Subject: lessons 26
Date: Sat, 5 Sep 1998

*XXVI*

3:10 P.M.
The room was getting colder--the fire'd burned down. Music faded as another
disk ended, then a new one clicked into place. Mulder rolled his head
against the seatback, let the wooden ridge make a thin indentation across
the lump Bill'd given him. Sliced back and forth and watched Aunt Miranda
trim pie crust with that little wheel on a handle. Things were good when
she was there.

Four disks before this one....Who was this? Right--Frederic Chopin.
1810-1849. Born on February 22 in Zelazowa Wola, near Warsaw...He tasted
salt and mucus as the eidetic junk floated by. A wet lip and the silk was
stuck to his eyelids. Couldn't feel fingers or feet now. The lower part of
his back, too--deadened nerves in a fanshape spread up from his coccyx,
where all his weight rested. Head ached, face ached, teeth ached.

Mulder tried to slip into Chopin, to hide between the notes, but he was too
slow from the pain, too tired. It had been hours and he had to give way.
"WHERE ARE YOU, YOU MUTHERFUCKER?" he shouted, fracture-voiced. "WHERE THE
HELL ARE YOU? JUST HIT ME! HIT ME AND GET IT OVER WITH! GOD DAMN YOU! HIT
ME!"

No one came and his rage made him sob and snarl and throw himself back and
forth against the straps until the chair teetered, its feet thumping on
carpet. Phantom flares lit the dark and his throat made guttural sounds. He
wanted to fall--wanted to feel the impact jar the house. Teeter,
teetered--nearly toppled--then the chair caught suddenly, balanced on its
rear feet, and eased back to the floor. Mulder shouted and twisted, feeling
the bonds rub like sandpaper. Hands closed on either side of his face to
still the storm of his head. "Sssshhhh. Quiet now. I'm back. It's all
right. I'm here with you. You're not alone."

"You fucking bastard. Oh, you fucking sonofabitch!" The hands shifted to
his brow and chin, pulled his head back against a body. Mulder couldn't
stop the words: "I just want to know what happened to my sister! Is that so
bad? Is that so wrong? I just want Samantha back. I want to get my sister
and go home!"

"Sssshhh. Sssshhh. I'll help you. It isn't easy. You don't know how to stop
fighting, Fox. You need to learn that. You can't go home or hear about Sam
until you learn that."

Didn't care how much the chest strap dug in when he took a deep breath. He
was going to yell--bellow this fucker's house down.
"You'relyingyou'relyingyou'relying to me! Oh you SONOFABITCH! I don't
fucking believe you! You're going to kill me--just kill me! I will NOT do
what you want me to do, just kill me or leave me ALONE!"

The Master's hand skimmed up from his chin to cup his mouth while the other
urgently smoothed his forehead. "Don't make us hurt you. Stop forcing me to
hurt you. Obey me and I can help you, I can treat you gently."

The palm lifted a little--enough to let him speak. Seemed to be seeking an
answer, but only three words came: "Go to hell."

"Honestly, Fox." He imagined the roll of eyes. "I'll have to punish you for
saying that. Why are you doing this to yourself? You enjoyed what I did
last night. I felt your body respond to me. You came, came hard." Mulder
was shaking his head, but the voice kept trying to convince him. "Yes, you
know it felt good and it can feel good again. You know I'll treat you well
if you yield to me. Why won't you submit?"

Mulder smiled, hatter-mad. "I'd go back to real questions if I were you."

The hands tightened on his face again, then dropped away. A frustrated sigh
rode the music's ivory surge. "Impertinent chit." Mulder heard the hollow
ring before the wand touched him, but the tap of current against his neck
still made him gasp. "So, boy, since you're in the mood to talk, tell
me--when did you last fuck Dr. Scully?"

Mulder laughed--a harsh sound against the music. Said nothing at all.

"How many lovers have you had, Mr. Mulder?"

"How many have YOU had?"

"Many more than you, Fox. Answer my question." Frozen flint. "Answer or
I'll have to hurt you."

Mulder shivered, opened his mouth and stopped. Closed it again.

