Subject: Lessons 20(complete)
Date: Sun, 17 May 1998
From: lisby@earthlink.net

*XX*
2:50 P.M.
The water's white noise--it sounded like fluff or fog; loud flotsam from
the bathtub's taps. River sounds from the sink, too...draining. Its
porcelain rim was icehard against Mulder's groin, his palms. His eyes ached
tired-dry as he stared at the hundreds of pinhead spots on the backs of his
hands. Petechial hemorrhages from hanging while they'd....Oh. Crimescene
images again.

Mulder made himself breathe. He would not end up like one of those bodies;
he would get the hell out of there, but he had to brush or that man would
slap his ass, feel him up, or something worse. His knees weakened--he
locked them, locked one elbow, too, and let it and the sink bear most of
his weight. There was a new Oral B to go with his pretty suede necklace,
with the mutherfucking bracelets, and these goddamned things around his
ankles....A neat line of white goop was already on the bristles, curled
back perfectly on itself just like in a commercial. He wanted to laugh at
it, then scream.

Mulder's throat tightened at the taste of mint and chalk. Forced the brush
back and forth in his mouth while his stomach twisted up and he started to
gag. He spat white foam and leaned down slow, and with a small groan, to
drink from the tap. Let the toothbrush go, didn't care where it went--to
hell or the floor...whatever....Straightened slowly, his weight shifting to
his hands.

The man who stared back from the mirror was hard to recognize. But he'd
seen eyes like that before, looking back at him from faces that had
survived disaster. Near misses with senseless violence. Returned abductees.
Those who'd lived through fires or bombings. He'd seen that look in his own
eyes more than once--had hoped never to see it again, but there it was. He
swallowed and felt the collar around his neck shift.

"Do you write poetry, Mr. Mulder?"

He glanced over his shoulder to see dry interest and assessment in
translucent blue eyes. Answered quietly, "No. No, I don't." Mulder watched
the Master push off from against the wall and bend down to stop the
bathwater. The turn of Mulder's head--just that little twist--pulled on
scabs, made them burn, made him look back into the mirror.

He heard creaks from the Englishman's boots as they brought the man close
and he tracked the reflection of one callused finger as it reached out to
trace his cheekbone. Followed the blurry shape from the corner of his eye,
too. Didn't move as the pad of the finger touched his skin--just a little
stroke, like a petal. "You have an elegant bone structure. I'd have thought
you'd write. You have a face I've seen in books."

Mulder blinked, eyes locked on the reflection. "I only write about the
human mind and all the warps and shadows you can find in it," he said
slowly, watching his own mouth make words. "But you'd already know about
that."

"Careful, Mr. Mulder." The voice stayed soft as the whispertouch followed
his jaw and throat, came to rest on the collar. Fingers curled around
it--used it to twist him in a half-circle; face-to-face and the Master's
bulky sweater brushed Mulder's chest and his nipples tightened with the
knowledge of his nakedness. The man's breath stirred the air and Mulder
leaned back, pressed against the cool, smooth ceramic of the sink. The
fingers left the collar and trailed down to one small wrinkled areola,
leaving a wake of heat. Circled...circled again. Mulder was trembling by
the time the bastard finally took his hand away.

"Turn around again, Mr. Mulder. Let me see your back," the Master ordered.

Fuck. He didn't want his captor behind him. Only the mirror let him turn
fully, and then he didn't look away from the reflection. Another light
touch crossed Mulder's shoulders, across a scab that sparked pain and made
him flex and try not to flex because his own movement hurt worse.

"I must compliment William." The man's voice was proud. "These are
beautiful marks in such nice, straight lines. The best job with the crop
he's ever done."

Mulder worked to keep a neutral tone. "I thought you promised not to mark me."

An amused, watery-blue stare met his in the mirror. "You misremember, Mr.
Mulder. When you agreed to our tryst, I promised not to mutilate you. A
promise I've kept and will keep." The Master traced another sparkleline
diagonally and down, and Mulder sucked in a breath as the touch followed
the curve of his ass. "No," the English voice went on, soft and distracted.
"I don't ruin beauty, lad. These scars will be a faint tracery in a year.
You'll only need to explain them to Dr. Scully and your other lovers."

Mulder watched a roar of anger translate to a silent, ugly blush that
mottled his face and neck. Looked down to the wet sink basin--cheeks so hot
they smarted. "You leave her out of this! Don't even mention her name." His
words started out strong, then grew hollow as his ears rang. Only the
vibration in his throat assured him that he spoke. "Sc-Scully has n-nothing
to do with this."

The Master's voice was a cold echo. "Mr. Mulder, I thought you understood
not to lie to me."

He felt the tremble--perceived it in the ringing haze as a tower shaking,
then swaying, on its way to a tumble. Sudden hands beneath his arms, rough
for a moment, then softening their grip. Warm and strong enough to hold him
steady. He was repelled; he was relieved. Took a deep breath that helped
clear his head and looked away, watching the soap-clouded water.

"Come on, let's get you in." The English voice had gone kind again, and a
gentle arm shifted around Mulder, grip tightening slowly. The sting and
hurt blurred his vision, peaked and crested as he let himself be walked
over to the heavy, old tub with its lion's feet. "Step in, lad," the Master
told him.

When Mulder shifted his weight to ease one foot into the hot water, he
flushed in sudden shame as balance was lost and he fell across the Master's
lanky frame. Felt the man brace to take his weight and lower him in. He
hissed as the water enveloped him, eyes prickling with tears as his wounds
awoke. Soap bubbles popped and a hand stroked his hair while the clipped
voice murmured comfort, as the pain faded to an almost soothing ache.
Mulder relaxed grudgingly; his head lolled against the rim of the tub and
fuck self-recrimination for a minute...just one minute.

