By Touch (Magic Shell Story #15)  by Wylfcynne
I was daydreaming about making love to Mulder.  Not just remembering having a wonderful sexual experience with him, but actually fantasizing about being the aggressor, the active partner rather than the one to whom love is made.

I’m babbling, aren’t I?

To be home at night, relaxing, is a rare pleasure, given the life I lead.  On such occasions, rather than seeking out utter peace and quiet, however, I usually have the television on.  It keeps me company when I’m alone; being alone is not a situation I have ever truly liked.

Mulder and I do not live together.  We work together, and that means so much more than the standard forty-hour week that sometimes I think we’re doing it in reverse.  Sometimes it’s more like being home and officially off-duty and alone is my forty-hour work week, and the 128 remaining hours that I spend with Mulder, ostensibly working, is my life.

One evening last month I found myself watching Real Sex on HBO.

Mulder would have loved it, even though there wasn’t any real sex on Real Sex; there rarely is.  But there are a lot of naked and semi-naked people engaging in titillating conversation and behavior for the cameras and sometimes engaging in some fairly believable foreplay.

One segment that night was about lesbians and I really almost started surfing off; my hand was on the remote.  Then the girl on camera started talking, in very explicit terms, about how what she experienced with her partners is similar to straight sex… and I looked up from my crossword puzzle to see that she meant, and I froze.

A strap-on.

An artificial phallus mounted over the clitoris, held in place with a specially-designed harness.

Oh.  My.  God.

I’m getting hot again just remembering that scene.

Of course, I don’t want to do that with other women; I want to do it with Mulder. After all, he’s done all sorts of interesting and creative things to me, and we’ve both enjoyed every moment of it.  It’s not that he doesn’t let me take the superior position; he does, and we both enjoy it.  We both enjoy a certain amount of creativity, too.

But to be the one penetrating…

This is a concept I never considered before.

Mulder would agree, I think.  Mulder has seen, on film at least, more sexual activity than Kinsey and Masters & Johnson combined, including variations on the theme that only the authors of the Kama Sutra probably imagined.  I’ve never had anal sex; I don’t know if he ever has.  I’ve seen enough of his medical records to know that he’s disease-free, so what he may or may not have done in the past with other people was never, I thought, really my business.  He knows my sexual history, and I know most, if not all, of his.

But this would be anal sex with me, and that’s different.

I think.

Damn it.

Now I’ve got to know.


We’re driving from the airport looking for our hotel, and I’m having trouble concentrating on the heavy rush hour traffic.  I don’t know what’s gotten into Scully.  She’s as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a rocking chair showroom.  Every time I move she flinches; you’d think I beat her regularly.

Finally I can’t stand it any longer.  “Scully, you’re driving me crazy.  What’s bothering you so much?”

At the first syllable of her name, she jumps as if I stabbed her, and then she visibly forces herself to settle down.

“I’m sorry, Mulder.  I just have something on my mind.”

“Care to share?”

We’re at a red light.  I throw a glance at her in time to catch the one she throws at me, and I’m stunned by what I see.

She’s afraid.

Scully?  Dana Scully?  MY Scully?  Afraid?!

The light changes; I pull over to the right and into a convenient lot. I don’t even notice what sort of business it is.   I park but I leave the car running because without the air conditioning, we’ll smother.  I lose my seat belt and turn to face her.

“What?  You’re scared, Scully, and that terrifies me.  Tell me.”

Now she’s blushing furiously.  Curiouser and curiouser…


“God, this is embarrassing,” she whispers, studying the way she’s wringing her hands.

I catch them between mine; they’re cold.  So I start rubbing her hands to warm them up.  She watches me, but she doesn’t speak.

“C’mon, Scully.  Say it out loud; it won’t be as scary.”

She doesn’t answer at once, but she is visibly steeling herself.  I don’t move. I’m practically holding my breath, here, expecting the worst…


She rips that entire sentence out in one breath as fast as she can.  She’s very carefully not looking at me.

It takes me a moment to shift gears.  I was imagining physical danger or something political that was a threat to our work or our partnership.  She was fretting about our sex life.

Okay, that’s fair.  Our relationship has only been sexual for a few months:  it’s so new that I still feel like we’re on an extended honeymoon, sometimes.  But while we both have large stores of intellectual knowledge about human sexuality, we’re just beginning to learn about one another.

I haven’t answered her, and she’s looking up, now, warily, as if expecting me to be upset by the question.  “No, I haven’t, ever,” I say softly, once I can see her eyes again. “Did you want to try something?”

