From: "Kristel S. Oxley-Johns" Date: Fri, 15 Dec 2000 07:39:06 -0800 Subject: "Aphrodisia IV" Extreme NC-17 (1 of 5) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Source: xff Aphrodisia IV - Exploring the Boundaries (1 of 5) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com Rating: EXTREME NC-17 Classification: SR Archive: Yes. (Redistribute with permission only, and with headers and disclaimers intact.) Spoilers: Umm, early Season 7, I guess. Definitely "Amor Fati." Timeframe: Undetermined Season 7 Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance, Smut, BDSM Summary: A few weeks into their exploration of the D/s dynamic, Mulder and Scully test the limits of how far they're willing, and want, to go. Author's Notes and Assorted Blatherings: Consider yourself warned: from here on out, the BDSM acts and sex get a little rawer in the next couple chapters. If you're of a delicate constitution, you may need to step aside. If you do decide to continue reading, please read the notes at the end of the chapter before firing off any knee-jerk emails. Again, I want to thank my beta readers, Heather, Beth, Shelba, Tiff, Nancy, Brynna, Christy, Jen, Indi, Cal and Sybil. I would also like to thank all those who have written in supporting the story and asking for the next installment. Sorry it took so long, guys. If you have questions about some of the subject matter herein, be sure to check out my resource links page on my website (http://www.geocities.com/kristeljohns) which has links to just about anything you could possibly need to know. I would like to especially thank Indi for providing me with the "best of the best" list of links that I've used, as well as her fact-sheets an a couple topics which you can find on the resources page as well. Feedback is welcomed at kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com On with the story... SPECIAL DISCLAIMER: This story contains graphic depiction of sexual activities between consenting adults, including BDSM-related activities. It is in no way, shape, or form intended for younger readers. If you are under the age of 17 or sensitive to this kind of material, do not proceed. Thank you. APHRODISIA IV - Exploring the Boundaries I stared into Scully's angry eyes as she told me, in no uncertain terms, to fuck off. This was *not* good. It had seemed so simple--some discreet public bondage in the form of a silver and black brocade corset and a chain around her waist, under her clothing, as we caught a movie and did some Saturday afternoon grocery shopping. I should have known better, should have known it couldn't possibly be so easy. On the way out of the movie theater, my cell phone trilled. A burglary and fire at the D.C.P.D. headquarters, resulting in the destruction or disappearance of months of carefully collected evidence on a case, and my carefully laid plan was all shot to hell. Scully had begun glowering the moment the phone rang, and though she had made her way through the mess at the police headquarters with a stilted professionalism, her mood progressively darkened as the day aged into evening. I don't know whether her frustration over the destroyed evidence had her fighting me, or the fact she'd had to tend to the entire mess while still bound in the corset. There hadn't been time or opportunity to remove it between the cinema and police station. I hadn't been quite sure how to approach her as we drove back to my apartment. If all had gone according to plan, we would have been happily playing by this point. After several weeks of experimentation, we were starting to find our comfort level at last. Scully had asked, quite specifically, that we make an attempt at anal sex that weekend, and I had agreed. All in all, the day had started with the markings of a very pleasant session for us. I thought we could pick up our play where we'd left off, lest we (or at least I) brood over it the rest of the weekend. But I hadn't counted on Scully's anger, striking like a storm-cloud. We hadn't spoken on the drive back, each of us trying, instead, to let it go in our own ways. Keeping our personal relationship out of our work wasn't a problem for us--keeping the work out of our personal time was. "I'd like us to leave what happened today outside," I'd announced when the door shut behind us, gathering my dominant persona and donning it like a suit. I always thought I sounded rather arrogant in that role, but Scully's opinion was the only one that mattered, and she obviously responded to it. "It's not going to do us any good to keep going over it, and I don't want to let it destroy the rest of the day." It was true--I didn't want to dwell on it. I was angry and frustrated and felt totally useless. I was tired of feeling that way. I wanted to lose myself in something better, something healthy and beautiful. I wanted the comfort of Scully and the adoring devotion of Kat. She didn't look at me, but instead stood with her back toward me, her posture tense. "Would you mind if we picked up where we left off?" I asked, my tone hovering somewhere been entreating and commanding. To a certain degree, I suppose condescension was unavoidable in my role, but I tried to temper that by being studiously polite in my dealings with Scully in her submissive role. What I had told her our first weekend playing together still held true--in submitting to me, she was giving me a gift. She was entrusting me with herself at her most vulnerable, and she deserved my respect for that. No answer. Shit. Was that a sullen silence, or acquiescence? According to our agreement, which we'd worked on clarifying over the last few weeks, if we weren't on official FBI business on Saturdays, we were in our D/s roles. That meant the second we left the police headquarters, I had the right to resume my role as Dominant. Back in my apartment with no other business to attend to that evening, I was in charge again. The question was--were we in our roles? How did we delineate between our scene-play and our other selves? We'd been forced, abruptly, to become Mulder and Scully in the middle of our play--what was proper form for going back to being Master and Kat? From my coat pocket, I withdrew the leather and steel collar that had been in the car. I didn't make her wear it in public, but when we were out and about on Saturdays, I did have her hold it in her lap in the car. This, at least, was one way of establishing our roles. I stepped toward her, carrying the collar before me. The rings jingled against the steel band. "Take off your dress, Kat. We're inside now and you're not allowed to wear it in here." That was the moment she looked at me at last. It wasn't a good look. Her eyes dropped for a moment to the collar in my hands, and then she spoke. Her response had been explicit and the suggestions she made as to what I could do with myself anatomically impossible. Scully had told me quite clearly that when we were in her roles, she did not want me, as her Master, to take no for an answer. But again, I didn't know if I could assume we were in our roles. If I were to abide by the letter of out agreement, we were, but this was the first time she had openly defied me, and I wasn't quite sure why she was doing it. Was she simply not in the mood, and would I be an insensitive prick if I pushed the issue? I had to remember she did have her safe-word. And I knew she knew the word and its purpose, knew it was her immediate out if she chose to use it. If she didn't want to play, she could very easily end it, and she hadn't yet. Did she simply need to let off steam? If I decided not to push the D/s play, would I be helping her or disappointing her? The fact was, I wanted to play. I wanted to forget the defeat we'd suffered today and lose myself in something better. She had her safe-word--it was my reassurance, my guarantee. If she didn't intend to use it, I was in my rights to push the issue. Saturday was scene-time, and barring the handling of any non-scene business, I was in control from the moment we awakened Saturday morning until we went to sleep at night--that was our arrangement. Unless she used her safe-word, I didn't have to heed her refusals. A voice of doubt within me asked if I was using the fact Scully hadn't used her safe-word as justification for the fact *I* wanted to push the issue. I wanted to see how far I could go, wanted to bend her to my will. I was afraid that we were perhaps carrying our frustrations over the virtual defeat of our carefully built case over into our play. Perhaps that was why we both wanted to fight. Was bringing that frustration into our play a healthy outlet, or would it introduce something dark and unpleasant into the heretofore pure fantasy in which we'd been playing? In either event, I didn't have much choice. I had an obligation to Scully--had made a commitment to dominate her, even when she resisted. "I told you to take off the dress," I said again, calmly, firmly. Dominating Scully was not a matter of strength or force--it was a matter of will. Could I get inside her head and make her believe she had to obey? Could I project the confidence she needed to surrender? My outward demeanor in no way matched the doubt I felt over the situation inside. "I want to see the pretty corset you've got on." "You mean this fucking corset I've been in all day? Forget it," she replied, her chin jutting out. "I want to take it off. Unlace it," she commanded imperiously, presenting her back to me again. "The corset stays on until *I* take it off. Now, either remove the dress, *Kat*, or use your safe-word and end the scene," I lowered my voice to a threatening growl. "Because if you don't, I'm going to take that fucking dress off you myself and I just might blister your ass while I'm at it. Take it off...*now*." Something sparked in her eyes, a glimmer of arousal she was trying hard to mask beneath her anger. Was I taking this in the right direction, then? Was it not enough for her to willingly yield to me tonight? Did she need me to force her submission from her? God, could I do it? What if I went too far? What if I hurt her? "Fuck you," she answered scathingly as she tried to push past me on her way to the bedroom. That was it--I'd made sure she knew she could call it off, but she intentionally wasn't using her safe-word, and therefore, I had an obligation to subdue her. By her refusal to yield or speak the safe-word, *she* had chosen how this scene would play out. I caught her arm roughly and jerked her to my chest. "You think I won't do it?" I demanded, a hint of humor in my voice as though her defiance amused me. I let the collar hang loosely over my wrist while I caught her chin and insistently pushed it up until I could stare into her eyes. "You think I won't force you? You think I'll just allow you to get away with this behavior? Think again, *Kat*." I lowered my voice ominously and placed the emphasis on her submissive name, hoping she'd get the message; this was all still part of the play and I would still accept it should she choose to end the game. She tried to push away from me with her hands on my chest, so I grabbed both her wrists, stilling her movements. I transferred one of her wrists into the hand that held the other and gripped both of them tightly in my fingers, pulling them up over her head. I nearly winced when I realized my hand could encircle both her wrists, such was the size difference between us. Sometimes it was easy to forget how physically small Scully is, because she seems to fill a room with her presence. She began to struggle, trying to pull away from my grasp, and I tightened my hold until she flinched. With my free hand I grabbed the collar still hanging on my wrist and carefully maneuvered it around her neck. The band of steel on the outside had just enough give to open enough to encircle her neck, but when released, it regained its solid circular shape. Something flickered in her eyes, her tense posture loosening for an instant, and I thought perhaps she was going to yield, but then the look was gone and her body was ramrod straight once more. I left the collar hanging around her neck without fastening it, because doing so would require me to release her. Instead, I began pulling roughly at the buttons of her dress, one of those I had purchased during our trip to Philadelphia. I could hear threads popping, and some distant part of my brain registered the cliche--I was quite literally tearing the dress from her body. Beneath it, she wore nothing but the corset and chain I had bound her with. I could feel her nipples, pebble-hard through the soft fabric, and when I had opened the dress to her waist, I reached inside and grabbed her breast, squeezing firmly enough to make her gasp. "These are *mine*, Kat," I growled in her ear. "You gave them to *me*. And you are *not*," I emphasized the word with another hard squeeze of her tender flesh, "allowed to tell me 'no,' got it?" I grabbed the hair at the back of her head and jerked her head backward before I released her wrists. She immediately lowered her arms, and with one hand, I pushed the dress off her shoulders so it fell from her body and pooled at her feet. Her bare body was hot and tense against mine, the scent of her arousal rising in waves between us. With her hands free, she tried to push away from me again, but my grip on her hair limited how far she could go, and any attempt to struggle only caused her pain from pulling her hair against my grasp. She glared up at me, her eyes defiant. "We're going to the bedroom," I announced, "where you are going to lay down and spread your legs so I can fuck you. And then we're going to talk about your behavior. Now, are you going to walk, or do I have to throw you over my shoulder and carry you?" "You wouldn't dare," she spat and renewed her struggles. They weren't full strength; I knew Scully and knew she could and did fight much harder than this. She could easily hurt me if she tried--I was hardly half-trying, and I was intentionally leaving her plenty of openings to get her shots in if she needed to. It was just one more clue she wanted me to conquer her. Fine. I was game for that. Within seconds I had bent down, pressed my shoulder against her solar plexus, and lifted her with an arm around her thighs. She could only