their flesh with his teeth. He didn’t stop fighting for several minutes, not even when Laurence called for reinforcements. It was only when he was lying on the floor, being sat on by six strong men that he finally gave up, and all the adrenaline drained from his body, leaving him a defeated, naked, humiliated huddle of flesh on the carpet.


“This is most inconvenient,” Laurence was fussing, as if he’d just spilled his tea down his cravat and was lamenting the dry cleaning bill. “I really wanted to talk and get to know you a little better. All right, so be it. Take him back.” Through a sea of bodies, Mulder caught a glimpse of his tormentor surveying him regretfully as he was lifted. A blindfold was placed over his eyes, and he was carried back down to the room where he had been raped. He knew when they arrived from the smell of sex, fresh water, and fear that hung in the air. He gave another token struggle at that point, wanting more than anything not to be tied, but it happened anyway.


His wrist cuffs were fastened to a metal bar, and then, much to his terror, the bar was raised, and he was hauled upright until he was barely standing on tiptoe. Then he was tied flat against a post.


“Bring me his whip,” he heard his captor say, and he cried out in protest before he even felt that trail of fire down his back. The whipping lasted longer than he thought he could endure. Laurence didn’t say a word throughout as that lash rose and fell, painting lines of pure snaking agony across his shoulders, back, and buttocks – even down to his thighs and the back of his knees. Mulder began to scream, more in rage at the indignity and his own inability to escape than anything else. He bellowed in anger, frustration and fear as much as in pain, and it was only when he had moved beyond that, into the shallow numbness of his own torment, that he was silent. He hung on the end of those manacles, staring sightlessly into the darkness of the blindfold, feeling an almost dreamy detachment from everything that was happening to him. When, finally, the beating stopped, he was a lifeless mass of spent muscle, his heaving chest the only sign that he was even alive. His head hung between his shoulders, and he found himself curiously fascinated by the sensation of something trickling down his back and thighs. He thought at first that it was blood, but then it occurred to him that it might merely be sweat. Whatever it was, it was flowing freely down his back and buttocks, and he found himself focusing on each individual trickle, strangely absorbed in their progress. He was dimly aware of footsteps leaving the room, and then he was alone.


Mulder had no idea how long he hung there. It could have been minutes, or hours, or days. He was in limbo, no longer a part of his own body, or suffering. Sweat ran down the sides of his face, and under his blindfold, trickling into his eyes, and he blinked it away, humming softly to himself. He was lost. He was no longer here. He was somewhere else. Somewhere sunny.


It was summer. He was standing in a street, trying to decide whether to go into a bookstore, or a diner. He was hungry, but he also wanted to read – no, he needed to read. He glanced wistfully between the two, knowing he couldn’t afford to do both. He could either bury himself in the books, or eat. Finally, with one last regretful glance at the diner, he walked into the bookstore, and he knew that somehow, by making that choice, he’d just changed his entire life.


“Mulder.” A voice broke into his reverie, and he felt fingers on his back, probing, exploring. A loud scream ripped through the room and he realized, with some surprise, that it came from his own lips. “I’m sorry. I’m just evaluating the extent of the damage. The incident in the salon was most unfortunate. However, I’m sure now that you appreciate the consequences you’ll modify your behavior in future.”


“Don’t fucking count on it,” Mulder choked between chapped lips.


“Come now,” Laurence chided. “Can it really be worth all this pain? Hmmm? A little defiance followed by such intense discomfort. It isn’t worth it. You’re a sensible man, Mulder, you understand that.”


“Let me go.” Mulder felt fingers on his chin, lifting his head, which hung like a lead weight between his shoulders.


“Not yet, Mulder. I haven’t broken you yet. I’ll let you go when you’re broken.”


“I’m broken,” Mulder said facetiously.


Laurence laughed, his vile fingers caressing Mulder’s mouth, exploring the dry, cut lips. “No you’re not, Mulder. I can always tell. There will be many times when you tell me that you’re broken in the coming weeks. You may even believe it on some occasions, but you’ll be wrong. The human spirit can endure the most unpleasant tortures, but sooner or later, the moment of breaking will happen, and then we’ll both know. It’ll be a beautiful moment, Mulder. I can’t describe the beauty of it and I’ve witnessed it many times. You’ll be overcome with a feeling of warmth, and pleasure. You’ll know suddenly what you are, and how happy you are, and you’ll be full of gratitude to me for showing you.”


“I don’t think so,” Mulder whispered, his mouth dry.


“Trust me. I’ve seen it happen to souls just as defiant as you. One in particular.” Laurence’s voice had a nostalgic tone. “He was so proud, so young, and wild, and I tamed him, and sent him onto great things. You’ve met him, Mulder. You know him. He was one of my greatest creations. I think, in time, that he will be second only to you.”


Mulder gave no reply. He just hung there, disinterested in his captor’s bragging about past triumphs.


“Ah, you’re tired. I did warn you to sleep while you could. Now, I’m going to release you.” Mulder felt the straps holding him to the post being untied, and gave a choking cry as his wrists were placed under further pressure, and then unhooked. He would have fallen to the floor, but Laurence held him under both armpits, preventing him from slumping into a heap. “You have to walk a little way. Just over here.” Mulder allowed himself to be guided over to what he knew was the table, and he sat, gratefully, giving a cry of pain as his sore buttocks made contact with the vinyl table, and then tried to turn onto his front, but was stopped by his captor.


“I’m sorry, Mulder, not just yet. I would normally allow you time to recuperate after a whipping, but I’m afraid on this occasion you have reparation to make,” the other man said.


“Reparation?” Mulder asked, the words drying in his throat.


“Yes. I’m afraid that you hurt my two dutymen during the struggle. Now, if they suffer any injury, I do always allow them to take recompense. It prevents the incident from festering and rankling with them. You do understand, I hope?”


“No. I don’t understand anything,” Mulder said blindly, as he was carefully laid down on his burning back. He cried out, but was too tired, and empty to resist. He closed his eyes and tried not to notice that he was being tied again. His arms were fastened to the bar above his head, and his legs to the bar above his waist. He trembled, fearing the position, remembering it from when he had woken up.


“That’s right. This is the delivery position, in which all my new recruits wake up,” Laurence said smoothly. “I’m glad it has significance for you. However I’m going to tie you down a little more firmly in order to accomplish what we need to achieve next. I’d prefer to rely on your co-operation but you’re too newly delivered for that. Hold on.” Mulder felt straps being fastened across his torso and hips, securing him to the table. He was trussed up like a chicken, his legs spread wide apart, his ass raised a fraction of an inch off the table. “All right. We’re done. Now, the first of my dutymen is extremely wide in circumference, so you’ll find him a little hard to take. We’ll ensure you’re well lubricated to prevent tearing if we can. The second is longer and more slender so you’ll find that a deeper penetration.”


“What the hell…?” Mulder fought against his bonds for the first time, tugging desperately.


“It’s unfortunate, but I did promise them reparation. It won’t interfere with our intimacy, Mulder, so don’t worry about that.” He felt cool, loathsome fingers snagging something hard and metallic around his cock and balls. “You and I have something special. I’ll reinforce that when my dutymen are finished by taking you myself. Hush now, while I allow them their due.”


Mulder began to tremble, his limbs going into spasm. Maybe it’s just a headfuck, he told himself. It’s not really going to happen…


A few minutes later he heard footsteps – more than one set of footsteps, and then the sound of the latex glove being snapped onto a hand. He tensed as a cold, slimy finger was inserted into his ass, and cried out, a strangled “NO!” but the probing continued, loosening and lubricating him.


“All right, I’m done. I’ll just hand you over to the first dutyman. You managed to bite his hand rather nastily I’m afraid, Mulder, so he’s looking forward to penetrating you. There, there. I’ll be here, watching. You’ll be fine.” Mulder felt warm breath on his face, and the scrape of lips against his cheek, and then his buttocks were drawn apart and something hard was immediately pushed into his anus. He gave a hoarse shout, and Laurence stroked him comfortingly. “Take it, Mulder. You’ll soon learn that it isn’t so bad. Just give it all up. Cry as much as you want. Is there anything you want to say to me?”


“Yes – let me go!” Mulder yelled as he felt his ass ripped apart by what seemed like an impossible mass.


“I will, I will. When you’re broken, Mulder, when you’re broken,” Laurence told him soothingly. Mulder screamed into a black void as his internal muscles were bludgeoned into submission by what felt like a battering ram. He gave a low moan as the man standing by his ass began to thrust. He could hear the sound of panting, and it made him feel physically sick. The thrusts were small, even, steady, a rhythmic pace that he couldn’t adjust to, even though he tried.


“You’re doing very well,” Laurence said, beside his ear. “Very well. Very beautiful.”


He felt a warm mouth on his left nipple and cried out again as Laurence suckled there, all the while stroking Mulder’s body.


Mulder remembered a choice: a bookstore, or a diner. He remembered standing outside, and trying to decide, and he remembered going inside. It was easier remembering that than focusing on what was happening to him right now. In a dream he was aware of intense pain, and then it receded. Voices and footsteps moved away, leaving just a trickle of warmth running down his buttocks. He was alone again. A few minutes later he heard returning footsteps, and started to whimper, and tremble.


“It’s all right, just another little penetration. Hush,” Laurence said taking up position this time at his right side, his fingers plucking at Mulder’s right nipple, playing with it. “You scratched a long tear down the side of this dutyman’s face. If you’d found his eye you could have blinded him. He isn’t very happy.”