She nods jerkily. “I saw a piece on HBO last month…”

I grin.  I can’t help it.  I suddenly know exactly what she saw and what she wants to do, and when she added that item to the little list she keeps in her nightstand. “Scully!  You want to fuck me with a strap-on dildo?”

She blushes even more furiously than before.  “Dammit, Mulder, do you have to be so crude?”

I unbuckle her seatbelt and pull her into my arms, using my thigh to bridge the gap between the seats.  She’s happy to come, to be so close that I can’t see her face, that she doesn’t have to look me in the eye, and she snuggles in tight, her arms snaking around to hold me.

“I just have this image in my head that I can’t shake,” she murmurs into my chest.

“What image?” I have to ask.

“You, naked, face down on the bed, wrists tied wide to the headboard.  Me mounting you, gentle at first, but getting faster, rougher, pounding into you, until you come, screaming into a pillow.  I keep pounding into you till I explode, and collapse on top of you, and I fall asleep there, feeling you still shuddering beneath me from the aftershocks.”

Dear God.

It takes me a minute to form a coherent sentence.  “Do you want to do that?”

“Do you?” she comes back instantly.  “It’s a little D/s, but it’s not a rape, Mulder. I don’t want to do it if you won’t enjoy it.   That shuddering has to come from ecstasy.”

I shudder, and hug her more tightly.

“Never mind, Mulder.  We don’t have to…”

She’s misunderstood my silence.  “Scully, relax.”  I can hear how hoarse my voice is, suddenly.  “I’m so turned on right now that I can hardly think.  Give me a minute to redirect some of my blood supply north again.”

That startled a chuckle out of her.  “So, you aren’t mortally or morally offended?” she asks cautiously.

I shudder again.  “Absolutely not.  If we weren’t out here in a,” I look around, “supermarket parking lot in broad daylight I’d be ripping your clothes off, right now.”

“Right here?”

“Right here, right now.  You’ve got that toy in your luggage, right?”

She pushes back to stare up at me, stunned.

“C’mon, Scully,” I grin at her.  “I know you.  You would never have brought it up if you weren’t prepared to go for it.”

She nods slowly.  “Yes.  It’s in my luggage.”

“How does it make you feel when you wear it?”

She grins at me, finally relaxing a little.  “How politically correct do you want me?”

“I don’t want you politically correct at all.  I want you hot and horny.”

She shivers and licks her lips.  “It makes me feel powerful,” she says quietly.  “It has to be some kind of conditioned cultural stereotyping, but I feel dominant, bigger and stronger, when I wear it.”

I swallow hard.  Scully’s a beautiful and feminine woman, but her combination of brains, beauty and sheer courage scares the hell out of a lot of people, male and female alike.  I can hardly imagine her with more confidence, more strength.

But do I want to experience it?  Hell, yes!

“How far are we from the hotel?”  She’s the navigator; she’ll know.

“Six miles,” she answers automatically.  Then her eyes get very wide.  “You mean…?!”

“Scully, I’m so hard I can hardly see.  Don’t let me miss any turns, okay?”

It’s her turn to swallow hard and I can see that she’s starting to sweat.

This is going to be good.


We’ve been sent out to Cleveland to assist on a serial killer investigation.  FBI policies have been changed a bit, lately; rather than practically forcing us to stay at those abysmal little no-tell motels because the per diem we got was so low, the FBI recently put the Residence Inns by Marriott on retainer.  Now pairs of agents get two-bedroom suites with living rooms for work areas and kitchens to minimize their need to go out for meals. The hotels will even do grocery shopping for us.

It makes keeping tabs on Mulder when he’s on a profiling tear a little easier; I can keep him healthy without settling for pizza and take-out Chinese.  Since I don’t have to interrupt him or chivvy him out of the room to eat in places where no one delivers, we don’t fight about it, and that keeps Mulder more calm and focused; that makes him more efficient, and we get to go home more quickly.

All together, a much better deal.

This time, the suite even has a fireplace.  We won’t be using that; no reason to gratuitously raise Mulder’s tension levels, which open flame would do.  There’s a kitchen with a coffee maker and a stovetop.  I can make grilled cheese sandwiches and coffee; I can heat up canned soup.  This will work.

Tonight we are not on duty.  This killer has no discernible schedule; he may kill tonight, or not again for weeks.  We are to report in tomorrow morning, so tonight we are free, and Mulder is going to indulge me in my fantasy.

