Title: Watching The Fort
Author: Kate K.
E-Mail: kkeene@neosoft.com
Category: Gen/Het, NC-17
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A story of fantasies, secret lust and unexpected attraction.  The couple in question engages in consensual BDSM.  Not for readers of tender years or delicate sensibilities.
Spoilers: None, that I am aware of, unless the reader hasn't seen Multiple Maniacs then the authoress does spill about the lobster scene.  If that ruins the film for the reader, they need therapy.
Pairing: Byers/Yves

 


Disclaimers: For the benefit of sevr'l readers, a tale of lust. This tale is
to in no way infringe on the copyrights of Mr.(s) Carter, Spotnitz, Gilligan or Shiban.  If they are a trifle annoy'd by the work, I can only take small delight.   However, there is only admiration and regard for the fine work of Ms. Anderson, Mr. Braidwood, Mr. Harwood, Mr. Duchovny, Ms. Zuleikha Robinson, Mr. Seddon, and Mr. Haglund.

All errors in formatting are to be pardon'd.

 

WATCHING THE FORT

By Kate

 

Happy Birthday, Evil Overlord

 

John Byers was delighting in that rarest of pleasures, a night at

home alone. Langly was off at a D&D game marathon. Jimmy was visiting

some of his football buddies overnight. Mulder had called Frohike

away at the last minute. So, John had pulled out his Aria CD, turned

up the beautiful music, and sat at his computer.

 

It was hard to get time alone sharing a home with four other men.

Even though they all tried to respect each other's space and privacy,

it was impossible to forget the others were there. Especially, when

one needed some private time for very personal things. Very needing

to be alone things, which were what Byers was indulging in now.

 

He carefully filtered the websites so they wouldn't appear on the

search engine's history. There was probably no need for such caution,

since it probably wouldn't occur to Langly to check up on him,

Frohike wouldn't care, and Jimmy wouldn't know how. However, Byers

did it automatically.

 

The first image came up quickly, through the speed of satellite

modem. A black and white image of a woman filled the screen. A

beautiful woman dressed in black leather, a multi-tailed whip resting

across her crossed legs. Snowy blonde hair flowed over her shoulders.

Her breasts swelled over the top of the leather corset. Her hands

were covered in long opera kid gloves that stretched to the elbow.

She wasn't smiling, just looking aloof. Byers looked at picture and

swallowed in nervous excitement.

 

He clicked the trackball and the picture vanished. It was replaced

with several thumbnail images of the same dominant woman posing with

men. Men tied down to chairs and beds. Men kneeling at her feet. Men

curving under slaps from her hand or blows from her whip. Men

surrendering to her.

 

Suddenly his tie seemed a bit tight. Byers reached up and loosened

the knot. His mouth was dry. He closed his eyes. He felt the familiar

rush of excitement and shame that always came with the fantasies.

 

He knew in his mind that such fantasies weren't uncommon. He knew he

was a normal man, that sexual feelings and thoughts were perfectly

healthy. Masturbation was perfectly acceptable for a healthy adult.

Blah, blah, blah. All these fine thoughts still couldn't silence the

critical voice deep down that said, "What kind of a man wants to be

slapped in the face and tied up by a woman? What kind of a man are

you?"

 

What kind of a man, who wanted to be stripped of his authority, his

status, his power? He looked at the men in the photos, admiring them

for their courage to be in their desires, to step out and admit,

'This is what I want.' Something they had the nerve for, than John

did not. John knew he wasn't  a coward. He had stood up to a nameless

man holding a gun to his head and wasn't cowed. No, this wasn't the

courage to stand up for principle, to stand toe to toe in the face of

adversity, or to save someone else. This was the courage to be

exposed, to open up your deepest insides and let someone else look at

them. And that sort of vulnerability turned his balls to ice.

 

Sometimes, he thought of talking to Frohike about it. He knew that

Frohike was his friend, and would never judge him. He would probably even understand. They both shared the same pain and longing of

lost and unrequited love, himself for Susanne Modeski, and Frohike

for Dana Scully.

 

Frohike loved women, and admired them. Byers smiled to himself. It

would practically kill Frohike to truly humble himself to a man, but

worship at a woman's feet? Especially, in the case of a certain FBI

agent? Frohike would give himself up in a minute for her pleasure. He

wouldn't worry that he was losing himself or giving too much away.

That was the divide. Frohike would give with generosity. John didn't

want to give. He wanted to be taken.

 

He wanted to be ripped from his shell. He wanted to be helpless. He

didn't want to have to give his power; he wanted it taken from him.