"How's the water, Mr. Mulder?" Opened eyes and Mulder lifted his head to
watch the Englishman perch on the sink, shift himself into comfort. Mulder
let his head sink back again, but kept watching--noticed for the first time
how freckled his captor's pale skin was. Got lost in connect-the-dots and
jumped when the voice demanded, "Answer me, boy."

The spike of adrenaline tensed Mulder's muscles and made him snarl. "I
didn't think the rule applied to small talk."

Boot heels tapped against the porcelain pedestal--tapped in the center of
Mulder's brain. "The rule applies to every question I ask you," the Master
replied.

Mulder looked toward buttercup tile. "I'm not going to chitchat with you."

"Mr. Mulder, you'll do whatever I say. Now, answer or--"

"Fine!" He had to break off the threat before it was spoken or something
might fuse. Saw a Kirlan supernova--a bioplasmic meltdown. And then he
wanted to claw at something all-too-earthly--wanted his hands around a
material throat. "The water...it's fine and--and warm."

"And how is the pain?"

Yellow couldn't hold his gaze. He had to look back at his captor--found a
gray brow raised slightly, daring him. Mulder breathed in and out. "Just
throbs. That's all."

"Very well." The Master's mouth was thin as he reached to pull a washcloth
off a wrought iron rack, wadded and threw it. The dark blue ball crashed
softly on Mulder's chest; he watched it unfurl as the water soaked in. "You
may rest a few more minutes," the man told him. "I'll be in the next room.
I want you clean. Soap and shampoo are in the niches above your head. Use
them freely. And Mr. Mulder, I warn you--" Menace. It drew him back to the
narrow face, vivisecting eyes. "Your attitude had best be cleaned up too,
by the time I return."

Mulder glared after him as he strode out. Took up the wet terry
cloth--twisted and twisted it, made it dead dead dead. Stared a moment at
nothing, his mind empty and still and satisfied.

Shivered.

Suddenly, Mulder's hands weren't holding cloth, they were on the wet collar
around his neck, twisting it instead. He couldn't stand it-- turned it
tighter until it stifled his air. Stars flickered in the crowding dark and
pain pounded between his temples until his hands slid limp and he sucked in
deep, aching breaths. The scents of soap and sweat and old, dried blood
were thick in his nose.

Mulder heard the Master moving in the next room, just on the other side of
the wall. Knew Jim and that sadistic little shit, Bill, were nearby. Fear
cramped his legs and he wanted to run. They were all waiting--fiends like
black-and-white Nosferatus--waiting to tie him down. His own promise would
tie him down. And Sam--even his sister would hold him for these people to
hurt and hurt until they were happy and would tell him where she was.

A sob choked him until he couldn't hold still. Slammed his head back to hit
the porcelain--a loud, explosive sound--did it again and again until there
were jagged discolorations behind his eyes. Each boom hurt, but it was his
hurt. Heard rushed footsteps--knew who it was and slammed his head back
harder, hoping to bring on oblivion.

Hands cupped his skull. Squeezed. He growled, spasmed against the grip, and
flailed, sloshing water that landed on the tile floor. "Stop it, Mr.
Mulder! Stop! No more of this or you go in restraints!" The Master's voice
cut through his purpose, left him reeling, lost....When the pain died back
to thudding distraction, Mulder opened his eyes--found the man crouched
next to the tub with hands still locked around his head, watching with a
worried frown. Blue eyes--thin blue, not the deep, bright color of--He shut
an imaginary door in her face and lay there breathing hard.

The Master slowly took his hands away. "Tell me why you did that, Mr. Mulder."

"I won't tell you." He heard his answer--tired, numb. "Beat me all you
want. You will anyway."

"Hmph." Rough fingers combed back Mulder's hair, then plucked the soap from
the wall-mounted holder. Mulder bit his lip, head thumpthumpthumping, and
watched floating, pulsing spots as the Englishman reached into the tub. He
felt a tickle down by his hip as the washcloth was fished up. "I will wait
on this," the Master pronounced. "But you will not stonewall me on other
questions or you will earn punishment. Understand?....Do you?"

He shrugged, half-assed. Saw cool eyes narrow as the Master soaped the
terry cloth. Thought it best to add, "I hear you."

"Good." The man's jaw was set firm. "Now I'm going to scrub you since you
can't do it yourself."

The washcloth dangled in front of Mulder's face until he swallowed. Nodded.
Quivered as it rubbed small circles over his chest, then out along his
right arm. The Master reached over for his left and bathed it, too,
business-like. Just soaped the length of his body--no lingering, no games.
Done....Okay. Done.

"I'm going to scrub your genitals now."

Mulder jerked forward, met a hand that repelled him back into bubbles and
warmth. Fuckfuck! Fire--thrumming.... The hand had gone deep in the water
and soft cloth caressed his cock. "Relax for me. It's all right." Oh,
bullshit if it was hunky-dory as fingers pushed between his legs to rub his
balls and anus while he couldn't breathe from pain and squeezed his eyes
and the ring of muscle closed so tight....

"There. I'm finished, Mr. Mulder." The relief was a cascade. Heard the
Master call him "good boy," heard his own panting. There was no energy left
to tense again when spicy-smelling shampoo was worked through his hair. Had
to lie there, shut-eyed, choking on a whine.

A soft bump, then the tonal flow of water through pipes. Mulder's body
heavied as the tub drained. Something else banged and squeaked and
sputtered, then hot needles raked his scalp and he gasped as suds ran down
over his face, into his mouth. Mulder spat and coughed. Peeked through the
current of froth--a shower massage.

