From: ANGELA WARD <tapw63@hotmail.com>
Date: Thu, 8 Aug 2002 13:09:36 -0700 (PDT)
Subject: Fanfic submission
Source: direct

Title: "A Day at the Beach"
Author: Angela W.
Category: MSR (Mulder/Scully married)
Rating: NC-17
Timespan/Spoilers: This is part of my "married"
series, which diverged from the "real" XF timeline
about midway through season seven; assume everything
up through the events of "Closure" has happened but
that Mulder was never abducted and the consumation of
the MSR and birth of their child were different from
the events depicted late season seven and beyond. In
my series, this comes after "While the Cat's Away".
Only spoilers are vague mention of a few minor events
from "Pilot" and "Tooms".
Summary: Mulder and Scully take a trip to the beach
with their daughter, then have some grown-up fun once
she's asleep. Told in alternating first person POVs.
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me. They
are the property of Chris Carter and 1013 Productions.
Archive: Feel free to archive anywhere.
Feedback: If it's nice or contains *constructive*
criticism, feedback is valued.



I wake up and am immediately hit with a feeling of
euphoria. Of course, that's not exactly uncommon
nowadays; ever since Scully and I got married a little
more than three years ago, I tend to wake up looking
forward to what the day might bring rather than
experiencing my former paranoid worrying of wondering
what kind of crap was going to hit me. 

But this feeling is even stronger than the day-to-day
happiness that is now a regular feature of my life.
With my eyes still closed, I take a moment to both
savor and analyze it. Okay, I now realize it's
Saturday; that automatically boosts my "feel good"
quotient up a notch or two. Although my job is
challenging and intriguing, my home life is the source
of real joy. A day spent with my darling Dana and our
adorable little girl, Melissa, is always more fun than
a day at work.

Finally, I realize why I'm practically buzzing with
excitement and anticipation: this is the first day of
our week-long vacation! As soon as we're up and
dressed and Scully has had a chance to do a little
last minute packing, we'll be on our way to the summer
house in Rhode Island. 

We considered going somewhere more exotic -- like back
to Hawaii -- but I could only wrangle a week off
during the time Scully's between teaching sessions at
Quantico and we didn't want to spend two full days of
that time in travel, plus another couple of days
dealing with jet lag. To paraphrase something I said
to Scully on the day we met: "That's why they put the
"B" in FBI". . .because it's a bureaucracy. Back in
the days when I didn't *want* to take vacation time,
they threatened to withhold my pay if I didn't take at
least two weeks off every year. Now, when I made a
formal request to take two weeks of my annual three
weeks leave this month, they told  me that they can't
spare me for that amount of time and the most they'd
authorize is one week. 

Still, I'm not going to waste one minute of this week
in regret. Not when there are so many more
pleasureable ways to spend my  time. I now realize
that my mind isn't the only part of me that's in a
very happy state. A certain portion of my anatomy is
*throbbing* with excitement. Of course, that could
have less to do with our vacation than with the fact
that it's firmly cushioned against Scully's ass.

I start to slide my hand around to Scully's breasts,
intent on playing with them a bit in order to wake her
up, but instead encounter a small, plump leg. I open
my eyes. Instead of one beautiful, dearly loved face
on the pillow beside mine, there are two. Melissa's in
bed with us. Now that I'm fully awake, I vaguely
remember being roused by the sound of thunder sometime
during the night, accompanied by Melissa's frightened
call of "Mommy! Mommy! Up! Up!" and Scully's soothing
voice as she carried her into our room.

I smile. While a brief bout of morning lovemaking had
been my original plan, this isn't a bad way to wake
up, either. I enjoy a chance to watch them both while
they're sleeping. I always feel strongly possessive at
moments like this. My wife. My daughter. Not "mine" in
the sense of people I can dominate and control, but
"mine" in the sense of people I would willingly die
for.

Melissa chooses this moment to awaken. She pats
Scully's cheek gently and gets a murmured "Mommy'll be
up in a minute" in reply. Then she lifts her head to
look at me and says "Daddy!" with a mixture of
surprise and glee in her voice. Scully has a tendency
to let Melissa sleep with her on the nights I'm
out-of-town on business, so our daughter seems to
think finding both her parents in this bed with her is
a rare treat.