He wanted to be overwhelmed. He wanted to be free of control. He

wanted to be at a woman's mercy. He wanted to be under the feet of a

woman he could trust, but still had the power to frighten him. An

oxymoron or a paradox?

 

John read the text under the photographs, but the words ran into each

other. He clicked on a photo to enlarge it. He could feel the heat in

his nostrils as his breath came faster. The man was naked, flat on

his back. The mistress stood over him, her heeled foot pressing into

his chest. She was leaning forward, pressing her weight down, her arm

balanced over her raised thigh, the tails of the whip a waterfall

pointing down.

 

He closed his eyes and let the image fill his mind. He touched his

chest, rubbing his shirt where the heel of the shoe would press into

his own flesh. In his mind he could see the shine on the black

leather. He could feel the cold floor under his back. The sight of

the whip filled him with longing and dread. He was getting hard.

 

His imagination brought him visions of long legs, black clothes, and

long, curling dark hair. A long, hard, lean body and the soft scent

of white ginger he knew instantly. Yves, their beautiful mystery

woman with the anagram names. She helped them, but she also would use

them. She always seemed to know what they were up to just about every

minute.

 

Yves, oh God.

 

He remembered her in the hotel room in Florida. She had been fighting

mad. She had seized Langly by the upper lip and flung him on the bed.

She had turned on them all in a flood of righteous anger that was

terrible and glorious. His response had been one of abashed

embarrassment not entirely due to them being found out in following

her. He had been grateful for his jacket at the time for concealing

his erection.

 

Just being on the receiving end of that much intense emotion, was

heady to contemplate.

 

His hand strayed down to his pants. He caressed himself through the

fabric, encouraging his erection. Yves was so beautiful. She was like

a panther, predatory and unpredictable. She could be so cool one

minute, passionate the next. He longed for her.

 

He had to wonder. What would it be like to be at her mercy?

 

He leaned back a little, letting his thumb rub up and down his penis

while his fingers cupped his balls. He looked at the picture without

really seeing it, his imagination replacing it with himself and Yves.

It would be so easy for her to take control of him.

 

She could do it right here. Right here in the warehouse, in the

office, in his sanctuary.

 

She'd walk in as silent a cat. Walk in behind him, unheard and

unseen. She'd move in, seize his jacket by the lapels and jerk it

open, back and down in a fast, fluid movement. His arms would be held

fast at the biceps, trapped to his sides as she spun the chair

around. 'Yves!'

 

She'd lift her leg up, placing her foot on his inner thigh, the heel

of her shoe pressing in. The toe pushing into his genitals. She'd

want something from him, wouldn't she? What would she want? 'Where is

that CD, Byers?'

 

'I don't have it, Yves.' He'd hold his hands open, fingers splayed

like starfish.

 

She would lean in and seize his tie, jerking his head up. 'I cannot

tell you how unhappy that makes me. And here I thought you were the

sharp knife in the drawer. Where is it?'

 

'It isn't here.'

 

'And conveniently so aren't Frohike or Langly. Is this a coincidence,

I ask myself? Where are they? Think you won't tell me? I assure you,

I'm very good at finding things out.' To emphasis the point, her foot

would dig a little harder. His body, to his shame, would respond. Her

nostrils would flare as she noticed. Of course she would notice, she

noticed everything.

 

'You're too late, Yves. Langly's already extracted the file and

Frohike and I decrypted it. It's already on its way to safe hands.'

The righteous note would creep into his voice without his meaning it.

The subconscious desire to gloat, to savor getting one over on her

would have to express itself.

 

'So, and you have a headline.' She would snort, disdainfully. 'Do you

have any idea how much I stood to make on that deal?'

 

'Some things are more important than money, Yves. You know that.'

Byers would try to sound reasonable. 'Besides, you have more than you

can use in a lifetime anyway, hidden all over. Since when is it ever

about money?'

 

She would lean in closer, winding his tie around her hand. 'Okay,

maybe it isn't about money, perhaps it's about getting what I want?

Did that thought ever occur to you?' Her thumb would come under his

chin, forcing it up. 'And I don't enjoy being cheated.'

 

'Yves, listen--'

 

'No, I've heard it.' She would remove her foot from his leg. Before

he could respond, she'd grab his belt and jerk him to his feet. His

arms would fall back and his jacket would drop onto the chair. Her

hands would pull and undo his belt and she would jerk it from its

loops and toss it over her arm. Then she would seize his shirt and

pull it loose from his waistband. Yanking it violently, she would

open it, buttons flying with a rattle. 'I've heard all I want to

hear. My file is gone, my money is gone, and all I have is you. So, I

don't want to hear anymore.' Her hands would go up, and pull the

collar of his shirt free from under his tie. She'd pull it down his

arms, yanking it off. His mouth would open in surprise, shock, and

arousal. She'd take his tie and pull on it. 'Get undressed.'

