Fresh Start Series
by DiAnn


Fresh Start - Part 5


Rating: NC17 - SLASH/ language/ BDSM/ Violence

Category: Pure Trash / Discipline / m/m Slash

Warning: Scully/ Mulder/ Skinner Slash/Threesome
Very explicit sex and severe discipline. 

If you don't like this kind of thing, or you are underage, go
somewhere else . . . Please! I don't want to hear from 
you and I don't want to hear from your Mama. 

Spoiler: Very little. 

Summary: Part 5 of a series. Someone tries to use Mulder to
get revenge on his Master. 

Disclaimer: I do not, nor ever will, own Mulder, Scully, Skinner or 
anyone else from the X-Files. I am borrowing them without permission 
and am obviously not receiving money for this stuff. We all know who 
they really belong to, CC, Fox and lots of other people but again, not 
me. 

DiAnn's Discipline Page can be found at Mulder Torture Anonymous:
http://www.slashcity.com/Muldertorture/discipline/discipline.html


Fresh Start - Part 5
By: DiAnn 

Hoover Building
Assistant Director Skinner's Office
Tuesday, 3:00 p.m. 

"I said no, and I mean no!" 

Mulder paced angrily in front of Assistant Director Skinner's desk, 
glaring at the big man, his eyes shooting green sparks of outrage. 

"I need to go <now>! If we wait much longer, there will be another 
murder!" 

"No! There isn't enough hard evidence. We need to be patient, wait for 
him to make his next move. You are not going haring off on your own to 
confront some serial killer. I won't have it!" 

"You won't have it?" Mulder stopped his agitated pacing to jab a long 
finger in the direction of his unreasonable boss, "This is exactly the 
reason I don't want to have to report my every move to you. In the old 
days, I would already have been there and had the perp in custody. 
This is bullshit!" 

"Bullshit, is it? In the old days, you might have already been dead, 
did you ever think of that? Face it, those old days are gone, Mulder. 
I don't know how many times we have to go over the same ground, you 
are not going after Johnson Sullivan by yourself." 

The AD shook his head sadly, "Just sit down, Agent Mulder, and we can 
discuss this calmly like two professionals. Can't you understand I'm 
only doing this because I care about you? " 

"You're only doing this," Mulder mocked, "because you get off on 
controlling me." 

Mulder stumbled back a step as Skinner was up from his desk and in 
front of him in less than a second. He grabbed the younger man by his 
jacket and pulled Mulder's face in close to his. "You think I get off 
on controlling you, Fox? Did it ever occur to you that perhaps you 
haven't seen anything yet?" 

"No . . . no, I won't let you . . . " 

A hard shake, heedless of potential damage to the expensive suit under 
his rough hands, "Yes, Agent Mulder you will <let me>. And do you know 
why you will <let me>?" Another hard shake, "Because if you give me 
any trouble, you disobedient excuse for a slave, there won't be a 
person in this building that won't hear and understand just exactly 
what I'm doing to your bare ass in here." 

He looked into Mulder's wide hazel eyes. Eyes filled with fear but 
also a healthy dose of defiance. 

"Now," he dragged the younger man over to stand in front of his desk. 
"You need to learn a little self control. Stand at attention until I 
tell you that you can move and I mean absolutely still, Fox. I gave 
you a chance to sit down and talk about this but you refused. If you 
so much as bat an eyelash, you <will> be punished. Any questions?" 

"No, <Sir>." 

The hair on the back of Skinner's neck stood up at the tone of voice 
of that <sir>. He became more thankful everyday that the Consortium 
had chosen to give Mulder to him. Any other Master would have beaten 
the willful agent to death by now. That potential consequence actually 
made the AD's heart ache in his chest. 

Skinner sat down behind his desk and waited for the fun to start. It 
didn't take long. Mulder stood quietly for exactly one minute and 
forty-eight seconds before moving his eyes around the room looking for 
some kind of mental stimulation. 

Skinner got up from his desk, calmly walked over to his agent and 
started to remove his tie. Unbuttoning the top two buttons of his 
sub's shirt as he dislodged the small article of clothing. 

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?" 

Skinner eyed the truly ugly piece of silk in his hand for a moment and 
then threw it on the floor. He raised one finger and laid it across 
Mulder's lips while lifting a finger from his other hand up to his own 
mouth, "Ss-s-s-h. Absolutely still, Fox." 

The AD then went back and sat down, openly admiring his beautiful 
young slave. This was good look for Mulder. Of course, he had no doubt 
it was going to get better. 

Mulder didn't even last a minute this time before he shifted his 
weight from his right foot to his left. This time he lost his left 
shoe and could only gape at his boss in astonishment. Skinner didn't 
even bother to move back behind his desk, opting instead to just perch 
himself on the corner facing Mulder. 

Mulder let out a disgusted sigh and lost the sock. Now he stood in the 
Assistant Director's Office, in the middle of the day, with one bare 
foot and no tie. How the hell were they going to explain this if 
someone came barging in here? 

"Sir, I think . . . " 

The AD bent to remove the right shoe. 

"Hey!" 

He removed the sock as well. 

Mulder decided that two could play this stupid game and willed himself 
to stand still until Skinner gave up these kid games and let him go 
get the bad guy. He narrowed his eyes menacingly at the AD to show him 
that the challenge had been accepted and lost his jacket for his 
efforts. 