struggle so much without causing me to dump her on the floor, but that didn't prevent her from pounding on my back and coming dangerously close to kicking me in the groin. I could feel the dampness of her pubic hair against my shoulder. I knew the position couldn't possibly be comfortable in the stiff corset, but she hadn't left me a choice. I raised my free hand and slapped her hard on the ass. She yelled, outraged, but didn't stop pounding on my back. I followed the first slap with several hard swats, then dumped her unceremoniously on the bed. She scrambled to her knees, her face flushed and her hair wild. As she stared at me with combined anger and arousal, I slowly began to undress. I peeled my T-shirt over my head and tossed it aside, then unfastened my belt and fly, pushing my jeans and underwear down my legs as I simultaneously kicked off my shoes. My erection jutted forward demandingly, and her eyes dropped to it before she looked back up into mine. She could have run at any time while I was stripped, but she stayed there, watching me intently. It wasn't until I was finished that she resumed her defiance. As I approached the bed, she began to crawl backward, away from me. She was just about ready to slip off the opposite side when I lunged at her and caught her around the waist, pulling her forward. I dragged her toward me then flipped her roughly onto her back, straddling her thighs while she squirmed and attempted to free herself. There was no way she would remain still long enough for me to bind her or cuff her, and no way I could do so effectively if she struggled, so anything I did here would have to be accomplished by muscle power alone. Luckily, at the moment, I had the upper hand--literally. I caught her wrists and attempted to insinuate myself between her thighs, but her frantic wriggling made it impossible. I ended up pinning her entire body to the bed with mine, crushing her. "Either give it up or say the word, Kat!" I snarled, getting in her face. She glared up at me. "Fuck. You," she said slowly and succinctly. That was it- -I'd given her plenty of opportunities to end the game. I again gripped both her wrists in one hand and with the other began to traverse her body. The rough brocade of the corset and the cold steel of the chain around her waist created a tactile juxtaposition against the heat of her flesh. Her soft curves were emphasized and exaggerated by the corset, the dip of her waist even more severe, the swell of her hip more dramatic. I remembered how, when I'd put it on her that morning, I'd been so enamored of the sight I'd bent her over where she stood, holding her hips and keeping her balanced while I fucked her. She had braced her hands on the wall and moaned loudly until I had finished, but she hadn't come--the angle had been impossible for reaching her clit. When I was done, I'd turned her around and pinned her to the wall, going down and sucking her clitoris while our combined fluids leaked down her thighs. She had climaxed loudly, grinding her mons to my face. Her movements beneath me dispatched the memories of that morning. Her breasts hung over the top of the garment, pushed up and forward, as soft and yielding as the rest of her body was tense and stiff. If I fucked her right now, I knew she'd be exquisitely tight with the tension of the struggle. But first, I had to overcome her resistance. I played with her breasts leisurely with my free hand, dipping my head to capture one nipple as she writhed to get free. I rolled off her body, not releasing her wrists, and slid my hand to the juncture of her tightly clenched thighs, attempting to force my fingers between them. They were too tightly closed to allow any play. "Spread your legs," I muttered against her ear, running my lips over her cheek. Her only response was more struggles and grunts of effort as she pulled against my grasp. My hand returned to her breast, my fingers slippery with the moisture that had seeped into her pubic hair. I took one nipple between my fingers and pinched it until she gasped. "I said spread your legs," I repeated more firmly. "No," she panted, thrusting up with her torso in an attempt to push me away. "What did you say?" I asked, taking the other nipple and giving it the same treatment as the first, refusing to stop squeezing until she had whimpered. "I said 'no!'" "Wrong answer, Kat," I said roughly, and pinched her hard. Nipple pain, we had discovered over the intervening weeks, was a turn-on for Scully. She'd seemed stunned when she had admitted to it and yet the proof was undeniable in the form of her moist arousal. With that realization, we were gradually coming to define the boundaries between "good" pain and "bad" pain. "Good" pain was euphemistically referred to among the S&M types as "heightened sensation" to avoid the negative connotation that came with the word "pain," but Scully had scoffed at the phrase. "It's pain, all right," she had said with a wry smile during one of our Sunday morning debriefings. "Just because it feels good doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. Or just because it hurts doesn't mean it doesn't feel good. Whichever." The circular reasoning went unanalyzed. Neither of us had felt any overwhelming need to apply logic to that particular statement. As I pinched, perhaps as hard as I had ever done so, she squealed, and against my legs I felt her thighs go slack as she writhed to escape the pain. Before she could clench them again, I thrust my hand between and pushed three fingers into her slick sex. "Ooh!" she moaned, her back arching. She attempted to press her thighs back together, but my hand was already there, my fingers pumping in and out of her body. "Mine, Kat," I said forcefully against her ear, making my words deliberately crude. "This pussy is mine." "NO!" she shouted, her struggles taking on new energy. She almost succeeded in throwing me off, but I gripped her wrists tighter and curled my fingers inside her, pressing hard against her g-spot while my thumb found her clit and began to grind mercilessly against it. "That's the wrong answer," I told her again. "The proper answer is 'Yes, Master.' Got it? Now, say it." "No! No, no, no!" She muttered, her head thrashing wildly back and forth. Shit, I was really starting to dislike that word. In any other circumstance, to your average sensitive new-age guy like myself, "no" means "No, hands off NOW, sumbitch!" But this wasn't any ordinary circumstance. The D/s element meant Scully had relinquished her right to say "no." Actually, that's not true--she could say it all she wanted, could sing it in Gregorian chant if it floated her boat, but she had released me of my obligation to heed it. At this point, anything that happened had been consented to in advance, and the only means of withdrawing consent was her safe- word. This knowledge, however, did nothing to eradicate the immediate instinct to remove my hands from her body and take myself to the other side of the room until "no" became "yes" once again. Fuck it, I thought irritably. If I was going to do this, I was going to do it right. If she was fighting without using her safe-word, then I had a responsibility to subdue her, to overcome her struggles and force her to yield to my will. That I might enjoy doing so was secondary and could be analyzed later, at my leisure. I knew I would only win her acquiescence once I had worn down her ability to keep up the fight. I pressed hard with my thumb once more on her clit and she came explosively, growling in her throat, her body clenching and shuddering around my fingers. When the tremors had subsided, she lay limply, as though stunned for a long moment. I took the opportunity to release her wrists, knowing her hands had to be going numb by that point, and conscious I could very easily be bruising the thin flesh over the slender protuberance of her bones. I was about to crawl over her body and position myself between her thighs when she came abruptly and unexpectedly back to life--I should have known it would take more than an orgasm to put an end to her resistance. She pushed me away roughly and slithered out from beneath my body in a second. No sooner was she on her feet than I was after her, pursuing her to the far side of the room with a few strides. I pinned her to the wall and lowered my head to her neck and shoulders; kissing, licking, biting. She groaned, pushing helplessly against me even as her knees sagged. "You can fight harder than that," I taunted her. "I know you can. You want to get away? Just try it." End of Part One of Five Aphrodisia IV - Exploring the Boundaries (Part 2 of 5) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com She went wild, thrashing in my grip, trying to pull her wrists from my hands. She thrust against me with her body to push me away, but I braced my feet and stood firm, keeping my legs between hers to protect myself from her knees should she decide to lift them. Every thrust of her body rubbed roughly against my cock, heightening my own arousal. "Come on, keep going! Fight me!" I snarled at her, forcing her arms up and apart until she was spread-eagled against the wall with my cock pressing against the stiff fabric of the corset over her belly. It was a long moment of struggling before she went limp in my grasp, panting hard. That had been my goal, to provoke her into expending her energy in one quick, hard struggle. If she felt she had put up her best fight, it would make acquiescence that much easier. I continued lavishing kisses and licks upon her sensitive neck above and below the collar, the entire while, making it clear she was fighting against me, not I against her. By projecting an attitude of indifference toward her struggles, I was telling her I was confident I would win. The fight was futile because the outcome was predetermined. "Say it, Kat," I muttered against her flesh, nipping the tendon where shoulder met with slender neck. "Say 'Yes, Master.'" She jerked her head away, shaking it in denial. She was panting as though she had just run a marathon, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on her skin. Wrapping my hand firmly around her upper arm, I dragged her over to the dresser and thrust her belly-first against the edge. With a hand on her back, I pushed her shoulders down until she was bent over with her face mere inches from the mirror and my leg wedged between her thighs. "Say it!" I growled, grabbing my cock with my other hand and guiding myself to her entrance. From my vantage point, I could see both the exaggerated hourglass curve of her figure in the corset and her reddened face in the mirror. Her blue eyes were bright and febrile. I thrust forward with my hips, pressing my way into her exquisitely tight core. Her eyes widened and a loud gasp spilled from her lips, her hands clenched into fists on the surface of the dresser. Pausing only a second to take in the tableau, I began to fuck her with rapid, short jerks, not penetrating deeply enough to give her any significant pleasure. I held her hips tightly with my hands to keep her still when she tried to press backward and deepen the thrusts. "Is this what you want?" I asked, bending over to bite firmly on the back of her neck. She whimpered loudly, the reflection of her face contorted with excitement and frustration. "Nooo..." she moaned. I slid one hand between her arm and her body to play with her breast, tweaking the nipple gently, rubbing softly. She bit her bottom lip, squeezing her eyes tightly closed. With my other hand I grabbed her hair and pulled her head back. "Open your eyes, Kat," I demanded roughly. "Look at the mirror. See that? That's your Master fucking you, whether you want it or not, see? I can take you when I want and where I want, because you belong to me!" She shook her head in adamant denial even as I felt her muscles clench around my cock in response. I chuckled gruffly. "You like that, don't you, Kat? You like knowing I own you, like me taking you no matter how hard you fight. Does it turn you on, Kat? Does it make you hot?" Her groan might have been a denial, but it was unintelligible. I gave a sharp stab of my hips before resuming my shallow thrusts. "Say it, Kat. Tell me how much you like me forcing you, fucking you." I bit her neck again, not particularly careful to be gentle. I could see light red teeth imprints where I had bitten her before. I could see the shifting and flexing of the muscles in her back and shoulders with each jerk of my hips. She tried to thrust back, so I let go of her hair and breast to hold her hips steady again. I could feel the tension mounting in my own body, knew I would have to cut loose soon or explode. This battle of wills had to end quickly. I concentrated on my breathing, trying to slow my racing heart, to hold out a while longer. "Oh, God!" she gasped, whimpering in frustration. The whimper escalated to a low moan of despair. "What's that?" I asked, taunting her. "You want it harder, Kat? You're not going to get it until you say what I want you to say. Call me Master and tell me how much you like getting fucked." She didn't answer, biting her lip stubbornly. This struggle had become more of a battle of pride for her now-- the only way to get what she wanted was to yield and admit all her previous struggling had been futile, that she was vanquished. If I was lucky, her desire would win out over her pride and she would surrender--that was the point, after all, for me to force her surrender from her. But if her pride was too strong, there was no way I could possibly defeat it, and I knew it. Ultimately, it had to be her choice to give in. "Yes..." she finally whispered, hanging her head. "Then say it." She groaned again, a sound of torment and longing. It was a long moment, punctuated only by my shallow, rapid thrusts, before I heard her whimper, "Please..." "No! Lift your head, Kat. Look in the mirror, look me in the eyes and say it." Another long moment of tension, and then her body slumped as if all her tension fled from her at once. I could feel the fierce grip of her sex on my cock relax, and she lifted her head weakly from the dresser. She stared at me for a long moment, then finally murmured, "I like it when you fuck me." I couldn't tell if the redness of her face was