 

'What? Yves, stop, be reasonable--'

 

In a flash, she would cup the right side of his face with her left

hand. Her right hand would lash out in a slap connecting with his

cheek, stinging enough to take his breath away. Her left hand would

jerk his tie again. 'There's a time for reason, and a time for

instinct. Now, get undressed!'

 

His hands would be trembling, as they would go to his waist. His

fingers would be clumsy as they unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers.

He'd squat down, pulling them off, his cheek still stinging, his

breath coming faster. He would slip off his shoes and socks. The

floor would be cold under his bare feet. His nipples would be hard

under his undershirt. He'd stand back up again, looking at her face.

He would take his undershirt and pull it off over head. Gooseflesh

would rise over his shoulders and arms with the sudden chill. John's

fingers would go towards the waistband of his boxers and hesitate.

 

She would step closer. 'Put your hands up, behind your neck.'

 

Swallowing, nervous, his arms would rise and his fingers would lace

behind his neck. She'd move around, taking his belt and using it to

bind his wrists. He would feel the pull in his arms. She would walk

back around and touch him. Run her hands over his chest. His skin

would flinch against her fingertips, but his dick would respond.

She'd move closer, touching with her fingertips, teasing with her

nails over his ribs around to his back. Her hands would move down

over his back. He'd swallow hard and his breath would be uneven. Her

hands would glide down over the small of his back and slip under his

waistband. She'd run her fingernails over the curves of his ass,

scratching lightly up and down. The blush would rise hot and swift to

his face. She'd cup his cheeks, giving a squeeze. He would tighten up

involuntarily. Her thumbs would run back over the curves.

 

'You didn't take these off. Getting shy? Or didn't you think I'd

figure out how tight in the front these have gotten?' She'd scratch

him again, slowly and sensually.

 

'Yves, stop this. This doesn't have to go any farther.' Byers would

plead. 'You've made your point.'

 

'Oh no, I don't think this has gone very far at all.' She'd lift one

of her hands from his ass and bring it to his nipple. She'd first

scratch then pull on it, causing him to hiss. Bracing herself with a

hand on his hip she would crouch down in front of him. His breath

would be coming so uneven that his teeth almost chatter. How could he

be so helpless when she would be practically kneeling before him?

 

Yves would reach up to his boxers. Tugging the plaid silk, she would

draw them down, first in the back, then in the front. She would have

to pull the waistband forward to move it over his swollen cock. His

eyes would close in shame. The shorts would slide down his legs, the

elastic straining as it went past his slightly parted thighs,

catching unevenly on the hair of his legs. An eternity later, the

boxers would pool at his ankles. 'Lift your foot, Byers.' She would

command. 'Good, and now the other one, yes.' She would pull the

underpants away and toss them on the chair. She wouldn't rise, just

stay put, her face level with his groin. Yves would blow gently on

him. The movement of air would cause him to twitch.

 

'Well, well. I think this will do.' She would reach out and stroke

him, between a couple of her fingers. His dick would feel heavy and

hot. When her fingertips would get close to his pubic hair her nails

would trace patterns in his fur. She would stroke downward, gripping

him with more force. He would catch his breath sharply and groan.

'Feels nice. I see you like that. However, right now, I'm not too

concerned what you like and don't. You still owe me.' She would rise

to her feet and look him in the eye. 'Don't you?'

 

Reaching up, she would take his tie. Using it as a collar, she would

pull him around and lead him to one of the standing metal shelves.

Pushing him forward, she would press him forward, leaning him in so

that a shelf would support his arms. Reaching up to his neck she

would pull his tie around and unlace it, drawing it free. She would

kneel down next, by his side. Reaching around, Yves would loop it

around his genitals. He would gasp as the tie was drawn tight,

trapping his prick and balls. She would tie a snug bow.

 

She would run her fingers back over his backside, scratching lightly

again. He would feel the heat of her body as she stepped closer and

cool air as she stepped back. Suddenly, he would feel the impact and

sting as her hand would connect with his ass. The sound he'd make

would be sharp and inarticulate. Then, the slaps would come again

over and over.

 

'Yves!' He would burst out, in shock and humiliation.