Mulder stomped his foot, "Can we just end this farce now, <Sir>? 
Someone could come in her at any minute and . . . " 

Mulder gasped as his pants fell to pool at his feet. "Absolutely still 
Fox, don't move a muscle and you can keep a little modesty here. And 
if I were you, I'd lose the attitude, I have my ruler in the desk 
drawer and as you are well aware, I know how to use it." Skinner 
retrieved the pants and threw them on the growing pile next to his 
agitated agent. 

Skinner was delighted, Mulder is dress shirt and boxers was a very 
sexy sight. He ogled his pretty slave with unabashed appreciation 
while the young man blushed furiously. 

Fortified with new resolve, Mulder stood like a statue until a spot 
just above his left nipple began to itch urgently. He kept his face an 
expressionless mask as the itch increased in intensity. He glanced at 
Skinner, biding his time, waiting for the other man's attention to 
wonder. The AD seemed content to be completely focused on his 
rebellious slave. Mulder finally wiggled just the tiniest bit to try 
to relieve his growing discomfort and forfeited his shirt. 

He felt totally ridiculous now standing in his t-shirt and boxers. 
Skinner walked up behind him and he felt warm soft lips graze the back 
of his neck. 

"You have no idea how beautiful you are like this. You can't stand 
still to save your life or your dignity." The lips trailed up and 
nipped behind his ear, making him shudder despite his best efforts. 

The T-shirt came off, leaving his dark hair a tousled mess. 

As the wanton lips and tongue worked on his exposed skin, leaving a 
wet trail that cooled quickly in the air conditioned room, Mulder knew 
he had died and gone to hell. He also knew that in a few minutes he 
was going to be standing in his boss' office as naked as the day he 
was born . . . and twice as helpless. 

He heard a gruff voice close to his ear, "You know, my beautiful boy, 
I do love punishing you. Not the strap or the paddle so much, though I 
do feel those are needed at times and I won't hesitate to use them. 
But at times like this, with you trembling under my hands - 
vulnerable, helpless against your own responses, and gorgeous - so 
very gorgeous that you almost take my breath away. You try so hard to 
win, to come out on top. But you can't win against me, pretty slave, 
because if you win against me you also lose." 

Standing in silk boxers, a raging erection and a blush, Mulder was 
shocked when his Master moved away to sit behind his desk once more. 

"You think I cheated. That I touched you and made you move. You will 
move without my help, Fox. You can never stand still. It's not in your 
nature. You will forfeit your last garment of your own free will. You 
will fidget in some way and cause me to bare you completely. You are 
always the architect of your own chastisement, Fox. Always." 

Suddenly, Mulder's worse nightmare came to pass. There was a noise a 
the door. Someone was coming into the office! Mulder's head whipped 
around toward the door and the next thing he knew his boxers were at 
his ankles. He looked back at Skinner only to see a devilish smirk and 
one whispered word, "Locked." 

Mulder jumped when the intercom on Skinner's desk buzzed. The AD 
chuckled once more and moved to answer it, his eyes eagerly roaming 
over the flushed, naked agent standing in front of him. "Yes." 

"Agents Barstow and Andrews have arrived for their 3:15, Sir. And 
Agent Scully is here looking for Agent Mulder." 

"Thank you, Kim. I'll be with them in just a couple of minutes." 

"Oh and Sir . . . your door is sticking again. Are you sure you don't 
want me to notify maintenance?" 

"No. I'll have them take care of it sometime when I will be out of the 
office. Thank you, Kim." Skinner hung up and looked over at this 
terrified agent, who are mumbling incoherently under his breath. 
"OhGodohGodohGod . . . " 

Skinner moved back around the desk reminding Mulder of a big jungle 
cat who had just spotted lunch. The AD ran his hands slowly down his 
agent's trembling arms then around and over his chest and belly. 

"Less than 7 minutes, that's a new record even for you, Fox. Now, what 
were you saying about going after Johnson Sullivan?" 

"Uh-h-h-h . . . " 

Skinner bent down and nibbled on the nude man's shoulder, trailed his 
hot, moist lips up to his ear once more, sending shivers down Mulder's 
spine to settle in his groin. 

"You know I have to let Agents Barstow and Andrews in here. That 
appointment has been set up for over a week. You don't mind if I keep 
to my schedule while you think over my question, do you Fox?" 

"Uh-h-h-h . . . " 

"And I expect Agent Scully to kick in that door any minute. I'm afraid 
everyone out there will get quite a show when that happens. She really 
doesn't like to have you out of her sight for very long, does she?" 

"Uh-h-h-h . . . " 

Skinner stopped his exploring hands and mouth, "Well, as pleasant as 
this is, I really must get on with my day." Skinner bestowed one final 
kiss behind Mulder's ear and started to move away. 

"Wait! I won't go. I'll . . . I'll wait . . . for more evidence . . . 
I won't leave the office today!" 

The AD reached down and cupped Mulder's genitals gently but firmly in 
his hand. He was gratified when Mulder shivered yet again. He squeezed 
gently but firmly. 

"You won't leave the office today?" 

"No, Sir!" 

Holding the agent in this intimate and intimidating way, he delivered 
a resounding slap to his exposed butt. Mulder bit his lip to keep from 
yelping. "Now you're getting the idea, you follow my orders and life 
is a lot more comfortable for you." 