Payback will be weird, I’m sure.

We separate to our own bedrooms to unpack and that gets done very quickly; we’ve been doing this for too long for it to be otherwise.

He comes into my bedroom gloriously naked and erect, and finds me pulling a length of seatbelt strap out of my suitcase.  He takes it from me and runs it through his fingers.  It’s very soft to the touch, even on the edges, and has foot-wide loops sewn into each end.

“Very nice, Scully.  Where’d you get it?”

“Same place I bought the appliance.  The loops sewn into the ends are for your wrists.  Then you just loop it over or around something solid.”

He nods thoughtfully.  “Sounds like a plan.”

The tension in the room is going up; we’re both a little uncertain about this.  It doesn’t help his tension that I’m not wearing the appliance, yet.  I can see that he’s looking for it, but it is still hidden in a black velour bag in my suitcase.

“You only see it when I wear it.  It’s supposed to be a part of me. It’s not a toy, really, but a prosthetic.”

He grimaces.  “Not an idea any guy wants to contemplate, Scully.”

I don’t answer, but I notice his erection failing significantly.  He’s being very honest with me.  I hand him the strap.  “Go fasten yourself down.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I snort as he turns to obey.  I really cannot imagine Mulder as a sub.  These bonds are purely symbolic; worn as intended, he can shake them off and be free in a moment.  Neither of us would have it any other way: we have both been imprisoned in reality too often, and suffered too much at the hands of our captors, to find being tied down titillating.  These bonds are just to remind him not to use his hands, to give him something safe to grab.

He slips the center of the strap under the head of the mattress, since the headboard was bolted to the wall.  “This okay?” he asks as he slips a loop over each wrist.



I flinch at the warning tone in his voice.  I’m about to fasten his ankles down with another length of the same material, and for a moment I think he’s objecting to the bond.  Then I remember that I promised him, on our first night together, to never use that word like that again.

“I’m sorry, Mulder.  It just slipped out.”  He nods, forgiving me.  I study him for a moment.  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

He shakes the loops off his wrists and stands up again, takes me in his arms and hugs me.  Then he cradles my face in his palms and makes me look him squarely in the eyes.

“I know exactly what you want from me,” he says softly, his voice very intense, “and I’m totally willing to try and give it to you. Do you understand that I may not be able to go through with this? I’ve never done anything like this before, and it may not work.”

I have to close my eyes; he’s stating exactly what I fear. “I haven’t, either, Mulder.”

“…and if this doesn’t work for me,” he interrupts me, “and I have to yell ‘Melvin’ and stop you, I will still love you and I will not hold it against you afterward.”

He kisses me, and it just about melts my bones, but I can’t let myself surrender to him, now.  If this little game is going to work, it will be because I maintain control.

So I end the kiss, and smile up at him to reassure him.  “Thank you.  I was feeling a certain amount of uncertainty.  You have no idea how odd I find it that this was my idea.”

He grins, and slides his hands up my body to ruffle my hair.  Then he turns and lets himself fall onto the bed, face down.  His hands find the loops easily, and he imprisons himself for my pleasure.

A shiver of excitement goes through me.

He’s not really being submissive, and that’s okay.  I didn’t ask for that.  But he’s watching me, and I can’t put on the appliance while he’s watching.

I have to call it an appliance; crude words such as those Mulder used in the car just disturb me too much.

So I move to my suitcase again and find my nightgown. I’ve been wearing it for three nights at home alone, so it has my scent on it.  I can barely make out a trace of my vanilla-scented moisturizer, but I know Mulder can detect my scent where I can’t detect any at all. And he loves the way I smell.

The nightgown is short, with spaghetti straps, and is made of navy blue silk.  I carefully cover Mulder’s face and head with it, blocking his vision.

“Can you breathe all right?” I have to ask.


His voice is only barely muffled by such a light fabric.

“Good. I’ll be right back.”


God, it smells like her.  From the texture of the fabric, I have to think that this is either a nightgown or a slip.  Probably a nightgown; she wears them for two or three days at a time, but a slip goes into the laundry after one day.

I don’t immediately realize it, but I’m rubbing my face into the fabric, trying to pin it between my chin and the mattress.  The unmistakable smell of Scully inflames me… and I’m only a little surprised to find I’m beginning to hump the mattress.

Something smacks my naked butt sharply, and I flinch, startled, only belatedly realizing that it was her hand that struck the blow.