The pulsing jets traveled along his body, then the flow stopped. The Master
lifted him beneath the arms and he held his breath against the burn as he
was made to sit. "I'm going to rinse your back, but I won't let the spray
hit your wounds," the man assured him. The renewed stream was just a
trickle; it tickled and he wanted to squirm as it carried the soap down his
shoulder blades.

Mulder wouldn't--couldn't--open his eyes as a towel smothered his hair and
patted his body, left him on his ass in the empty tub, shaking like a
newborn. "All right, lad. Calmer now? You look calmer." The duller teeth of
a comb dragged his bangs back from his forehead while a hand held his chin.
The smell of horses and wet wool was miasmic.

He sighed, too tired to hold anger. The hands under his arms pulled him to
his feet, supported him as he stepped out of the tub. Soggy suede cuffs
dripped water down his sides and his teeth knocked as the Master draped him
in a bath towel.

"Mr. Mulder?...Fox, look at me. Open your eyes."

Mulder blinked a few times before he could focus, his pupils constricting
in the sunlight. The Englishman's face was right there, pale and freckled.
"Good. You'll come with me now, lad, just through that door." A gestural
dart of blue eyes, but Mulder's gaze couldn't follow--notyetnotyet. He
wasn't ready for it to start again.

The man's arm lassoed him. "Do what I tell you and you'll be all right."
Fear made it hard not to laugh or yell or cry. He clutched fluffy fistfuls
of cloth, gaze falling, finding the tip of his penis dangling just below
the hem of the towel. Thought of that warm, wet mouth and that thing up
inside him and couldn't stop his counterpressure.

"No, no. It's all right," the Master's tone stayed kind as he pulled Mulder
through the doorway. "You're not going to a dungeon....See?"

Mulder looked up, hesitant. For a moment, he felt dizzy awe. It was a
beautiful room. The ceiling was high and paneled with embossed copper. A
tall window to the left was curtained by lace that blurred daylight into an
opaque radiance. His eyes traced the ornate bulk of a fireplace, a mahogany
armoire, a skinny, black ladderback against empty wall like a geometric
Rorschach. Finally, far to the right, an antique bed with stiff hanging
curtains tied back by tasseled cords and a comforter turned away from
yellow sheets.

Yellow again, draining him like the bathwater's heat. Mulder licked his
lips, needing--needing so bad. "Do you want to lie down?" the Master
questioned--a whisper in his ear. He moaned out the chill that ran over his
skin, moaned out desire. Might have done it again if not for self-loathing.
"Come on, then, Mr. Mulder." The Master was smiling. Smug fucking bastard.

Mulder's feet trod silky, aged boards as he was led to the bed--his body
welcoming the warm side of this hot-and-cold treatment as eagerly as his
intellect decried it. The Englishman lifted the covers, let him ease onto
flannel, stretch his body out on its side. The towel was pulled away,
leaving him nude, but then the sheet and blanket cloaked him. The Master's
hand patted his shoulder lightly. "You may lie here, but don't go to sleep.
Do you understand?"

He was already half-departed. It hurt to drag himself back. "Ummmnnn..."

"Is that a yes or a no?"

Raspy. "Yeah."

"Good. I'm going to take your temperature with the thermoscan. You'll feel
me press it into your ear and hear the sound. Do you understand?...Mr.
Mulder, answer."

He nodded just a little. "Mnnnn." Never heard the click.

"Mr. Mulder, stay awake."

He groaned and opened his eyes a slit, hating the bright room and the man
in it. Saw the Englishman standing by the armoire. Paper rustled...a small
tinkle of glass. He opened his eyes wider, watching as the Master peeled
the wrapping from a plastic syringe. The movement that plunged the needle
through the bottle's seal was quick--fluid drawn into the barrel without
hesitation.

A sick feeling. A few rapid blinks as his heart thumped against his
ribcage. "You're a doctor."

The Master turned, studied him. "Yes, I am." Looked back at the syringe as
his finger tap-tapped out the air bubbles.

"Wh-what's in that?" Mulder tried to lift himself with an elbow.

"Lie back down and no more questions." Slow steps brought the man to the
bedside. "You needn't be afraid. It's an antibiotic. You've got a bit of a
fever and we don't want an infection. Now lie down."

Mulder had to kill the little buzzer in his head--just had to believe the
sonofabitch. He closed his eyes and let himself go slack and loose as the
Master nudged away the comforter to bare his hip. More tearing sounds and
his nostrils stung from the sharp smell of alcohol. Cotton swabbing skin
and cotton drug tide and a stretch of Rhode Island sand was washed by a
cold, early June wave....

Antiseptic evaporating and fingernails digging into the jut of his hipbone
to underscore a warning. "Now you'll hold still or I'll strap you." Like
Dad...goddamn him. "You go near that jellyfish and you'll get the belt...."
His butt was already black and blue....Mom's voice, too--not from
Quonochontaug, but from the room with bright lights....Mom with a bouffant
and glued-on eyelashes. "It's just another bee sting, Fox."

He didn't even wince at the needle stick. "Good boy," his mother and the
Master crooned. There was a fireline through muscle, but it was nothing he
couldn't ignore. After all, he'd been stung so many times before....

"Wake up, lad."

A weight dipped the mattress. Skinny man, gray hair, settling down beside
him. Mulder felt suede and a cool steel D-ring brush his cheek as he rubbed
at hot, dry eyes. "I let you sleep while I changed my wet clothes." The
man's grin was too close and a little sheepish. "I couldn't stop you,
really. The drugs are taking you down further than I expected."

Mulder wiped his hand across his eyes again, trying to focus. A purple
robe, falling half-open. Pale skin and silver curls of chest hair. His
confusion thickened to fear as the Master stretched out beside him--tried
to wriggle away as the Englishman's arm wrapped around his waist and used
its leverage to draw him close.