 

'Shut up.' She would hiss. 'Consider this a taste of just retribution

for cheating me out of my deal. Don't tell me you can't take it.'

 

The spanks would sting, but the feeling of embarrassment and being

exposed would hurt more. After several slaps, the sensations on his

skin would over ride the shame. The sting and tingle of his bottom

would create an erotic flush that would go through his body. His cock

would get harder, feeling hot in its silken restraints. He would

close his eyes and lose himself in the harsh sensuality.

 

She would stop spanking him. She would run her hands over his hot,

tender flesh. She would caress and cup his cheeks. This time, he

wouldn't tighten up at her touch. He would gasp and moan. 'Not bad,

Byers. Not bad at all. You have definite potential.' She would lean

forward and whisper in his ear. 'Your arse is all nice and pink right

now. It feels good and warm.'

 

Then he would feel something different rubbing against his skin,

something wooden and flat. A ruler, perhaps? He would thrill with

apprehension and desire. The temptation to resist, to protest, would

be there -- but the longing for more stimulation, for additional

sensation would be there too. He would sigh and lower his head

slightly, and wait for more.

 

The sting would concentrate in the stripe where the ruler struck. His

skin would be awake and welcome the more intense sensation. The next

stroke would match, just below, and he would lift his head and gasp.

She would stroke him again, scratching with her nails lightly. 'Oh,

yes, you definitely have potential.' The whap as the wood struck his

flesh would echo in his ears. 'Be grateful, Byers. I'm not making you

have to count them.' She wouldn't have to make him mark them -- he

would grunt with each blow, deep sounds that would soon sound more

and more like aroused groans.

 

'I could have used a cane. It's a nice English practice. But still, I

can make do.'

 

He would have no idea how long she would paddle him with the ruler.

Long enough for his ass to feel hot, tender and enflamed. Enough to

reach a plateau inside, to let his erection want to subside but the

restraint would prevent it. She would stop, and run her hands over

his hot skin. 'You're glowing, Byers. It's very pretty.' She would

cup him and lean forward to whisper in his ear. 'Have you learned

your lesson?'

 

He would sigh, and nod slightly. 'Yes.' He'd whisper.

 

'Yes, what? What have I done this for?' She snapped, squeezing him

hard. He'd gasp out and try to move away, but there was no where he

could go. God, she couldn't want to humiliate him this much! And yet,

his cock would move more in response.

 

'You've...punished me for interfering in your plans...I've

learned...' he'd swallow hard. 'I've learned what I can expect for

crossing you.'

 

She would slap his burning ass - hard. He'd jump, and cry out. She'd

do it again, and once more. 'Who am I?'

 

He'd shake his head. He couldn't say it. He couldn't make himself say

the word. A low sound, almost a feral sound would come out of her.

She'd seize his wrists and jerk his belt off from around them. 'Grab

the shelf!' She would bark.

 

He would do it without protest, without hesitation. The crack of the

belt, the stripe of fire would burn across his cheeks. He'd cry out,

throwing his head back.

 

'Who am I?' She'd growl. It was foolish, he knew, but he'd shake his head.

 

The belt would snake out again and he'd cry out again. His fingers

held the shelf with a grip that was white-knuckle tight. She would

ask again. He still couldn't answer. The belt would lash down again.

And again. He would shake. And again. He would be pouring sweat. And

again. Until, he would finally gasp out, 'My mistress.'

 

Only then, she would stop.

 

She would drop the belt and turn him around. Before he could slip to

his knees, she would grab his face for a kiss. A kiss, the first

kiss, hard, warm and passionate. The taste of her breath, the feel of

her tongue, slipping away and the feel of the concrete floor cold

beneath his knees.

 

"Well, well. It's always the quiet ones, isn't it?" a dry, amused

voice cut through his fantasy.

 

John gave a startled yelp and jumped in his chair. He started to

rise, but a hand clamped down on his shoulder. A slender feminine

hand that pushed on him with a firm grip.

 

He could see the faint outline of her reflection on the screen in

front of him. He felt her breath touch his ear before he heard her

words. "Now I thought this would be interesting, but I had no idea

how much. You're a surprise, Byers."

 

"What? What are you talking about?" He wanted to drop dead. He wanted

the floor to swallow him. He wanted to disintegrate.

 

Her lips were so close to his ear that he could feel the soft brush

of them. "I had a feeling you would be alone tonight."

 

John stiffened. Her fingernails lightly scratched the back of his

neck. His mouth opened in shock, but nothing came out. Finally, he

found his voice. "Yves--what do you mean?"