“None of that,” she scolds.  “You come when I make it happen.”

I shiver.  That’s the command-voice I was anticipating.  I don’t take orders well, and Scully knows it.

“Yes, ma’am!”  I’m not in anything close to a submissive headspace, here, and there’s an audible note of sarcasm in my words.

I’m a little tense: I don’t know how she’s going to react to this.  Scully and I have rarely played games; we’re still learning how to make the more traditional forms of sex work for us.

I was in a D/s relationship once, and I don’t want to go there, again.  It had never originally been done with my consent, but at the time I didn’t know how to escape.  That was a long time ago, but I can feel some part of me, deep inside, starting to whimper, and not with need.  If she tries to make this D/s I’m not going to –

“Sarcasm, Mulder?” she drawls.

I freeze, waiting to see what she’ll do.  I can feel her climbing up onto the bed, and rather than any other touch, she kneels between my legs and lies down on top of me.

She knows I love waking up underneath my Scullyblanket.  I feel myself relaxing.  I might have known that she would find a truly adroit way to reassure me, even if she wasn’t sure why I was tensing up so badly.

Then she lets her weight begin to really come down on me, and I feel it.  There, between my thighs, I’m being prodded by Scully’s toy, the tip of it rubbing against my perineum.

She rubs it against me slowly, using humping motions. It’s weird… but what’s more weird is that I feel myself actually beginning to respond to it.

I really had not expected to react positively.  I didn’t know if I could, or should, try to fake arousal for a while, till Scully could get herself off, at least.  But the rhythm is familiar, and so is her touch, and the quiet purring sounds she’s making.  I let myself relax even farther, and spread my legs a little to make it easier for her.


I had adjusted the harness at home, so getting it on took only a minute.  I find myself standing beside the bed, looking down at my blindfolded partner, stroking the silicone penis as if masturbating as a man would do.  The base of the penis is rubbing against my clitoris, and it feels very good.

However, I am stalling, and I am willing to admit it to myself.  I am not at all sure how this is going to work.  Faced with the total responsibility for Mulder’s safety and comfort as well as both his pleasure and my own, I have to admit I am having second thoughts.

I wonder if this is how he feels, when he is the active partner.  I watch him arousing himself lazily with my nightgown.  I know Mulder as a very caring and considerate lover, who has never left me unsatisfied no matter how difficult it might be on any particular occasion.  Typically he fights to stay awake afterward, knowing I like to snuggle and come down gradually.

Mulder forces himself to do that for me, to give me that soft landing, even when he’s crashing.

I shiver, intimidated by the commitment I have made.  In reversing our usual roles, I have assumed the responsibility for his satisfaction, at the sacrifice of my own if necessary.   But I know that if he realizes I’m  doing that, it would spoil the entire experience for him.

Then I realize that he is really getting off on my nightgown.  I can’t have that. Moving without thinking, I smack him on his delectable little ass, and scold him.

He shivers and I’m suddenly afraid.  I don’t want him submissive; Mulder would have to be broken to submit, and that wild mustang spirit in him is part of what makes him the man I love.

When he speaks, I have to relax with a chuckle. Sarcasm SO becomes him.

I climb up onto the bed and kneel between his legs. I walk my hands up his back, stroking him and crooning to him as I lie down on top of him.

He loves this.  No matter what, every time we sleep together, he wants me on top of him.  Beneath me, I can feel him relaxing, moving with me a little when I move against him, now.  I don’t want him to come, now, but I want him excited.   I reach up and pull the silk off his eyes.

He blinks at me over his shoulder, trying to adjust to the brighter light, and he is so beautiful that suddenly I can’t breathe.



She stops.  She’s lying on top of me, and that toy is snug against me, but she isn’t moving at all.  She’s just watching me.  Then she bites her lip and her eyes slide away from mine.  She climbs off the bed and turns away, arms defensively folded against her chest.

The harness she’s wearing is woven nylon, and it’s a pale cream color that blends very nicely with her skin tone.  The dildo is erect and dark red and dramatically visible.

Scully’s so little that the proportions are unrealistic; the thing looks huge!  And she wants to fuck me with that?!  For a moment I’m terrified.  For a moment I’m totally convinced that I’m calling this off.

But then I see her face.

“Stage fright?” the thought coalesces into words.  As the passive partner, tonight, all I have to do is wait and react, and I realize I’ve been doing a lot of waiting.

She stares at me in shock.  “How do you DO that?”