"Settle down now, Colt." The Englishman's words were soft and his hands
were warm--one in the little dip between Mulder's back and his ass, on that
spared patch of skin where the whip hadn't cut. The Master smiled again.
"You're trembling, Mr. Mulder. I know you're afraid but we'll get you
through it."

Mulder felt his eyes getting wider, getting brittle. "Don't," he whispered,
tried to push away, but the Master's other hand had shoved between the
pillow and his head, clamped over the bruises on the back of his skull.
Mulder groaned as he had to give and bend forward, had to feel the blunt
grind of teeth across his earlobe. A returned whisper. "Don't what, Mr.
Mulder?"

"Don't touch me."

"But I've been touching you all day, lad." The hand slid from the small of
his back, over Mulder's rigid stomach muscles and down....Held his
breathheldhisbreath. The light stroke across the tip of his penis shot
green heat to his head, blue frost through his balls. Mulder convulsed,
kicked, managed to break away, slide away, but the man was scooting across
the bed to follow him.

"No!" Mulder slipped half off the mattress but the hands caught his waist
and dragged him back across the flannel. Lungs locked when his ass was
slapped, then let him suck a little air so he could shout. Above and behind
him, the Master sighed. "You will stay on this bed and you will answer me.
Now, what don't you want me to do to you, boy?"

Mulder couldn't respond--his muscles were seizing, pulling his limbs in,
curling him around his cock. His hands cupped his scrotum and squeezed too
tight in a spasmodic jerk when the Master struck his ass again. "Answer
me."

He glared up at his tormentor through pain tears. Forced it out.
"Don't--don't f-fuck me."

An eyebrow lifted. Ocean eyes regarded him coolly. "What are the rules of
this house, Mr. Mulder?"

His answer was a final-straw yell. "Go to fucking hell, you sonofabi--ah!"
The man was on top of him, pushing his face into the quagmire of bedding.
The blows came very fast and hard and the
words--youwillobeyyouwillnotbegyouwillsubmittobeingfucked--while Mulder
screamed but his sounds were absorbed by padding and fluff. No one could
hear him. No one could help. When his head was yanked back by the fingers
knotted in his hair, Mulder gasped and panted and let himself sob just once
before he bit down hard on his lip.

His captor's weight settled on the backs of his thighs. As the Master
leaned in, a blunt, hard point nudged the cleft of Mulder's ass; a tongue
tip left a slug trail around the folds of his ear before flickering into
its center. Mulder writhed at the furry sounds. "I told you the first night
that you were beautiful, and you are," the man's voice was heavy with lust.
"I said I'd enjoy breaking you, and I am. I'm now going to allow you a
choice, Fox."

All Mulder could see was nubby yellow cloth and panic breathing broke the
message he wanted to shove down the Englishman's throat. "The
only--choice--I want--right now--isn't one--I think--you're offering."

"Don't push me, boy." The heightened volume hurt his eardrum. "I'd rather
do this with you, carefully and gently. If you relax and obey me, I promise
you'll enjoy this."

"Enjoy being raped? I've--already--had one demonstration--of
your--technique." Mulder's lips skinned back into a crazy sneer. "It's a
bit--bold."

"Now, now, Mr. Mulder. You consented to be here and all that it entails.
I'm offering you pleasure and comfort. I want to give that to you. But if
you fight me and force me to restrain you, I'll take you as I find you. I'm
going to get off you now. If you balk, you'll earn punishment."

The weight eased off--and the prod of the man's cock. Mulder rolled
slightly, heaved himself up on one elbow. Blurted through the creepy-crawl
of a million ants around his insides, "I didn't agree to this! I agreed to
let you hurt me. Not--" he waved a hand around the room. "Not this, not
whatever you're pulling now. And not with anyone else. I made my deal with
you, you sonofabitch."

The house's ruler knelt beside him, hands resting on thighs, poised despite
the obvious tent pole beneath his robe. To Mulder, for once, the blue eyes
looked dry and honest. "If I've surprised you, Mr. Mulder, it is only
because you chose not to know before you came to me. You're here to learn
how to obey."

For a moment, Mulder breathed through his open mouth, trying to pierce the
corona of pain and drugs. Finally, he could ask with a steel voice, "Learn
to obey whose orders? You told your flunky you had a timetable--told him
you had customers with a timetable. Who were you talking about?"

The Master's stare didn't drift or soften. "You've pushed people, Fox. You
started young and you're still pushing. And now some of those people are
pushing back. No one ever taught you to obey properly. For everyone's good,
you have to learn."

"And that's where you come in?"

"Yes."

"No." Hardly felt his head shaking in steady, even denial. "No." Hardly
heard himself repeating, "No no no no no."

The Master caught his arm and his eyes, trying to force his point past the
panic they both knew was building to rupture. "Mr. Mulder for your own
sake, calm down and listen to me."

Too late. Hope had burst like a bubble and Mulder watched from outside as
he scrabbled for the edge of the bed and dropped his feet over the side,
balancing on his toes. He shoved off and staggered, trying to move quickly,
to reach the exit from this fancy yellow hell. Strange dichotomy--he felt
the floorboards under his feet, but not the grab of the Master's hands. No
sensation, but trained reaction. No forethought, but a precise elbow to the
jaw and a follow-up knee to the soft flesh of Master's groin.

The Englishman fell back, white and gasping, but so did he--weak balance
lost. Mulder bumped the wall--bumped off it like a pinball--and grabbed for
the knob. Was looking down at the shiny, smooth brass in his hand when he
saw a foot sweep his legs out from under him. Mulder dropped, tried to
roll, but his captor's full weight came down on top of him.