“I don’t care! I don’t care!” Mulder screamed, but his buttocks were grabbed, and parted and he felt another monstrous intrusion. This time the invading cock entered more easily, and smoothly became buried deep within his rectum, lancing an arc of pain into a region of his body that he didn’t know existed. He lay there, limply, unable to rationalize the brutality that was being inflicted on him so casually, and mercilessly.


“He isn’t so fucking brave now,” an unfamiliar, sneering voice said from between his open legs.


“Quiet!” Laurence’s voice rapped out, and Mulder stiffened at the sound. “Hush, it’s okay. He knows he isn’t allowed to speak,” Laurence said, rubbing Mulder’s arm reassuringly. “You’re being very brave, Mulder. In a while, it’ll just be the two of us, just you and me, and that will be something to look forward to, won’t it?”


Mulder opened his mouth and started to laugh, a dark, bellowing laugh of sheer crazy disbelief. He tried to remember the bookstore again, tried to forget what was happening to him. It smelt dank, dusty, a truly old store, full of character. He was wandering between the shelves, plucking at titles aimlessly, glancing at them, and then moving on. He loved the smell of the place, the feel of the books. He loved knowledge. He wanted to learn. He caught a flash of red. Not his own shirt…that was…concentrate…that was blue – denim. Yes, denim. He nodded to himself, felt a mouth on his nipple, sucking and playing, licking and teasing, and he wanted to be sick. There was the smell of sex in the air, not musty bookstores – sex, and semen, and sweat. He felt the man thrusting into him convulse, felt a warm, sticky flow on his ass again, and then a savage withdrawal that made him gasp out loud. Then he heard footsteps, and the sound of a door closing.


“There. That’s all over. It’s just you and me now.”


And curiously he was grateful. Damn, but he was grateful! He choked with macabre, bitter laughter. He was fucking grateful to be left alone with this psycho. He felt a damp washcloth on his ass, and then a cold, lubricated finger pressing inside his body. “Well, there’s a little damage, but nothing too severe. My men are very well trained.” Smug traces of professional pride in the tone of voice. “Now, what you and I have is a real intimacy – something very special and different from mere reparation. Hold still while I remind you.”


Mulder was almost used to this now. Only three times and he was used to it? He closed his eyes beneath the blindfold as cool fingers caressed his burning ass cheeks, and then he was opened, and a cock slid easily into his anus burying itself to the hilt inside him.


“There, that’s good. You like this, don’t you?” Laurence’s voice crooned. Mulder had no answer. He felt fingers stroke his belly, and chest, and then the slow rocking that typified Laurence’s penetration style began. Rock, rock, rock; stroke, stroke, stroke, slowing down to rocking again. Constant movement, frequent changes of rhythm, and it hurt. He was so sore that every thrust hurt, and he was choking with pain.


“Please, please, please…” he cried out meaninglessly.


“I know; it’s very sore here now. It hurts. I know. Hush, hush,” that voice said. That voice he hated. That voice that soothed, and calmed as it hurt. “Hush, hush.” Stroke, stroke. “Hush, hush.” Mulder fled into the dark recesses of his own mind.


He wasn’t wearing the red shirt, but somebody was. Somebody tall – taller even than he was and he’d shot up over the past couple of years during his time at Oxford. Absorbed, hardly noticing the red shirt, his fingers spidered along the spines of books, and he went to pull one out, only to find that somebody else’s hand had gotten there first – somebody with a red sleeve. He followed the creases and contours of the sleeve up an arm, and across a shoulder, to a face – a face that was frowning.


“I’m sorry.” He released the book as if stung.


“No, please – you take it. I have enough to be getting on with here.” The stranger gestured at the piles of books in his arms.


“Studying?” Mulder questioned, looking at the weighty tomes, all with very serious sounding titles – mostly law texts.


“Yeah. I’m writing a paper.” A wry shrug. Mulder looked at the stranger’s face, suddenly fascinated by the other man’s lips. They were very soft, almost sensuous, and inviting. “How about you?” the stranger asked.


“Yes. Um…I’m studying too. Psychology. Post-grad. I was at Oxford until last year…” He was babbling, no, worse than that, he was trying to impress this man, this stranger, this…very attractive stranger.


“Oxford, huh?” The other man nodded, duly impressed.


“It was a long way from home,” Mulder said self-deprecatingly, as if that had been the only reason he had chosen to study there.


“Where’s home?” The stranger’s lips crinkled at the corners when he smiled. He had very dark hair, a little curly around the edges. There was a slight layer of stubble on his chin that Mulder found wildly and outrageously sexy.


“Where’s…?” The world was turning black.


“Where are you, Mulder?” A hand was slapping his thigh. “Where are you?”


“I don’t know,” he whispered. “Not here. Not here. Not here…”


Reality flooded back in so forcefully that it hurt. He was tied, and blindfolded. He was being raped…and all because he had chosen a bookstore rather than a diner 18 years ago. No, no, that wasn’t it…he was confused. Muddled. His wrists hurt. His ass hurt. Someone was pumping into his ass, back and forth; “hush, hush”; stroke, stroke; “hush, hush.” A convulsion, a sense of completion, more warm fluid on his skin, and then the painful deliverance of withdrawal.


“Beautiful, although you really will have to learn to stay in the moment, Mulder. I enjoyed that, and I wish you’d stayed with me. Never mind, we can work on that. Now, I’ll leave you to sleep. When I come back I’ll clean you up. Sweet dreams, my dear boy.” A kiss on his cheek, and his hair was being ruffled. He turned his head and retched, but nothing came up. “Ah, it does get easier. Trust me.” Another kiss. Thin, cold lips on his own. A tongue pressed into his unwilling mouth, exploring. No strength to resist. Then blessed withdrawal again, painless this time. Footsteps, the sound of a door opening, and then closing, and he was alone once more.


Mulder stared up at the black void behind his blindfold, and studied the stars in the sky of his imagination. “Red sleeve,” he murmured, plucking imaginary lint from a stranger’s arm. “Red sleeve.”




Well that was all very interesting. He’s shown some real fire as well as sharp wits and incredible initiative, which only makes me warm to him all the more. When he had his arm around my throat, and pressed that cold knife to my warm flesh – I believe I felt a frisson of very real desire. They were such nice arms, so warm, and strong, such smooth skin, and a delicious smell; earthy and exotic both at the same time. What a feast he is. I’m stunned by his courage, and also his cleverness. He hid his intent to attack very well, and yet it wasn’t mindless. I’ve been attacked before, of course. In the early days of a breaking it’s merely an occupational hazard…but his was so calculated, and clever. He didn’t mindlessly swing out a fist, or attempt a pointless fight with my dutymen. No, instead he gave some thought to a plan. He weighed me up and measured me as the weak link. How absolutely fascinating. Of course the knife was blunt – I wouldn’t make the mistake of having anything that constituted a real weapon within reach of a new recruit, but he couldn’t have known that from where he was sitting. Splendid.


I retire to the salon, where this time I do take a shower. I enjoyed my second session with Mulder very much but by then he had been sullied somewhat by other hands, so a thorough wash is necessary. I get undressed, and look at myself in the mirror, lightly fingering my throat where his hand was so recently wrapped. There’s a slight bruise there, which gives me another frisson. Adorable boy! It was a shame to have to beat all that excess energy and exuberance out of him but his body did twitch so perfectly under the lash, and his moans were so enticing it was all I could do not to take him then and there. Still, he needed the purity of an intense whipping, and now he knows how very painful one of my special treatments can be, so I expect we’ll see some progress. I’m annoyed that our chat was cut short though. I think it’ll be necessary to try again as soon as he’s had some rest. He’ll be very hungry by then so maybe he can be prevailed upon to eat.


It’s late – time for my own rest. I consider whether to go and hose him down, and make him more comfortable – he was tied in a particularly brutal manner, and he is resting in a veritable puddle of drying semen, but then again, a little discomfort at the beginning can save a new recruit more arduous treatment later on, so I think I’ll leave him for the night. The dutyman in the Observation Room will call me if he’s in any real distress. I change into my pajamas and sit in my bed. It’s amazing how hard it is to devour James Joyce with my usual passion when I have my challenging newcomer just a few floors below. I can feel my cock stir at the very thought of taking him again, but really I’d like to plunder that pretty mouth of his next. I wonder if I can get him to the stage where that’s a real possibility soon?


I rarely sleep longer than 6 hours, so I’m up at dawn, and after another shower I wander down to see to my captive recruit. He doesn’t even look up when I enter. The poor lamb is utterly exhausted – maybe he’s even asleep. I tiptoe over, and the slight movement of his arm as I place my hand on it shows me that he is not sleeping. I kiss his lips, forcing them open to insert my tongue. I do relish our moments of true intimacy. He submits, because he has no choice; soon he’ll be begging for my kisses. I hose him down first – again, very cold water, but there is a method to my cruelty in this instance, as you’ll see. He shivers and tries to twist beneath the hose, spluttering and crying out feebly, but he’s soon squeaky clean. An enema is required though, after yesterday’s many activities. I insert the enema bulb, and fill him with warm water, and then untie him. He’s been tied in this unpleasant position for so long that he’s quite weak, and doesn’t fight me. I help lift him, and sit him on the commode. He defecates for me, and urinates at the same time, and I praise him, watching him bite back his sarcastic response. Ah, but the boy does have a smart tongue. I’ll cure him of that in time. I repeat the enema and soon he’s clean. Meanwhile, I instruct the dutyman to clean up the rest of the room while I tend to my dear boy. He’s moaning and shivering, and his muscles are cramped. I dry him thoroughly, then guide him back to his table and remove the cock cage, leaving him naked apart from the cuffs and waist belt. I push him down onto his front, tie his legs open, and shine the lamp in the direction of his ass to inspect him more closely. I do a thorough examination of his rectum, and he is very sore, and a little torn as well. He’ll need a few days to recover, but that’s fine. We can pursue other activities while that happens. A suppository will aid healing, and I rub a cooling, antiseptic gel into his ass, which he accepts without complaint. He’s already becoming used to being handled, and entered. His back passage really is looking red and sore, so I hope he appreciates my kindness in allowing him a soothing cream.