Having discovered I'm here, Melissa promptly sits up
and pokes her feet at my face. Having someone  shove
their feet in your face is not usually regarded as an
uplifting experience, but when the toes in question
belong to your own sweet, recently bathed baby girl,
it's wonderful. "Piggies!" Melissa demands.

I proceed to play "This little piggy" with her toes,
while she giggles and claps. All this commotion wakes
up Scully and the three of us indulge in a few minutes
of mutual kissing and cuddling. After a bit, Scully
says, "This is fun, but let's get up and get on the
road so we can be at the summer house in time to go
swimming before it gets dark; if you don't mind, I'll
take the first shower while you get Melissa changed
and fed, then I'll get her dressed and do the last
minute packing while you're getting ready."

"Sounds good," I agree.

Since Scully is in the middle, she has to crawl over
either Melissa or me to get out of bed. She choose me.
Scully straddles me in preparation for swinging off
the bed, but stops for a moment in mid-stride. She
smiles and says, "Why do I get the feeling that 'This
Little Piggy' wasn't your original choice for 'Game to
Play Before Getting out of Bed' this morning?"

I grin and slip one hand -- the one opposite Melissa
-- up for a quick squeeze of Scully's ass. "It's okay.
I plan on making a pig of myself in a totally
different sense all week long."

"Promises, promises," Scully says, scooting out of bed
and heading into the bathroom.

***

Since Melissa, like most small children, wakes up at
the crack of dawn, it's still fairly early by the time
we get on the road. I'd done virtually all the packing
yesterday and Mulder loaded the car when he got home
from work. All we kept out was one small carry-on to
toss our toothbrushes and stuff into, and Melissa's
diaper bag.

I glance over at my husband behind the wheel of our
car and smile slightly. Considering the "Spooky"
reputation he had when we first met, and the lack of
interest he showed for years in ever leaving the
office, it's funny how well he's adjusted to marriage
and parenthood. He still works hard and has even taken
on the role of supervisor of a task force, but he's
also a wonderful, loving husband and father. He's
achieved a balance in his life that was missing for so
many years. 

"So, what's your mother doing this week? I guess this
counts as her vacation, too?" he asks.

"She's actually watching Matthew and Patrick tonight,"
I explain, "so that Bill and Tara can go out to dinner
and a movie."

"Paddick?" Melissa asks, her ears catching the name of
her cousin and favorite playmate.

"Patrick's going to Grandma's house; we're going to
the beach."

"Paddick Grandma's, Lissa beach," she agrees. 

"Wow, your mom really takes her grandmothering
seriously, doesn't she? On her week off from
babysitting one grandchild, she volunteers to watch
the other two!"

"Well, she's only watching them overnight, then she's
going down to spend a few days with an old friend of
hers -- another Navy wife, who's recently been widowed
-- in Virginia Beach. Mom does like being a
grandmother, though, and I think sometimes she feels
that Matthew and Patrick don't get their share of her
attention; after all, she sees Melissa at least three
days every week, and only sees them once or twice a
month, despite the fact that they don't live much
further away from her than we do."

"I guess that's true, but the situations are
different," Mulder points out. "You work part-time,
Tara doesn't. Plus, Matthew and Patrick have another
set of grandparents who, I've gathered, visit pretty
frequently despite the fact that they live in Florida.
Unfortunantly, Melissa doesn't."

"There is that," I agree.

My husband is quiet for a long moment, then he says,
"I wish we'd gotten married sooner. For a lot of
reasons, but that especially. My mother would have
really. . .I mean, another little girl in our family.
. .it would have. . ."

"I know, Fox," I say, reaching over and squeezing his
leg. 

His mood lightens suddenly and he flashes me a grin.
"If you're trying to distract me, Dana, you should
move your hand a little higher up and do that."

"Pay attention to the road, Daddy," I say with a
smile.