 

"Who do you think passed that tip onto Agent Mulder?" She whispered

with a smile. She ran her hand down and cupped his still semi-hard

cock. "I was hoping to find you guarding the fort."

 

He gasped at her touch. "Yves, you...you don't." He closed his eyes

and swallowed. "You don't understand. I'm doing some...research."

 

"So I see." She purred. Her hand on him tightened. "It seems to be

proving productive." He jumped slightly and she nipped his earlobe.

"Verrry productive."

 

"Yves, no...stop, please." His hands clenched the edges of his keyboard.

 

"You don't want me to do that." She said with confidence.

 

"Yes, I do...I do."

 

"No, you don't." His traitorous cock swelled in her hand, pressing

against the two layers of fabric. She met his eyes in the reflection

of the monitor screen. She gave him a small smile, a smile of

understanding.

 

She stood up behind him and swiveled the chair around. She seized him

by the loosened knot of his tie. With a jerk, she brought him to his

feet. "Come on."

 

His stammered protests died in his throat as she pulled him upstairs.

She used his tie as a leash and led him to his bedroom. She closed

the door behind them.

 

"Yves, don't do this."

 

She moved in front of him, looking back over her shoulder, ignoring

his words. "Strip for me, Byers."

 

"What? No!" He stared at her, alarmed.

 

She whipped around, her tone as sharp as ice. "Yes!"

 

"No." He insisted, but his voice lacked conviction even to his own ears.

 

"Yes." She pressed, moving closer.

 

"No." His voice was a whisper now. She moved close, pressing against

him. Her body was warm and the smell of white ginger was tantalizing.

Her mouth covered his own. Her lips swept over his own, opening them.

Her tongue touched his own with a gentle caress that shot energy

straight to his groin. The kiss was wet and hot. She pulled back.

 

"Yes." She commanded, softly.

 

He dropped his head and nodded, defeated. She smiled at him and went

to the bed. She sat gracefully and turned to watch him.

 

Slowly his hands rose to take off his jacket. He fold it and laid it

over the back of a chair. Lowering his eyes, he watched his fingers

as he unbuttoned his shirt halfway and pulled it off over his head.

He glanced at Yves. Her beautiful eyes were fixed on him. The tip of

her tongue licked her upper lip. His breath hissed at the sight. His

fingers went to his belt

and unbuckled it and pulled it free. He toed off his shoes and pushed

them aside. She nodded to him almost imperceptibly. He watched her

face as his fingers opened his pants, unzipped them, and pushed them

down his legs. An unmistakable look of pleasure crossed her face, as

he stepped out of them, pulling off his socks as well. He could

almost feel heat from her gaze as she looked at the tight front of

his shorts.

 

Byers pulled his undershirt over his head. He swallowed and closed

his eyes. Grasping the waistband of his shorts, he pushed them down

and off. He stacked his clothes on the chair. He turned to her and

looked at her face to see if she was pleased with him. God, she was

beautiful sitting there. Long, long legs encased in black stockings,

leather skirt and suede top, dark hair and flashing eyes, all animal

grace. She smiled and blinked slowly, like a content cat.

 

"Come here." She ordered.

 

He moved a few steps closer, fiercely aware of how hard he was. His

nipples, his cock, his shoulders, his calves were tense and hard. The

contrast of them, her clothed and him naked and exposed. His breath

came faster.

 

"Closer." She gestured to him, her voice softer.

 

John moved closer to her. Her hand ran over the soft flesh of his

belly. He shivered slightly, from nerves and arousal. He wanted to

protest, wanted to resist, but couldn't. Something deep in him,

something primal, hungered for this and hungered for more.

 

She cupped his scrotum, running her thumb across his stiffening cock.

"Mmm, nice. Very nice. Like me touching you? It doesn't matter. I

like touching you, and that's what's important right now, isn't it?"

She squeezed him hard enough to be uncomfortable, but still delicious.

 

"Yes." He whispered.

 

"Get on the bed. Lay on your back with your knees up."

 

Slowly, reluctantly, he obeyed her. He crawled on the bed and got on

his back. With his thighs parted and his knees bent, he felt exposed.

His dick grew harder under her eyes. Pleased, she fondled him and

leaned in for a passionate kiss. Going to his pile of clothes, she

picked up his tie. Bringing it back over to him, she tied it over his

eyes. He shivered against the impromptu blindfold, but didn't

protest. "Now you stay here, just like this, and I'll be right back."

She kissed him, her tongue tasting his mouth. She tasted warm and

rich, of wine, of food, and of sex. He loved it.