"Answer. Now."

When sparks bit the outside of his knee Mulder groaned, flinched. "You--you
said you w-wouldn't burn me!"

"I'm not burning you. There will be no marks. And you're not going to
divert me, Fox." Tin-ring cracklehot along his clavicle until Mulder cried
out, then a quiet, certain voice said, "Answer me or I'll turn it on again
and turn the intensity up. It goes much higher than what I have it set at
now."

"Oh Christ. No--please--" Mulder's words were washed by shallow breaths.
"I-I d-don't know--what you mean."

"It's a very simple question."

"N-no, it isn't," he contested, shaking his head, knowing he was lying,
knowing he'd gain only moments. "Do you mean women I've loved? One night
stands? What?"

The voice was directly in front of him, and fingers kneaded his nipples
until they grew hard and he was twisting his ankles and wrists, letting the
straps abrade him. "Come now--how many people have made love to you, Mr.
Mulder? Made love with you? I'll touch the wand to your genitals if you
don't answer."

Mulder sucked in a quick breath and leaned back, bracing. There was a long
quiet while the clock ticked and Chopin drifted stately. God. Shit. He had
to concede. Stuttered, "M-maybe t-ten. Maybe only nine."

"Does that include me?"

Felt incredulous. "I said no men. And you raped me. That's not making love."

Fingertips lifted his chin and lips brushed his own. "If you let me love
you, I will."

Disgusted, Mulder turned his head away. "I'm here for you to hurt. I'm
paying the price for my curiosity, but you can't buy what you want for any
price."

"I wouldn't buy it." Little swishes and he didn't feel the man's body
warmth anymore, then the voice spoke again from further away. "If you
stopped fighting me I wouldn't have to buy it....So, you said none of your
lovers were male. Did any man ever offer?"

Sneered, "I was at Oxford. What do you think?"

"I think you've had offers there and since, too. Did you ever consider
accepting? I'll know if you lie."

"How will you know?" Mulder scoffed.

A low chuckle. "Because you blush, Colt. And you wanted it, I'm sure. Why
didn't you accept?"

He wasn't going to say a mutherfucking thing until the wand buzzed and
sparks stung his abdomen, pain arching him up against the strap around his
chest. "I w-was scared! All right?" he panted when it stopped. "I was--I
was scared."

"Did the women scare you too? Did Phoebe Greene scare you?"

Mulder heard the echo of a giggle. The bands around his wrists became
clothesline and Conan-Doyle's headstone felt icy rough as his hands scraped
against it. He stayed, writhing bare-arsed on mossy earth, until a zap of
current snapped him back. "Phoebe...." Mulder groaned. His arm stung. "How
do you know about Phoebe?"

"No questions. I want answers. Were you a virgin when Miss Greene took you?"

"How the fuck would I know?" Mulder muttered. It was automatic smart-ass,
but....

The voice derided, "You mean you can't recall the first woman who made you
come? Were you drunk? Was she a prostitute?"

A fingertip flicked his glans, but Mulder didn't jump. Another eidetic
scrim had fallen and he sat, screened off by cotton-fog with buzzing
machines and someone caressing him, pumping him....Drew as deep a breath as
the band would allow. "Ohm'god."

"Answer me, Fox."

He felt flushed, breathless. "I...I don't know. I'm not lying either!"

"I know--you're being honest now. Very good."

"I-- Where...?"

"We won't go any further than that right now, lad." A gentle stroke along
his cheek.

He didn't expect the panic. It just came--a blast from his core. Pulling
and jerking and fastfast breathing, and when the Master pinched his nose
and covered his mouth, Mulder felt grateful. Leaned back against the man as
his ears rang hollow and let that sliver of memory go, let this place go.
But respite didn't last. One gulp of new air and he was feeling the sweat
run off him and his scabs pressed against wood. Past the bonds, the Master
was still trying to swaddle his will.

"Breathe, Fox. Slowly....Slower...slower." Held his chin and stroked his
throat and ragged breaths eased off. "Good. Now, I want you to tell me
about your wife, Mr. Mulder. Did she top you the way Miss Greene did? The
way Agent Fowley did?"