I shrug and smile faintly.  “I’m a profiler, Scully.  I’ve been profiling you for years. I know you better than you do.”

She’s still staring at me.  A motion of her hand diverts my attention and I stare at her right hand squeezing and rubbing and stroking the flexible red dildo.

I should…  I don’t know how I should feel in this context. But what I do feel is a jolt of arousal that leaves me shivering.  I tear my eyes away; that’s what it looks like when she’s stroking me…


I see his attention snap from my face to my hand, which has been absently stroking the toy.  I see him shiver and look away.

Is he repulsed?

“Mulder?  We don’t have to do this…”

He shakes his head and manages to smile at me.  “I said I would.  I will.”

“I don’t want to if you’re unhappy or put off by it!”

He shifts, trying to get comfortable.  “I won’t deny,” he says quietly, “that it makes me a little nervous.  But there are those who swear by this kind of thing; it’s certainly worth a try.”

Now I’m intrigued.  He’s talking as if this will qualify, for him, as a homosexual experience, simply because of the equipment used.

“Research says that over half of American males experience some homosexual contact before they turn 25.  Didn’t you?”

He’s trying not to look at the toy, or my hand on it.

“Contact doesn’t necessarily imply penetration,” he says hoarsely, and, despite his attempts to keep this discussion at a clinical level, his voice betrays him on that last word.  He’s very nervous.

I don’t think he’s frightened.  For this experience to frighten him, he would have to fear me, and he doesn’t.

“I met a guy at Oxford who made a pass at me,” he explains with a shrug, feigning nonchalance.  “We played around for a few months. We never went this far.”

I feel some of my tension fade.  He’s not repulsed by the toy and what it is.  He may find it more difficult to accept the appliance because of its artificiality, but not because it mimics a penis.

Then I grin at him.  “So, I’m your first?  I like that.”

He laughs.  “First for this.  Only for everything, Scully; you know that.”

I lean close to kiss him.  “I know.  As you are mine.”

The kiss is shockingly intense.  I meant it for reassurance, but he’s burning.  I break free and step back, panting.

“Believe me now?” he asks, his eyes boring into mine.


I knew that if she saw any more of my nervousness, she would back out.  Fantasy is one thing, but actually acting it out is another story entirely.

“So,” I say with studied carelessness, “how do you want to do this?”

She smiles and licks her lips.  I realize only then that throughout all this talking and delay, her hand has been stroking and pumping that dildo.

When she answers me, her voice is confident and clear, and her eyes are sparkling with anticipation.

“Roll over again.  Are your wrists in those loops?”

“Yeah.  I’ve got ‘em.”  The loops are far too large: I have to wrap them around my hands and hold on.  But that’s good; it gives me something to grab, when I’m not going to be able to reach her.

I feel her climb up behind me again.  She repeats the stroking and she lies down on top of me, rubbing the dildo against me.

It makes me shiver with anticipation.  “Scully?”

“Yes, my love?” she croons into my ear as her kisses trail up my spine.

“Please tell me you bought commercial lubricants…?”

There’s a long moment of silence, and I can’t help but try and roll so I can see her.  “Scully…!”

She kisses me hard while her hands stroke and caress me.  Only when she pulls away does she smile.  “Of course I did, silly. Three different flavors, as a matter of fact.”

I’m relieved, and she laughs at me again.

“I would never treat you badly, Mulder, or cut any corners.  Only the best for you.”

I relax a little more.  “I guess.  I’ve got you, don’t I?”

She chuckles again, and then pushes at my shoulder; she wants me to lie flat again.  I straighten out, and she gets off me again.

“Hey!  Come back here!”

“Patience, my love.  Patience.”

I can’t hear her bare feet on the carpet, but I don’t shift position again.  In a moment, I have my answer as the lights all fade down to a dim glow.

“I want to do this by touch.”

Her voice is low, with a barely-audible rasp in it that races right to my groin.

“Yay-rah,” I manage, “I heartily endorse touching…”


I smile at his suddenly shaky voice, and begin to gently massage his feet.  He is ticklish, and I have to be careful to keep my touch firm.  He flinches a couple of times until the muscles finally begin to yield.

I move up his legs slowly, working on them alternately. When I reach his butt I massage first, and then bite gently.

He jumps a little, and I feel him start to tense up again.

I continue the massage up his back, taking my time, moving carefully to straddle his body to rub his neck and massage his scalp.