For once, Mulder actually obeys my instructions. We're
coming into some heavy traffic and he concentrates on
his driving. I concentrate on him. He certainly looks.
. .nice. Long, tanned legs, bulging biceps peeking out
of the sleeves of his T-shirt, which is just snug
enough to accentuate the breadth of his chest, those
strong, gentle, skillful hands of his gripping the
wheel. 

I continue my visual survey of my husband's anatomy,
letting my glance wandered to that luscious mouth of
his with the impossibly full lower lip.  Then I move
to his eyes which, instead of being fixed on the road
like I expected, meet mine while dancing with
amusement. "Caught you looking, Scully."

I flush a little, but less with embarrassment than
with desire. "I've got every right to look, Mulder.
And to touch, taste, smell and listen. . . all of
which  I plan on doing later tonight."

He smiles at me then says, his voice low and sexy,
"Want to know a secret?"

"Sure. What?"

"I used to catch you looking before we were married,
too. We'd be on some road in the middle of nowhere,
going to investigate the monster of the week; I'd be
driving and you'd be sleeping. Or, rather, you'd be
pretending to be asleep; but sometimes I'd glance over
and see that your eyes were only half-closed and that
you were checking me out."

"You did not!"

"Oh, yeah. Want to know how I could tell?"

"Since you're obviously eager to explain, Mulder, go
ahead."

"I'd reach over and try to wake you up. You're
actually pretty easy to awaken. When you were really
asleep, all I'd have to do was whisper your name or
touch you gently on the cheek or tug lightly on your
hair and you'd be fully awake, instantly. When you
were only *pretending* to be asleep, you went through
this whole fakey thing where I had to practically
scream at you to get you to open your eyes. .
.probably to keep me from seeing the lust-crazed gleam
in them and know that you'd been indulging in yet
another unprofessional sexual fantasy of your
partner."

Shit! Busted, after all these years. 

"Want to know another secret?" he inquires still
keeping his voice low and quickly glancing at the
rearview mirror to make sure Melissa is absorbed in
playing with the toys attached to her car seat.

"Might as well," I say with a shrug. The man's a
licensed psychologist and a professional behavioral
profiler, for God's sake. Whatever made me think he
wouldn't pick up on the subtle clues that proved I was
attracted to him?

"The reason I always had you enter doorways ahead of
me wasn't strictly due to politeness. . .I also did it
because I liked looking at your ass. And sometimes
when I did wake you up -- whether you were honestly
asleep or just pretending to be -- it was because
having you sleep beside me, even in the strictly
literal sense of the words, was giving me such a
hard-on that I couldn't concentrate on my driving."

I grin at him. "Gee, Mulder, and I thought it was the
idea of extra-terrestrial life that kept you so
excited all those years."

***

By mid-afternoon, we're at the summer house. We
stopped at a grocery store a few miles back and did a
little shopping, but we only got the basics; we were
both too anxious to get here. 

It's funny, sometimes Scully and I concentrate so much
on our myriad differences that we almost forget we do
have some things in common; our mutual love of the
seashore, for instance. For me, the attraction is
specific: it's to this particular stretch of sand and
water where I spent so much of my childhood. For Dana,
it's a more generalized feeling, born out of her
childhood as a Navy brat. For both of us, the beach
brings back pleasant memories of the weeks we spent in
Hawaii shortly after we were married on a combination
business trip/honeymoon.

As soon as we've unloaded the luggage, Dana disappears
upstairs to get herself and Melissa changed into their
bathing suits, while I put away the groceries. A few
minutes later, they come back down. Melissa's wearing
the same suit she's worn all summer but Dana, instead
of wearing her usual navy blue number, has on the
emerald green bikini she only wears when we're
swimming in secluded spots. I let out a wolf whistle.

Scully laughs and says, "I wouldn't wear this in
public, but I figure the beach is deserted enough for
it to be okay."

"You look great!" I say, letting my eyes rove over
her. I don't even try to hide my interest and
excitement. She already knows what I have in mind for
later tonight. "I'll just run up and change, then we
can head down to the beach."

Watching Melissa at the beach is an absolute delight.
We brought her here for a few days last summer but, of
course, she doesn't remember that. She keeps walking
to the very edge of the water, letting the water
barely tickle her feet, then running back to the dry
sand. 