arousal or effort or embarrassment, but I wasn't going to give her an out. My initial suspicion that many of the things she had indicated she "might be willing to try" on the survey I'd given her were actually activities she wanted and just couldn't bring herself to ask for was too strong. But I couldn't go on guessing what she actually wanted, and I wasn't in the mood to let her off the hook. I needed to hear her say this was all right, this was what she wanted. "Even when you struggle? Do you like me forcing you?" Another sharp jab, another low cry, and then back to the maddeningly steady rhythm. I had to grip her hips hard to keep her from moving in counterpoint to my thrusts. I met her eyes in the mirror again and almost lost control when I saw the glazed look of passion there. Whatever was happening, she was as turned on as I'd ever seen her. She squeezed her eyes shut, an expression of dismay crossing her face. I could understand that--I was asking her to admit to a fantasy of a concept utterly abhorrent to any woman, or man for that matter. But there was a difference--to enjoy surrendering to me, even being forced by me, the person to whom she'd given express permission to use her body as I wished under a pre-arranged set of circumstances did not in any way condone rape or imply a desire to be raped. There was always the fact that with a single, specific word, I'd cease immediately. "Say it, Kat," I growled, bending over so that my breath was hot against her ear. "Yes, Master," she said after a moment of an internal struggle I watched play out on her face. "I like this. I like you forcing me, even when I struggle." "Tell me what you want. Ask me for it." Another long moment of silence. I gritted my teeth and wondered if she realized what she was putting me through, forcing me to hold off until I had her complete capitulation. "Ask me, Kat! Now!" A shuddering sigh..."Please, Master, fuck me. Hard." I jerked out of her body, pulled her away from the dresser, and pushed her back down onto the bed in a series of rough, abrupt movements. She fell back on the bed as I pushed her, limbs spread and eyes stunned. Gripping her knees and wrenching them apart, I pushed between her thighs and within seconds I was buried in her tight, wet heat, breathing a ragged sigh of pleasure. Her moan of pleasure echoed in my ears. As I sank into her, she closed her eyes and turned her face away. I couldn't allow it, couldn't allow her to hold back even a piece of herself from me. I took her face in my hands and forcibly turned her head. "Open your eyes," I growled, thrusting deeply. Her eyes fluttered open, looking dazed. "Who do you belong to?" "You..." she whispered weakly, her defiance draining from her in a matter of seconds as I ground my pelvis against hers. She closed her eyes with my next thrust before snapping open again as she recalled my mandate. "Say it again." "I belong to you, Master. I love you, Master." I closed my eyes, overwhelmed for a moment. It wasn't just power she was placing in my hands--it was responsibility, obligation to see her needs and desires met by responsibly wielding the authority she was given me. I loved her madly for that gesture of faith. Keeping my movements steady as I slid in and out of her welcoming body, I kissed her softly. A soft whimper escaped her lips as I increased my thrusts and I stared into her eyes as I cut loose, pumping into her body harder and faster. After a moment, I murmured, "Reach down and rub your clit. Bring yourself off. You've got until I'm finished, or you're out of luck." I wasn't going to make the task easy for her. She had to struggle to wedge her hand between our bodies, and the mobility of her fingers was limited by the tight space. Normally, this wouldn't be something I would make her do--I was always very conscientious of her pleasure while we played, using my ability to bring her pleasure as an aspect of my power over her. But my primary dominance over her was always sexual, and I had to emphasize I could deny her pleasure as easily as give it. I didn't *have* to help her, didn't *have* to please her; doing so was a reward for her obedience that could easily be revoked. At the same time, I was careful to "accidentally" bump her fingers with my pelvis each time I thrust, adding more pressure to her own efforts. My own rapidly mounting excitement, coupled with the arousal of the struggle that had gone before, was quickly pushing me past the edge. It seemed only seconds had passed before I was groaning, burying my face against her neck as I poured myself into her. I was disappointed to discover her fingers were still wiggling frantically against her clit, and I could hear her soft moan of frustration. Just because I had decided not to help her didn't mean I hadn't wanted her to succeed. I rolled off her body and lay resting a moment, trying to work through my mind what would come next in this scenario. She had defied me--I couldn't let that slide. Scully wouldn't *want* me to let it slide, wouldn't want me to go lightly on her. We'd made a commitment, between the two of us, to make this thing real, if only for one day a week. But I had never considered she would ever defy me this way, and I didn't have the first fucking clue as to what to do about it. I couldn't help but laugh silently at myself. Being dominant was well and good when my submissive was perfectly willing and compliant, but not half so much fun if she made me work for it. I should have realized I wasn't the only person with an obligation to push boundaries in this relationship. Just as I tested Scully's limits, so could she test mine. It wasn't just a matter of pushing how far she would go to submit to me, it was a matter of pushing to see how far I would go to dominate her. I finally sat up and turned to look at her. She lay with her eyes closed, her breathing slow and deliberate. Her lips were drawn in a tense line that indicated her trepidation, if not her sexual frustration. "Look at me, Kat," I said softly. Her eyes slowly opened and met mine. "I want you to go into the bathroom and clean up," I said firmly. "While you're doing that, I want you to think about why you defied me tonight. When you're done, we'll have dinner and discuss what happened and why it happened. Then I'll decide what to do about it. Now go." She was still laying on the bed, her brow wrinkled in consternation, when I rose from the bed, pulled my pants back on, and left the bedroom. * * * * * There had only been a handful of times I had demanded Scully make our meals during our Saturday playtime, and those times were usually done as a form of discipline for some minor offense. For example, a couple weeks earlier, while playing with her, I'd instructed her to remain still, denying her permission to move without actually binding her. She'd moved anyway (admittedly, remaining still while one runs a fur-covered mitt down your ribs can be a bit of a challenge) and as a result had been "punished" by making dinner that night. For the most part, however, she was my submissive, not my servant, and I had never wanted to give her the impression I would take advantage of the control she had given me to acquire a housekeeper. Therefore, I reheated the previous night's lasagna in the microwave and sat at the kitchen table with a can of soda while Scully finished in the bathroom. I needed time to come to terms with the fact I had no choice but to punish her disobedience. When Scully and I had first started negotiating the D/s relationship, I had told her I wasn't a sadist. The truth was, at the time I hadn't been sure I didn't have sadistic tendencies, but I had been appalled by the idea I might have them, and I was determined I wouldn't indulge them if I did. The idea of willfully inflicting pain upon Scully was completely unthinkable, abhorrent to me. That's not to say erotic pain was out of the question--such as the nipple play we regularly performed, playing on already sensitive nerve centers to increase their sensitivity. It might hurt, in that it's intense enough to be nearly unbearable, but it doesn't *hurt* in that any sort of physical harm is done. At least, not the way we were playing--there were, of course, extremes to which the theme could be taken. They were activities in which many people participated and enjoyed immensely, however, I doubted my ability to visit those extremes with Scully, or if she'd even be interested. At any rate, there's a world of difference between pinching her nipples and getting off on it and strapping her ass and getting off on it. So often one assumes Dominance and sadism go hand in hand. In popular myth, a Dominant is always just waiting for the right excuse, the tiniest hint of disobedience, to pounce upon the hapless submissive and trump up a punishment to fulfill his sadistic inclination. Spanking her on our first official Saturday as Master and Kat had scared me--not that I was afraid I had hurt her. I'd been on the receiving end of some pretty hard whippings and knew a spanking, while it might burn, did no damage. No, what frightened me was that I had become aroused during the process, which Scully had been quick to point out. I had shrugged it off at the time, not really wanting to deal with the implications at that moment, but in the days following the event, the fact had haunted me. Did the hard-on mean I had gotten off on causing Scully pain? Did I have some latent sadistic tendencies? It wasn't until I sat down and forced myself to imagine inflicting pain on Scully in other situations that my fears were assuaged. The image did nothing for me. When I added in the detail of her squirming and writhing against my cock as she hung over my lap, however, things began happening down under. Mystery solved; my arousal had been the simple physiological result of penile stimulation. My relief had been immeasurable. What fulfilled me about dominating Scully, I realized, was the total trust she placed in me to allow it, the awe I felt at her faith in me, the tenderness I felt when I considered the responsibility I faced regarding her. So I considered what I must do in light of her defiance with an attitude of dread. The cliche "this is going to hurt me more than it hurts you" came to mind, though I could easily imagine Scully slugging me if I dared to utter it. I was startled from my reverie when Scully entered the kitchen and automatically knelt next to my chair, presenting the back of her neck to me so I could fasten the collar I had placed on her. Shit. This was the moment I had been dreading. I was now going to have to confront "Kat" with her disobedience. I fastened the collar around her neck with a sigh of reluctance. "The lasagna should be warm," I muttered. "Serve it for us and sit down." Mutely, she did as she was instructed, not meeting my eyes. She seemed to have gone back to the very quiet, thoughtful place she went while in submissive mode. Her calm acceptance of the circumstances of our play never ceased to amaze me. I guess I was so used to Scully arguing with me at every turn I didn't quite know what to think of this very pliant, acquiescent woman. In some perverse way, it made me treasure Scully all the more. It was as though I had two lovers, or more accurately, one lover and one sex- slave, and the difference between the two women made them each more precious to me. In becoming Kat, Scully granted a fantasy, a dream I would never have spoken to her. She gave me the opportunity to be strong, to protect and shelter and pamper her. She gave me permission to live out my wildest sexual imaginings with her. I could do all this without losing the strong, independent Scully I counted on, the one who so often sheltered and protected *me*. "Why did you do it, Kat?" I asked. She struggled for a moment with answering, and I waited patiently while she emerged far enough from wherever she had gone to regain her ability to speak. Scully had confessed to me that talking during a scene was difficult for her, and when she did speak, it was in whispered, monosyllabic replies. "I don't know," she answered with a shake of her head, her voice soft. "I just couldn't *not* fight." "Why?" "Because I was frustrated--and angry," she lifted her head and I could see Scully begin to emerge as she was pulled back to herself enough to require speech. Her voice became stronger and more confident. "I was angry with myself for being angry we were interrupted this afternoon. I was angry with you for bringing the cell phone, angry at whomever it was who called us, angry at the cops down at the police headquarters. I shouldn't have been feeling like that. Work's more important--I shouldn't have resented the intrusion the way I did, and when it came time to submit again, I couldn't do it. I couldn't get back into the mindset, headspace, whatever you want to call it. My anger wouldn't let me." "Was it me you were angry with or just the situation?" "I don't know. I felt humiliated all day in the police station in this--thing," she looked down at her corset- encased torso with an ironic glance. "It didn't matter that I was wearing my coat and no one could see me--I felt like everyone who gave me a second glance knew. I'll admit, I find the idea of exhibitionism to be a turn on, but not when we're on the job. There I was with the damn thing pushing my breasts up around my ears, stiff and uncomfortable and with every guy in the building leering at me--or so I felt. And yes, I felt you were to blame for it, even though logically I knew you couldn't have done anything about it. And I know you had to bring the phone; I just should have been more prepared in case business interrupted what we were doing. It was just too abrupt and I felt disoriented and out of sorts." That I understood, perhaps too well. I remembered the one time I had ever fought Phoebe. Normally, submitting to her hadn't been a problem--all I had wanted was to please her. I was in a state of perpetual headspace, constantly in my role as bottom. But one day, an emergency at the mental hospital I'd been interning at got me called away in the middle of one of her games. I'd had to get dressed, my clothes burning over my reddened ass, and I found myself unreasonably angry at the interruption, at the abrupt penetration of the mental bubble my submissive state had become to me. I'd had relatively little trouble easing out of the bubble when necessary, but when forced to do it all at once, I had become very cranky and defiant. It had taken hours for Phoebe to subdue me when I got back. I hadn't been so far gone I had actively fought her, because I might have hurt her, and, physically, she really hadn't stood a chance had I chosen to truly fight, but I hadn't made it easy on her either. Unfortunately, the difference between Phoebe and myself was that she clung to the urban legend image of a dominant, the one where a Dom is just waiting for an excuse to pounce upon the hapless sub. Any infraction, no matter how slight or contrived, was an excuse for punishment. Rather than being saddened and confused by my defiance--as I was with Scully's--she had simply been pissed off. She had reveled in the opportunity to use the infraction to inflict her punishment upon me and I had carried the scabbing welts for a week. "I am sorry about the corset--if we do something like this again, I'll plan better in case something comes up in the middle of the day," I said at last. "But it doesn't alter what you did. You disobeyed me. This--" I reached across the table and hooked a finger through one of the rings on the collar. She went still, held in place by my grip on the ring. "--means you agreed to obey me, no matter what. And once I put it on you, you still defied me." "I know," she murmured, touching the collar thoughtfully. She caressed it, her fingers brushing mine. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I couldn't stop, even though I knew what I was doing went contrary to our arrangement. Part of me *wanted* to stop, but once I got started, I couldn't. I realize what I've done, and I know there have to be consequences. If you feel I don't deserve to wear it, I'll understand." The look in her eyes contradicted the words. The collar was more than a symbol of my ownership--it was a symbol of her submission, and she took pride in it. Taking it away would be tantamount to someone telling his or her spouse they didn't deserve to wear their wedding rings. It would be a terrible blow. Damn. I had two choices, neither of them very pleasant. I could either punish her physically or punish her mentally. The absolute worst punishment I had ever experienced hadn't involved physical pain. It had been the night Phoebe had banished me from her sight, so disgusted with some offense she hadn't deemed me worthy of receiving her attention. The indifference had been a brutal, calculated maneuver to shame and humiliate me. That she hadn't cared enough to take the time to punish my infraction but, instead, had dismissed me as though I had no importance in her eyes had devastated me. Phoebe had been a master manipulator; she had played right into the emotional abandonment of my parents and punched the button so precisely it had only been a half hour since she sent me away until I'd gone back, begging her for anything else, some other punishment. Which, of course, had been exactly what she wanted. She used my desperation as an excuse to take our play into the one area I had absolutely and adamantly refused to consent to in the past- -fire play. End of Part Two of Five Aphrodisia IV - Exploring the Boundaries (Part 3 of 5) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com Despite my deathly fear of fire, I'd been frightened enough by her rejection I'd willingly lain on my back on a wooden piano bench, my hands and ankles bound to the legs of the bench with rough, coarse rope that raised blisters and cut my skin. First, she'd shaved off my chest hair, then Phoebe had swabbed my chest with a fine cognac, its alcohol content very high and containing very few impurities. She took her time, drawing elaborate swirls and designs before she ignited it. It had flared for an instant and then she'd swiped her hand across the flames and put them out. The alcohol had instantly evaporated from my skin--I hadn't been burned at all, nor had Phoebe when she essentially wiped the flames out of existence with her bare hand. She'd repeated the process several times, and I had lain there with my head hanging backward off the edge of the bench, unable to see what was happening even if I hadn't been afraid to look, paralyzed with terror, as heat flashed again and again above my chest. Then she untied me, forced me to lay on my belly, bound me again, and repeated the process on my back. Only that time, she was a little more careless and got some of the cognac into my hair. I had felt the flames at the base of my scalp, felt her slap my head several times to smother the flames, and then I had smelled my own singed hair. I had vomited and then blacked out. Of course, I know fire play can be done safely, and until the final time, Phoebe hadn't harmed me at all. She'd actually been rather good at it, leaving to me wonder if her taunt as she tied me down ("I always did want to try this, Fox...") hadn't been more for effect more than for anything else. But there's no logic to a phobia, and knowing it could be done safely doesn't alter the fact that I broke into a cold sweat at the very idea of flames touching my skin. Phoebe had used my worst emotional trigger to coerce me into allowing her to play upon my worst physical fear. That was the sort of sadistic bitch she had been. It had only been a couple weeks later when I discovered her in bed with someone else and had mustered up what was left of my self respect and gotten out. I would never do that to anyone, especially not Scully. I could somehow banish her for a while but only at the risk of sending the wrong message to her about how I value her submission and the days we spend in the D/s game. I had decided early on I didn't want to venture into humiliation play with her--I had no desire to see her shamed or humbled. She submitted with pride and grace and I loved seeing it, loved taking her in public and knowing this beautiful woman with her head held high was *mine* body and soul. To send her away would be to tell her she wasn't worthy of being my submissive, and that, I think, would essentially end our D/s play. It would add something unhappy and ugly to our normally joyous interaction as Master and Kat. The other option was using some of the equipment I'd picked up weeks ago at the tack shop in Philadelphia, the riding gear I'd bought more for mental effect than physical. Spanking was one thing--it might sting, but it's really not all that bad, and if you hit just the right spot, it can be arousing because of the impact throughout the entire genital region. But Scully and I both knew this went beyond a spanking offense. Unbidden, a quote from the preface to "Story of O" sprang to mind. "You should never have agreed to be a god for me if you were afraid to assume the duties of a god, and we all know they are not so tender as all that. You have already seen me cry--now you must learn to relish my tears." It was melodramatic drivel, of course, written by a man trying to cash in on the furor surrounding the novel by droning on at length about his own interpretation of it. The latter was something I could never do, not in a million years, but there was something to the first part of the quote. Scully had trusted me with her most vulnerable self, her most secret desires, and some aspect of that required me to harden myself somewhat against my instinctive reactions where Scully was concerned. This wasn't a situation where my protectiveness of Scully applied--I had nothing to protect her against other than myself, and if she trusted me to do this, shouldn't I trust myself? There, however, was the crux of the problem. I wasn't sure I did trust myself. I'd promised to play the dominant role--and I enjoyed it, for the most part--but I had to fill it in all aspects, not just the pleasant ones. Could I do that? "I'm going into the living room, Kat," I announced as I finished eating. "Please take care of the dishes while I make some preparations." She nodded silently and rose from the table. I took a moment to enjoy watching her, clad in the brocade corset and nothing else, as she cleared the table. I felt myself growing aroused again at the sight of her and rose from my chair, leaving the room before I decided to act upon that arousal. Accompanied by the sound of dishes clinking and water running, I retrieved the bag I had picked up in Philadelphia from the hall closet. Slowly, inspecting each item, I laid out on the coffee table first the paddle I had gotten at the fetish shop, covered in leather on one side and rabbit fur on the other. Then I pulled out the riding implements, the flat-headed crop, forked quirt, and sharp signal whip. As I handled them, I replayed in my mind the sensation of each when wielded in various ways. Did they really not hurt all that much, or had time dulled the memory of the pain? Or was I simply cushioning myself from the reality of what I must do by convincing myself that in the final equation, they hadn't hurt all that much? Shit. I heard a sound behind me and turned to see Scully standing in the archway to the living room, watching me as I fingered the riding crop. I stood from my crouching position next to the coffee table to face her. While I was still deciding what to say next, she walked toward me, her head bowed, and of her own volition knelt at my feet. She took my hand in both of hers, kissed the back of it gently, and whispered, "I'm sorry I defied you, Master," as she cradled it to her bare breasts. Startled, I stared down at her bent head in something next to awe, filled at once with wonderment and tenderness. How had this happened? How was I able to suppress my sense of the absurd enough to accept *Scully* on her knees to *me*? Un-fucking-believable. It wasn't Scully, it was Kat, but in my mind, I could never quite separate the two entirely. The fact was Kat only existed because Scully *wanted* her to exist, and so ultimately it came down to the basic reality that Kat knelt before me and called me Master because Scully wanted it and had chosen to allow it. There was only one way I could respond to this gesture, and that was to be the Master she was looking for me to be. She had placed herself completely in my hands, and I had an obligation to her. "I want you to know," I said softly, stroking her shining hair as her head rested against my thigh, "I don't want to punish you. But I have to." I felt her nod ever so slightly. The breath through my jeans might have been a whispered acknowledgment, but I couldn't hear it over the pounding of my own heart. "I can't do it right now. Emotionally, I'm not up to it," I sighed. "I need a while to prepare myself. We can do it later tonight, or next Saturday. What I want you to do is to choose which of these," I indicated the toys on the table with a sweeping gesture of my hand, "I should use, and how many strokes I should give you. When you've decided, you must ask me to punish you. It has to be before the end of next Saturday or any time between now and then. But you must *ask* me for it." She stared at me, her eyes wide and surprised--this wasn't what she'd been expecting. But frankly, unless it's outright torture, pain isn't all that effective as a punishment, certainly not against a stoic like Scully. No, her punishment needed to be cerebral in nature, whatever form it took, and by making her consider it, *anticipate* it, that was what I had provided. In addition, by making her choose the form the punishment would take, I was safeguarding myself, making certain what happened was all right with her. If I knew Scully, if I had given her the option, she would have chosen that instant to have it done, would have gotten it over with as soon as possible. But that would have been too easy--she needed to consider it a while, sweat it a bit. *That* would be her punishment. It would also give me time to prepare myself, though the delay meant I would suffer the anxiety of anticipation as well. "What--" she cleared her throat, struggling, as always, with raising her voice enough to speak. "What will we do until then?" "Until then, you'll continue to serve me as you are supposed to. You can start by giving me a massage--the oil is in the medicine cabinet." She nodded and, using my hand for leverage, rose from her knees and walked toward the bathroom. Her steps were slow and even, her gait moderated by the enforced rigidity of her spine in the corset. It was black with a raised silver design, an off-the-rack job I'd picked up at a local fetish shop that week. If there had been time, or if I hadn't wanted to surprise her, I would have taken the dozen or so exacting measurements required to custom order a corset and gotten one specifically tailored to her contours. In my mind, I made the corset scarlet and added the pair of red strap on high heels she'd worn the one time, envisioning the tiny steps she'd be required to take to keep her balance. An idea for our next week's play began to take shape... My fantasy was interrupted as she returned, bearing the massage oil I had bought shortly after we had become lovers, when it had come to my attention Scully suffered lower back pain in lieu of menstrual cramps. Many very pleasant evenings had started with that small bottle of Desert Musk scented oil, but this was the first time I'd ever commanded her to play body servant for me. She knelt with some difficulty beside the sofa and I rose, getting on my knees behind her. "Hold still," I commanded, and began loosening the laces on her corset. She drew in a deep breath as the constriction around her ribs eased. Reaching in front of her, I released the steel hooks in the front of the corset and pulled it off, setting it carefully on the coffee table. Beneath the corset, she wore a form-fitting Lycra sheath on her torso, designed to protect her skin from chafing. I had purchased it with the corset. After her shower that morning, I had applied lotion and powder to her skin before she had donned the liner. The effort put into the precautionary endeavor seemed to have paid off--while there were some slight impressions in her skin from the pressure of the corset, there didn't appear to be any irritation or chafing. I pulled the Lycra liner over her head