I’ve done this before, and I know that I can usually put him to sleep like this.  This time it isn’t going to work.  There’s too much tension here today.

I continue the body rub until he’s lying very flat, limp on the bed, past even moaning.  I’m straddling his thighs while I’m opening the nearest bottle of lubricant.  I rub the toy against him, but he doesn’t react.  My fingers move to slide into his so-intimate place, and his breath hitches.  My fingers brush gently against his perineum, his scrotum; these are familiar touches, and he relaxes again.

I had read up on this procedure; you can find anything on the internet.  I knew his body had to be prepared to accept penetration. In that, the male is no different than the female.  Only the methodology differs, and that not much.  His reactions to my touch are promising, moving toward my hand rather than away, so I take a  deep breath and the first step.  I gently slide my longest finger, wet with lubricant, inside.

His muscles contract around my finger, but I move gently, in and out, around, encouraging the muscles to relax… and, much to my relief, it works.  I bend the finger a little, hesitantly seeking for that one hypersensitive spot, but I cannot find it.  I try again, but I have to be so careful not to hurt him…


He’s panting, shuddering from head to foot as my hand moves again.  I look up, and I see his hands fisted tightly against the nylons bands, muscles rippling up his arms and across his shoulders.

“Yes, my love?”

“Talk to me,” he pleads, shuddering as my hand moves again. “I… I… need…” His voice vanishes in a gasp.

“Tell me what you need.”

“I need…  I need to know it’s you.”

I hadn’t realized how my silence might be affecting him: in almost all our sexual play we can see each other.  On the occasions that he takes me from behind, he’s so much taller than me that he can still reach my face, whisper in my ears.  With our positions reversed like this, I can’t do that to him.

I kiss his cheeks, the base of his spine.  “Anyone else touches you like this will be dead meat,” I declare softly, but with intensity that I hope he can hear.  “You’re mine, and I am a possessive bitch who does not play well with others.”

All through this my hands have been working on him.  His appreciative chuckle is interrupted when he gasps in reaction to the insertion of a second finger, gently turning, massaging.

“Oh… god…”

I stop, uncertain, and he whimpers.

“Was that good?” I have to ask.

“Ohhh… yeahhh…” he moans.  “Don’t… stop…”

“Tell me when I hit the spot,” I request, kissing as far up his back as I can reach without withdrawing my hand.

He’s no longer still; he’s moving with my hand, and his hands are flexing in the same rhythm on the straps he holds.

“You’ll know,” he assures me breathlessly.

“You know, your butt was not the first thing I noticed about you,” I purr, laying my cheek against him.  “After all, you were sitting on it. But it’s definitely in the top ten butts of all time.  There should be a hall of fame.”

He chuckles, panting.  “Wh- What was first?”

“Your voice.”  I have two fingers pumping slowly in and out of him while I rub more lubricant on the prosthetic with my other hand, pretending it is my own flesh.  Much to my own astonishment, Mulder’s soft moans and movements against me, with the motions of my hands, really are arousing me.

“M- My voice?”

“You sound like… like honeyed whiskey flowing over gravel… Sometimes when you call me in the middle of the night I can almost come just listening to you talk. Doesn’t matter what you say.”

He moans appreciatively.

I slide a third finger inside, and Mulder shudders, burying his face against his arm.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah…  It’s…  It’s just…”



I’m very careful, but I’m not going to stop unless he uses the safe word.  This is a slow build, but it is definitely building, and I’m well past the point where I could stop easily.

Finally I take a deep breath and very gently pull my hand away.

He whimpers.

I use both hands to position the tip of the appliance against him, and I lean on it just a little.


I stop.  “Did I hurt you?”

He’s trembling from head to foot.  “Yes…no!  No.  It didn’t hurt. But it… it feels huge…”

“It’s not, I promise.”  I should have let him familiarize himself with it before we got to this point.  “It’s not as big as you are when you’re erect.”

I try to distract him, but I can’t quite reach underneath him.  Always willing to accommodate, he shifts, leaving his head on the pillow but moving his knees forward a little to raise the angle of his back.

Now I can, and I stroke him gently with my slickened hands, distracting him from the new sensations with a revisit to the more traditional.

“You feel like this when you enter me,” I croon to him. “You feel like a tree trunk… like a power pole…  like an obelisk… huge and hard…  rocking me… and filling me… and exciting me beyond comprehension… beyond coherence…”

As I speak, I rock my hips very carefully, and after a few tries I can feel the head of the appliance slip past the ring of muscle.  It’s inside.