There was visual explosion but he felt no pain. Mulder braced, growling,
trying to gain leverage to throw the Master off. Fingers were digging under
the cuffs around his wrists. No fucking way--the sonofabitch was not going
twist his arms behind his back. "No!" he snarled. "Get the hell off of me!
Get off!" Adrenaline. Adrenaline did it--and Mulder saw the Master suddenly
sitting on his ass, gaping. He clambered to his feet and stayed facing the
skinny Englishman. Saw when he moved. A vase from a table--cylindrical cool
glass in Mulder's palm--then the snap of his arm and a blur in the air that
made the Master duck.

Mulder flung the door open, pivoted--set to flee--and--

In the surprise of the moment, clear images: Jim--a sturdy little wall. His
unbuttoned shirt slipping off muscled shoulders; hairy chest and groin and
half-erect cock. A woman behind him with swarthy skin and a tousled black
mane. Small and curved, with marks from biting and sucking vibrant on her
breasts.

A click. A simple sound. An end to the slow, cloudless moment.

His windpipe was crushed. Mulder grabbed at the collar as he fell back into
waiting arms, but the choking pull was already gone and he'd given up his
chance to strike with his fists. It hurt so fucking bad this time when his
back hit the floor and tears spilled down the sides of his face while he
fought and wheezed and was overwhelmed, held down. Eyes scrunched tight
while his body arched and pulled and twisted, spawning influxes of pain.

Mulder heard Jim's excited voice above an ocean roar. "Do you want to take
him to the dungeon, sir?"

"No, I want him on my bed." Calm and measured reply. "Mr. Mulder may go
down later, though, if he refuses to yield." Mulder's shout of protest
sounded pitiably hoarse. He wasn't going back to that table--no no no
no--thrashed wildly between the Master, Jim, and the dark-haired woman as
they half carried, half dragged him to the big bed. Saw her throw the
pillows and blankets off onto the floor, then for an instant Mulder was on
his feet before they pulled him, face down, across flannel. Elbows and
knees bearing bodyweight pinned him while he kicked and raged and their
brute force stretched his arms out.

Mulder lifted his face. The Master was at the corner of the bed, drawing a
thick leather strap that ended with a clip up from beneath the mattress.
Quicksilver fear made Mulder's fingers claw as the hook latched around the
wrist cuff's D-ring. His captor disappeared--reappeared at the other side
of the headboard to reveal where the strap's mate was hidden.

"Get away from me!" Fierceness didn't stop the clip from capturing the
other cuff. Desperate, Mulder used the leverage of the ties to pull his
legs in under him. Felt the scratch of nails, the tightening of the bands
as hands caught onto the ankle cuffs. Two sudden jerks brought his legs out
straight and slid him down the bed to lay flat and spread-eagle.

A click. Another. The muscles of his thighs and calves and arms were taut.
After a few minutes, he knew, they would start to burn with slow fire. The
scabs across his back and ass already blazed--that pain was hotter and fast
with his pulse.

"Sshhh. Be calm, lad. Just calm down, calm yourself." The bastard was
stroking his hair and that fucking, fucking voice.... "You can't move now.
Just stop fighting; let it all go." Mulder's nerves howled as the man's
rough palm cupped his cheek. Couldn't bear to be touched and snapped at the
hand like a dog--caught flesh. "Ah!"

His teeth clacked together as the hand yanked away and Mulder ground his
face against the sheet and growled out frustration. "Are you all right,
sir?" A woodwind voice from the foot of the bed.

"I'm fine, Marta." Controlled sunshine. "He didn't hurt me....Thank you for
helping with our patient." Goddamn him, he sounded proud of her.

"I'm always ready to help, sir. Shall I sweep up the broken glass?"

"No, dearest. I'll take care of it later. This patient needs my immediate
attention with no distractions."

Mulder yanked at the restraints. "I don't want anything from you, you sick
fuck! I just want to go home!"

No answer--just the squeak of bedsprings as his body bounced. Then, sweet
and sad. "It was a pretty vase, sir."

"Yes. It was." A touch ran along Mulder's side, devolved his breathing into
shivery gasps. Mulder pulled and strained again. The bed's old wood
creaked, then Jim's voice came from down there with the woman.

"He's still fighting awfully hard, sir. Will you need the drugs?"

No. God. Chilled him. Bucking muscles stiffened and he almost whimpered
when the Englishman replied, "An injection isn't necessary, James. He did
tell us he was a fighter, so we'll give him awhile to calm down on his
own."

"I--I've just never seen one of your patients respond like this, sir."
Through the thick of fear, Mulder heard Jim's dislike and disgust. Heard
awe, too, and used that minute victory to keep from screaming. Slowly, he
rolled his head to the side, looked up to find the Master rubbing the
bitten pad of flesh on the side of his palm.

Jim's shadow spread across the floorboards as he came to stand by the
Master's side, hairy and dark and still passably erect. The Englishman
reassured his assistant, "This one's just more used to abuse than the
others. But we'll get Mr. Mulder past it, just like we did with them--like
you helped me do." The knuckles of the offended hand brushed the small
man's cheek, then two pairs of eyes shifted to Mulder. Watched him as he
watched them.

"See?" The Master nodded. "He's realized there's no use in
struggling--haven't you, Colt?" Mulder gritted his teeth, but his body lay
still. The Master smiled. "I'm sure we'll do just fine together now, James.
You and Marta go back to your play."

"But you'll get me if you need help, won't you sir?" Jim's question led the
blue eyes away. Felt like mercy to Mulder--to get that stare and smile off
of him. "I know you like to do the early stuff all on your own, sir,
but...."