Finally, I scoop her up in my arms and say, "Come on,
Melissa, let's go out deep." So she, Scully and I go
out to where the water is about up to my waist and
play for a while. When Melissa seems to be getting
bored of this activity, I hand her back to Mommy and
say, "Do you mind taking her back to the land? I'd
like to go ahead and swim for a while as long as I'm
out here."

Scully nods and takes her in. Then, when I'm done
swimming, I volunteer to watch her so Scully can get
go out deep. She returns in a few minutes to ask what
it is we're doing. Melissa and I are industriously
digging and packing sand. Okay, to be honest, I'm the
one industriously digging and packing. Our daughter is
putting sand into a bucket and dumping it out on my
head.

"Are you buildng a sandcastle?"

"Sandcastles are mundane," I reply. "Melissa and I are
building a sand spaceship. You can help."

"I thought you'd given up on that," Scully says,
rolling her eyes.

"I gave up devoting my whole *life* to it," I reply.
"I've still got an interest. You know that."

Scully rolls her eyes again, but begins to mold the
sand. Melissa gets tired of pouring sand on my head
and sits in the middle of the space ship, alternately
patting the damp sand and digging little holes. 

"You know, Dana, I think this sand spaceship is kind
of a metaphor for our entire relationship."

"How so, Fox?"

"You obviously think the idea is crazy, but you're
helping me with it anyway. Wasn't that pretty much
what you always did when we worked on the X-Files
together?"

"I didn't think *all* your ideas were crazy," she
protests.

"Want to know what freaked me out the most the first
year we worked together?"

"Eugene Tooms?" she asks.

"Only indirectly. When you lied to Skinner, told him
you'd been with me at the Tooms alleged I attacked
him. You'd always been the consumate professional. Yet
there you were risking your career, for a partner you
probably thought was nuts."

"You were my *partner*, Mulder! I figured I had to
stick up for you."

"God knows you did, Scully. Always. Know what else I
thought was cute?"

"What?"

"The way you'd take a sandwich or a donut I'd already
bitten into and eat it. Or the way you'd grab a beer
right out of my hand and take a sip. It was completely
non-sexual but, at the same time it was. . .intimate."

She smiles and replies, "I know. That's why I did it."

***

We finally finish our sand spaceship and step back to
admire it. Melissa does a little dance in the middle
of it. Then she walks over to me and holds up her
arms.

"You ready to go in and get cleaned up, then have some
dinner?" I ask as I pick her up. My question is
directed equally to my husband and child.

"Sure," Mulder replies. "I'll shower off real quick,
then start dinner while you and Melissa are cleaning
up."

I do a little unpacking while Mulder is in the shower.
My mother had come by yesterday for a brief visit and
had tucked a small package into Melissa's suitcase,
telling me it was a surprise for the trip. I open it
and find out it's bath paints. . . tubes of liquid
soaps that come in different colors and that you can
squirt onto the tile or your body to make designs. 

As soon as my husband vacates the bathrooom, Melissa
and I go in. It seems silly for the two of us to take
separate baths, so I just climb into the tub with my
sandy young daughter. You would have thought she'd had
enough of water play at the beach, but apparently
she's entranced by the idea of Mommy actually being in
the bathtub with her rather than alongside it and
every time I suggest we get out and dry off she
answers me with "no" and points to the bath paints and
says "more".  I suppose I should exert some parental
authority, but we're on vacation and there's really no
hurry for us to get out of the tub, so we just
continue to play.

Eventually, Daddy comes up to see what we're doing. I
explain about the bath paints and Mulder gets this. .
.look. . .in his eyes. All he says, however, is "Come
on, Melissa. Daddy'll get you dressed and then you can
come help me finish dinner while Mommy puts her
clothes on." He grabs a fluffy towel and swoops her
right out of the tub in one smooth move. 

The steaks Mulder grilled for dinner are delicious. He
is, as he'll be the first one to admit, not much of a
cook, but he's really excelled this time. We ate
potato salad we'd picked up from the in-store deli
with it, so I didn't have to do anything. Mulder even
poured the wine and put milk in Melissa's sippy cup.