 

He lay still, in his cocoon of darkness. His skin was alive, tingling

in anticipation of her next touch. Her scent was still in the air

around him. He was still struggling in the reality of what was

happening. His fantasies were coming true at last.

 

He had no idea how long he laid there, waiting. He was out of time.

Alert to every sound, he still didn't hear her come back in. He felt

her hand on his leg and he jumped slightly.

 

"You look so delicious laying here, just waiting for me." She purred.

She stroked his leg, and he could feel the friction as her hand moved

his leg hair against the grain. He could feel the slight tickle of

her nails as she moved her hand to his groin. He felt her breath

against his nipple before he felt the brush of her lips on his flesh.

She kissed it, her tongue stroking it, and then her lips were gone. He groaned in delight.

 

Her fingers closed around his wrist, and lifted his hand to rest over

his head. She moved his other hand the same way. He felt the soft

texture of a nylon rope looping around his wrists. Where had she

found the rope? She must have seen it in the storage area where

Frohike kept all his tools. His breath caught as she finished

knotting them and fixed the rope. He could feel the tension of it. He

opened his mouth to voice a protest, to resist, but no words came to

him.

 

She patted his hip. "Lift up." Slowly, he raised his bottom and felt

a softness as she slid a pillow under. He felt a soft snaking

sensation, as she passed a length of rope around his waist. Yves

knotted it, and it rested around him as snug as a belt. She wrapped

the ends back around his body lacing them over and over until they

were up to his underarms. She wrapped the ends around his upper chest and knotted them off.

 

It was soothing, trance-like, staying still for the ropes. They were

snug around him, he felt them every time he took a breath, but they

didn't constrict him. It was a curious, comforting feeling. His cock

twitched on his thigh in excitement.

 

"Oh, you like that, yes." Yves voice was very smug. She ran a hand

over his thigh. "Stretch out your legs." He kept perfectly still as

she wrapped the ropes around each of his ankles and tied them down.

His legs were spread wide. The pillow elevated him, exposing him

intimately to her gaze. He blushed, and was grateful for his beard to

hide it.

 

She ran her hands up his inner thighs. Her thumbs stroked his

testicles as her fingers scratched his pubic hair. He gasped in

surprise and desire. She blew softly on his penis, which twitched

again. "Mmmm." She hummed, pleased. He felt a light caress of breath

before her tongue licked his length. "Pretty, pretty. I just knew

you'd have a pretty cock, Byers. " She licked it again. "What's the

word? Yes, it's quite...tasty."

 

John felt his neck flush in humiliation as she continued her

examination of his genitals.

 

"Nice, smooth, clean." She purred, taking him in her hand. She

swirled her tongue around the head like she was tasting a favorite

ice cream cone. "Lovely size, not too big to be comfortable. Nice,

not too long; thick, but I can get my thumb and forefinger almost

around you. Just what I like. You're going to make my pussy a very

happy kitty." She smirked at her own joke. "You're blushing, Byers.

It's very cute. Poor Byers, so strait-laced." She reached up and

tugged on her ropes. "Literally. Are you not used to women talking

about cocks? But it's such an entertaining subject." He felt the heat

and wetness as her mouth enveloped his hard dick. She slid her mouth

over him, taking him deep, sucking deliciously. He moaned out, it was

exquisite. Then, her mouth was gone and her strong hand was wrapped

around him, pumping up and down.

 

"Mmm. You see women think about that sort of thing. I've wondered

about all of you. Shocked? I knew you would be. Now, correct me if

I'm wrong, but Frohike's bigger than you isn't he? He's not a large

man, but he has the body hair and the hairline of a testosterone

heavy male." Her voice was confident. "I just think he'd be a bit

larger than average, probably bigger and thicker than I'd care for.

I'd love to see it. I'm sure he'd smell all musky and wild and just

taste so salty. Someone I'd enjoy sucking off, but be a bit too much

to handle fucking on a regular basis. See, you have the nice fuckable

size, just perfect for shagging. Now Langly, he's so long and gangly

- all limbs. Tell me? Is he as long as you? Longer? Come on, I'm sure

you seen it."

 

Byers swallowed, flushing dark red. He shook his head. He wasn't

going to add to this conversation! Her hand squeezed around him, and

then vanished. Her nails scratched his upper thighs. "Answer me. If

you want me to touch yours again, answer me." His mouth opened and

closed. He swallowed. No, he couldn't do this! He couldn't discuss

his best friends dicks! There was the soft caress of air as she blew

on him again. He groaned. Her fingertips traced through his fur,

millimeters from the base of his cock. She blew on it again. He shook

his head, gasping. "Tell me."