The Englishman touched his assistant's arm. "We'll be fine, my boy. On your
way." Mulder saw Jim give a quick nod. His bare feet slapped amber-colored
boards, then the woman's soft steps, too, and the door latch snicked behind
them. When the Master wiped at a smear of fresh blood, Mulder finally
realized that he'd split the man's lip again. No satisfaction this time,
only dread and certainty. The gravid warning cinched it. "I'll be right
back to deal with you."

For a moment, there was nothing in the world but the bump of Mulder's
heart, then water running in the bathroom and the rush of his blood in
adrenal panic made him tug, use scant leeway to raise his head. But he
couldn't see the bastard, couldn't see him....Oh god, goddamnit. He let his
cheek rest against the flannel. Eyes stung with salt water and his nose was
full of snot and lips formed a tight line against the sob or scream or
whatever it was that was writhing in his throat. He didn't want to cry,
didn't want the suede cuffs to pull snug and inescapable. But he was a
fucking fool and this was all his own fault.

A sudden hand cupped the back of Mulder's head and his body jolted. Tried
to lift his head to see his captor, but the hand pushed down steadily and
twisted his face into the mattress. "Talk to me, Mr. Mulder. Tell me why
you did that." Although the Master's voice was soft and gentle, it awoke
nothing in Mulder. "Don't be stubborn, boy. Tell me." But there was no way
in hell.

A crack--a streak of fire across his buttocks, across the landscape of
bruises and blood blisters and scabby cuts that he'd seen in the bathroom
mirror, leaving room for nothing but pain and the need to stop it. He would
have answered then, but his ass was lashed--the blow jouncing his hips off
the mattress. Agony clasped him hard, brought fog to the edge of his
vision. Then the crack and painimpactshock again. Gray static immersed him,
let him slide all the way under....

An acrid, reeking stench and Mulder heard his own shaky breath. It stank.
It burned...burned the inside of his nose....There was an innocent instant,
then Mulder understood the pressure on the back of his head. God. He gulped
air and tried to curl, but the bonds caught him.

Waited for the strap to strike again.

Waited while his forehead was pressed into the mattress. Finally, a sigh
from above. "I dislike administering pain in my bedroom. If you will not
answer me, I'll call Jim back and we'll go to the dungeon. I know you don't
want that, so tell me now: Why did you lash out?"

"I don't kn--oh!" The strap didn't strike, just caressed his ass, but
Mulder understood and swallowed hard. "All right! Wait! I...I'm scared
you're going to kill me. I'm never leaving here and you lied to me and I'll
never know what happened to Sam and I'm n-never leaving here again!" Shit.
He was sobbing and the sheet was getting wet.

A weight settled next to him. The pressure on his sore skull eased and
fingers combed through his hair. "Ssshh. Hush. It's all right. You'll be
all right. I didn't lie to you, Mr. Mulder. I will tell you what I know
about your sister. My clients have instructed me to tell you what you were
promised."

"Bullshit." Mulder turned his faced away, sniffling hard. "You won't tell
me. It doesn't matter."

"It matters. I don't lie to my patients. I didn't lie to you. You will
leave here, but not yet--not until you're ready. Not until you've learned."

The last word was laden and it all welled up again, hard and painful in
Mulder's chest. "No! You don't understand. I can't do what you want me to
do!"

"But you can. I'll help you. I know it's hard but I'll help you."

The hands slid over the collar to the base of his neck to knead tight
muscles. It felt so fucking good and Mulder wanted them there but he
couldn't let them stay. Voice cracked--had to. "No...I'll die."

"Shhhhhh." Weight--the Master's body--pressed suddenly across his
shoulders, lighting silver along the scabs. "No, lad. You won't die--I
won't let you. I'll help--you'll see--I'll help you...." Words trailed off
into kisses that moved to trace his ear and his cheekbone. Lips and a
tongue leaving hot points of wet along his jaw down to his throat. Mulder's
stomach cramped at the kisses, at horse stench and Bay Rum.

The man's weight shifted again as a hand braced by Mulder's side and what
had to be a knee sank into the mattress next to his hip. Desperation made
him squirm, tug, twist raw wrists and ankles in the cuffs as the pressure
slid down to his knees. Then an arm slipped under his hips and lifted, held
him as he wriggled, shouted, "No!" Pillows were stuffed under his stomach
and groin. He strained to look over his shoulder but it hurt so bad just to
catch a glimpse of gray hair. "Don't do this to me!"

"Mr. Mulder, you're hardly a virgin on prom night." Acerbity and, no doubt,
a smirk. Mulder's anger mottled as tingle touches spread up the insides of
his thighs. He gasped and then yelled as the hands reached under his canted
hips, further arranging pillows until the his legs were spread so damned
wide and cool air teased his anus and his genitals dangled unimpeded.
Ready.

Mulder's cock twitched and he screwed his face up tight and tucked it
against his arm to hide. Coarse hair tickled his scrotum and made him snarl
as kisses and nips followed a path up his inner thigh. Trembled, bit down
on his arm at the first wet, warm lick at the tendons of his scrotum, where
they joined the muscles. Groaned at the burn as hands gripped just above
his knees to push his legs further apart. Licking and nibbling and horror
when, suddenly, his testicles slipped over lips and past teeth--sucked into
a moist, hot hole.

"Ohmygod, you sonofabitch!" Mulder shouted, throwing his head back,
struggling against the tie-downs and the electric sensation that tightened
the muscles in his abdomen and thickened his penis. Stared at the
headboard, bug-eyed and nearly blind, as the mouth drew on his scrotal sac.
Stared while he tried to deny this--deny his life--everything--until his
moans became sobs and it was fucking happening and he couldn't hold his
head up any longer.