"Yes . . . yes, Sir!" 

Another hard slap to the other cheek and Mulder's body jerked in his 
hand but he didn't make a sound. Using the hand in front of his slave 
to push the bare backside out to meet its fate, Skinner delivered two 
more resounding slaps to the burning skin. They sounded like 
explosions in the quiet room and Mulder pictured the people in 
Skinner's outer office with their ears pressed up against the door. 

"Now get that pretty pink ass of yours dressed and out of here!" 

"Yes, Sir!" 

Skinner was sure that he was witness to the world's record for a man 
donning an Armani suit. The second the clothing was in place, Mulder 
made a mad dash for the door. He was stopped by his supervisor's gruff 
voice. 

"Be home by 7:00, Fox, we're having baked cod for dinner." 

Mulder scrunched up his face in distaste, "Yes, Sir. Wouldn't miss it 
for the world, Sir. I hope it comes with broccoli." 

At the scowl that formed on his boss' face, Mulder rushed out of the 
office and into the relative safety of his partner's comforting 
presence. He grabbed her hand, and to the astonishment of Scully, Kim 
and Agents Barstow and Andrews, literally dragged his partner to the 
elevator, pushing the button for the basement. 

"Are we were going to check out that lead you had on the location of 
Johnson Sullivan, Mulder?" 

"Of course not! We don't have nearly enough solid evidence yet. I'm 
surprised at you, Scully." 

* * * 

X-Files Office
Tuesday, 8:00 p.m. 

Mulder sat in his basement office going over the Sullivan file one 
more time. He had it memorized, of course, but he liked seeing the 
words on paper. Helped him to focus his mind. He was sure that 
Sullivan was the man they were looking for, he fit the profile 
perfectly. But they needed to find evidence, they needed to find the 
trophies that the killer took from the young women he killed. Each 
victim was missing a severed right ear. An ear with a single diamond 
stud earring. Those earrings was the only thing that tied the victims 
together. 

Scully had gone home hours ago as he should have done. Skinner would, 
no doubt, be angry with him again. This new Dom/sub lifestyle just 
didn't fit with the way Mulder liked to work when he was on a case. 
Not that he would willingly give it up. Mulder couldn't remember a 
time he had been happier. 

His mind drifted back to the past weekend. He and Scully had just 
finished up a brutal case in Arkansas and were so glad to be home. 
Home with Walter. And Walter had seemed ecstatic to have them back, as 
well. He had planned a celebration for the three of them. A great 
dinner at one of their favorite restaurants and then he had taken them 
to a basketball game, court side seats. Only Walter would think of 
something so . . . 

Mulder froze, his smile fading. A basketball game at the MCI Center. 
The agent started shuffling through his notes. Johnson Sullivan had a 
part time job in maintenance there. Why would a successful corporate 
executive choose to work at such a menial job on his weekends? 

Mulder practically ran to his car and drove to the arena. A flash of 
his badge and the night security had allowed him access. 

The agent stood quietly, just taking in the ambiance of the eerily 
quiet facility. It was strange to stand here without the usual hoopla 
that had always accompanied a visit to one of his favorite places. 

Such a public place. It suited Johnson Sullivan's profile to flaunt 
his superior intelligence in this way. Mulder looked around, with all 
the time Sullivan needed and complete access, where in all this space 
could there be a hiding place for such a grisly collection? 

Four hours later and Mulder was still searching. He had been over 
every locker room, every office, every equipment closet and had found 
nothing. His cell phone had rung every hour on the hour but he had not 
answered. Skinner would insist that he come home immediately and that 
just could not happen. He was close to solving this thing, so close he 
could almost smell it. 

He stood, deep in thought, at center court then walked out to stand 
under the hoop. He pretended to dribble and then did a spectacular 
over the shoulder lay up which, in his imagination, was nothing but 
net. As he raised his hands above his head in celebration, his eyes 
locking on one of the large screens suspended above the floor. 
Sullivan worked for an electronics corporation, one of the largest in 
the country, and had risen quickly in their ranks. He would know 
everything there was to know about those big screens. Quickly going to 
find security, he soon was soon rising in the basket that gave access 
to the screens. 

He was successful on the first try. Hidden under an access plate on a 
small shelf created by the frame of the monitor, were eleven clear 
plastic jars filled with the final remains of eleven slain women. Even 
as Mulder's latex covered hands carefully lifted his new found 
evidence, he knew they would find Johnson Sullivan's prints on the 
vials. The man would have egotistically assumed that no investigator 
would ever be smart enough to find his hidden treasure. 

* * *

Their House
Wednesday, 4:30 a.m. 

He opened the door quietly. He was soaked to the skin. The cold 
drizzle that had been falling all day had turned into a heavy downpour 
sometime during the night and Mulder had spent what seemed like hours 
running in and out of the inclement weather. He shivered from the 
cold. He wanted nothing as much as a hot shower and a warm bed at the 
moment. 

By the time he had arranged a team to arrest Johnson Sullivan and all 
the paperwork had been completed, the night was gone and now it was 
time to face his worried partner and, no doubt, furious Master. 

He removed his trench coat and walked quietly upstairs. If his prayers 
were answered, he would be able to sneak into bed with them and at 
least get a couple of hours sleep before the shit hit the fan. 