Mulder flinches and makes a sound I can’t describe or define: it’s part whimper, part moan, part growl…  I stop.

“Tell me if it hurts…  I never want to hurt you.”

“It’s…  It’s… not… pain,” he pants.  “Not… exactly…”

“How does it feel?”

“Feels like… like you’re splitting me in half…  Like a… a ripe peach…  about to break apart.”

I back a bit, add more lubricant, and press a little deeper.  Mulder moans as if I’m pushing the sound out of him, long and low.

“In China,” I say very softly as I back a little, “the peach is the symbol of the female genitalia: the little pointy clitoris at one end, a fuzzy crease leading to the opening that leads inside…”  I move into him again, “… and warm and soft and juicy when you bite past the fuzz…”

He moans again, and I start nibbling on every part of him that I can reach with my teeth.  My hands, slippery with lubricant, slide back between his legs to stroke him as my hips rock against him, pushing deeper and deeper until I am inside as far as I can go.

I drape my body over his, lay my cheek against his back, listen to his heart racing in his chest.  I wrap my arms around him, feel him trembling.



Impaled, suspended between terror and ecstasy, I can only nod.

She doesn’t keep me waiting.

She tightens her arms around me and rocks her pelvis, using her back, rather than pushing with her knees.  She moves slowly, but she doesn’t stop.  As she gets more comfortable, more confident, she starts moving more quickly, using more strength.

I’m moving with her as best as I can with my movements limited by the bondage.

This is amazing…  And she’s panting, now, her breath hot against my ribs and her hands on my belly, on my cock…

Then she shifts, puts her knees down to push against the mattress with them, and as that thrust bottoms out she finally hits that spot she was trying for so diligently earlier.

I’m shocked by the instantaneous jolt of it, and I go up against all the bonds with a scream.

She freezes.  “Mulder?!”

“That’s…  It…!”  I gasp.  I have never felt anything like that!



I must have unnerved her when I screamed: she’s not moving.

“Are you sure?” she asks, hesitant.

I push back against her.  “I’m sure!  Scully, please…!”

Shaking, she tries, and she hits the spot again.

I scream again; I can’t help it.  Panting, I try to talk. “Scully… please…  Don’t stop…  Don’t stop…!”

I can’t hold still, now, and she obliges me.  She’s moving slowly, but she’s moving… and I’m losing the rags of control that I had.  All I know is that if she stops I’ll die.  I may die if she keeps on moving like that…


…maybe this is heaven…

I never believed it would be like this.  I can hardly breathe because each thrust is pushing right through me and forcing all the air out of my lungs.  Scully is pounding into me, clutching and clawing at me.   Her breath is hot on my back and I’m afraid to move because I might deflect that perfect aim but I can’t hold still.  I hear my voice but I don’t think I’m making any sense.


He’s completely out of control, thrashing under me, low-toned screams muffled in the pillow that he’s buried his teeth in.

I’m frustrated because, arousing as it is to see him like this, I’m not getting what I need.

But the solution is at hand, in the form of a switch on the harness.  I hit it.

Mulder explodes beneath me with a scream, convulsing, coming so hard I can only hang on.  It only takes a few more thrusts and that, combined with the powerful vibrator, finally brings me over, too.

We both collapse, and I turn the vibrator off.  I can’t do anything else; I’m limp, lying on top of Mulder, who is breathing, but not much else.  My ear is pressed against his back, and I can hear his heart hammering inside him, and I can tell that he’s calming, as am I.

I find myself falling asleep, and wonder if he’s lying awake, wishing I would cuddle him calm, but I can’t…


I wake up slowly, groggy.  I don’t try to move at all.  I don’t know where I am; moving might not be wise.  This isn’t my bed… is it Scully’s bed?

No, it’s not.  Scully uses pure cotton sheets that have a thread-count per square inch around six hundred; they’re like silk.  These are the familiar common sheets used by the hotels and motels that we can afford.

Okay, I’m in a hotel bed.  Where’s Scully?

I still don’t move; I just try to feel more than just what’s under me… and there she is.

Scully is draped over my back like a blanket, sound asleep.  I move one hand, and as it crosses my field of vision I see reddened skin around my wrist, and become aware that both my hands are sore and cramped.

All my memories of last evening come tumbling back, and I remember it all.  I shudder at the memory of such an intense surrender to my body’s capacity and need for ecstacy.