After dinner, we go out to the hammock to watch the
stars come out. There's a full moon and a slight
breeze off the ocean, making it just cool enough for
the three of us to enjoy snuggling up together. Mulder
had just  gone ahead and put Melissa in her pajamas
after the bath, so I figure she can fall asleep
whenever she gets tired without any extra input from
me.

"That?" Melissa asks, pointing to a blinking light
near us.

"That's a firefly, sweetheart," Mulder answers.
"Little bugs with lights on them. When your Aunt
Samantha and I were kids, we used to catch them in a
jar. Maybe next year, when you're a little bigger, I
can help you catch some."

I smile softly and snuggle closer to Mulder. I think
this is the first time I've ever head him mention his
sister without a trace of sadness or regret in his
voice. 

After a few minutes, Melissa begins to pull at Daddy's
shirt and says "off". 

Mulder complies and strips off his shirt so that she
can cuddle against his bare chest, the way she always
does as he rocks her to sleep. However, he can't
resist a mumbled mock-complaint, "You women are all
the same. Never satisfied unless I'm half-naked."

"Who says I'd be satisfied with you only *half*
naked?" I reply with a smile and a wink. I let my eyes
rove over him as he sings softly to Melissa and let my
desire flood through me. I'd thought I'd reached the
depths of longing for Mulder years ago, when I watched
him fight for the truth or encountered him nearly
naked and half-asleep in some podunk motel room. But
since Melissa's birth I've discovered one
incontrivable fact: there is nothing -- I mean
absolutely *nothing* -- that turns me on like watching
the tender, uncomplicated love he has for our
daughter.

Melissa falls asleep quickly, undoubtedly worn out by
her busy day. Once he's sure she's asleep, Mulder
slides gracefully out of the hammock while clutching
her with one arm. He stands up and extends his other
hand to me and we tiptoe into the house, hand-in-hand,
to lay Melissa in the portable crib we set up in
Samantha's old room.

"Sweet dreams, angel," I whisper, brushing a kiss
against her dark curls.

Once we're out in the hallway, I turn to Mulder and
ask, "Bed? Or did you want to make use of the hammock
or some other interesting location?"

Mulder fidgets for a moment and looks almost
embarrassed. It the same look he used to have on his
face, years ago, when I caught him looking at one of
those magazines that weren't his. . .or when I caught
him looking at me as if he were envisioning the two of
us starring in one of those videos that weren't his.
Why, I wonder? We're married, for heaven's sake! I'm
perfectly okay with the idea that he wants to make
love with me. It's what I want, too.

Finally, Mulder clears his throat and says in an
unusually husky voice, "I'll want us to adjourn to the
bedroom eventually. But first I wondered if. . .if it
would be okay with you if *we* played with those body
paints?'

I smile as comprehension dawns. "Sure, Fox. You want
us to paint on each other?"

"Well, I want to paint on you. You can do me, too, if
you want. But maybe we should alternate nights."

"Okay," I agree. "Tonight you can be the artist and
I'll be the canvas. Tomorrow we can switch places."

***

"What do you want me to do?" Scully asks as we enter
the bathroom. I'm instantly hard simply from hearing
those words. In all my previous sexual relationships,
I was always the younger or less experienced partner.
The fact that I so often get to play the role of
"teacher" with her during our lovemaking sessions is a
turn-on in itself, quite aside from our actual
activities.

"Take off your clothes," I say. I grab a couple of
fluffy beach towels out of the cabinet; leaving one
folded, for me to sit on, I spread the other one on
the tile floor. Then I get the body paints and a damp
washcloth. 

I turn to see that Scully is now naked. "Lay down," I
say, gesturing to the towel on the floor. "On your
stomach."

"Aren't you going to get naked, too?" she asks.

"Sure," I reply with a shrug. All I'm wearing is
shorts, anyway, and they're beginning to get
uncomfortable. Besides, it *is* customary for both
spouses to be naked while indulging in sex play. I
strip off my shorts and let my erection bob free.
Scully smiles when she sees it.

"What are you going to paint, anyway?" she asks.