When he stealthily turned the knob he was amazed to find it locked. 
They had locked him out! On purpose? It had to be a mistake. Didn't 
it? He didn't dare knock. That would just be asking for more trouble 
than he thought he could handle at the moment. 

He made his way back downstairs and found a blanket on the couch, 
along with a note. 

<Fox, You want to go it on your own. So be it. Walter> 

Oh Shit! Walter had finally gotten enough of him. His Master was 
dumping him and had taken Scully with him! Mulder sank down on the 
couch and laid his head against the back. It wasn't like he hadn't 
known this would happen eventually. It was, after all, just a matter 
of time before they got fed up with his eccentricities. One lone tear 
made its way down his cheek. It was just that he had been so happy 
here and now it was over so soon. He looked around the family room. 
The photos that set on the mantle, pictures of Walter, Scully and 
himself, all taken while they were on some excursion or other 
together. All smiling and happy. Another tear rolled down his cheek. 
He glanced around at the furniture. The three of them had picked out 
every piece together. Arguing amicably the whole time but both men 
knowing that in the end they would let Scully have her way. 

He rose slowly to his feet. He just couldn't stay here any longer. He 
grabbed his briefcase and left the house, only realizing too late that 
he had forgotten his trench coat. 

He arrived at his dreary little apartment just as the weak light of 
the sun made it's way over the horizon. It didn't matter, he doubted 
if he could sleep anyway. He kept having very vivid mental pictures of 
Scully and Skinner in bed together . . . without him. 

He peeled off his dripping wet clothes and went into the dusty 
bathroom to shower. The man in the mirror looked like a stranger to 
him, drawn and desolate. As he studied his face another thought hit 
him like a freight train. The Consortium! What would they do when they 
found out Walter didn't want him anymore. He shuddered. He knew what 
they would do, they would give him to another Master. One not so kind 
and gentle this time. One who would probably beat him to death. A sob 
escaped his lips and he sat down on the edge of the tub with his head 
in his hands. He had ruined it. He had finally ruined his whole life. 

Mulder showered and dressed. Grateful that he had picked up his 
cleaning yesterday, otherwise he would have had nothing to wear to 
work today. He would have to go by the house sometime today and get 
his things. He didn't think he could do it if Scully and Skinner were 
there at the time. 

Mulder left a message for Scully that he was finishing up the Sullivan 
case. He just couldn't bring himself to see her. The loss was just too 
great for him to face today. Maybe tomorrow. It really didn't matter, 
once the Consortium got their hands on him again, he wouldn't be 
partners with her anyway. 

The day went by in a forlorn blur. He was so deep into depression and 
self pity that he did little more than stare into space. The final 
paperwork was finished up around noon. Johnson Sullivan would be 
spending the rest of his life behind bars. Just another victim of 
childhood trauma. Angry with a diamond earring studded mother who 
liked to bring home abusive boyfriends to meet her young son, he had 
killed her over and over again. It didn't excuse Johnson Sullivan, it 
just made the whole thing more sad and depressing. 

Mulder made his way back to his dumpy little apartment. He was stopped 
twice with complaints about the building. It seemed that now that his 
neighbors had to pay rent, they expected heat too. 

He lay down on his well used couch and buried his face in the soft 
leather. It felt cool and comforting against his flushed skin. His 
head was pounding and his stomach urging him to rush to the bathroom 
to empty its contents. He knew there was no need, it had been at least 
a couple of days since he had last eaten. 

He groaned and burrowed further into the couch. He felt like hell. He 
could not get sick right now. Even his luck couldn't be that bad. A 
hard sneeze followed by a deep cough convinced him that his luck, 
could indeed, be just that miserable. He was sick and there was no one 
to care. 

He heard the door to his apartment open. Skinner or Scully. Probably 
here to tell him to get his stuff out of their house. He didn't bother 
getting up, they could give him the bad news, then leave. He just 
couldn't force himself off the couch right now, he didn't have the 
energy to try to convince them that he was sorry. 

He was racked with another fit of coughing as he waited. A sharp pain 
exploded in the back of his right thigh. He gasped. It wasn't like 
Skinner to hurt him like that. He grabbed for the injured area and 
felt the small dart embedded in his leg. He tried to turn over but his 
body felt like it was made of lead. Then the world faded to black. 

* * * 

Assistant Director Skinner's Office
Wednesday, 3:00 p.m. 

Walter Skinner was pacing his office. Scully sat in front of him with 
her hands in her lap. 

"Aren't you worried, Scully?" 

"Of course I am, I just know Mulder. We heard him come home this 
morning and then leave. He went to that apartment of his to pout and 
then spent the rest of the day avoiding us. I called the police 
station, he spent most of the day down there, safe and sound. He'll 
sulk for a while and then come to his senses and face us." 

Skinner continued his pacing, "Maybe. I should never have come up with 
that stupid plan to punish him. I should have known he would do 
something stupid like this. Mulder can't handle rejection, what ever 
made me think . . . " 

Scully stood up and walked to the phone, dialing a number from memory. 
She hung up a few minutes later and turned to her troubled boss. 
"Detective Burrelson said Mulder left the station about an hour ago. 
Let's go to his old apartment and take him home." 

Skinner brightened for the first time that day. He grabbed his coat 
and was holding the door for his agent. "Come one Scully. Let's go!" 

Scully smiled as she headed for the door. If Mulder ever found out 
just how much he had this man wrapped around his little finger there 
would be no end to the escapades he would pull. 