Finally, I inspect his whip marks. I didn’t break the skin, or draw blood, but his back, buttocks, and thighs are liberally covered in welts. I rub cream into them as well, which makes him flinch, and gasp, but apart from that he’s curiously silent today. I’ll have to force some conversation out of him.


When he’s ready, I release him only to fasten his hands to the belt around his waist once again, attach him to my chain, and then lead him back to the salon. He’s a bit slow and unsteady on his feet this time, and still completely silent and out of it. I install yesterday’s dutymen at the door to remind him of the consequences of attack, but I really don’t think he has it in him today, and then I sit him in the armchair. He winces as his naked flesh makes contact, but then he’s silent as I remove his blindfold. He blinks, and looks at me with dull hazel eyes. I slap his face, and the pain wakens some brightness in those pretty eyes which widen, and focus on me.


“Breakfast time, Mulder,” I tell him softly. He eyes the plate of bagels, muffins and other goodies without interest. “Come now, you’re hungry. ”


I pour him a cup of cold milk, and unfasten his cuffs. He moves his arms experimentally, and his eyes flash, as if by reflex, to the dutymen. One of them has a bandaged hand, and the other a gashed face. They’re too well trained to meet his eye, but I can see the color drain from his skin as he realizes that they’re the men who raped him last night. He closes his eyes, and when he opens them again he seems to have regained some composure. He takes the cup I’m offering, and his fingers wrap unsteadily around the handle. He raises it to his dry lips and takes a tentative sip. His flesh is covered with goose bumps, and he is shivering. I go and sit on the couch, by the fire, effectively blocking any heat from reaching him, and he stares at me.


“You’re very quiet today, Mulder,” I say conversationally, taking a sip of my own tea, and then nibbling on a bagel. “Nothing to say?” There is no reply. He stares, fascinated, at the plant closest to him. “Oh dear, I can see that I’m going to have to explain the rules.” He wrests his attention back to me, with a profound effort of will, the faintest evidence of a question in those expressive eyes. “You see if you’re going to stay here, then you have to talk, and you have to talk about what I want you to talk about. Those are the little restrictions I place on these tete a tetes. I never had a chance to explain that to you yesterday.”


“Talk?” His mouth forms the word but I can barely hear it.


“Yes. Talk. You can stay here for as long as you like, Mulder – all day if you want to. Nothing bad will happen to you in this room. There is no punishment here, no retribution, and no penetration. You have the choice to be warm, comforted, fed, and watered. However, the amount of time we spend here each day depends entirely on you. If you don’t wish to talk, or your conversation is meaningless, mendacious, or unproductive, then I’ll draw the session to an end and return you to your room.”


“I don’t want to talk.” He gets up, and walks, unsteadily, towards the door. “I’ll go back to the room.”


“Where you will be tied, beaten, and penetrated.” I take a sip of my tea and watch him. He staggers to a halt, and stands there for a moment, gazing at the dutymen, before he turns his head, and stares, almost sightlessly, at me.


“I can stay here, and talk, and you won’t hurt me, or I go back there, and you will?” he asks softly, his hazel eyes dark with a terrible kind of knowledge.


“That’s right, yes.” I take another nibble on my bagel, which really is delicious. I make a mental note to compliment the chef. Mulder sways where he is standing, and then slowly, so slowly, he turns, and lurches unsteadily back to his seat. He sits down. “Another condition of staying here is that you eat and drink, and that you call me sir,” I tell him conversationally. He stares at me listlessly for a moment, and then gives an almost imperceptible nod, but not before I see an intense, burning fire of defiance in his eyes. He’ll go along with me for now, because he wants to avoid further pain, and that’s fine. That’s the way they all learn to begin with.


“What do you want to talk about?” He takes a faltering sip of milk, and moistens his lips. I wait. “Sir,” he adds in the smallest of voices. His tone is flat, without inflection and that carries with it more fire than all the defiance in the world. He is resisting me, in his own special way, and unraveling that resistance will be my pleasure.


“I thought we’d start with where you went yesterday while I was inside you the second time,” I tell him, and then I lean back in the couch with an expectant expression on my face, waiting. He swallows, and glances at the bagels on the plate beside him. “Do, by all means eat.” I wave my hand expansively. He shudders slightly, and looks at me again.


“I’m not hungry,” he says in that same dull, flat tone.


“Then I must draw this meeting to an end and return you to your room. Such a shame – we’ve hardly begun to talk.” I get up and nod to the dutymen.


“No.” His voice is so low that I barely hear it. “I’ll eat.” He takes a tiny nibble out of a bagel, and I sit down again with a smile of triumph. It’s the little steps that are so rewarding; all just tiny pieces of the jigsaw puzzle, deliciously incomplete parts of a wider, more satisfying whole.


“Now, back to yesterday. I feel a little insulted that you went somewhere else during our moment of intimacy. I would really prefer you to stay with me so that you can fully appreciate the bond we’re building between us. Where were you, Mulder?”


He’s silent for a moment, and forces a swallow of the small bite of bagel. His mouth must be dry because even that small act seems to convulse his throat muscles. He takes another sip of milk, stares at me sightlessly for several seconds, and then gazes down at his body for the first time with real interest. He examines his flesh, his eyes fixing on each new bruise or scrape, taking in the tangible physical evidence of what has been done to him, quietly processing the information, and accepting it. Blindfolding him has meant that he has been divorced from the sight of his own suffering, if not the pain of it. Now he can see the physical evidence of what was done to him, and it shocks him. He takes a deep breath, and then looks up, directly at me. He meets my eyes, as if weighing me up, and then drops his gaze.


“I was in the office,” he says.


“Really? Doing what?” I stir my tea.


“Just working. Looking at a case file.”


“Which one?”


“I don’t remember…” He pauses, then glances at me, with an assessing look in those expressive, vulpine eyes.


“I think you must try,” I tell him firmly. He nods, and swallows hard.


“Uh…I do remember now. It was a case of the vampire-like killings of a herd of sheep in Oregon. Are you aware of this phenomenon? It’s fascinating. Of course there are perverts who get off on the idea of mutilating animals, and horses are the most common, but there was something particularly fascinating about these sheep because…”


“You’re lying, Mulder,” I interrupt quietly. It’s in his eyes. “You weren’t lost in a daydream about your office, and you cannot sidetrack me by talking about your case files, interesting though I’m sure they are.”


He swallows, then opens and closes his mouth, his jaw muscles slack.


“I’ll give you another try but this time I require the truth. If I don’t get it there won’t be a second chance. I’ll take you down to your room and whip you.”


His eyes flash momentarily, and he gives me a look of such pure hatred that my heart misses a dizzy beat.


“Come now, the truth won’t hurt. How can the truth be so hard?” I urge softly. He nods, and rocks slightly in his chair, the lines of his face creased with pain. “Go on,” I prompt, my tone infinitely gentle. “You know that you want to tell me, and I want to hear.”


“I was in a bookstore,” he tells me, his eyes glowing almost golden, hazy with remembrance.


“Why there? Did it hold some special significance for you?”


He raises a finger and idly touches his arm, rubbing mindlessly, back and forth, back and forth. It’s a sign of distress. I’m very good with body language.


“Not really.” He shrugs. It’s a lie – or at least a half-truth, but he might not even be aware of that so I don’t point it out.


“Come now, you chose it above our coupling. It must have some significance for you,” I chide.


“No. Just a bookstore. I was looking at the books.” He shrugs again. I put my napkin down, and wave to the dutymen.


“Return him to his room and beat him. If he’s going to continue to lie then I have no further interest in…”


“Wait,” he says desperately. I snap my fingers and the dutymen return to their post. “I met someone there,” he adds hoarsely. Ah, good. We’re getting somewhere.


“Who? And when was this meeting?” I ask. “Where was the bookstore?” He considers these questions, as if trying to figure out how much of himself to give away at this point. It’s not an easy game to play. He has to give me enough to keep me from sending him back to his room, but not enough that he reveals too much of his soul. He will though; unwittingly he will, because he’s tired, and he hurts, and I’m fresh, well rested, and in control. Apart from anything else this is my game we’re playing, so of course I intend to win.


“A long time ago. Boston. Summer. The summer after I left Oxford.”


“And who did you meet?” I press again. He stares into the fire, his eyes distant, and faraway. I was right – this is important – very important. I give him a few minutes, but when no answer is forthcoming I shift impatiently, and he drags himself back to the conversation, his expression anxious.


“Just someone. Someone I met there for the first time.”


“Who was she?”