and took my time caressing the soft skin of her back, kissing and licking the powder-and-lotion scented flesh while Scully shivered and whimpered beneath me. I ran my tongue over her neck just under the collar and was rewarded by her soft moan. My hands moved over her ribs from her back to her chest, cupping her breasts. I rolled the nipples between my fingertips, pulling on them, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh. I pressed my chest against the cool skin of her back and breathed deeply of the scent of her hair. I slid one hand down to the juncture of her thighs and threaded my fingers through the springy curls of her pubic hair. She was slick with moisture and she shuddered lightly when I stroked her swollen labia. I dipped my middle finger inside her and swirled it lazily while my thumb and forefinger played lightly with her clit. "Did you bring your toy back with you?" I murmured against her ear. In preparation for our attempt at anal sex, she'd kept the large plug we'd purchased in Philadelphia with her all week, regardless of where we slept on any given evening. She had worn it for a while each night to become used to anal penetration and to practice voluntary control over the muscles. This had served an additional purpose in bringing anal play out of the realm of our D/s relationship, because we approached the nightly ritual as ourselves rather than Master and Kat. Scully had told me this actually helped her overcome some of her nervousness, because she felt more relaxed and casual around me as Mulder than as her master. I was, perhaps, going over the edge a little on the cautionary measures, but it was important to me for this to be something Scully enjoyed, not just something that didn't hurt her. She claimed to find the feeling of the plug inside her pleasant, and we'd both been anticipating this experiment all week. "Yes, Master," she whispered, gasping as I lightly squeezed her clitoris between the pads of my fingers. I felt a ripple of excitement run through her, starting around my finger inside her, the instant I alluded to anal sex, and I could swear her already-wet vagina became even wetter. Fluid slowly rolled down my finger, into my palm and down the back of my hand. "You're turned on, aren't you, Kat?" I whispered tauntingly, nibbling on her ear. I continued molding and caressing her breasts with my other hand while the single finger of the hand between her thighs fucked her with a slow, relentlessly steady rhythm. She wriggled against my hand, seeking more. This was becoming one of my favorite Scully-states, when she's so aroused that nothing matters to her anymore but more pleasure, more sensation, where she becomes mindless and completely governed by her instinctual need. I continued my verbal foreplay, deliberately getting cruder, "It excites you to know that tonight, I'm going to fuck your ass." "Yessss..." she hissed, thrusting her hips forward against my hand. "Oh, God..." There was a note of desperation in her tone I didn't hear often, and I remembered she hadn't come when I'd taken her earlier. My cock was painfully constricted inside my jeans, desperate to get free and bury itself within her. The mental image of the orgasm she would have when I took her wasn't helping the situation much, nor was the anticipation of how tight it would be inside her ass, how it would feel when she shuddered and spasmed around me... Shit...time to get this under control again. I pulled my finger out of her, coated with her own juices, and held my hand up to her face. "See how wet you are, Kat? Taste it." Her tongue darted out and flicked against the trails of wetness on my palm, lapping in short, quick strokes, the slightly elastic secretions creating tiny strands between her lips and my palm before her tongue collected them with a solid swipe. I could see it all from my position behind and over her, barely breathing with the force of my own arousal. It was more erotic than any porn film had ever contrived to be, more sensual than my wildest wet dream. Her tongue stroking, her hot, moist breath against my palm... I moved my hand and slid my still-wet middle finger between her lips and past her teeth, into the warm cavern of her mouth. Her tongue stroked it softly as I moved steadily in and out of her mouth in mimicry of intercourse. She closed her lips and began to suck on the digit. I moaned softly at the suggestive, tugging pressure. Pulling my fingers from her mouth, I nibbled on her neck, grabbing a handful of her hair and pulling her head aside for better access. I forcibly turned her head and took her mouth, kissing the taste of her from her lips. I released her hair and moved my hand between her slightly parted thighs again, sliding my finger into her once more. I resumed the steady in-and-out rhythm I'd begun earlier until she was moving restlessly, returning the pumping motion of my finger with small jerks of her hips. Her movements stopped when I withdrew my finger and slid it further back, over her perineum to her anus. With my body pressed intimately against hers, I felt the instant when she willed herself to relax as I moved my finger in slow, easy circles against the tight opening. "That's good, Kat--" I praised her, murmuring gently against her ear. I eased the finger inside very gently and slowly, mindful of the fact I had neither any lubricant other than her own, nor gloves. The absence of the gloves meant it would be unwise to go back to the well, as it were, for more moisture. In addition, we had learned during our experimentation the importance of a painstakingly careful trimming of the fingernails as a Friday night ritual, another dilemma which the gloves solved. I was alert for any indication of distress or discomfort, but she merely sighed softly and hummed with pleasure as I slowly moved my finger in and out. After a moment, I could feel what little natural lubrication I'd collected beginning to absorb, so I carefully withdrew my finger and kissed the back of her neck. "Go get the supplies," I commanded quietly. I helped her to her feet and went into the bathroom to wash my hands while she collected the gym bag we had converted into a toy bag. We met again in the living room, Scully standing with the bag at her feet, staring thoughtfully at the riding implements on the coffee table. I would have given anything to know what was running through her mind at that moment, but I couldn't read her face. Rather than pursue a topic I wasn't sure I was ready to handle just yet, I instructed her to lay on her side on the sofa with her back facing the room and knelt on the floor behind her. She instinctively assumed the pose we'd come to find easiest, with one leg straight down from her body and the other extended forward, her knee drawn up to her chest. This exposed her rear without creating tension in the muscles of her thighs and backside. I worked slowly and meticulously, putting a condom on the larger plug we had worked up to, and, with glove in place this time, prepared her anus with what appeared, from my end, to be an absurd amount of lubricant. "Too much is almost enough" seemed to be the prevailing wisdom where anal sex and lubricant were concerned, and I followed the advice religiously. I'd also gone back out shopping and gotten an oil-based lubricant in addition to the water- based lube we used for vaginal play, as it has more staying power and doesn't evaporate as water-based lubes do. The only drawback to oil-based lubricants is the damage they do to rubber, so since STDs weren't a concern and I'd rather buy more toys than risk harm to Scully, it wasn't an issue for us. The worst we had to fear should a condom break is an undue amount of time cleaning our toys or, at worst, replacing them if the petroleum products rendered them unusable. Lifting one buttock with my ungloved hand, I used the other hand to slowly open her with my fingers. We'd discovered the roundness of the plug was more comfortable than an attempt at three fingers, with the same widening effect, so after I was assured of her comfort with two fingers fully inserted, I introduced the plug and very carefully began working it in. I pressed forward and withdrew, fucking her with it and slowly going deeper, never rushing, giving her time to adapt and relax each time I pushed deeper with the gradually widening rubber plug. When she was taking in all but the very widest point before the stem, I spent a long while moving it in and out to that point, in slow, steady strokes. Scully's soft sounds of pleasure encouraged and reassured me until I gave one final, firm push and the plug slid all the way in, seated securely with the stem held in place by her muscles. Scully's gasp of surprise was almost a delayed reaction, sounding a split second after the feat was finally accomplished. "How does that feel?" I asked, kissing her perspiration- dampened shoulder lightly. I kept my ungloved hand on her back, feeling the tension, or lack thereof, in her muscles. I could also feel the tiny quiver that rippled through her intermittently, which I had learned was Scully's reaction to the intensity of having the plug inside her. "Good," she sighed softly. "Wonderful..." Solicitously, I used the baby-wipes I'd taken to keeping in our toy-bag to clean up the excess lubricant and discarded the wipes and glove. When I returned, Scully still hadn't moved from her position on the sofa. If I hadn't known better, I would have said she was asleep, but I'd become familiar with her reactions to certain play and recognized this languor as a state she reaches when whatever she's experiencing is profound. Thrilled as I was to see it, I was not, however, adverse to disturbing it. I smacked her lightly on the rump, jolting the plug, and she yelped and bolted upright, giving me an indignant glare. "You're in my place," I said firmly. "Or did you think I'd forgotten I'd ordered you to give me a massage?" If I hadn't forgotten, she certainly had, that much I could see on her face. I couldn't help but laugh at the instant of confusion she'd evidenced before recollecting the dictate. "Go get a sheet so we don't get oil on the sofa," I instructed. By the time she returned, I had removed my jeans and soon was lying on my stomach atop the sheet she spread over the sofa. Closing my eyes, I relaxed under her strong, gentle hands. It wasn't to last long, however. I felt her bare breasts brush my arm as she leaned over me and turned my head to find myself with a direct eyeful of Scully-bosom. Almost without thinking, I shifted myself up onto my forearms and took one of her nipples in my mouth, sucking and nibbling lightly while she sighed and moaned quietly. I switched breasts and gave the second the same treatment as its companion before releasing her now damp nipple to instruct her to hand me the toy bag. In a zippered compartment on the side were the two pairs of nipple clamps I'd purchased and withdrew the more elaborate pair. They were tighter than the other pair, with flat, round, slightly padded discs at their tips rather than the rubber sleeves of the other pair. I wondered what Scully would do if I pulled those rubber sleeves off the others and revealed the tiny metal teeth they covered. Not that I'd ever use them on her without the sleeves, but the sight would certainly give her pause, discompose her for a while. Now wasn't the time, however. Now, I wanted to present her with a challenge. "Twenty minutes," I announced, taking one soft breast in my hand and settling one clamp firmly on the nipple still wet from my mouth. I tightened the screw slowly until I heard a small gasp from her, then repeated the process on the other side. "Twenty minutes, and you're not to halt my massage for anything." She nodded silently and, satisfied, I lay back down on the sofa and closed my eyes to enjoy my massage. End of Part Three of Five Aphrodisia IV - Exploring the Boundaries (Part 4 of 5) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com Twenty minutes. It might not sound like much, but with one's nipples in small vises, it's a virtual eternity. My only saving grace, I realized, was the plug that had been inserted by my Master. I'd discovered quite by accident the use of the plug had the effect of lessening discomfort from any number of other stimuli. It was a relatively simple concept, really, nothing more than a dispersal of sensation through my body. Like stubbing one's toe to ease the pain of banging one's elbow, only in this case, the distracting stimulus was infinitely more pleasant than stubbing a toe. I'd never imagined anal penetration could become something I found so immensely enjoyable. Initially, the idea had turned me on because it seemed such a taboo thing to do, illicit and so very submissive. I'd meant what I said when I told Mulder I didn't want there to be a part of me he couldn't have if he wanted it--what I needed to truly feel I belonged to him during these games was for him to exercise free rein over me. We were almost there, it seemed. He'd been confident enough in his role as Dominant to force my submission from me earlier when I'd resisted him. As time passed and our comfort in our roles increased, he became more assertive and commanding, and I responded by becoming even more submissive and yielding. But I hadn't counted on the sheer physical pleasure to be had with anal play. Hadn't counted on the surface sensations that came with being penetrated in that manner, or the unbelievable sense of fullness when the plug was securely seated inside me. Even with the medical knowledge I'd possess, the clinical information I'd absorbed that said the anus was full of nerve endings, good for both women and men, yadda, yadda, yadda, I'd never really *believed* how pleasurable it could be. And tonight my Master would replace the inanimate rubber plug with his own warm, living flesh. It would be his body filling me so completely and intimately. I was ready to come at the thought--I could feel my own pulse in my clit, could feel my sensitive, swollen labia. My thighs were sticky and uncomfortable with the secretions leaking steadily from my body. It was almost, *almost* enough to make me forget the ever- increasing pain in my nipples. There's no mercy to nipple clamps, just cold, unyielding