* * * 

Location Unknown
Thursday, 6:00 a.m. 

As a naked Mulder stepped out of the limo, the blindfold roughly 
pulled from his eyes, as he shivered in the cold morning air. He was 
on what appeared to be a very prosperous horse farm. Endless rows of 
sparkling white rail fencing, long limbed thoroughbred horses grazing 
contentedly in spring green fields and several well kept barns and 
stables. Virginia or maybe Kentucky from the looks of the landscape. 

So They had him again. He wondered how They had found out so quickly 
about his split with Skinner? He hadn't even had a chance to tell 
Scully good-bye. It wasn't fair. Anger rose up inside him. His life 
was over. He had lost everything that meant anything to him. He made 
up his mind in that instant, he would have no other Master. The first 
opportunity that was presented, he would escape. If that didn't work, 
then he would find another way to end it . . . permanently. 

Mulder coughed and turned fever bright eyes back towards the car. He 
wanted to get a good look at the two men who had been in the limo with 
him. He had been groped throughly from the time he had awakened naked 
and groggy from the drugs in his system. They were going to pay for 
those fast, loose hands when he got the chance. 

He was immediately backhanded across his face knocking him on his ass, 
sharp jagged rocks cutting into his naked flesh. He was quickly pulled 
to his feet only to be slapped again. This time he was held so he 
would not fall. The big man in front of him lifted his hand for 
another strike when a voice behind the agent stopped him. 

"That's enough for now, Simon. Wouldn't want our Fox to miss the rest 
of the day, now would we?" 

Mulder was turned to meet his captor, none other than SAC Michael 
Richards. The man Skinner had suspended for hitting him during an 
investigation. "Richards, you bastard. You were always working with 
Them, weren't you?" 

"Very clever, Fox. Of course no one has ever accused you of not being 
intelligent. Insane but certainly not stupid by any means." He glanced 
over at Simon, "Put him in the stables, we'll deal with him shortly." 

Mulder was dragged into the nearest outbuilding and cuffed to the side 
of a horse stall. His struggles were met with another head rattling 
slap, this one sending him headfirst into a wall. He was soon blinded 
as blood poured into his left eye. 

"Well, Shit! The little bastard is bleeding." He felt calloused hands 
rubbing the dirt and blood away from his face, cruelly inspecting his 
injury. "Just a little cut, he'll live. He feels kinda' hot though." 

"Don't worry about it. He'll be a lot hotter when Richards gets done 
with him." 

As the laughing men walked away, Mulder was left swaying on his feet. 
He tried to sit down but found he was cuffed too far up the wall to 
reach the hay on the floor beneath him. He got to his knees, his arm 
stretched high above him and laid his aching head against the rough 
wood of the stall. Deep racking coughs shook his trembling body. 

* * *

Assistant Director Skinner's Office
Wednesday, 11:00 p.m. 

Walter Skinner was furious. Mulder had not been at his apartment, of 
course. They had found two piles of clothing, one damp suit in the 
bathroom and a clean one carelessly discarded by the couch. And a 
message from Agent Richards still on Mulder's answering machine. He 
did not understand why Mulder had not mentioned that message. It was a 
clear threat, if the AD had ever heard one. When the AD had tried to 
place a call to Richard's home he had found that there was no home. No 
home, no family, no Richards. It was all too obvious that Richards 
belonged to Them and now it would appear that he had Mulder. 

Scully had been distressed to find the cough medicine sitting out in 
the bathroom. She had turned anguished eyes to Skinner. "He's sick." 

"Maybe not. That could have been there for weeks. He was fine the last 
time we saw him." 

"He's sick, Walter. He got depressed and then he got sick. That's 
Mulder. We have to find him." 

By 5:00 p.m., an entire bureau team, hand picked by Assistant Director 
Skinner, had been called out to search for Special Agent Fox Mulder. 
All that had been found was a disabled security camera in Mulder's 
building and a tell tale drug dart that had been dropped by the couch. 
Mulder had been kidnaped. 

The FBI team had continued their search into the night but so far 
nothing new had been learned. The team ASAC, Joseph Pate, had phoned 
only ten minutes ago, he was at a loss as to how to proceed. Skinner 
didn't have any ideas to help him. Mulder had just vanished and there 
was no trail to help them find him. 

Skinner glanced over to where Scully now sat, looking off into the 
distance, lost in thought. She had not shed a tear and anyone who did 
not know her well would have assumed she was the picture of 
professionalism in the face of Mulder's disappearance. But Skinner 
knew better, she was in shock and grieving deeply for her lost 
partner. 

"We'll find him, Scully. I promise you, we'll find him." 

"I should have known he was in trouble. I always know when he needs 
me." She looked at Skinner with wide stricken eyes, "Why didn't I know 
this time? I've let him down and if something happens to him, I will 
never forgive myself." 

Skinner could only stare back at her, he was relieved when the phone 
rang. He didn't know what else to say to Scully and his own pain was 
about to bring him to his knees. He was doubly relieved to hear 
Frohike's gravely voice on the other end. 

"We think we've found him." The little man did not sound at all 
relieved and Skinner felt his heart skip a beat. He glanced over at 
Scully but she was paying no attention to his conversation. 

He turned his back on her and whispered into the phone, "What is it? 
What have you got?" 