He stiffens momentarily, and his eyes slide away from mine, as if this is something he really doesn’t want to share, but there must be a reason why he went to that moment in time in order to escape from his penetration and I want to know what it is.


“He was studying law books. He was a lawyer.”


Ah. ‘He’. This is getting very interesting. “And this was the first time you’d met him?” I urge softly. Mulder glances around the room, almost as if looking for escape. He crosses his arms over his chest, and rubs absently. His skin is covered in goose bumps.


“I’m cold,” he murmurs and his lips are indeed a little blue. This is intentional – he’s too far away from the fire to feel any warmth from it, and besides I’m blocking what there is. He’s naked, and he was hosed down with freezing water recently. Of course he’s cold. He’s even started to shiver and his teeth are making little chattering noises.


“Then come over here, dear boy.” I pat the space on the couch beside me. “You can sit next to me, in the warmth,” I tell him invitingly. He looks as if he’d rather die.


“No. I’ll stay here,” he snaps. Another moment of defiance, and there is a look of total revulsion in his eyes.


“Your own choice, Mulder. You’re welcome to sit here whenever you want though. If you get too cold just come over to the couch and sit down. You can rest your head in my lap if you like. I’ll take good care of you.”


“Like you’ve done already? Raping me? Beating me?” He asks, his body quivering with outrage now, instead of just cold.


“Now, now, Mulder – that was all very necessary as you well know,” I chide, taking a sip of tea and glancing at him over the rim of the cup. “Please continue with the story.” He won’t come over to the fire today but he will one day. One day soon. Then he’ll let me pet him, and he’ll even want the comfort of human warmth. He’ll crave it. Even coming from the person who has hurt him most, it will be better than his own loneliness and despair.


“He was a lawyer,” Mulder says and then he’s silent again.


“You’ve told me that already. Keep talking, or I’ll grow tired and send you back to your room.”


“A lawyer. Um…he was wearing a red shirt. I was wearing a blue one,” he offers helpfully, hoping to distract me with mundanities. I frown, and he nervously moistens his lips with his tongue. “It was an old bookstore. Everything smelt musty, but there was a scent of coffee as well. This place was unusual because it was before bookstores started that trend of having coffee bars and serving food like most of them do now, but this one did, even back then, just snacks really – coffee, tea, hot chocolate, brownies, sodas. That was about it.”


He glances at his bagel as he talks about food and I nod encouragingly. He takes another bite and chews for an inordinately long time, dragging it out, but I’m patient. I’ve learned to be extremely patient over the years. What’s interesting about him is the little glances he gives me every now and again, looking at me as keenly as I’m looking at him and yet all the while trying to pretend he isn’t looking at me at all. He seems fascinated by the collar of my shirt, and I place a hand to my throat, wondering what has drawn his attention.


“He was older than me. He had a high-powered job in Boston. He was going places. He had a head for law, in a way that I never did. My mind doesn’t work like that. Oh, I can do the book learning stuff easily enough, but I’m more…intuitive. He loved it though – he loved the law the way other people love their mothers. It almost…I don’t know, sang to him, seduced him…he was the smartest guy I’d ever met. I was studying psychology and I think that puzzled him. He thought it was a soft science.”


“Let’s go back a little way. You said this was the first time you’d met him. How did you get talking?” I put aside my breakfast, feeling quite full. Mulder takes another nibble on his bagel. He looks so stiff, and still, sitting bolt upright in his chair, his beautiful body marked with little bruises here and there, his hair tousled and awry. He really doesn’t look any older than Luke at this moment in time, and yet his youthful appearance is an illusion that I mustn’t allow to fool me. He has age and experience on his side, and, as he has just said, a clever, intuitive mind.


“We both wanted the same book. We agreed to share it over coffee. He wasn’t going to buy all those books – he had access to a huge legal library through his firm anyway – but he was looking for something obscure, something different…”


He breaks off with a strange laugh and I understand why.


“Ah, and he found you. Someone obscure, someone different.” He looks away and shrugs. It is most interesting the way his eyes are almost sightless, and hazy when he’s looking away, but they become sharp and observant when looking at me. Something tells me that this fox is trying to play a cleverer game than I’ve given him credit for.


“Tell me more about the lawyer,” I prompt as the silence wears on for a little too long. “So, what happened? You began to talk?”


He shifts in his seat. This is really becoming uncomfortable for him.


“Yes. It was nothing. We just talked. He told me all about himself. All the lawyer stuff. That was it. Then we went home.”


“And you never saw him again?” I hardly think so. He shrugs, and nods. I get up.


“Very well, that was your last chance, Mulder. Next time you’re here, please think carefully about the truth. I do not only expect it, I demand it.”


He looks up anxiously, his eyes clouded with the knowledge of impending pain. “No, wait. There’s more. I can…”


“Not this time,” I inform him curtly. “It’s time for you to be returned to your room. You’ve worn out my goodwill.”


He considers the matter for a moment, and then stands, his eyes exhibiting the full force of his defiance. I fasten his wrists to his belt, and attach the chain to him.


“One thing I was wondering, Laurence,” he says, just as I start to turn away to take him to his room. I glance back, about to reprimand him for calling me by name, but what he says next takes my breath away. “I’ve noticed that your cravat is tied more loosely today than yesterday. Why is that? If you tied it more tightly it would obscure the bruise around your throat – the bruise I gave you during my attack. I was wondering why you chose to display that?”


“What an intriguing question!” My hand goes involuntarily to my throat, and I fuss with my cravat a little. I knew he’d try to engage me in conversation, to attempt to out-psyche me, but the strange direction of his questioning really has taken me by surprise and I think he knows that because there’s a tiny smile tugging at those full, sensuous lips.


“Maybe you’re proud of the bruise,” he offers. “It’s something real, something unplanned. You have so much control in this little empire of yours, Laurence. Did it excite you to experience a moment that wasn’t in your power and control?”


His lips really are most beautiful when he smiles. I obviously have no choice but to slap him across the face. Once, hard, and then back the other way – twice, even harder. A tiny bubble of blood wells up on those lips, rendering them even more beautiful, exciting me. Pulling him close, I kiss those lips fiercely, licking them, tasting that warm, sweet blood, and then I release him, and brush a hand through my hair, which has been ruffled by the exertion.


“Take him back to his room and beat him,” I order the dutymen. I examine Mulder for a moment, but his eyes do not change in anticipation of his coming discomfort. Instead he just watches me, observing me minutely. I glance at his naked body – the welts on his back and buttocks are still livid, and, in any case, I like the cruelty of what I’m about to do next. “Open his thighs and whip him there – between groin and knee. Maximum severity. Then tie him up and let him sleep.” Again I search his face for any sign of a reaction, but his hazel eyes are dark and expressionless. He doesn’t beg, but then he has no idea just how painful a whipping he is about to endure. Next time I threaten it I predict he will beg and plead with me. “I’ll visit you later for more intimacy,” I tell him softly, stroking the side of his face. He moves his head, his loathing lighting up his eyes like a beacon, and I smile, and continue caressing him. I like that the food has given him back some of his fight. It’s arousing. I fondle him for a few seconds, almost unwilling to allow the delicious creature out of my sight, and he leans so far back that the dutyman has to hold him in place to accept my embrace.


Finally, with a regretful sigh, I nod my head at the dutymen to pull my plaything away. I purposefully turn my back on him to show that his suffering has little relevance to me. Nor does it matter whether I witness it or not. Even without my presence he will still cry out under the lash. Yet, as they reach the door, I cannot help but glance back to watch him go.




Mulder submitted in silence to the blindfold being placed over his eyes once again in the doorway. He hadn’t slept much the previous night, and when Laurence had brought him to the salon earlier he had been so weak and exhausted that his muscles barely worked. The respite of food and drink had cleared his head. His body still hurt in places he hadn’t even known existed before, but he knew now that it was important that he ate and drank whenever food and water were offered. Food kept his mind alive, and his mind was his only weapon so far. He knew, with a hideous clarity, that he had lost the battle for his body. It had been abused, and would continue to be so. He had been stripped of dignity, and suffered an appalling degree of pain. However, he still had his mind. Whatever happened to his body, he must not allow Laurence to control his mind, and he would agree to anything, and play any sick, twisted little game in order to keep his sanity. Right now, he had to block out the torture, hard though it was. Later, if he ever got out of this alive, he could break down, and give in to it, but right now he had to be strong.


He stumbled along the corridor on the end of his chain, and memories of visiting elephants in the zoo arose unbidden in his mind. He had always hated seeing those big, graceful animals on the ends of leashes like dogs. His own situation had less poignancy to him than those elephants. He was a man, with free will. He could rationalize his own humiliation, and indignity. He knew why he was chained, but they did not. To them it was an abhorrence of their natural instinct to roam free, as part of a herd. Tears pricked at the back of his eyes as he considered the frustration of their natures, and the chains around his own body suddenly seemed an unbearable incursion on his own independent spirit. He tried to catch his breath, but before he knew it he was experiencing a full-blown panic attack. He struggled, uselessly he knew, against his chains. A voice inside his mind was telling him to keep calm, to forget that he was walking naked, chained, and abused towards another whipping, but while he had been able to see in the salon, and move his hands freely, he was now chained and blindfolded again, and a wave of claustrophobia swept through him, causing a cold sweat to break out on his body. The sound of his beating heart drowned out all other noise, and he felt the world slow into a dull, drumming rhythm all around. His legs refused to work, and he sank to the carpeted floor. There was an imperative tug on the chain attached to his belt, but he curled up on the ground, and lay there, immune to the shouting voices, quivering and shivering. A cool, clinical, detached part of his mind knew that he was in a state of shock, and probably suffering from hypothermia, and he cursed the weakness of his body. How could he stay strong enough to play Laurence at his own game if his body let him down? He was convulsing now, his entire body shaking, and as he lay there, he realized he could dislodge the blindfold. He rubbed his head on the floor, heard the guards calling out, and a few seconds later the sound of footsteps, but by then he had moved the blindfold enough to get a glimpse of a long, dimly lit hallway, lined with plush red carpet, and a doorway in the distance. Then his eyes alighted on a pair of shiny dark shoes, and his heart contracted in fear. He knew who they belonged to.