Then the Scullyblanket moves.  “Mulder?”

“Hmm?”  Words seem beyond me; my throat is sore, probably from screaming.  I remember screaming.

“How do you feel?”

She sounds worried; sleepy, but worried.

“I’m not sure, yet,” I admit.  Sure enough, my voice is rough and scratchy.

“Any pain?”  She moves off me to lie beside me, and I’m chilled by the loss of her body heat.

On the other hand, now I can see her.  She looks content, even if she’s worried about me.  I smile, and lean over to kiss her.

“Good morning.”

She kisses me back in a sleepy, desultory fashion. “Hmm…  Good morning to you, too.”

I can tell that she’s still worried, so I stretch carefully, checking myself for strains and pains, and then I reach out to her and pull her close, into my arms.

“I’m fine, my love.  Thank you.”

“You liked it?”  Her tone betrays her; she really isn’t sure.  She’s not just asking for accolades.

“I do not lie to you,” I remind her.  “I don’t think I’ll want to repeat that very often, but it was spectacular.  Thank you very much.”

“You amazed me,” she smiles, only now beginning to relax.  “I’ve never seen you so out of control before.  Very exciting.”

“What did you do that set me off like that?”  I have to ask; I just remember an explosion that I thought had killed me before I realized what it really was.

She grins at me smugly.  “It wasn’t just a… a dildo.”  She stumbles over the word, as I knew she would.  “It’s a vibrator.  I turned it on.  I take it that it worked well?”

“Worked?  I’ve never come so hard in my life!  I thought I was ejaculating brain matter!”

She grins and snuggles closer.  “Well, you’ve got that to spare…”

I kiss her again, and wrap myself around her, prolonging the kiss, refamiliarizing myself with her body.

When we relax and let ourselves fall away from one another, she glances over my shoulder at the bedside table.

“Well, it certainly knocked you cold,” she agrees, returning her attention to me. “It’s morning; we have to report to the SAC in ninety minutes.”

I can only stare at her.  We arrived at the hotel well before seven last evening.

“You’re telling me I slept for something like twelve hours straight?!”  That’s unheard of.  I never sleep like that unless I’m drugged unconscious, and that doesn’t count!

She nods, still obviously amused.  “You were out cold. You never even twitched when I put all the stuff away and cleaned you up.”

My stunned silence must have been eloquent; she leans down and kisses me again.

“C’mon.  Get out of bed.  You shower fast enough and we’ll have time for breakfast.”

“I don’t know if my bones have reconstituted, but I’ll try,” I respond.  “What about you?”

“I showered hours ago.  I’m just going to finish my hair and get dressed.  There’s no food in the room, but I’m sure we can find some between here and the office.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I agree.  When I move to get up I realize that I’m stiff and sore everywhere, and I think I’m moving like an old man.  But the shower is only a few steps away, and long minutes of hot water, a judicious application of soap and shampoo make a new man of me.  After drying off and combing my hair, I go pawing through my Dopp kit for my aspirin stash, and wash down three. Then I brush my teeth.  When I come out, I expect that Scully will have laid out my clothes for me.

She has, and I’m grateful to not have to think about that. I dress slowly, amazed at how sore I am.

“You’re walking funny,” she frets, watching me move to stand in front of the dresser’s mirror to tie my tie.  “Are you sure you’re all right?”

I have to smile at her.  “Scully, relax.  You always walk funny, too, after you’ve been jackhammered into a mattress.  You recover faster because you’re younger. I’m an old man…”

“Beast.  You’re only three years older than I am.  Two and a half, actually.  And forty isn’t old, any more.”

I finished off my tie and straightened my collar, shrugged on my jacket.

“All right, then.  Ready to go out and start kicking some ass and taking some names?”

“Absolutely, Agent Mulder.”

“After you, Agent Scully.”

She turns toward the door, the absolute image of a professional agent, but an order of magnitude more beautiful.   She pauses at the door.

“Anything in particular you’d like the shopper to pick up for us?”

I consider that.  “Godiva ice cream and a bottle of that Magic Shell topping.  You pick the flavors, Scully.”

She shivers in anticipation.  She knows that the Magic Shell isn’t for the ice cream.

As we go out, she walks a half step ahead of me, and my hand slides down her back to rest on the spot over her tattoo.

Killers to catch, SACs to annoy, aliens to foil… and the most beautiful woman in the world to back me up.

Life is perfect.

- end


Leave a Reply

You must be logged in to post a comment. Login »