* * * 

Location Unknown
Thursday, 10:00 a.m. 

Mulder was awakened by the pain of a switch biting into his chilled 
chest. He screamed and scrambled to get away from the stinging lashes, 
exposing his back to the whip. Again and again it fell, leaving 
throbbing welts on his bare back and buttocks. 

"Get up, Pretty Boy." A hard kick to the ribs left him breathless as 
he was uncuffed, his arm falling uselessly to his side as the blood 
flow returned. He was hauled to unsteady feet and half dragged, half 
carried out into the weak light of a heavily overcast morning. A light 
steady rain falling, cooling the welts on his hot, naked flesh. 

Richards walked up and delivered a well placed fist to Mulder's 
stomach, making the agent double over in pain. He would have dropped 
to his knees if not for the men holding his arms. "Tie him to the 
training bar." 

Mulder was shoved over to stand in front of a long pole in the middle 
of a small dirt track. It was a place where horses were taught to obey 
the commands of their trainers. He noticed two well dressed older men 
at a distance, staring at him like two old vultures, from under black 
umbrellas, just waiting for the show to begin. Richards walked up in 
front of him, holding a long slim whip. 

"We're going to break you to the bridle, Spooky. By the time your big 
bad Master gets here, he won't even recognize his little slave boy. 
"He flicked the whip in the air and Mulder flinched. "This will make 
quite an impression on you, especially cold and wet like you are now." 

A hard metal bit was shoved between Mulder's lips, the cruel edges 
cutting into the tender flesh at the sides of his mouth, the leather 
straps tangling in his hair. His arms were pulled tightly behind him, 
a leather harness fitted to his chest and around his neck, heavy 
straps running down between his legs and pulled sadistically tight 
between his buttocks. The whole apparatus was then secured to the 
training pole in front of him. 

When he was fully harassed and bound like an animal, a small motor 
started and the pole began to move clockwise around the track. Very 
slowly at first but after only a few minutes Mulder found himself 
trotting, then being forced to move at a full run. 

The whip snapped against his cold naked skin when he stumbled or 
slowed. Or just for Richard's enjoyment. Soon Mulder's body was 
covered in burning quarter sized welts, his legs and back cramping 
from exertion, his head pounding from fever. His body becoming nothing 
more than a source of agony to him. 

He performed under the whip for the rest of the day. Falling several 
times, only to be dragged for a distance and then forced to his feet 
by the agonizing bite of Richard's thin vicious whip. 

Finally his knees buckled as his vision greyed. He felt his bare legs 
being drug along the rough ground once more and then nothing but 
blessed darkness. 

He came to, as he was being released and his body fell face first into 
the mud. At last the painful bit was removed from his sore mouth. He 
lifted his mud and blood stained face to look at his tormentor. 

"Wh . . . why, Richards?" He croaked through dry stinging lips, "Why 
are you doing this? Just because I wouldn't change my profile?" 

Richards patted his cheek condescendingly, "Oh course not, Silly Boy. 
I'm doing this to get Skinner. It was always about Skinner. From what 
I've been able to see, you and that red headed partner of yours are 
the only people the hard-assed AD cares about even remotely. He has no 
home, no family, no life outside the bureau. So you will have to do. I 
have no doubt that he will follow my bread crumb trail and come after 
you." Another pat to the cheek, "I'm just not sure what condition 
you'll be in when he finds you. You're turning a little blue out here 
in the cold, Fox. I'm going to have to warm you up a little." 

He ordered Mulder tied to a large sturdy post standing in the middle 
of the exercise yard. He moved behind the sagging agent and raised the 
hand holding the whip. 

A dark suited man came forward and grabbed his wrist. "No, Richards. 
We have several high ranking members who want him for their slave, 
they would not be at all happy to hear that you killed him before they 
got the chance to challenge Skinner for possession." 

"I want him." Richards hissed. 

"No, you want revenge on Skinner. Your position is not high enough in 
the Group to be awarded something as valuable as Fox Mulder. My 
associate and I let you play with him only as a favor because you have 
been of considerable assistance to us of late. This is not sanctioned 
by the Group and must not go too far, Mr. Richards. He will belong to 
a senior member. Now put down your whip and have him placed back in 
the stable. I'll send a doctor out later, it's obvious that he is 
sick." 

Two of the big guards released Mulder and carried his limp body back 
into the relative shelter of the cold stable. He didn't fight them 
this time when they fastened him to the stable wall. He immediately 
fell to his knees and leaned his throbbing head against the rough hewn 
wooden wall. 

"You're a stubborn little fucker, I'll say that for you, Spooky." 
Richards sneered as he approached Mulder's prison stall. 

Through a pain filled haze, Mulder's vision swam as he tried to 
concentrate on what Richards was saying. His life depended on it. 

"And no matter what those old bastards say, I'm going to kill you." 

It was the last thing the semi-conscious agent heard before he was 
swallowed completely by the merciful darkness once more. 

What seemed like moments later, the agent was awakened by an insistent 
hand shaking his shoulder. "Agent Mulder, you have to wake up now." 

Mulder slitted hazel eyes and tried to focus on this new voice. 

"Come on, you have to get out of here. Richards means it when he says 
he plans to kill you. It's suicide, of course, he would never be able 
to escape the wrath of the Consortium. I think the man has finally 
gone completely mad." 