“Mulder, my dear boy.” A pale, paper-thin hand, blotched with liver spots came into view, and touched his shoulder. He flinched away from it, full of revulsion. “Hush now. I’m sorry.” Scrawny arms captured him, and held him against a cold cotton shirt. He retched, still trembling. “This is my fault. You’re distressed because you wanted me to administer the beating myself. I can understand that. We have a bond, you and I.”


Mulder would have laughed if his chattering teeth could have been made to obey the incredulous sense of wonder in his own mind. “I…I… don’t want to b…be beaten at all,” he managed to force out.


“Of course you don’t, but you do understand that it’s necessary.”


“No…” he shook his head, frustrated by his own impotence.


“Hush. Of course you do. My dear boy you’re freezing!” Loathsome hands caressed his body lasciviously. “You should have come into the warmth of the fire. I could have warmed you. I would have held you if you’d only asked. Foolish, proud boy.”


Laurence’s tone was chiding, and he held Mulder so close that the younger man could feel the sharp outline of his torturer’s ribs. Mulder felt his shivering lessen slightly, and hated his own body for responding to something as basic as warmth.


“Take your fucking hands off me,” he growled, turning his head. He could see his tormentor – closer than he’d ever been able to see him before. Laurence smelled of lavender, and something else, something bitter. His closeness was almost impossible to bear. Those violet eyes were just a few inches away, radiating concern mingled with cruelty – and something that Mulder defined, with a shudder of disgust, as lust.


“We must get you to your room. Then I’ll be able to take better care of you. And your blindfold has slipped, dear boy. There. That’s better.”


Mulder growled with frustrated anger as darkness descended once more, and then he found himself lifted by the strong arms of the guards. His wrists were untied from the belt, his own arms were slung over their shoulders, and he was half-walked, half-carried back to his room.


He knew the room by the smell, and by the feel of concrete under his feet – all the better to wash away the blood he thought to himself. He was forcibly laid on the table and then bound again – tightly – his arms by his side, wide plastic straps over his torso. He felt hands on his legs, and they were forced open, leaving his inner thighs revealed. Remembering what was in store for him, he struggled pointlessly against his bonds, screaming in rage and frustration.


“That’s better. I wondered when you’d give in to that,” Laurence said, and Mulder felt a hand on his forehead, smoothing his hair. “Often people struggle the moment they first become aware of their captivity,” Laurence murmured. “You were different. You were so silent, and still. You’ve been very good at rationalizing your loss of freedom, and what has happened to you, but sooner or later you had to give in to your feelings. Nobody can deny their feelings forever.”


“Don’t be so fucking sure,” Mulder screamed, fighting the hands that were trying to tie his legs down in position, ready for the whipping.


“Ah, you sound as if you’re speaking from experience. Feelings denied…would those be for the exquisite Doctor Scully?”


Mulder fell silent, his muscles going limp. He didn’t resist the hands on his legs any more.


“Are you in love with Doctor Scully?” Laurence asked. “You’ve been working with her for a long time. She’s a very pretty woman. Have you slept with her?”


“No.” Mulder ground the word out.


“All those pent-up feelings, going nowhere. No wonder you’re impotent. We’ll cure that for you.”


“Some fucking cure. This doesn’t turn me on in case you didn’t notice,” Mulder spat.


“No, of course it doesn’t. Not yet.” Laurence soothed Mulder’s hair again. “Now, relax, dear boy. You allowed yourself to grow cold in the salon, which is your own fault. Warmth was offered. This room is warm but I’m going to speed the process a little – I want you fully fit to appreciate the beating I’m going to give you. I’ll make this whipping very intimate.” A finger traced a line along his inner thigh and he almost jumped out of his skin. “Whippings can be intimate. This won’t be like yesterday. This will be longer, more concentrated and intense. Oh, just as painful, but you know, I think I’ll allow you to watch. That way we can truly share the moment. Hush now. I’m going to warm you up.”


Mulder descended into blackness, as long thin fingers were placed on his body, and he realized, with incredulity, that he was being massaged. Laurence went slowly, warming Mulder with a brisk, thorough rub down, talking to him all the time he worked.


“You’re so very beautiful.” Lips pressed against his shoulder, and neck, and then his face. He turned away. “Very beautiful.” His head was turned back, and he was kissed again. The fingers continued their work, warming his frozen flesh where they could reach around the straps that bound him. “You have an exquisite ass. I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed your ass. Being inside you is the most arousing experience – watching your uninhibited response.”


“And knowing how much I hate you and what you’re doing to me?” Mulder asked softly, puncturing the other man’s flow. There was a little laugh, and those fingers pressed deeply into his arms, loosening his muscles even further.


“Oh yes. I like your pain,” Laurence chuckled. “I enjoy it. Knowing it hurts, hearing your cries…very satisfying. Very arousing.”


“Fucking pervert,” Mulder hissed. “How many people have you done this to, Laurence? Do you only get off on pain, humiliation, and misery? Have you ever been loved, honestly loved by anybody?”


“Oh yes. All the people I break come to love me. You will too. What about you, Mulder? Have you ever been loved by anybody?”


Mulder bit down on his bloodied lip, and refused to answer. He wasn’t expecting the hard slap on his cheek and cried out more in surprise than pain when it came.


“This isn’t the salon, Mulder. There are punishments here,” Laurence told him.


“Yes, I’ve been loved,” Mulder said.


“By someone other than your mother?” Laurence laughed at him. “And me of course,” he added softly. “Your mother and me. Are we the only people who have ever truly loved you, Mulder?”


“No,” Mulder whispered, struggling against the dark.


“Then who else has loved you? Does Doctor Scully love you?”


“I don’t know. I think she’s…fond of me. She tolerates me.”


“And most people don’t?” Laurence asked, his fingers finding Mulder’s solar plexus and massaging there, gently.


“I’m an acquired taste,” Mulder replied.


“And a taste that I have most definitely acquired!” Laurence said, and his lips sucked hard on Mulder’s right nipple, making the agent gasp, and squirm. “A unique flavor – very exotic, but peculiarly earthy as well. I like that,” Laurence said, massaging the nub of flesh he had just tasted. “So tell me why you think you are so hard to love.”


“I didn’t say that,” Mulder protested. Had he?


“You said you are an acquired taste. Is it that people find it hard to warm to you? Or maybe you infuriate them? Which is it, Mulder?”


“Why don’t you go and look in your files. All the answers are there,” Mulder whispered, turning his face away, longing for rest.




“Don’t tell me that he didn’t give you files on me.”


“Who is ‘he’?”


“That cigarette smoking son of a bitch.” Mulder clenched his fist as his hand was unfastened, and lifted, and felt Laurence try to pry his fingers apart.


“Ah, you are referring to our mutual friend. Yes, he did give me files, but I haven’t opened them yet. You see, I already knew quite a lot about you before you were delivered, Mulder. Over the years I have had many men arrive in my salon seeking an outlet after a run in with you. You were described to me in some detail and usually in the same terms: headstrong, obstinate, interfering. A few of them wanted to kill you, but that was forbidden. And now here you are, being broken instead, which is so much nicer, isn’t it?”


“For you,” Mulder snapped, still keeping his fists firmly clenched in a useless gesture of rebellion. He was smacked hard across the face again.


“Open them, Mulder. I want to massage these beautiful, artistic fingers,” his captor crooned. Mulder clenched them so tight he was sure his nails were drawing blood on the inside of his palms. “Ah, pointless defiance. Does it make you feel less emasculated?” Laurence asked. “More of a man?”


“Does it make you feel more of a man to rape helpless captives?” Mulder asked. “Is that the only way someone will have sex with you? If you tie them up and force them?”


“Why would I want to have sex any other way?” Laurence laughed.


“Because you can never be surprised like this,” Mulder whispered. “You can never know a love that doesn’t come without fear as a side order. You control it all – doesn’t that become tiring after a while? Boring even?”


His hand was dropped abruptly.


“Ah well. Time for your whipping I think.” Laurence’s tone was as urbane and cultured as ever, there was nothing in his inflection to show that Mulder had scored any kind of hit, but he took a little comfort from the way the massage had been halted so suddenly. His hand was refastened. “You’re much warmer now and the whipping will warm your blood some more. Hold on…let me raise your head so that you can see.” Mulder felt the table being adjusted so that his shoulders were raised several inches. His blindfold was removed, and he blinked looking around for his first glimpse of this room – then took a sharp intake of breath, surprised by the sight that met his eyes. The room was dimly lit, and glowed red and orange from the light of a myriad of candles. It was as if the room had been prepared as a romantic lover’s den, and not this place of torture and rape.