His cheek thumped flannel as the grip left one knee and a palm smoothed
over his ass, adding pain to automatic, unstoppable pleasure--pain edging
warm wet sweetness. Mulder pulled against the straps, feeling the ligaments
strain as his balls were sucked deep against the roof of the Master's
mouth. Cried out softly as the man's tongue dug between them and worked up
toward the base of his cock.

Unexpectedly, the mouth opened wide, let Mulder's balls slip free. His own
mouth opened, too--hung wordless as wet flesh chilled in bedroom air. The
Master climbed away, dropped off the bed, and Mulder turned his head to
watch, not really aware of his hips driving, stroking the tip of his
erection against the bedding. Followed the Master's quick steps across the
room. He stripped off his robe as he went--thin body flushed pink under all
those freckles; his ass and long legs hard and muscled. Dread agitated by
confusion as Mulder saw his captor turn a tall cheval glass, adjusting it
until--oh jesus no. Himself. Stretched out and bound with swollen dark
marks along the length of his body. His own black oval eyes, staring.

"Boy, you will watch the mirror. You will watch your lesson." The Master's
voice shook a little with lust. "If you take your eyes off this mirror even
once, you will be punished. Do you understand?"

Couldn't answer. Stunned.

"Do you understand?" Louder and harsher. Mulder managed a nod mimicked by
the strapped-down slave in the mirror. "Answer me with your voice, boy."

Dry mouth. He worked it, watching. Whispered, "Yes."

"Good."

Movement drew him from his reflection. The Master had gone to the armoire;
he was breathing quickly, pawing through a drawer to find a tube and a
glove. His hands were frantic-fast as he pulled on the latex. Loud snap and
he was walking toward the bed and Mulder saw the man's thick, long penis
bob from where it sprung up from a bush of ginger hair--incongruous with
all the other steely gray.

Mulder felt his cock thinning as the Master climbed back onto the bed
behind him. Felt so exposed and afraid and had to track with his eyes by
turning his head. "Mr. Mulder, look at the mirror. Do it now. I'll have no
pity--you'll receive the maximum for your infractions."

Mulder tried to breathe, not pant, as he slowly shifted his face toward the
cheval glass and lowered it to settle against his rigid arm. Tried to
pretend again, but dual senses held him--kept him feeling and seeing one
naked palm and another--latex-coated--resting on the soft crease where his
ass met his thighs. Long fingers massaged, the thumbs pushing his buttocks
far apart, making the stressed skin around his anus sting.

He saw his own eyes widen as the ghoul-gloved hand moved to squeeze the
shaft of his cock. Had to thrash and strain to look behind him as the warm,
dry, powdery rubber slid up his length and down again, heating from lack of
lubrication as it pumped faster. There were primal sounds and ripples of
pain as he bucked, back arching to push his erection into the hand clasped
around it while shouting to be left the goddamnfuck alone.

"Put your head down and look at yourself, Mr. Mulder." The grip around the
base of his penis tightened until Mulder groaned and complied. But fuck
him. He'd do it, but fuck the bastard. Pretended to look at the ugly
tableau, but let his eyes go out of focus. Let it blur.

"Good boy." The painful squeeze lessened. Vanished entirely. Mulder didn't
hear the tube's cap flip open, but cold gel shocked his anus into a tight
pucker. Slippery stuff spread over the little knot as the hand went back on
his cock, pulling--pulling moans from deep within his chest, too.

A finger probed his opening, slid in easy with the lubricant. Sore and
Mulder's eyes watered, increasing the blur, as a second finger pushed
inside him. He felt them twist, forcing their way into his rectum. The
fingers crooked, digging into his prostate, first making him shout, then
whimper as the pressure lessened and the fingers massaged deep inside him.
The tears splashed his arm, trailed down skin, and Mulder moaned loudly,
not even trying to find words, not knowing what the fuck to say.

"That feels good, doesn't it?" The Englishman sounded conspiratorial and
repulsion lowered Mulder's lids. His fresh moan made the Master chuckle as
he ordered, "Now, look at the mirror, lad. Go on." All right
goddamnit--didn't want to be punished--but for a moment Mulder couldn't
unfocus. Had to watch the muscles of the Master's arm pistoning gloved
fingers into a raw, puffy hole, then suddenly jam in a third to widen the
bound man's anus and make him shriek. Lights twinkled as Mulder shrieked,
too, as the pain made him clench.

"Loosen up, boy, so I can help you." Rough and breathless. "I told you I'd
help you...I will. This will stop hurting after a few more times. You'll
learn to please me, learn to make me happy. I won't hurt you when you make
me happy--when you obey me."

"Ohmygodohgod...." Mulder thrashed, furious at the betrayal that leaked
across the Master's lips--at the treason building in his cock, drawing up
his balls.

"I know. I know." The Englishman sounded solicitous. "You're very hard."

"Please...Please...." Mulder's voice was hoarse.

"Please what? What do you want, Colt? Do you want me to make you come?"

"No!" Mulder flushed hot. Tried to stop his own reflex thrusts, but oh....

"I see," the Master sighed. "Well, it's just as well." Mulder felt sudden
suction as the Master's fingers withdrew. Surprise made him jump, made
vision sharpen--watched his captor peel back the soiled glove, throw it out
of the mirror's reflection. Saw the man kneel up behind him, holding his
own stiff cock. Big and long like the dildo. It would hurt.

Mulder pushed his face into the sheet as the man's glans silk-stroked his
anus. Grabbed his lip between teeth and gnawed on the swollen flesh. Kept
biting to help him make his head turn, make himself stare unfixed at the
mirror. "Good boy. You corrected yourself," the Master approved. "Because
you did that, I won't punish you for lying to me--for lying to yourself."