After several long moments, Mulder was able to focus on the man in 
front of him. It was the junior member who had helped him while he was 
at the New York Headquarters. Skinner had later told the agent that 
the young man was enamored of him and that it might be of benefit to 
them at some point in time. It seemed that time had come. 

"Go into the forest and hide until Assistant Director Skinner comes to 
find you." 

"He . . . he . . . won't come." Mulder said through his dry, swollen 
lips. 

"Won't come? Yeah, right. Trust me, he'll come. Listen, I can't go 
with you, I have to disappear. I only hope I'm not important enough 
for them to bother with. You should have at least a one hour head 
start. Stay in the forest and don't let them find you. And try not to 
worry, I saw the way the Assistant Director looks at you, he'll come." 

Mulder staggered out of the stable and into the forest. 

* * *

Richards was enraged when he found the empty stall. He turned to the 
four black clad men standing behind him. 

"It looks like we're going on a Fox Hunt, Gentlemen. Bradley, go 
inform the elders of Mulder's escape. Tell them he will be recaptured 
quickly, he's sick and weak, he can't have gotten far. After you 
deliver the message, join the rest of us in the search. The first one 
to find him gets to use that sweet ass of his, as throughly and as 
painfully as you want. Then he's to be brought back here for more 
punishment. We'll find that little shit and then he's going to pay for 
all the trouble he's caused us today." 

* * *

Mulder wrapped one arm around his sore ribs as he took a deep breath 
and stumbled through the deep woods that surrounded him in all 
directions. His head was pounding and his vision swam in front of him. 

He had stumbled along blindly for about fifteen minutes, when he 
happened upon a small stream. He fell to his knees and drank. He had 
not been given any food or water while in captivity. Now he drank 
deeply and hoped that the life giving water was pure. He had no way to 
test it besides smell and taste and without it he would collapse and 
make himself an easy kill. 

And he had no doubt that Richards meant to kill him. The Consortium 
wouldn't like it but by now Richards was well past the point of 
reason. He didn't care about anything except destroying what belonged 
to Walter Skinner. If the man only knew that Skinner no longer wanted 
Mulder for a slave, this could have all been avoided. 

When he had drank his fill, he reached down, scooping up a big hand 
full of soft, rich mud. He began to smear this over his nude body, 
shivering from the icy coldness of it. Once it was dry, it would serve 
as some insulation against the cold and also it soothed the many cuts 
on his aching body. But the biggest advantage was that it would make 
him harder to see in the forest. 

About two months after their return from Camp Fresh Start, once the 
three of them had settled into their new home, Skinner had started 
taking Mulder on camping trips. Once a month, while Scully visited her 
Mother for a weekend, Skinner taught Mulder to survive in the 
wilderness. He had said that he may have been given a city boy to care 
for but that didn't mean he couldn't teach the city boy to take care 
of himself. So the AD had taught his young charge everything that he 
himself had learned growing up on the rugged plains of western 
Oklahoma and in the steaming jungles of Viet Nam. Now, Mulder was 
going to need all that valuable training just to survive. 

The agent looked around carefully. They would expect him to move 
further into the forest, trying to outrun them. But he was tired and 
weak. He would never be able to outrun them or mount any kind of 
viable offense. He had to rest. 

He made a false trail leading away from the stream, then stepped into 
the cold water and began to move in the direction from which he had 
just come. He soon found what he was looking for, a giant oak tree. He 
covered his tracks, as much as possible, where he left the stream. He 
painfully made his way up into the tree, forcing himself to keep 
climbing until he was high in the big sturdy branches. The early 
spring leaves lent some extra cover and protection from the misty rain 
but he was still shivering with cold. He levered himself up on a large 
forked branch and huddled down against the rough bark to wait. 

If they did not bring dogs he would be safe. Skinner had always told 
him to take shelter in trees. Only the best trained soldier ever 
thought to look up. He had also told Mulder to be ready to jump down 
for a surprise attack should one of those well trained soldiers happen 
upon his location. He could not do that today, he was far too sick to 
fight. So he climbed high and hoped they were not that good at their 
job. 

A short time later he watched as two armed men walked by his hiding 
place. They were moving quickly, taking little notice of their 
surroundings, sure that he had tried to get far into the forest to 
outdistance their pursuit. 

Once the danger had moved on, despite his discomfort, Mulder's 
exhausted body took command and he slept. He was surprised when he 
awoke some hours later, still shivering with cold and fever, to the 
sound of disgruntled voices. The men were not looking forward to going 
back to tell the Elders that they had not found Mulder. They were sure 
that the <little shit> had fallen in a hole somewhere and probably lay 
dying as they spoke. Served him right as far a they were concerned. 
The agent doubted Richards or the Consortium would agree. 

Mulder waited, cold and miserable but still dozing off and on, until 
full dark. He then climbed stiffly down from his tree perch. He began 
to move with as much speed as possible. Skinner had told him that if 
he became lost he was to pick a direction, any direction, and keep to 
it. It was bound to come out somewhere. The biggest danger would lie 
in traveling in circles. Mulder was thankful that the rain had cleared 
and the stars were out. He found the North Star and kept it in his 
sights. 

His heart constricted with pain each time he thought of Skinner. He 
missed the man and wished it could have ended differently between 
them. If he got out of this mess, he would at least take the time to 
apologize to his former Master and thank him for all he had tried to 
do for such a poor example of a slave as he had proven himself to be. 