“It’s pretty isn’t it?” his captor said, glancing around the room. “I have to spend a lot of time here and I like my working environment to be pleasing, somewhere you want to linger.”


“It’s sick,” Mulder stated flatly. He could just about make out dim objects on the periphery of the room. He could see the bar and post he had been tied to yesterday, and various other outlines on shelves around the edge of the room. Outlines that made him shudder. He couldn’t be sure what the objects were – it was too dark – but his imagination supplied the details that his eyes could not. He gave an involuntary shudder and turned his attention back to what he could see – which was limited to the two or so feet around the vinyl table he was tied to. A large adjustable lamp positioned by his torso lit his body, dappling the rest of the room in huge, dramatic shadows.


“Your whip is always kept above your table. Remember that as you’ll be ordered to fetch it on occasion,” Laurence told him, reaching for a long curled object resting on a hook above him.


Mulder watched without expression as Laurence wound the whip around his hand and unwound it again, as if testing its strength, or showing it off to his captive, which was more likely. It was more like a long, flat belt than a whip – maybe it was more flexible. Laurence folded the whip over and then slapped it against his hand where it made a flat, thudding sound. Mulder closed his eyes.


“Open them.” Laurence caressed the side of his face, and when Mulder was slow to obey, slapped him hard again. Mulder opened his eyes. “I want you to watch me whipping you. We can share the experience that way. It’ll increase our intimacy.”


“You’re fucking crazy, you do know that don’t you?” Mulder said, almost wearily.


“No, my dear boy. You are. When I’ve broken you, you’ll see it all quite clearly. Now, you’re completely immobile, so there’s no point struggling. Just watch.”


Mulder could do little else, as the thin man went to stand between his open, tied legs. Laurence caressed the skin there for several minutes, occasionally looking up and smiling at his captive as he did so.


“The skin on the inner thigh is very soft. That’s part of the reason why it hurts so much to be whipped here. I’ll go very carefully but this will take quite some time. I want you to fully appreciate the level of pain I can take you to,” Laurence murmured, his eyes aglow with a kind of sick glee that made Mulder retch. The candlelit room took on demonic proportions as his captor raised his arm, and the whip fell, inexorably towards the offered flesh. Mulder gave a startled grunt as the whip razored into his thigh. It hurt in a sharp way, and the pain was different to the dull thudding agony he had experienced when his back had been beaten. This stung, and bit, and each lick hurt with an intensity that drove him half out of his mind with pain. All the strokes were measured, and delivered at the exact same interval. Laurence didn’t go fast. He allowed the sting of each stroke to fade before delivering the next, and then the next. Mulder felt his breathing speed up, and he struggled pointlessly against his bonds.


“There, there,” Laurence murmured, his violet eyes burning intensely as he went about his work. “I know it’s worse because you have the constant desire to close your legs to avoid the pain, but you can’t. I know how hard that is, but if you accept that you can’t then it’s much easier.”


Mulder took no notice. His thighs were burning up as that whip rose and fell on their inner surface, making him scream with pain as each lick slapped home. Laurence was thorough and methodical. He worked his way down from groin to knee, and back up the other side, and then started again where he had begun. There was a swish, a streak of agony, a heartbeat of recovery while the sting faded, and then another swish. Mulder bit down hard on his lips.


“Please…” the cry escaped his lips before he had a chance to stop it.


“That’s right, dear boy, scream all you like. Scream, and plead, and beg. Let it all out,” Laurence encouraged. “Tell me about the darkness, Mulder. Tell me what it feels like not to be loved, to know that others dislike you. Tell me about that, Mulder.”


Mulder tried to open his mouth to say that wasn’t what he had meant, but instead all that came out were whimpers of pain.


“Are you lonely, Mulder? You live alone. You never take vacations. You don’t have relationships, and your last sexual encounter was an abject failure by your own admission. Does this weigh on your mind, Mulder, or do you have other things to worry about? Your work, maybe? Are you highly regarded there? Or are you seen as a bit of a joke? Ah, I see by your expression that the latter is true. How sad. What is it some of my clients have called you – ‘spooky’ isn’t it? You’re a little like Cassandra, the prophetess, doomed never to be believed, an object of derision. How does that feel, Mulder?”


Mulder screamed in wordless pain for all the insults he had suffered over the years, for all the put downs, all the times his fellow agents had looked at him with that mixture of sympathy and derision in their eyes. Spooky Mulder, the agent who’d fucked up his own career – he’d had such promise once. Nobody had ever believed in him, not even Scully. Not even Skinner…although he knew there were times when they both wanted to, sometimes even when they did, but those times were rare.


“Is that what they call you? ‘Spooky’? Is that how they devalue your work in one word?” The lash rose and fell. “That must be very hard for you. I imagine you were always the clever one, always getting respect wherever you went. You were smart enough to study at Oxford after all. To end up being laughed at – that’s so cruel. It must gnaw on you. Poor boy. My poor dear boy.”


Mulder choked out a lifetime’s rage at the injustice of how he and his work were perceived as that whip bit into his thighs. The pace had picked up now, and he was screaming in time to the lash.


“It doesn’t matter. I don’t need…I don’t need recognition!” He screamed over the sound of the whip slapping into his flesh.


“Of course you don’t, but to be constantly put down – and when you know that you’re good. When you know you’re the best investigator they have, and that you’re right. Still not to be taken seriously, even by those you love… who are they, Mulder?” Mulder felt as if he were in hell. The red glow of the room was dizzying, swirling around the red mists of his own pain, and there was the devil himself standing between his outstretched thighs, hurting him more than he could take, or endure. The sweat was trickling down his chest in a steady stream, and he laughed, remembering with some small vestige of irony that Laurence had promised he would warm him.


“Nobody. I don’t love anybody!” He screamed, and the lash bit down harder and faster.


“That’s a lie, Mulder, and lies are always punished. Who do you love? Do you love Scully?”


“Yes…but not as you think…as a friend…as a partner…as someone who has been through everything with me, and never abandoned me…”


“Who abandoned you, Mulder?” Laurence asked, alighting on a detail Mulder had never meant to give away, his burning eyes the only thing Mulder could now see. Violet eyes, velvet voice.




“Your father?”


“Nobody.” Choked. Deceitful.


“Your lover? The man you met in that bookstore? The lawyer? Did he abandon you?”


“Fuck you!”


“Did he?” There was only the lash and his tortured body.


“Yes! Fuck you. Yes!”


The pain stopped.


Mulder moved his head blearily, and then became aware of fingers on one of his hands, unfastening it, and then a slow, gentle massage of his own fingers.


“Wha…?” He asked hazily.


“I’m just finishing where we left off. Massaging your hands. I always finish what I start, Mulder. You’ll learn that whatever small rebellions you attempt, you’ll never find a way to deflect me from my purpose. See, you’re much more amenable now, and these fingers are very lovely. I do enjoy touching them.” Laurence bent his head and kissed the fingers, then sucked each one into his mouth. Mulder, still lost in his own pain, let him. “Lovely. Salty with sweat – you’re nicely warm now.” Laurence finished his massage, and stood looking down on his captive, a fond expression in his violet eyes.


“So, you had a homosexual experience in your early twenties with the lawyer from the bookstore,” he murmured. Mulder made no reply. Laurence moved quickly, slapping the burning flesh of Mulder’s thighs with his right hand. Mulder gave a gasp of pain. “Answers are required in this room,” Laurence said.


“Yes. I did,” Mulder choked. It wasn’t much to give away. It didn’t matter. He was so tired.


“What was his name?” Laurence asked, stroking Mulder’s trembling shoulder with his finger.


“I don’t remember.” He flinched before the blow struck home, and the pain wrapped itself around the core of his soul, leaving him with aftershocks that made him tremble.


“It was years ago. It was a short affair. Just a couple of months. I don’t remember,” he whispered. “I’m tired. You promised you’d let me sleep.”


“I made no such promise,” Laurence said, idly running his index finger around Mulder’s nipple.


“You told the guards. You said that after I was whipped I could sleep. I want to sleep,” Mulder begged.


“It wasn’t a promise to you – it was an instruction to them. And circumstances changed, didn’t they, Mulder? When you freaked out in the hallway my plans changed. I’m a very flexible man. I like to match myself to the pace of each new recruit. What was his name?”


“I don’t remember. Honestly,” Mulder choked.


“You had an affair with him but you never allowed him to penetrate you? I know you were most definitely a virgin when I took you yesterday.”


“No, we didn’t…that is I was very young. He liked…he liked me to…I sometimes…to him…he liked that.” Mulder shuddered, remembering those faceless men thrusting into him yesterday. It had been so different between him and his lover. They had spent nights languorously making love. He had loved the sensation of his lover’s warm ass around his cock, and the way his lover had looked up at him, with passion and arousal in his beautiful dark eyes.


“And he was the only one? Your only homosexual experience?” Laurence pressed.


Mulder moistened his lips. “Yes. I was young. I was confused about my sexuality…so was he, I think.”


“Yet he was older than you?”




“And he left you?”


“It was a mutual decision.” Another slap on his thighs, and he moaned in agony.


“That’s not what you said a minute ago. You said he abandoned you. Explain it to me.”


“I don’t remember. It was a long time ago. It’s been over for a long time. I haven’t slept with another man since.”


“Until yesterday,” Laurence chuckled. “Now you’ve slept with three other men. Now we’re all part of you, Mulder.”