Saw turning tape and pinholes in walls. His jaw slacked. "You fuckers."

"Yes." Mulder heard the shine of glee. "You're beginning to understand,
aren't you? Now, answer my question."

He growled and tried to shake his head free--was surprised when the Master
let go, backed off, released him and his anger. "You sonofabitch, you
already know everything, but I'm in the dark! How about telling me: Was it
a woman who broke you? Do you do men because you're scared of women?" He
heard a whistle and jumped, but the leather slapped against the
dowels--just barely stung his back.

"Answer my question."

Mulder fought a smile. "Gotcha."

"Go on--grin," the Master spoke softly in his ear. "You'll be screaming in
a moment. It's time for your punishment."

The wand touched his perineum and stayed and stayed and stayed. It tapped
the tops of thighs as he shrieked and tried to writhe away. Sharp, thin
screams doubled back from the ceiling. When it stopped Mulder couldn't
believe the Chopin was still playing--playing the same piece. There were
footfalls on the stairs as his tender skin throbbed and he sniffed back
tears.

Marta. "Is everything all right, sir? Do you need anything?"

Knew the Master was still there--right between his shivering, spread legs.
The wand could touch him any time and he'd shriek from fear of it without
cracking his head back against the wood.

The bang was loud, but he didn't feel pain--just a wonderful tip to the
blackness like a boat listing, and a long slide into nowhere. Then smooth
glass touched his lips, and a wave of brandy spilled over them. "Here, lad.
Just a sip." Sharp all the way down, burning. He coughed.

"Take it, Marta." The glass was gone. "Get me a cool rag."

"Yes, sir." Retreat.

Fingertips traced Mulder's ribs and he whined softly. "Fox, you mustn't
bang your head again," the Master chided. "I've warned you several times.
If you don't stop I'll have to bind you so you can't. Do you hear me?"

He offered a whimper. The pit of his stomach felt like Hades. And, God, his
muscles....Sure, no fire--he was fucking on fire. He burned until the girl
returned, and hissed when wet cloth was draped across the back of his neck.

"Shhhhh. It will help you stay with me," the Master soothed. "You know,
this can end now, Mr. Mulder. It can end so easily. Just ask me to stop and
release you; to caress you and make love to you."

"No!" Mulder tossed his head, then shook it. "No. I won't." But he had to
hang onto something or else he just might. Mulder sobbed for a moment.
"Tell me about Samantha?"

"Not until you leave." The tone was firm. "I can't until you're ready to
leave."

"God damn you!" Tears clogged his nose, his throat. "This--this isn't
between you and me! Just tell me! Tell me and hurt me until he's happy!"

The Master pressed the cold, wet rag against his hairline until he had to
bend his neck, touch chin to chest. "But this IS about you and me, lad.
You're here so I can teach you to submit."

"I'm here for you to hurt because some bastard hates my guts! You want me
to call you 'sir'? Fine. Tell me, sir, does the sonofabitch smoke Morleys?"

The pressure stopped, went away with the cloth itself. "Don't push me, boy.
Don't make me hurt you more than I have to. This is hard enough."

"You're fucking right it's hard enough!" Mulder lifted his head--bumped it
against the Englishman's chest. "I've let you rape me and beat me and whip
the shit out of me. You've shoved a goddamned telephone pole up my ass and
chattered about how much I'd wan--agh!" A throttle-grip choked him off.

"If you want to go home so much, you will learn." Hard syllables.

"Jus'tell--th'truth." Mulder sucked in shallow fuel, forced his words past
the vice that squeezed his esophagus. "You like t'hurt me--Y'll
keep--hurting me, but I'cnt do what y'rasking....I'cn let you hurt me--I'cn
wait, but I'cnt do what--y're asking fr'now. That wasn't the deal...it
wasn't--the price."

"But it is. There's your truth, boy. Revel in it." The pressure eased, but
the hands held on.

For a minute, Mulder was quiet. "I can't give you what you're asking for,"
he finally spoke. Sounded flat--like a membrane before a tempest. "You'll
end up killing me."