metal. They don't need to let go and adjust their grip at intervals as my Master's fingers do. They don't respond to my wiggling and moaning--they're just there, constantly pinching, the pain increasing as the moments passed. I couldn't focus on that, though--my attention had to be dedicated to my Master, to pleasing him. I had to concentrate on the feel of his muscles beneath my hands, the warm, slick, oil-coated skin. Find a tight spot, knead it, caress it, move on to the next muscle group. I paid homage with my hands, conveying through my touch my devotion and adoration. I'd tried over the intervening weeks to analyze what it was that made me want to submit to him. Slavery and subservience are things we are taught from our earliest days are wrong. We're told it's dehumanizing, degrading...to call someone else "master" is to place them higher than yourself, more superior, important, worthy. Why then, should it be something I found fulfilling? Why should I willfully seek what most people would see as a devaluation of my own self-worth? But I didn't *feel* devalued. In fact, quite the opposite- -I felt more cherished and loved when I submitted to Mulder than in any other moment of my life. Mulder *knew* what it took for me to turn myself over, knew the effort required to set aside my own need for control, and he appreciated it, admired it even. It was as though submission was an endurance test--how far would I go? How much would I do? How sincere was I? The harder he made it for me, the happier I was. The deeper I could sublimate my own ego and sense of self, the more fulfilled I felt. I tried to fixate on how warm and alive his flesh was under my hands, the sensual delight touching him provided. Even with all this masculine pulchritude at my fingertips, however, I found myself biting my lip to stifle sounds of discomfort as the pain from the nipple clamps would not be denied. There was no clock I could see from where I knelt by the sofa, but I found my thoughts growing rebellious and angry. Damn him, why didn't he release me? Surely he had to know I was in pain, know twenty minutes was too long for me to suffer these merciless devices. My nipples throbbed with red-hot agony, my body was tense as I fought against the pain. I reveled in the pain even as I hated it. I was going through this trial because my Master had said I was to do so. It was easy to submit when everything he did to me felt good--the real challenge, though, was when I didn't enjoy what was happening. That was when my submission became a test of endurance, something I could overcome and take pride in. Leaning forward to rub the far side of my Master's ribcage brought my nipples in abrupt contact with the arm lying at his side and an unwilling whimper escaped me. That sudden jolt sent a sharp stab of agony through my nipples. I might have been able to endure the slowly increasing ache, but that sudden and unexpected contact proved to be too much for me. He was already in motion, sitting up, when I hung my head and whispered, "Flukeman." I felt ashamed of myself for my weakness, for my inability to handle a simple endurance test. I detested that I'd had to give in and use that word... "Hold still," he murmured. "I'll take them off now." I understood the warning and clenched my hands tightly, my nails biting into my palms. I bit off a wail when he quickly released the first nipple and the pain overwhelmed me, consumed my entire being for a moment. Instead, the sound escaped me a second later when the other nipple was freed. Then his hands and mouth were there, caressing, soothing, licking, sucking... The pain receded and was replaced by an achy, sore sort of pleasure. I sighed heavily. "Thank you," he said, kissing my lips tenderly. "For what?" Confused, I stared at him. I was humiliated I'd been reduced to pleading for mercy, and I'd done exactly what he'd told me not to, which was disrupt his massage--why on earth was he thanking me? "For reassuring me you will use your safe-word if you need to," he replied softly. Without my realizing it, he'd somehow maneuvered me into his lap and was cradling me against his body, stroking my breasts and skin gently. He pressed soft kisses over my cheek and temple. I could feel his cock inside his boxers, prodding my hip, and his thigh beneath my bottom was creating all sorts of distractions against the butt plug I wore. Somehow, through all these sensations, I was aware of his relief that I'd used the word. We were planning to do something new tonight--how could he do that if he wasn't confident I'd let him know if I had trouble? He'd intentionally tightened the clamps to the point where I almost certainly would be unable to bear it for long and then he'd waited to see what would happen. He seemed so confident--sometimes it was easy to forget he was feeling his way here. It was simple to let myself sink into my submissive state, to become a being of pure emotion and sensation. It was easy to neglect the fact he put a great deal of thought and effort into assuring my safety and well-being, and he needed my help to be certain he'd succeeded. He'd told me at the beginning he worried about my ability to be honest with him regarding any pain I might experience. Being a stoic was in my nature--you didn't hang out with the boys as a child if you cried like a girl when you skinned your knee. I'd learned early on to keep it inside, to not let on when I was hurting. But what Mulder and I were doing was so different from any experience I'd had in my life, the need to be forthright about what I was feeling so much more vital-- But I'd passed the test, I realized. As ashamed as I'd been to do it, I'd let him know when it had gotten to be too much for me to bear, let him know I was in distress. How long had he been waiting for that, I wondered. Had it inhibited what he felt able to do with me that I hadn't yet indicated my willingness to use my safe-word if I found myself going past my limits? How would this affect our future play? The question wasn't to be answered anytime soon. I found myself arching backwards as his gentle coddling became insistent caressing, lying across his lap as his hands roamed my body. It took only a matter of moments for the fingers that went seeking between my legs to bring me to the brink of climax--a few more strokes and there would have been no turning back, but he didn't cross that line. I stared at him in puzzlement even as I groaned my frustration--it wasn't usual for him not to pursue my climax with a vigor that bordered on obsession. Hell, it if thrilled him, who was I to argue? At his gentle prompting, I rose from his lap and followed him into the bedroom after collecting the lube and other supplies. Without comment, he grabbed a towel and went into the bathroom to wet a washcloth while I deposited my armful of miscellany on the nightstand. He set the towel and washcloth down beside the rest and, taking my hand, tugged me to the bed. "Don't worry about the safe-word," he said, kissing me softly, caressing my body with light, comforting strokes as he rolled me beneath him. "If something is wrong, say whatever you have to say to stop it; I'll be listening." I nodded, my heart in my throat. We were honestly going to do this, I thought in amazement. I was going to share with him something I'd never trusted anyone else with. I was going to give him something of myself no one had ever had. As trite as it sounded, I was immeasurably pleased by the idea, by the thought I would bring him something special and unique. He kissed me then, his tongue probing my mouth, his cock sliding back and forth between my legs, separated from me only by the silk layer of his boxers, which created a delicious friction against my clit. He took his time, making love to me as tenderly as he'd ever done, with hands and mouth and warm, massage-oil scented flesh worshipping my body. I returned the caresses, my own desire rendering me voracious in my pursuit of the pleasure we would give each other. In truth, our roles as Dominant and submissive were forgotten for the while, and we shared the moment instead as lovers. It was a long while before he rolled me, trembling and panting with desire, over onto my side and carefully extracted the lubricated plug from my body. As ever, he took his time, slowly inserting and withdrawing the toy repeatedly, making certain it was causing me no discomfort. To the contrary, I enjoyed the sensation immensely, and took care to make sure he knew it, but I was getting impatient. When we'd first begun the anal play, it had been something I wanted yet feared. We'd started out slowly to give me time to get over my phobia and, for the most part, my fear had passed. I could say I was 95% certain I wouldn't be hurt--the remaining 5% of me would need proof, first. But we'd taken longer to get to this point than it had taken me to become ready for it, and we had been more painstaking in our preparations than perhaps was physically necessary. That, I recognized, was a reassurance he needed, to take every precaution, even to the point of the absurd, to ensure I'd be okay. But now the moment was here, and I was anxious and eager as I heard Mulder peel the condom off the plug and discard it. I could feel his movements on the bed behind me as he prepared himself, donning another glove, slathering lubricant onto his cock. His hands trembled with the force of his arousal as he spread my buttocks and smeared a generous quantity of lubricant over my anus, two fingers sliding easily inside and moving in a twisting motion to distribute it thoroughly over the muscles. His body was warm as he pressed flush against my back, spooned against me, his slick cock rubbing my ass. With one gloved finger still inside me, he positioned his penis alongside it. "I want you to push back," he murmured against my shoulder. "Take your time, do it at your pace. Stop if you need to." As I nodded my assent, I realized I was forgetting to breathe and inhaled deeply, then released a long sigh. I pushed ever so slightly with my internal muscles and pressed backward with my hips. God, I could feel him going in! The pressure was incredible--overwhelming, too much, too good! It kept building and building and I hissed suddenly as I experienced a slight burning pain. He froze, but even as he did so, the discomfort was fading and I realized the small eternity that had just passed had only been the head of his cock entering me. "Keep going!" I whispered urgently, still pressing back against him, my eyes tightly closed, and he obeyed my mandate. The last of that small burning disappeared, replaced by blossoming pleasure as he slid deeper and deeper into my body. It was only a short, painless instant until I felt his hips against my ass. "Ohh...my...God..." I moaned softly. Somewhere at the edge of my consciousness, I was aware of the glove he'd been wearing being taken off, and then his arms were encircling me, holding me close. "This feels amazing," I said breathlessly. Full--that was the only word for it. I felt completely, indescribably full. I could feel my anus making tiny spasms around his shaft, could feel a ripple run through my entire body at intervals. I felt connected to him with an intimacy I'd never imagined before, awed and stunned by this unexpected depth of pleasure. He was quivering as he held me. "Are you okay?" he gasped at last, his face pressed into my hair. Out of nowhere, I began giggling, a breathless laugh of wonder. If what he was experiencing was anything akin to what I felt, he was doing well to string three words together in a coherent sentence, much less be concerned about my state of well-being. I'm not sure I'd be as mindful were our positions reversed. He moaned and I realized he was feeling my giggles intimately. The thought made me laugh harder, and his pleading tone as he groaned my name found me with my face pressed against the pillow, tears leaking from my eyes. It wasn't until he clutched a handful of my hair and jerked my head back that my merriment fled. "Stop. Now." he growled dangerously, giving a slight push of his hips. The effect was profound--I gasped sharply, the pressure that had eased somewhat as I had relaxed around his cock immediately back in full force. "Yesss..." I moaned. "God, yes. More." "You want me to move?" he asked against my shoulder. "Please..." I whimpered, pushing back. I'd discovered early on anal penetration had a significant effect on me, but now I could feel the absurd wetness of my moisture on my thighs and the throbbing of my clitoris. I thought I might die if I didn't come soon. I also desperately wanted to know how it felt for him to truly fuck me this way. Carefully, holding my hip with his upper hand while the other arm served as a pillow for my head against his shoulder, Mulder pulled back slowly and surged forward again. I cried out, overwhelmed for a moment by the pleasure of the sensation. "Oh, Jesus--I never even imagined it could feel this good-" he was mumbling in my ear, but I was only half-aware of his words. My entire being was focused on the tight, full feeling. I need more, had to have it. His second thrust was even better, setting a slightly awkward rhythm that came with the fact we were lying on our sides. His hand slid from my hip to between my thighs, finding my rock-hard clit with a precision born of intimate knowledge. I yelped sharply, my body going rigid as a shock-wave of pleasure rocketed through me. It wasn't an orgasm--there was no sense of release with it, just my body responding to too much sensation all at once. He barked out a hoarse cry and forgot about stroking my clit as I relaxed again in slow measures. "Better let me do that," I murmured, pulling his hand from between my legs. "I'm too sensitive right now." "Okay," he agreed breathlessly. I smirked and almost began giggling again. Mulder was reaching the precipice where my carefully conscientious lover took a brief leave of absence and left his Neanderthal alter-ego in charge. He'd agree to just about anything I proposed in that state. I bent at the waist, curled forward into a semi-fetal position, and the pressure increased as this new pose caused different muscles to tighten. We gasped in unison. "Damn, this isn't going to last long," he hissed