“No. That was rape. I’ve only ever slept with him,” Mulder replied firmly. Laurence laughed.


“Semantics and you know it. Before I’m through with you you’ll have slept with hundreds of men, dear boy, and you’ll even have learned to enjoy it. You’ll get down on your knees, and open your mouth or ass to any man who snaps his fingers in your direction.”


“And then I’ll be just like all the other whores you’ve trained. No different. Just a body. Not me any more. Does that thought please you, Laurence?” Mulder asked, and for a second he knew he had hit a nerve. He didn’t understand how, or even know how to use the knowledge, but he just saw the faintest shadow in those icy violet eyes, and then it was gone.


“You’re wrong. You’ll still be you, with all your delightful contradictions. Just a happier you, dear boy. One trained to my will and whim. One who is more amenable to good sense, and instruction by your elders and betters.”


“It won’t happen,” Mulder stated flatly.


“It’s already starting to.”


Laurence moved away, back down between Mulder’s thighs. He placed a finger in his mouth and then touched the wet digit to Mulder’s heated flesh. Mulder winced.


“This is good. Very sore – you’ll find walking hard for a day or so. Now, did you ever figure out your sexuality, dear boy? No more men, but you’ve slept with women?”


“Yes.” Mulder was desperately aware that Laurence was standing between his outstretched legs.


“Any long term relationships?”


“No. Not really…a few brief flings – with women.”


“And no more inclinations to take another male lover?”




“Why? Didn’t you enjoy it?”


“No…that’s not it. I…there was never…” Mulder felt exhausted. He could feel the sweat trickling down the side of his face, and flinched, waiting for another smack on the sore flesh of his inner thighs.


“Oh. I see.” Laurence’s voice was suddenly full of compassion. “My poor boy, I had no idea.” He moved again, silently, and slowly, graceful as a cat, bony as a cadaver, looming in and out of the shadows. “Oh, Mulder.” He took Mulder’s face between his hands and looked deep into his eyes. Mulder gazed back, transfixed and helpless, unable to move away. “My poor Mulder.” Laurence wiped away tears and sweat from Mulder’s cheeks. “You never found another man you could love as much as you loved him. Nobody else ever matched up, did they?” Mulder closed his eyes, drowning in the dark. The pressure of the hands on the sides of his face remained constant, and he was alone with this evil monster, alone with his own sadness, and loneliness.


“No,” he whispered at last.


There was silence. Laurence dropped his head and Mulder lay slumped and exhausted, lost in a haze.


“It feels good to talk about it doesn’t it?” Laurence said softly. He picked up the blindfold, and returned to the table with it.


“Not really,” Mulder replied. He welcomed the return of the blindfold, as Laurence slipped it over his head. He hoped he’d be left alone now, even for a little while, so that he could regroup, recover some of his composure, and make sense of what was happening to him. He needed time, time to heal, and time to sleep. As one of his arms was untied he realized, much to his dismay, that he wasn’t going to get it. Laurence hadn’t finished with him yet.


“You’ve done very well, Mulder, and now I’m going to reward you. Touch yourself.” His hand was placed on his own shriveled cock.


“What?” Mulder could hardly believe what he was being ordered to do, still less obey.


“Touch yourself. I’m going to allow you to come.”


“This will probably come as a surprise to you but I don’t feel remotely in the mood,” Mulder said. His cock felt rubbery and unreal beneath his fingertips, without any spark of life.


“Well, that’s a pity, because you know I wanted to give you time to heal internally after yesterday’s activities. If you won’t touch yourself, and bring yourself to climax, then I’ll take my climax instead.” Mulder heard the familiar snap of latex, and then a cool, lubricated finger circled his anus.


“No, wait!” He said quickly.


“You want to try?” Laurence asked.


“Yes. I’ll try.” He felt something cool squeezed into his palm. Lubricant. And then his hand was placed back around his flaccid cock.


“Think of someone attractive,” Laurence purred in his ear. “Tell me what this lawyer of yours looked like.”


Mulder swallowed hard, and began stroking his own cock. He knew that he couldn’t take another anal penetration after yesterday’s rapes. His back passage was raw, and apart from that he wasn’t sure that he could stand it psychologically when he was feeling so tired and weak. He had to try. He had to think of something…


“He was tall. Taller than me. He had very dark hair – curly around the edges. White teeth and the nicest lips.” Mulder remembered those lips sliding around his cock, and massaged it hard with his hand. His cock remained resolutely limp. “Christ this isn’t going to work! You don’t understand – I can barely get it up when I’m sitting at home in front of a porn fest,” Mulder spat.


“That’s because you’ve repressed yourself for too long. Do you ever think of him when you masturbate?” Laurence asked.


“No!” Mulder snapped. He gave a cry of raw pain as his inner thighs were slapped.


“Don’t lie.”


“I’m not…that is…I do sometimes, but I try not to. I try not to,” Mulder whimpered.


“Why? You loved him, you found him very attractive. He turned you on, didn’t he?”




“Then why not think about him when you masturbate?”


“Because…it hurts too much,” Mulder gasped. “Wanting…not having…”


“I see.” Laurence sounded puzzled. “It was a long time ago though.”




“No wonder you’re impotent if you deny yourself this kind of pleasure. It’s repression and denial, Mulder, and we must work on it. You can think of your young lawyer – you’re free to do that here. I’m giving you permission.”


“I can’t tell you what a difference that makes,” Mulder commented sarcastically, and then he howled in pain as this time the whip landed on his open thighs instead of Laurence’s hand.


“What I’m going to do is stand here with your whip. If you fail, then I’ll use it. I’ll also make love to you again. It’s entirely up to you, Mulder. You have a choice between masturbation or penetration.”


Mulder exhaled a long, deep breath, and stroked his flaccid penis again. The lube was sticky on his fingers, and his hand slid along the length of his shaft, but there was resolutely no spark of interest. He closed his eyes behind the blindfold, and tried to remember what it had been like. Laurence was right – he was in a kind of denial, but there was a good reason for that. Why torment yourself with something you couldn’t have? And he knew that if he thought about it too much, if he remembered those all too short, but intensely wonderful, perfect months in his early twenties, then he’d want it all again. He’d want to feel those lips around his cock, and those large, welcoming arms around his shoulders. He’d want to look into dark, fiery eyes, and see his own passion reflected back at him there.


“What happened in the bookstore, Mulder?” Laurence asked, and Mulder cried out as his captor sank a lubed finger back into his anus. The whip slapped down on his thigh. “What happened?” Laurence repeated. “What happened?”


The bookstore was dark, but it was sunny outside. Their fingers had met on the spine of the book, and they’d laughed. Mulder’s stomach chose that moment to rumble.


“Sounds like you’re hungry,” the stranger commented.


“Yeah – it was a choice of here or the diner next door. I’m a student – I can’t afford to both read and eat.” Mulder shrugged.


“I remember that choice from my own student days.” The stranger gave a small, wistful smile of remembrance. Mulder put his head on one side, fascinated. “Look, why don’t I buy you a coffee and something to eat, and then we can share the book.”


“No, I’m fine.” Mulder felt his skin betray him by coloring a deep shade of red. He hadn’t meant to sound as if he was begging for food.


“It’d be my pleasure. I’ve been sitting in a room on my own studying for a week – I could do with some conversation, and you could do with some food. It’s a fair exchange.”


Mulder looked into a pair of dark, sincere eyes, and found himself nodding, now suddenly and curiously tongue-tied. He was bowled over by the attraction he felt for this stranger, and he listened intently to the other man’s introductions and talk of his job, as they sat at a table. Mulder was fascinated by the other man’s work and his smile in equal measure but his new friend was self-deprecating about the former, saying how much he loved the law in one breath, but denigrating the law firm where he worked in the next.


“You seem conflicted.” Mulder spooned three sugars into his coffee, and took a sip.


“Conflicted?” The other man raised an eyebrow, a wry smile tugging the corners of those sensuous lips. “I can tell you’re doing a psychology degree,” he commented. Mulder grinned.


“Yes – and that was a classic case of deflection,” Mulder teased. He liked this man. He was Mulder’s intellectual equal without being patronizing or self important with it, and that was a refreshing change from the people Mulder had met so far in his life.


“You’re right. I am unhappy in my work,” his new friend sighed. “It’s not the law – I love that, or even working on my LLM – I’m one of that rare breed who enjoys studying, and writing papers. I can lose myself in my work sometimes.”


“Me too.” Mulder grinned. “It’s such a good feeling isn’t it? To be completely wrapped up in something so absorbing that you lose track of the time.”


“That’s it – that’s how I feel.” The stranger laughed, showing those perfect white teeth to perfection. He had tanned skin – a much darker shade than Mulder’s pale flesh, and it suited him. His red shirt showed off a pair of broad shoulders. Mulder wanted to peel that shirt away and see what lay beneath. He was both titillated and thrilled by this thought. He had been attracted to other men before, but had been too shy, and too scared to do anything about it. Besides, he’d had girlfriends, and found them attractive as well. He was confused.


“I love my job, but the people I work for are just vultures. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised but…”


“Go on.” Mulder dipped his cookie into his coffee and then crammed the whole sopping mass into his mouth. His new friend made a face. “Sorry,” Mulder mumbled, flushing, and berating himself for looking like such an immature ass in front of this smart older guy.


