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Title: Watching The Fort
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 |