in warning. "That's okay--neither will I," I replied. "Please...just move." He gripped my hip tightly and began to move slowly. I was vaguely aware I was alternating between a low, constant moan and breathless gasps. Sweet Jesus, the pressure, the unbearable fullness...I could feel, deep in my belly, that tension that said I was about to have the orgasm of a lifetime, if only I could get past the edge. Mulder's breathing was becoming harsh and ragged, punctuated by epithets and pleas for divine intervention. I roughly thrust my hand between my legs and began rubbing it over the hood of my clitoris, well aware I was too sensitive for direct contact. I pushed hard, creating a deep, steady pressure, moving in slow circles. I tipped my head back, arching my neck, and gave a soft cry as the tension in my abdomen increased. It was agonizing, to be so close... I could feel Mulder's body quaking with the attempt to restrain himself. I didn't want him to hold back--I wanted him to cut loose. I needed it, needed something to push me over the precipice. "Harder," I whispered, pulling at my clit with my fingertips. "I...don't want...hurt you..." his semi-coherent protest was delivered in hissing gasps between his slow thrusts. "You won't," I replied. "Please..." I hesitated, knowing what I wanted, but feeling foolish saying it. My need won out over my pride. "Take me. Please. Now." A violent shudder ran through him and he drew in a deep breath, then his hand tightened on my hip, hard enough to bruise, and he thrust forward fast and hard. We grunted in unison as his hips slammed against my buttocks. "Yesss..." I whimpered. Grinding my palm against my clit, I dipped two fingers into my vagina to search for my G- spot. Against the back of my fingers, I could feel the head of his penis through the wall of muscle, surging past in an ever-increasing tempo. As his pace grew faster, so did the feeling of being filled to bursting. As my fingertips found the sensitive spot inside myself, I used the other hand to continue circling my clit. "God, yes...Oh, God, yes..." I chanted breathlessly. My body was jarred with every impact of his pelvis against my ass, and then suddenly I was there, tumbling over the edge. I felt the contractions around the fingers still in my vagina, felt the pressure deep in my gut release with a suddenness bordering on painful. I was vaguely aware of muffling my shriek in Mulder's arm as it pillowed my head, though it would be sometime later before I realized I had actually bit his bicep. Mulder yelled and slammed into me a couple more times. He released my hip and hooked his upper arm around my torso, dragging me close to his body as he froze and shuddered within and behind me. I could feel his spasms deep inside my body, could feel his hot breath on my neck as he clutched me close and spilled himself into me. The room was strangely still afterwards, as our breathing slowed to normal. Neither of us moved, stunned and trembling by the intensity of what we had experienced. It wasn't until I felt wetness under my face that I realized I'd been crying through my orgasm and afterwards, overwhelmed by the combination of emotion and pure physical pleasure that had gone into making this one of the most profound experiences of my life. As awareness returned in slow increments, I also discovered Mulder had been speaking to me for an undetermined length of time. Declarations of wonder and devotion were interspersed with increasingly urgent inquiries as to my well being. "Love you...that was amazing...you all right? Beyond incredible...You okay? Scully?" The name surprised me for a moment, but it was appropriate, I realized. I'd always thought anal sex was a very submissive thing to do, raunchy and forbidden. I don't think I would have considered it had we not begun the sessions as Dominant and submissive. But what had just happened between us went beyond the games to the heart of our relationship. We'd made love in a new way. He had taken nothing of or from me, nor had I surrendered anything. We'd shared something intimate and wondrous. In a moment or two, we would return to our play, but right now, I faced him as his lover, the masquerade discarded in lieu of something even more precious. I hummed happily. "Yes, I'm okay," I said softly. "Better than okay. God, that was fabulous." "Hmmm, yes, it was," he replied, holding me tightly. His softening cock was still inside my ass and a second later, he regretfully released me to pull out. I moaned, feeling suddenly bereft, as Mulder grabbed the damp cloth and wiped away the residue of lubricant. I felt slightly chafed, but there was no pain and I answered Mulder's concerned inquiries with a negative. The muscles of my anus clenched and released slightly as they regained their original level of tension in slow degrees. I rolled over to face him and he took me into his arms again, kissing me passionately. I sank into the kiss, let myself be rolled beneath his body. He surrounded me, encased me with his body and his embrace and I felt sheltered and safe. The feeling of safety wasn't to last. After we showered, during the process of which we entered once more into our roles as Master and Kat, I made my way through the living room to get a glass of water from the kitchen. There my eyes were once more drawn to the whips on the coffee table. I stared at them, unable to move, as though mesmerized by a deadly snake. Somehow, over the weeks we had been playing, the whips had become an interesting novelty, something we had gotten not for actual use, but for effect. Somehow I'd never quite managed to assimilate the idea Mulder might actually strike me, much less with a foreign object. But it wasn't Mulder who would be striking me. It was my Master, and he had an entirely different set of rules of interaction by which he dealt with me. There were times I had the feeling Mulder was still seeing me as Scully while we played, rather than Kat. Was I guilty of the same error? I stared down at the display on the table and willed myself to think of the situation not as Scully, but as Kat. I, Kat, had done something for which I had to be punished, and I accepted that. But I would have to choose the punishment, and ask for it to be given to me, and that I wasn't as sure of. In the great scheme of things, where did my rebellion rank? To my own thinking, it was the worst offense I could have given, for I had willfully disobeyed. I had scoffed and sneered and insulted my Master, I had refused to yield my body to him, which was his rightful due. I couldn't imagine any worse a fuck-up than what I had done, and for that, the punishment would need to be severe. The problem was, I had no basis for judging "severe" from "moderate" from "mild." And was it a "one size fits all" issue, or was it subjective? Perhaps what was severe for me might be laughable to someone else. If I chose the course of punishment that seemed most appropriate for my offense, would it be more than I personally could bear? How then could I choose what should be used and how? And how on earth could I *ask* for pain to be inflicted upon me? "Kat?" I jumped, spinning to see my Master standing in the doorway to the bedroom, watching me. "I was waiting for my glass of water, but if you've reached your decision, we can proceed with your punishment." His face was inscrutable to me. I knew this must be hard for Mulder, but in his Master persona, he seemed calm and composed. He'd told me earlier he wasn't up for it emotionally, but now he was saying we could go ahead if I was ready. Did that mean he'd resolved whatever conflicts existed within himself about punishing me? If he had, then I could give the go ahead and get it over with--I wouldn't have to worry about it anymore... All I had to do was choose the instrument, choose the number of strokes, and ask him to do it. Simple, right? I made to open my mouth and found myself shaking my head, instead. "I'm not ready," I whispered. "I haven't decided." He nodded, his expression still unreadable. "Then get the water and come to bed. It's getting late." He went back into the bedroom, leaving me alone in the living room. A long moment later, I retrieved the glass of water, turned out the lights, and followed him. End of Part Four of Five Aphrodisia IV - Exploring the Boundaries (Part 5 of 5) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com As it ended up, my Master wasn't all that interested in sleeping when I got to bed. In short order, I found myself bound, spread-eagled with a couple pillows beneath my hips, to the bed and blindfolded while he played his favorite game. In short, he drove me nuts. First came the sensation play--soft objects, hard objects, sharp objects, they touched me everywhere. It was similar to what he had done that first night we had played together in my apartment with the feather, but on a broader scale. I couldn't see what he was using, didn't know what he was doing; all I knew was something soft would whisper over my skin for a small eternity, sensitizing me until I was ready to scream, only to be replaced my something rough, bordering on painful. When he had me writhing with discomfort, it would change again. Feather dusters, fleece mitts, empty fountain pens--he'd even once bought body paint and used me as his canvas. And me? I had nothing to do but lie there and take it, wonder what he was up to now. It was maddening and exhilarating all at once. After the sensation play came the sex play. That's not to say we had sex--if his penis ever came out of his boxers until he was done playing with me, I was unaware of it. No, this game had two variations of the same theme--he would either tease and taunt me, bringing me to the brink of orgasm again and again and then letting me down, or he would try to see how many times he could make me climax before I passed out. He was damnably good at both. I had no idea which he would do tonight; sometimes it was a combination of both. He started by fucking me with the large dildo we'd bought. An easy eleven inches long and two inches in diameter, I sometimes swore I could feel it rubbing against my pelvis from inside me. Hard and deep, over and over, he thrust it into me. It slammed against my cervix, stretched the fornix until I was taking it all. I grunted with each impact, panting harder as the large, mushroom-shaped head of the dildo passed by my G-spot again and again, bringing me closer and closer to the edge... At which point he stopped. The dildo wasn't withdrawn, however. I could feel it inside me, filling me, my internal muscles contracting around it. I was still wondering what he was up to when I felt something icy-cold against my thigh. At first I thought it was water, or ice, but it didn't feel wet, and there was a small tinkling sound. There was a moment when he did something with the dildo--he wasn't doing it to *me* per se, but was more like he was making adjustments of some kind, a slight rotating motion I couldn't discern a purpose for. Then I felt him grip one of my tightly stretched labia at the side of the dildo and pinch it. And kept on pinching it, lightly, not painfully. It wasn't until he repeated the process on the other side that I realized the pinching was not being done by his fingers; he'd placed the nipple clamps on my labia. If I could judge the feel of the clamps correctly, he'd used the V- shaped clamps with the rubber sleeves on the tips. A spasm rippled through my gut at the thought. My vagina tightened and pushed against the dildo inside me--which in turn pulled on the clamps. I moaned loudly, amazed and aroused. Somehow, he'd arranged things so any attempt to expel the dildo would pull on the chain connecting the clamps and thus my labia. In essence, I couldn't expel the dildo, and any attempt to do so would cause discomfort. To demonstrate the point, he spent several long moments tugging lightly at the base of the dildo. Each pull on my vaginal lips sent another wave of arousal through me--it didn't hurt, or if it did, it was an ever so slightly pinching pain, but it was intense. I breathed a sigh of relief when he slid the dildo deep inside me and left it there. Then, a buzzing noise I'd come to associate with the battery-operated vibrator he'd purchased filled the room. He started with my breasts, teasing my sore nipples with the instrument until I was moaning and squirming. My earlier experience with the nipple clamps had left me far too sensitive to endure much stimulation, and yet-- I found myself wishing he'd put them back on me, even though they had hurt. I wanted the pain, wanted to be so overwhelmed with sensation I couldn't bear it anymore. I wanted to cry out and beg for mercy when none would be forthcoming...I didn't know how to let him know this, though. I couldn't bring myself to ask him to hurt me. But I wanted it, oh, how I wanted it... When he lightly pinched my nipple between his fingers, I yelped and then moaned a loud "yes," hoping he'd take the hint that it was okay, that I didn't mind more nipple play. He tormented my nipples with the vibrator for a long while before he finally took the chance. He set the clamps, with their cold steel chain, on my chest while he murmured to me, "be sure to use your safe-word if it gets to be too much." It was too much; far, far too much! Even the loosest pressure the clamps could provide was excruciating. I writhed and sobbed. It hurt, oh God, it hurt...I never wanted it to end. Even with the nipple clamps on, he continued to apply the vibrator to my breasts, and the sensation was beyond amazing...my nipples were numb and yet they burned unbearably. Every movement of my body as I helplessly sought relief from the torment at my breasts caused the rubber cock still buried in me to shift and tug at the chain attached to the clamps on my labia. I could feel how wet I was--my vagina felt loose even around the gigantic dildo. My body was so tense with a combination of pain and arousal I could hardly stand it. I bit my lip to keep from begging him to ease my torment-- if I begged him to stop, he just might do it, and I couldn't bear that either. I couldn't plead for mercy, couldn't... ...couldn't remain silent any longer. I wailed, sobbing in my agony, and a breathless babble began to stream from my