"You'll see," I reply. "It's a surprise."

I squeeze a drizzle of tinted soap onto her back and
she and she arches suddenly. Guess it must be cold.
"Stay still," I growl.

"Yes, Mulder," she replies. My cock throbs at the note
of surrender in her voice.

The scene I'm painting is supposed to be a sunset over
the sea; vivid reds and oranges above, tranquil blues
and greens below. But it's turning out to be pretty
abstract, both because I have to follow the contours
of Scully's body and because I'm not that talented of
an artist. The fact that I'm horny as hell and spend
more time delicately stroking my wife's soft skin than
actually applying the paint may have something to do
with it, too.

I've applied the soap-paint all over her back; even
had her stretch her arms abover her head so that I
could reach the outer curves of her breasts. The scene
is as good as I'm going to be able to make it, but I
don't want to quit just yet. I'm having too much fun.

"Fox, would it be okay if I lean up on my elbows?" she
asks. "Even with the towel between me and the tile,
it's getting a bit uncomfortable lying flat on the
floor."

"Yeah, that's fine," I murmur. "I'm done with the
upper part of your back, anyway."

I scoot down lower. Scully's ass is a work of art unto
itself and applying paint to it seems a bit like
gilding a lily. But I want to anyway. I'm getting
uncomfortable sitting with my legs crossed, so I lift
her up her hips and stretch out my legs, settling back
down with her bottom across my thighs.

"What are you doing?" she asks, turning her head to
glance at me over her shoulder. With her elbows up,
her breasts are swinging freely a few inches above the
ground and I can see that her nipples are hard and
peaked. I can also feel a growing patch of wetness on
my thighs, just below where her auburn curls are
rubbing against me. This is one *extremely* aroused
woman, I realize. Good. Even years ago, my fantasies
about the two of us were never centered solely around
my own pleasure. A major portion of them always
included turning the usually calm and rational Dr.
Scully into my  passion-crazed lover; it's nice to
know I've succeeded.

"Signing my work," I reply with a smirk. "No peeking."
I'm doing something I used to do as a kid but haven't
done -- haven't even thought of -- in at least 30
years. Sometimes, when I'd draw a picture, instead of
writing my name on it, I'd draw a little fox down in
one corner. . .to show that it was done by Fox. So now
I'm drawing a fox on Scully's ass with the tip of my
finger.

***

I let out a breathy little moan as Mulder's fingertips
trace patterns on my bottom. He's driving me crazy. 
I'm so turned on it's not even funny. This whole
situation. . .letting Mulder take charge, lying face
down across his lap. . .flirts at the very edges of
being kinky. And what surprises me is that instead of
being uncomfortable with it, I'm aroused. Completely,
totally, helplessly aroused. 

He is, too, of course. I saw his swollen cock a a few
minutes ago, can feel it bumping softly against my hip
now and again as he changes his position slightly. But
he's in charge tonight and I'll let him decide when
we're going to move onto the main event.

"There. I'm done. Reach over and push the door shut;
there's a mirror on the back and you can see what I
painted on you."

I roll onto my side and look over my shoulder. The
swirling colors on my back are definitely of an
impressionistic nature but I *think* I can tell what
they're supposed to represent. "Is it supposed to be a
sunset over the ocean?" I guess.

"Exactly right," he agrees.

"What's that on my bottom?" I ask. It seems to be some
sort of animal.

"A fox."

"Oh. Is that how you sign your name when you do body
art?"

"I suppose; considering this is the first time I've
every body painted anybody and that's what I did."

"Do you want to wash me off now and then we can go to
bed?" This has been a lot of fun, but I really want to
be fucked by that big cock of his. Now.

"Not yet," he replies. "Come back over here and lie
down again like you were a minute ago; your bottom
across my lap and the upper part of your body propped
up on your elbows."

I comply and look up at him with a smile. I notice
that he's using the damp washcloth to diligently
remove all traces of the soap from his fingers. "What
are we doing?"

"I want to see if I can bring you to climax like this.
 You usually come hard when you're face down; when
you're on top or when I enter you from behind. I'm
going to use my fingers from behind and you can rub up
against my thighs in front. I think you'll like it."