 

"Yes." He gasped out. "Yes, he is." His whole body shivered with

shame, giving into her torture. Her mouth closed over his, kissing

him deep and rich in reward. Her fingers closed around him again,

pumping up his shaft.

 

"Good boy." She said, softly. Yves moved again, and he felt her

breath on his dick again. Then her knee moved over his chest. He

could feel the silk of her stocking rubbing against him. The smooth

leather of her shoe rubbed his shoulder. His breath was coming faster

when he realized that the leather of her skirt was missing. She took

him in her mouth again. It took all his self control not to explode.

She must have realized the danger, because she tightened her fingers

around him as she went down on him. Her foot moved closer to his

face. Turning his head, he kissed it. She purred around his cock and

moved her foot closer. He kissed again, licking and nibbling the

bridge of it, tasting the silk of her stocking on the bridge of her

foot. The distraction of it was welcome, to drive his orgasm back

again as she continued to suck him.

 

Yves gave whimper and sat up. She took her foot away and he felt her

body shift over him. He breathed deep and smelled her, her most

secret perfume, and knew what she was doing. He pulled against his

bonds, wanting to seize her hips to bring her down to his face. She

slapped his thigh lightly.

 

"Naughty, naughty. Do you want it that badly?"

 

"Yes, Yves. God, yes."

 

"All right." She whispered. He could detect the faint note of hunger

in her tone. Obviously, she wasn't as unflappable as she made herself

out to be. At the first brush of her pussy against his face, his

tongue went out to caress. Her wetness showed that she was just as

turned on as he was. Giving her head was a challenge. He was used to

using his hands when he did this, complimenting his intimate kisses

with caresses from his fingertips, penetrating while he tongued a

lady's clit. With his hands tied, he could only use his mouth. He

moved his kisses around, very lightly nipping her labia and

penetrating her vagina with his tongue. He was rewarded with gasping

moans from his mysterious Mistress. She tried to keep touching him,

rubbing his dick and frigging his asshole with her thumb, but she

kept stopping in reaction to his attentions. "Byers..." she growled.

"Oh, yes, oh that's it." She grew wetter and wetter, and let go of

his cock to grip his thighs. "Go on, oh, oh, god, you're going to

make me come."

 

Yves came with a low feline howl, which was so erotic Byers shivered.

She rose off him and within seconds was kissing him over and over. He kissed her back, tongue touching hers, tasting her wetness combined with her breath.  It was intoxicating.  He felt the brush of silk and skin as she straddled him. "I want to fuck you, Byers." She gasped out. "I want to fuck you. You want it, I know you do. Ask me...beg me..." Her normal growl was breathless with

passion.

 

He could feel the heat of her just over him, just waiting to envelope

him. He arched up, trying to reach her, but the bonds held him back.

"Yves..." He gasped out. "Fuck me, please, fuck me..."

 

He could feel the brush of her labia against his aching cock. "Now we

know you're clean, Byers." She told him breathlessly. "but am I? Do

you trust me, John? Do you trust me?" Her wetness rubbed against his

shaft.

 

For a moment, his clouded brain couldn't follow what she was saying.  He could feel the heat of her body and all he wanted was to bury himself inside her.  The wetness made him realize what she meant.  Nothing was between them at the moment, no veil of latex giving them a veneer of safety.  Did he trust her? Did he trust her that much? He didn't know who she had been with yesterday, or who would she be with tomorrow.  She was the mystery woman, driving him to edge, and now demanding trust.  His heart beat a mile a minute and he search his heart for the answer.  "Yes." He whispered. "Yes."

 

She engulfed him, taking him deep inside her. He was surrounded by

her silken, wet flesh, hot and tight. She rode him hard and fast,

gasping with pleasure. It was so intense, so good, it took all of

John's self-control to hold on. He could feel her tugging at his

blindfold, releasing it. He blinked and looked up at one of the most

beautiful sights he'd ever seen. She was naked, save for her

stockings and shoes. Her hair was flung back over her shoulders, her

face flushed with excitement, eyes half closed. Her nipples were hard

on her small, firm breasts, moving with each breath she took. He

could see where they were joined, as she thrust down on him, beads of

wetness in their pubic hair. He moaned in joy.

 

It was hot, urgent, good. He couldn't thrust back, tied as he was, so

he was at the mercy of her pace. He strained against the bonds a

little, but only a token, he was content to be as he was. He rocked his head

back and forth. His resistance was now gone, he was all hers. He was

laid open before her, he could deny her nothing.