lips. Oddly, as I began to verbalize my suffering, it became more bearable. It was as though holding the torment inside had made it all much worse. Thankfully, he didn't stop, didn't heed my pleas for a reprieve. What he did do was trail the vibrator down my torso to my belly and begin tickling me with it. When the tip of the device dipped into my navel, my body arched, moving of its own volition to get away from what was being inflicted upon it. No relief was forthcoming, however. The tickling continued, up my ribs and into my underarm, over my breast and across my collarbone. As it trailed down my sternum, I could feel the vibrations in my lungs and heart. Then a teasing at my groin, at the sensitive, ticklish skin where hip meets belly. It moved down my thighs to under my knees, and all the way to my feet. I kicked and yelled helplessly, but it didn't stop. It moved up the other leg in reverse of the manner it had gone down the first, and then it was between my thighs. I was hoarse and my throat dry with my exclamations by this point, and still I kept speaking. Pleas for mercy were interspersed with groans and wails and yelps. If it was possible to be in heaven and hell simultaneously, I was there. There was pain, pain beyond what I could ever imagine I could bear, but there was also unbelievable pleasure. Pleasure of the thick simulated cock filling me, pleasure of the vibrator pressing against my perineum, my labia--the chain on the lower set of clamps vibrating rapidly against my sensitive flesh. The vibrator went away for a moment, and the dildo, which had been creeping out of my body millimeter by millimeter, was firmly re-inserted, easing the pressure on my lips. He pressed against it, pushing it against my back wall, then released, and repeated the motion. Press, release, press, release, press, release...fucking me with barely any movement at all... And then the vibrator...my clit, hard and throbbing and unbearably sensitive. A single touch was all it took to set me off and I was coming...and coming...and coming, as though I'd never stop. He moved the vibrator in easy circles on my clit with the same consistent pressure, neither too hard nor too soft, and not stopping no matter how I jerked or wriggled or screamed. The pain in my nipples, the fullness in my vagina, the tension on my labia--all of it was insignificant next to the relentless pleasure. It might have been multiple orgasms or just one that wouldn't stop, but whatever it was, I was ready to lose consciousness. As reality began fading in and out, he released the clamps on my nipples simultaneously. Pain surged through my breasts, white-hot agony that possessed my body for a split instant. Every muscle tightened, my whole body stiffened and went taut. I screamed breathlessly, pulling my wrists and ankles against the bonds. He soothed my breasts with one hand, caressing and kneading and stroking the pain away, even as the other held the vibrator to my clitoris. Even through the pain, the contractions were unrelenting. When he finally pulled the vibrator away from my clitoris, I lay stunned and shaking and exhausted, residual shudders running through my body with the aftershocks of what I had experienced. My skin was damp with sweat and droplets of moisture had pooled between my breasts and in the hollow at the base of my throat. My Master, leaning over me, dipped his head down and licked them away, caressing my skin with his tongue. He very gently suckled my nipple and I whimpered softly, for even that tender pressure was excessive in my hypersensitive state. He released the clamps on my labia, which didn't hurt nearly as much as it did when they were on my breasts, and withdrew the dildo from my vagina. I could feel my internal muscles contract, adapting to the sudden emptiness, and then he was lying beside me, pressed against my still-bound body. His erection was steel-hard against my hip, pulsing with a life of its own. I wanted to ease his condition, to see him come selfishly, without thought for my pleasure. Speaking was all but impossible. I licked my dry lips and, picking up on the cause of my problem, he gave me a long drink of water, then reached for my wrist, ostensibly to release me from the cuffs. "No!" I gasped, and he looked up at me in surprise, his eyes dark and intent on mine. "Please--I want--" Damn, I didn't know why it should be so hard for me, had never even realized before that asking for what I wanted was a problem. Never in a previous relationship or even with Mulder had I been able to express my desires without being prompted, if not cornered and forced into it, first. But now he wasn't asking me what I wanted, wasn't trying to pull the words from me. He was just waiting, calmly, until I told him what was on my mind. "Please, Master, I want--" I drew a deep breath, hesitated, and then plunged forward. "I want you to use me." There was a flicker of--something--on his face, but I couldn't decipher it. His nostrils flared and his expression tightened ever so slightly. I felt his body quiver. "Like the video we watched," I said finally, beginning to feel foolish. Those movies were asinine in their treatment of women--why would I ever want to be treated like one of the porn queens who were used so casually in them? Because I wanted, just for a while, to focus on his pleasure and his alone, and if there was one thing I'd learned about those films, it was that they were designed for male viewers' pleasure. In those movies, though, the action seems degrading and defiling of women--but Mulder loved me, and there was the difference. He could never defile me, no matter what we did. He didn't force me to elucidate any further. Instead, he bent forward to kiss me. His tongue plundered my mouth, robbing me of breath, exploring every recess. He buried his hands in my hair and held my head stationary for his kiss. His teeth nibbled at my lips before at long last, he settled between my thighs and plunged his cock into me with one fast thrust. "Oh, God..." I moan softly. The dildo had loosened me to the point where his own not inconsiderable size barely registered, but what I could feel of him inside me, combined with the pressure of his pelvis against my clitoris, was sweet beyond imagining. He moved in and out in rapid thrusts, panting above my face as he supported his weight on his arms. This wasn't working, wasn't what I wanted. I wanted to focus on *his* pleasure, and even what small pleasure I felt this way was too much. It distracted me. "No!" I gasped, startled by a particularly deep thrust. He froze and looked at me again, waiting silently for me to tell him what I wanted. "My mouth..." I whispered, closing my eyes with embarrassment. "I want you to fuck my mouth." I couldn't bring myself to look at him as he moved into position, straddling my chest. The position was almost an exact re-enactment of the movie we had watched together. He held my head with his hands and shifted his hips forward. When his cock brushed my lips, wet with my fluids and his pre-ejaculate, I opened my mouth for him and he slid inside. His moan rumbled through both our bodies, and I sighed around his penis, tasting my own musky essence as I concentrated on breathing through my nose. There was the raw, animal smell of sex on him, underscored by the soap he'd cleaned with during our shower earlier. It was hard to breathe--his body was almost covering my face, and I had to struggled with a momentary sense of claustrophobia. Then he began to thrust, and everything else was forgotten as I willed myself to relax my mouth and throat. He was doing it--fucking my mouth as he had any other part of my body, thrusting in and out with abandon. The angle kept his thrusts from becoming too deep and triggering my gag reflex for the moment, until I could relax into what we were doing. When the moment came that he shifted and changed angles to go deeper, I was ready for him. He slid into my throat and back out again effortlessly. Holding me roughly by the hair, he continued that way. I could feel his cock growing even harder, swelling even more. His thrusts became less restrained, the sounds that emanated from him as he towered over me more animalistic. He was going to do it, going to come in my mouth. I could feel it in the tightening of his balls against my chin... Which was, of course, when a particular thrust hit the wrong spot and I choked. I coughed and spluttered after he withdrew, drawing in a few uncomfortable breaths while he quivered above me, getting himself back under control. "Are you okay?" he asked tenderly, stroking my face softly. So gentle and chaste was that moment of concern, one could almost fail to notice his was straddling my torso with his dick bumping my chin. Drawing another ragged breath, I nodded. "Please, don't stop." He bit his lip as though nervous, which I could understand. He didn't want me to choke again, and it was much more likely to happen a second time now. Then a decisive look crossed his face, and he reached for the bedside table. He came back with a handful of the water-based lube we used, which, after he slid further down my body, he smeared over the inner slopes of my breasts and sternum. He squeezed my breasts together and, positioning himself, thrust his cock between them. The pressure of his hands on my nipples was enough to remind me how tender I was, but I relished the discomfort as yet another testament to the fact that this act was solely about his pleasure, not my comfort. His lubricant-coated palms were wet and sticky as they clutched the mounds of flesh. The breath was driven from me as he thrust, hard and fast, between my breasts, again and again. I lifted my head and began bestowing licks upon the head of his cock as it emerged from the passage he had created. Between our bodies, the air was rife with his dark, musky odor and my own scent. But even as I observed all of this, he kept thrusting, his eyes fixed on my face, glazed with passion. His jaw was slack and his breathing ragged. Faster and harder, he moved. The head of his cock each time it peeked out from between my breasts became redder and more swollen. He began to growl and groan, spitting words of pleasure out with each breath. I watched his cock as though mesmerized as it appeared and then disappeared again. His body quaked above mine and then, as the head emerged again, a jet of milky-white fluid erupted from it to splash onto my chest and shoulders. The next stream hit my chin and cheek as he released my breasts and braced himself with his hands on the wall above the headboard. As some semen sprayed over my lips, I lapped it away as the porn queen I had imagined myself being would, catching it with my tongue and sucking it into my mouth. His taste was salty and bitter, but I swallowed it happily. My chest and face were something of a mess when he finally sank down onto the bed beside me. His breathing was still harsh as he released my wrists from the restraints and massaged my hands to make sure no impairment of the circulation had caused any trouble. His semen was growing cold on my skin, but I wasn't about to complain. Honestly, it was only a few seconds until he'd collected himself enough to fetch another wet cloth and clean me up. With my ankles now released as well, I took the cloth from his hands and wiped away what residue he had missed in his careful ministrations while he collapsed on the bed. We were both silent, content and sated. I went into the bathroom to wash a little better than just the cloth would allow, cleaning away lubricant and bodily fluids with soap and water. When I emerged, he'd remade the bed and put away the ropes and cuffs with which I'd been bound. "Thank you, Master," I murmured, kneeling next to the bedside. I took his hand and kissed it, caressing it with my face. I let myself luxuriate in my role as adoring submissive for a moment. With his other hand, he stroked my head as one would a beloved pet, running his fingers over my hair. Each time we played, I felt more truly his. It was liberating and exhilarating, the freedom I knew when I let myself belong to him. Dana Scully could never have asked for and done the things I had done this evening as Kat, and she would never know the kind of fulfillment I knew right now. Filled with joy and wonder, I let my Master pull me to my feet and settle me into bed. He curled his body around mine, our naked flesh pressed together, and sleep slowly overtook us. In the instant before I finally succumbed to slumber, I remembered our last unfinished bit of business for the day--the punishment I was to choose. But then it was too late--my Master was already asleep, and I was rapidly following him. Anything else would have to wait until the next Saturday. END of APHRODISIA IV - Exploring the Boundaries Special Note: In a D/s dynamic, "no" doesn't necessarily mean "no." A safe-word is assigned for the express purpose of giving the submissive the ability to "fight" and to say "no" and feel they are being forced without actually halting the action. A Dominant has the right to disregard a submissive's refusal for any given act (unless it takes the form of the safe-word) because the submissive has given the Dominant that right prior to the act itself. Some D/s relationships will even discard the use of a safe-word, but that is a very special kind of trusting relationship reached after a great deal of negotiation between partners who know each other's limits *EXTREMELY* well. That means that in the sort of situation depicted in this story, Scully's refusal to capitulate and Mulder's use of force in a sexual context *does not* equal rape. I would never in any way, shape, or form condone rape, even the kind seen in so many fan-fics where "he forces her, but then she realizes she likes it." Rape is a heinous crime in which a person's power and control over their own body is stolen without their consent. What is depicted in this chapter is a scene from a relationship where one partner has, willingly and with full informed consent, given over her personal power and control over her body to the other partner. Flames about rape-fic in disguise will be used to light my Christmas candles. Feedback will be welcomed at kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com