"No. I won't kill you, Fox. I won't let you die. It's going to hurt, but I
can teach you and I will."

"No."

"You have no choice, lad."

The panic pushed up against the onionskin layer and he needed the pressure
to stop. "Please let me go. Please. I can't do what you want."

"Quiet, Fox." The Master's hand muffled another plea. "I'll get you past
this. You'll be corrected. You'll accept what you are--even be glad of it.
There'll be no need to keep control all the--"

The veneer broke--the storm with it--and Mulder felt the Master jolt and
jump away, exclaiming, "My God!" when he bit him. His ungagged cries were
so loud, like scrapes along the walls, and the bands strained against his
relentless pull. The Master was trying to capture his thrashing head,
shouting to his minions. Too late. They couldn't still him--he couldn't
still him. Withdrew into a mind's corner while the panic convulsed and
consumed him.

Mulder barely felt the bee sting, but its venom ached in his veins. As it
traveled, the body quieted, became his own again. He twitched and shook as
his captor stroked him and Jim sounded nervous. "Are you going to want to
continue, sir?"

"N-no. Not now." The Master sounded stunned. "His fever's shot up again and
the Valium's going to take him down. Go on and insert the aspirin, Jim,
while he's in an easy position."

"Yes, sir."

Latex stretched and foil tore. Fingers curled under one side of Mulder's
jaw--dug in tight. "It's another aspirin suppository. I want you to relax,"
the mutherfucker enunciated carefully, trying to regain control. Mulder
felt smug, then a hot, gloved finger pressed the streamlined shape up
through his bruised sphincter. His teeth chattered when the warmth
withdrew.

Movement. Motion. They were letting him up. Fingers played at his right
ankle and his foot dropped, toe stubbing the floor. His muscles screamed
and he heard his own voice crying out as they freed the other leg. More
Velcro ripped. The band was loosed from his chest and fell into his lap.
Bands brushed his thighs as they slipped to the floor. Shit, his muscles
howled, then the relief made him sob.

Sobbed.

Strong hands lifted Mulder, pulled his arms over sturdy shoulders, and
cotton and wool rubbed against his sides as a new grip caught his knees.
>From his right, the Master's voice murmured encouragement. "We'll have you
in the infirmary soon. I'll take care of you and get you bedded down."

"Don't touch me! Don'tdon'tdon't. I just want to leave, I want to leave!"
he was babbling, barely knowing what he said.

"He's hysterical." The sullen tone lit a vivid image. Bill.

Fear and hate made his heart leap. "Get the fuck away from me!"

"Shut up, meat." Fingernails dug into his legs.

"Quiet, William," the Master ordered, then softened his voice to speak near
Mulder's ear. "Fox, listen to me--give me no trouble, and I'll let you
sleep now. You can rest all day tomorrow, too. No one will hurt you. We'll
take care of you, get some food into you, and get this fever down."

They were off the carpet now, carrying him over wood, heels thudding
hollow. Mulder felt the cloth that covered them, felt his cock lying limp
on his thigh, and barely remembered how it felt to not be stripped and
exposed. "I just want to go home. I just want to get my clothes and go
home....Haven't you hurt me enough now?....Why won't you tell me about Sam
and let me go?"

"Shhhhhh."

Passed through a doorway that made them squeeze together against him, and
then they settled him on the edge of something steely cool. The blindfold
was untied, but the light stung too much and he didn't want to see them.
Kept his eyes shut as they leaned him back against metal and washed him
with warm water and sponges. Big soft sponges that ran over his sides and
his chest and stomach, then between his legs. He didn't really care.
Couldn't really care.

Cloth blotted him and he was lifted again by hands under his arms,
insistently pulled to his feet. Mulder heard himself whimper as he
staggered between them, heard his grunt as they helped him lie down on a
soft flat mattress. Far away, the Master was talking. "No lessons tomorrow,
Fox. You did well today and you pleased me. We're making progress--good
progress. You'll rest tomorrow and I'll take care of you. I promise."

--lisby@earthlink.net
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