 

"Tell me, John--do you need more?" she gasped. "Tell me what to give

you. Oh, god."

 

His mouth was moist, his thighs tense. He was lost in the moment,

trapped in sensations, he didn't hold back. For the first time, he could ask for what he wanted, what he had needed.  "Slap me..." he groaned. "Hit me. God, please."

 

John felt the slight tremor in her left hand as she cupped his face.

Her right hand caught him on the padded curve of his cheek. The crack of it echoed in his mind.  It stung, bright and sharp and resonated inside him. He gasped in joy and his hips thrust up as much as he could manage. She moaned, a rich, musical sound. Her hand moved down and she scratched him over his nipple. Oh, he was close now. She leaned forward, pressing her palms against his shoulders. 

 

The metallic groan of the warehouse door opening caused them both to freeze.

 

Her hand went over his mouth, her vagina closed tight around his

dick, saving his erection. They listened.  His hands tightened around the ropes.

 

After a moment, they heard steps on the stairs, and Frohike's voice.

"Keep it down, Mulder. Byers is probably crashed. He's been burning

the midnight oil lately."

 

"From the look of the computer downstairs, that's not all he's

burning." Mulder replied knowingly. "Good thing you turned it off, I might have been shocked."

 

Byers' looked at Yves with alarm. She touched a finger to her lips. 

 

"This from a man who never saw a sex act he couldn't watch. Leave it

alone, Mulder, he never rags on your hobbies.  Good thing for you that Scully was awake, or we'd still be in an ER somewhere. How do I let you get me into these things?" Frohike grumbled.  The squeak of the freezer opening reached them.  "Cold pack?"

 

Yves' lips pursed, like she was trying to keep from laughing.

Quickly, she removed her hand from John's mouth and shoved his tie

in. He bit down on the modified gag. Placing her hands back on his

shoulders, she slowly, silently, started to ride him again.

 

"Good thing you were with me, or Scully wouldn't have let us in. I think she has a lot more sympathy for you.  Hey, speaking of sex acts, got anything new to watch?" Mulder asked. There was the sound of cabinets opening and a rustling of cellophane.

 

"No. And even if I did, I'm too tired and hurting to have a hard-on anyway."

 

"Aww--come-on, I'm too wound up to go home yet. It'll keep the evening

from being a total bust. Besides, thanks to me, you've seen Scully in

her robe and jammies."  There was a clink of a beer top hitting the counter top.

 

John bit down on the tie. Yves' body was doing delicious things to

him. He was recovering his passion. The sound of his friends pushed

him close to panic, but the situation -- being so decadent so close

to them, yet being unsuspected of it, was wildly exciting. His

nostrils flared with every deep breath, he could smell sex so

strongly. Yves' face was alive with pleasure; she bit her hand to

keep from making any noise.

 

"Okay, Mulder, just for you, I'm pulling out 'Multiple Maniacs'."

Frohike said in a definite tone.

 

"Multiple Maniacs? What's Multiple Maniacs?" Mulder was curious.

 

"It's a John Waters film with a carnival of perversions. Divine gets

raped by a giant lobster. You'll love it, it's just your thing." 

 

John heard them moving off to the television area, and John closed

his eyes in relief. He re-focused his attention to his aching cock

and his need to come. She rode him faster now, chasing her own

climax. She came soundlessly, leaning forward and nipping his

shoulder. That was all it took to shove him over the edge. He bit

down hard on the tie, hard enough that he was surprised he didn't

bite it through. He flooded her, and struggled to breathe. She pulled the tie away.

 

"I thought that it would take them longer to figure out it was a

wild-goose chase," she whispered, with a kiss to his ear.

 

She untied him, rolling the ropes up. He rubbed his wrists and

ankles, but there were no marks or chafing. She didn't resist when he

reached out and pulled her into his arms. She met his kiss with real

warmth. John didn't know what to say. How do you thank someone for

bring your fantasies to life? For bringing you the most exquisite

pleasure? He could only utter one word. "Stay." He whispered. "Stay."

 

She slid under the covers with him and took him in her arms. He knew

she would be gone by morning, she would slip away as soon as she

could get past Frohike and Mulder. He knew, but that was all right.

He felt relaxed, serene, not awkward or stumbling. John looked at her

face, and she looked as if she felt the same. She leaned in and

kissed him again, gently, over and over. He dozed off, listening to

her breathing.

 

He woke up alone.

 

Finis.

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