Warm palm around Mulder's penis, smearing his own precum as it slid up and
down until Mulder wanted to burst into pieces. His hips thrashed, impaling
his asshole on the Master's cock a tiny inch with each upstroke. Fell free
again as he pushed back down into the caressing hand. But then the slick,
warm wrapper unfolded, leaving him to hang untouched. Low, stern words.
"Believe what you want for now, Mr. Mulder. I'm going to fuck you--hard and
fast and entirely for my own pleasure. Whether you want to come or not is
inconsequential."

"Oh g-god, god." He was choking on pure need. Shame. A shift of weight,
then blunt pressure that flared into pain. Struggled through a screen of
yellow-blue--the Master on top of him, sinking in his full length--held
down over the bundle of pillows that shoved his ass up to be violated. Knew
he was making sounds again--couldn't hear them, but heard the soft slap of
the Master's balls against his own as the man's penis stroked in and out
with long motions. Each deliberate thrust drove his neglected cock down
into the fabric and goosedown, bringing on bursts of lavender.

The Master was grunting, making little cries of delight each time he pushed
in. Mulder felt the wooden length slide, the warmth of the thrusts slowly
overcoming pain to pound his rectum and prostate with excruciating
pleasure. Sweat stung the cuts on his back and ass--his or the Master's or
both--but it was his frigid sweat beading along his upper lip, trickling
down his scalp, and even the heat of the friction inside him couldn't stop
the shakes.

Sudden, throat-tearing scream when man slapped a scored buttock and
Mulder's ass clenched tight with the infusion of white. The Master groaned,
giddy. The sonofabitch was riding him, leaning forward to ram that cock in,
to stroke shivering sides then push under his pecs to twist nipples.
Weblines of nerves throbbed in Mulder's chest and the relentless fucking
bounced him, kept rubbing his penis against flannel.

"Oh shit, shit!" Mulder writhed as a hot tongue probed his ear in time with
the thrusts. He was twisting, wailing, feeling the jolts all through his
body, up his spine, and shooting stars in his brain as deep muscles
convulsed. His cock stroked soft fabric in time to the thrusting and lights
flared behind his eyes; he was crying out hoarsely and helplessly, pulling
against the straps. Arms wrapped around his chest, phallus hammering into
his anus. And the lights washed through him, fusing the pain of his back
and his ass and his ankles and wrists with the pleasure deep inside him
until he couldn't tell one from the other and he was coming, hips drumming
into the pillows to spurt again and again. His anus squeezed tight around
the hard, long shaft and the Master howled his own pleasure. Felt the
jerking, the shudder as the man's semen pumped deep inside him.

Mulder closed his eyes slowly as the Master's body went slack. "Very good,
Mr. Mulder." Soft. Dreamy. The hard inside his rectum was going soft, too.
"You've pleased me. Pleasure me like that and I won't hurt you. Won't have
to hurt you."

Shaking now and Mulder's whole body burned. Felt his stomach cinch when the
flaccid penis stirred gently, when the Master twitched with aftershocks.
"There are very few times I envy women, Mr. Mulder. But right now, when I
would love to drive us into multiple orgasms, I do resent the vagaries of
nature."

Shifting and the thin, limp thing was slipping out of him, leaving slime
and wet around his aching sphincter. "Look at me, boy."

Blinked a few times before he could see the icy blue eyes, dilated with
satiety, staring into his. "You understand that I have to punish you. You
were very bad earlier and you looked away from the mirror several times,
but I know how poorly you're feeling now. You're not an animal, who can
only understand if he's corrected immediately, so we'll wait until
tomorrow. But we can't have any more of those outbursts, Mr. Mulder, can
we?"

Mulder licked his lips, staring back, wanting to snarl and scream and burst
into tears. Whispered, "I understand you'll punish me."

"I enjoy hurting you less than you think. I'd rather stroke you--caress
you. Reward you for pleasing me." Ran a finger along the ridge of Mulder's
cheek. Tender and the mutherfucker could never fathom why that touch let
tears form and fall, why Mulder struggled to keep his eyes open, not to
close them and pretend. "There. There. I know you hurt, Colt." Mulder
winced at the touch as the Englishman brushed away a tear. "You're sick and
starved, but I'll take care of you now. I'll always take care of you.
You're going to be with me for a long time, you know. And I'm glad. Soon,
you'll be glad, too."

Didn't understand and didn't want to right now. Couldn't. Shook his
head--not defiance, just a slow, definite negative. The Master's smile was
tolerant. "You really are the most stubborn, recalcitrant boy, aren't you?
But you will learn. I'll teach you. And you will come back to me. You don't
need to fear it. Most of it will be...." Pause as the hand smoothed down
the length of Mulder's taut body from shoulder to buttock, triggering
tremors. "Most of your times with me will be like tonight. Unless you balk
me. Tomorrow I'll have to punish you for balking me today. But you've
pleased me, too, and so tonight you may sleep here."

"Please. I-I hurt so bad." Managed tissue paper words. "Take the restraints
off."

Another tolerant smile. "No, Mr. Mulder. You've given me no reason to trust
you. But I will loosen the tie-downs in a moment." The Englishman sat up,
slowly, languidly draping his feet over the side of the bed. Walked away.
Mulder hurt...hurt...caught himself moaning as the pipes sang. Sweating and
muscle cramps and his hands and feet were numb while the skin under the
cuffs burned.

When he heard the man returning he was glad, then the mattress dipped
between his legs. Breath caught. The skin on his ass crawled, waiting to be
touched. Something wet and warm--waterdrops running down curves. Then he
recognized terry cloth's rough kiss and twisted his face into the sheet
again as the wash rag wiped away of the fluids of rape.

--lisby@earthlink.net
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"Why did the robot cross the road....? Because it was carbon-bonded to the
chicken! HA HA HA HA!"
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