*Like* it? I think I might come just from hearing this
technique described, much less having in it actually
done to me. "Okay," I answer in a whispery voice.

"Spread your legs a little bit more," he says. Then he
begans to trace the now soap-free fingers of one hand
up the backs and insides of my thighs, while the other
hand fondles my breasts. He leans down over my
shoulder and captures my mouth in a kiss while sliding
one long finger inside me. I immediately buck up
against him. It feels wonderful but, at the same time,
it's not enough.

When we slowly break off our kiss I murmur, "More,
please."

"Mmm?"

"Can you use more than one finger?"

He complies, letting a second finger join the first
and being a bit more vigorous with my breasts. He's
not being rough --- he never is -- but now he's
squeezing and pinching the nipples while, at the same
time, pumping into me with two fingers. I rock back
and forth across his lap, rubbing my clit against his
thighs.  I'm so horny, yet I can't quite. . .

***

Scully's close. I can feel it. I've got three fingers
in her now and she's so wet that that they're gliding
in and out effortlessly. Yet I can't seem to bring her
all the way over the edge.

After watching her face and body for a few moments--
the sight of her painted back rippling while she
arches and moans is quite erotic -- I think I've
figure out what the problem is. Every time she thrusts
herself back against my hand, she lifts up a bit,
losing contact with my legs. She probably needs
stimulation from both angles to come.

I quit playing with her breasts and place the hand
that's not busy stroking her on her bottom, holding
her down. Now when she wiggles up against my fingers,
I exert just enough pressure to keep her from arching
away from thighs. That does it. She clamps down with
her internal muscles so hard and quickly that it's
like my fingers are caught in a vise grip. And she
screams. Not even my name, just a wordless sound of
pure pleasure.

I wait until she's stopped throbbing, then slowly
slide my fingers out of her. She's got her head
pillowed on her folded arms, her eyes are closed and
there's an expression of bliss on her face. Her legs
are still parted and every now and again another small
trickle of moisture drips onto my thighs.

"Wow, Fox!" she says when she finally opens her eyes.
"That was incredible!"

"Glad you liked it," I reply.

"Looks like we have some unfinished business to take
care of," she says, reaching out to lazily caress my
cock. "What position do you want me in?"

I damn near come right then, from the combination of
her touch and the implied submission of her words.
When I think of all the long years when the idea of a
naked, sated Scully lying spreadeagled across my lap
awaiting sexual instructions was a scene from one of
my *wilder* fantasies. . .

"Stand up, then lean down and grasp the edge of the
tub," I say.

She does as I've asked, the position thrusting her ass
up into the air. "Move your feet so they're a little
further apart," I add and she complies.

I need to get into her before I embarass myself. I
grasp her hips and slide in with one smooth thrust, 
then groan. By turning my head slightly, I can see the
two of us in the mirror on the door.

I actually last longer then I would have thought
possible, given how completely aroused I was from our
foreplay and her orgasm. Guess there are some
advantages to growing older, after all.

What surprises me is that, just as I began to gush
into her, I feel her spasm around my cock. When I'm
finally capable of coherent speech I say, "Didn't know
you were going for a double-play, Dana. I could have
tried to hold off."

"That second one took me by surprise," she answers.

"Come on, let's get in the tub and wash off." I turn
on the water and tumble us both in. The soap-paint is
now smeared all along my chest and belly, as well as
her back and bottom. We rinse each other off then just
lay there in the lukewarm water, both of us too
relaxed to contemplate moving.

Finally, Scully twists in my arms and scooches up my
body so that our  faces are level with each other. She
kisses me gently, opening her lips just slightly and
allowing the tiniest flicker of her tongue into my
mouth.
"Come on, handsome. We need to get out and get into
bed. We can't sleep in the tub."

I nod and we stand up, dry off, then stumble down the
hall into bed. Just as I'm drifting off to sleep I
hear Scully murmur, "Remember, tomorrow night I get to
be the painter and you get to be the paintee".

I can hardly wait.


Author's e-mail addy: tapw63@hotmail.com