“S’okay – I knew you were hungry!” The other man laughed. “I went into the law because I wanted to be a part of it, part of the fabric of it. I guess, I dunno, would it sound hopelessly idealistic if I said that I wanted to do some good?”


No, it wouldn’t, Mulder thought to himself. It would just make you even more perfect than you already are. He gazed at the man, lost in a more powerful sense of attraction than he’d ever felt.


“Maybe you should try a different career path?” Mulder suggested. “Just because you have a law degree doesn’t mean that you have to stay in private practice.”


“No. You’re right. Look, can I buy you another coffee? I’m, uh, enjoying our conversation.”


“Me too.” Mulder grinned, feeling giddy, and stupid, his cock hardening in his pants. He reached out to hand the other man his cup, and their fingers touched. Mulder felt as if an electric current had run between them, and inhaled sharply. The other man stared at him, his face surprised, and a little shocked. “We could skip the coffee,” Mulder said. “It’s a nice day – too nice for you to be stuck in here with your head buried in those books.” He knew he was making a pass at the other man, but he didn’t care. It felt right. It felt good.


“Where did you go?” Laurence’s voice broke into his reverie.


“Just wandering through the park. We talked and talked. I did find him attractive, but it was more that he understood me – he listened to me. I told him about Oxford, about my life…I even told him I was attracted to him. He had very dark eyes. Very quiet, very solemn. I thought he’d hit me when I told him that, but he just smiled, and he touched my hand and said he felt the same. I asked him if he had an apartment, and he said he did, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to just…” Mulder shrugged.


“Fuck and run,” Laurence supplied.


“Something like that. Not that he wanted any kind of commitment, just that it was too soon. He was as confused as I was. He never spoke about it but I always felt that there was something that had delayed his normal development. Something bigger than his sexuality. Something that haunted him. Later…well, later…” Mulder shrugged. “I did understand later but he didn’t tell me then.”


“You slept with him though?” Laurence pressed. “What did that feel like? Tell me about the first time, and keep stroking.”


His finger slid in and out of Mulder’s anus, with a relentless sawing motion, and whenever Mulder went quiet the whip would lash down on his inner thigh. Mulder slid his hand along his cock again, remembering…


“We met again. He took me to the theater. I didn’t have enough money to pay for the ticket but he didn’t make a big deal about that. He told me that when I’d made my fortune I could take him out, but until then he was happy to buy me meals. I liked that – it made it sound as if we’d be together for years.”


“The first time, please, Mulder, or I’ll become impatient,” his captor chided, thwacking the whip down again. Mulder felt tears of pain spring involuntarily into his eyes. He didn’t want to remember this. He’d spent a lifetime not remembering this.


“It was in his apartment. We had gone back there to talk after watching a game. Just to talk. We talked a lot. Or… at least I talked. He was quieter…He was practically silent that evening. He just watched me out of those dark eyes and when I finally shut up I knew I had to kiss him so I did. He was still beneath me, but he didn’t move away. The attraction was so strong you could smell it, taste it…it hung in the air. He ran his fingers through my hair, and I unbuttoned his shirt. It was the same red one he’d worn when we met in the bookstore. Once I started I went crazy. I had to be close to him. I had to…” Mulder closed his eyes, remembering revealing inch after inch of tanned, toned flesh. He remembered a heady smell that aroused him, sweat mingled with aftershave. He had sunk to his knees in front of the other man, unzipped his fly, and released a thick, swelling cock. He had drunk from that cock, like taking life itself into him. His own cock had been hard in his pants as he sucked. His lover had had his hands in his hair and had been whispering something, just words, terms of endearment, encouragement.


“That’s good.” The finger in his anus thrust back and forth, and he rocked in time to the motion. His own cock was hard in his lubed hand, and he was pumping it. “He still turns you on. Even after all this time. You should have allowed yourself to masturbate to this memory before,” Laurence told him. “What happened next?”


“He came in my throat…” Mulder arched his neck as much as his bonds would allow. His hard cock was aching with need. “And then he pulled me on his lap, and kissed me. He was very gentle, very loving, very big…he held me. Then he put his hands into my pants, and stroked me. Softly, then harder…” Mulder stroked himself, lost in the memory. “I was looking in his eyes the whole time as he stroked, over and over again, pumping me until I came over his hand…Oh shit…” Mulder felt warm come spurt over his fingers.


“Very good.” Laurence removed his own finger from Mulder’s ass. “You see, Mulder. I can give you pleasure, as well as pain. I can command your body to do as I please. I can make you come when you can’t even manage it for yourself.”


“Fuck you,” Mulder said without conviction or interest, still lost in a time 18 years ago, his head resting on a broad shoulder, his neck being stroked by a large hand.


“I’m going to clean you up.”


Mulder gasped as a wet washcloth descended on his cock, and wiped away his own spilled semen, slowly caressing him in the process, and his spent cock gave a twitch of interest. “He isn’t the only one who can give you pleasure, Mulder. I can too. You’ll come for me too, Mulder, in time.”


“No,” Mulder said in a dull voice.


“Yes. You already did in a way. Now, I’m going to leave you here to rest. One more thing before I go, Mulder. What was his name?”


Mulder lay looking into the dark, and made no reply.


“I’ll make you tell me,” Laurence promised. Mulder heard the sound of a latex glove being removed from his captor’s hand, and dropped into something – probably a bowl. “Before we’re through. You’ll tell me everything before long. You’ll be pleased to tell me.”


Mulder tried not to listen. He tried to hold on to the memory of those arms holding him, those dark eyes making love to him. Laurence re-tied his hand, then turned his head, forced open his lips, inserted his tongue again, and explored his captive’s mouth for endless long, humiliating minutes, his thin fingers digging into Mulder’s jaw, keeping his mouth open. When he released him, Mulder turned his face away, and retched from the stink of his captor’s unfamiliar breath.


“Sweet dreams, dear boy,” Laurence chuckled, as his soft footfalls faded towards the door. “Sweet dreams.”


Mulder lay in the dark staring into the void of his own blindfold. This small strip of fabric focused his every thought inwards. He could smell his lover, could feel his lover’s warm breath on his neck and he could have wept for what might have been, for what should have been, and for the knowledge, so hard won in this dark, bitter place, that it was all he had ever wanted. Why hadn’t he fought for it at the time? And why had he never tried to win it back since? Mulder started to hum, a mindless tune, lost in time. There was no part of his body that didn’t ache, no part that hadn’t been violated and abused. He was trapped inside a battered reminder that he was all too human, just frail flesh and blood at the end of the day. He cursed himself for what he had given away, and the insights into his soul and psyche that he had surrendered to his torturer without even meaning to. The other man had pounced upon even the smallest word or phrase, and Mulder, half out of his mind with pain, and at a significant disadvantage in this battle of wits, couldn’t keep up. He had to though. If he didn’t he was lost. He had to find a way to fight back, a way to hold on to his own sanity, because if he didn’t…if he didn’t he’d be broken, as so many others had been broken by this man in this room. Mulder’s chest heaved as his own misery overwhelmed him. He had to fight, and if that meant making compromises then he had to make them. What was it his high school boxing coach had told him – you’re too skinny to box hard, so you’ve got to box clever instead. That was what he had to do, if only he didn’t hurt so much. If only he wasn’t so tired…


He tried to marshal the last remnants of his fading thought processes to go over the few moments of triumph he’d had during his discourse with Laurence so far. There had been the cravat – he had been close to something there, not quite accurate, but close. Why had Laurence chosen to show off that bruise today? Surely it should have been something he was annoyed about, even ashamed of – one of his victims getting the upper hand, if only for a second; one of them inflicting real harm on him when it was supposed to be the other way around. So why tie his cravat so loose as to reveal the bruise, as if it were a trophy that he was proud of? Then there had been the second moment, when he’d told Laurence that if he succeeded than Mulder would just be another broken victim, testament to his skill, but no longer of interest. That had unsettled the other man – why? Mulder willed his intuition to work. He rarely found the answers when he tried too hard; they came to him when he was almost out of focus, taking an overview, allowing his mind to roam from one disjointed fact or theory to another. Now he was afraid his intuitive skills had left him for good. He was in too much pain, and it was too important – under that kind of pressure it was hardly surprising that his mind just went blank. Mulder closed his eyes, and started to hum again. His head was resting on a man’s chest, clad in a red shirt. He was happy but very tired.


“It’s all right to sleep,” his lover said. “You’re worn out. Sleep, Fox. Sleep.”


“Need to find an answer,” he murmured.


“Not now. Not when you’re so tired. Go to sleep. I’ll watch over you.” A large, gentle hand tangled in his hair, soothing and loving him.


“I have to eat and drink. I have to stay warm.” He had a memory of falling to the floor, shaking, suffering from a combination of shock and hypothermia, and shuddered as he remembered bony hands massaging his flesh back to life.


“Of course you do,” his lover said.


“Even if that means moving close to him…sitting next to him.” Mulder wanted to retch, but he was too tired to do even that. He swallowed hard instead.


“That’s fine,” his lover whispered.


“No, not fine…here, when I can’t stop him touching me, I have no choice. But to go, willingly…to allow him to pet me in exchange for warmth…”


“Doesn’t matter,” his lover said. His lover’s chest was large and warm under his head.


“Love you,” Mulder slurred, desolate, the pain inside like a knife slicing through his chest from the inside out.


“Sleep,” his lover ordered softly.


Unable to fight it any more Mulder nestled close, and did just that.





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