He moved as quickly as possible through the dark, dank woods, tripping 
over hidden roots several times, bruising and scraping his already 
battered body. He had stumbled upon the little creek again, at least 
he assumed it was the same one. He wished he had a container to take 
some water with him but of course, he had nothing. He drank and 
resumed in his star guided direction. 

As a deep, bone weary exhaustion finally overtook him, he found 
himself tripping much more frequently. He didn't want to stop. He 
needed distance between him and his hunters. He wished he hadn't 
alienated Skinner. The big ex-marine would have been able to find him. 
His vision blurred with tears and he realized that he was sweating and 
shivering at the same time. His fever must have spiked. He did not 
need that additional hindrance right now. A high fever would slow him 
down even more and make him useless if he did have to attempt to 
defend himself. Maybe even make him see things that weren't there. 
Once again he longed for Skinner and his comforting presence. 

Just as the sun began to rise, he tripped over yet another damned tree 
root and felt excruciating pain shoot up his leg. He grabbed the 
injured foot and rocked with the pain, fresh tears rolling down his 
face. Broken toe. That did it, he was going to have to find shelter 
for the day. 

He slowly worked his way to his feet, using a large tree to brace 
himself, when without warning, he was grabbed from behind, a large 
hand over his mouth. So this was it, he was going down. Well, not 
without a good fight. He used what little was left of his strength to 
kick and bite the hand that held him in its iron grip. If he was going 
to die, it was not going to be painless for his killer. He sank his 
teeth into soft flesh and hung on. 

"Ouch! Stop it, Mulder," a familiar voice growled in his ear, "You've 
got a good head start on them but they still might hear you . . . or 
me! Damn it, your teeth are sharp!" 

"You . . . you came?" 

Mulder extracted himself from his boss' grasp and much to the surprise 
of the older man, turned, smiled weakly and collapsed into his 
savior's arms. 

Skinner looked down at the dark head laying against his chest. "Just 
looking for a safe place to pass out, huh Kid?" The big man swung the 
injured agent up into his arms and carried him to a cluster of dense 
bushes. He lay the young man down and attempted to catalog the damage. 
Cuts, scrapes, bruises, whip marks - Bastards! - bruised ribs, didn't 
feel broken. Couple of bumps on the head, maybe a concussion. One of 
the head injuries was still seeping blood, didn't look that serious, 
head lacerations were bad about bleeding. 

Skinner dug into his backpack and came up with a pair of lined, 
lightweight camouflage coveralls. He wiped as much of the dried mud 
off Mulder's body as he could and pulled the garment on him. He then 
fished for a pair of heavy woolen socks, noticing for the first time, 
the bruised and swollen toe and the lacerated feet. It was a wonder 
Mulder had been able to walk at all. You wouldn't suspect it by 
looking at his slender body and boyish good looks, but Mulder was as 
tough as they came. Skinner ran his hand down the bruised jawline. 
These bastards were going to pay for every last one of these injuries. 
They had wanted to lure him here by hurting Fox. Well, he was here. 

Skinner searched until he found the right tree, then hefted Mulder 
onto his shoulder and climbed up into the branches, thinking the whole 
time how much easier this had been when he was nineteen. 

Once he had Mulder secured with rope on a high split branch, he 
decided to wake his agent. If he didn't and Mulder regained 
consciousness while he was gone, the man would either get free and 
fall to his death or make so much noise he would be captured and 
killed. 

He gently slapped the mud and blood covered face, wincing in sympathy 
as he did so. "Mulder, wake up. I need you to come back to me for a 
minute. I need to talk to you. Come on, Mulder, time to wake up." 

Mulder moaned weakly but refused to open his eyes. 

"Fox!" Skinner growled in his best Dom voice. Mulder's eyes 
immediately snapped opened, looking at Skinner with a mix of confusion 
and terror. 

"Calm down," Skinner smiled at him. "You're not going over my knee. At 
least not at the moment. I can't promise anything when you tell me how 
a highly trained FBI Agent managed to get himself in this mess." 

Mulder started to open his mouth but Skinner stopped him with one 
gentle finger to his lips. "Ss-s-h, don't worry about that right now. 
I'm going to leave you in this tree, and yes, you are tied. Don't 
panic. I'm leaving food, water and a knife in this backpack beside 
you. If I don't come back . . . " 

"I'm going with . . . " 

"Quiet! You're not going anywhere. Now listen. If I don't come back by 
night fall, I want you to cut the ropes, climb down and head north 
again. There's a highway about twenty miles in that direction." 

"I won't leave . . . " 

"You listen to me, Fox. If you don't do exactly what I say, I can 
assure you that you will not sit down comfortably for at least a 
month. Even if I have to come back from the grave to beat your butt 
for you." When Skinner finished speaking, his nose was pressing 
against the end of Mulder's and his angry brown eyes were locked with 
frightened hazel ones. "You got that, Slave Boy?" 

"Ye . . . yes, Sir." 

* * * 

Skinner, knife in hand, moved in on the man who was standing in a 
small clearing smoking a cigarette. 

"Those things will kill you," Skinner hissed as he pressed the edge of 
the knife against the man's throat. "Was it you who bloodied his lip 
like that?" 

The man didn't need him to clarify who <he> was. He started babbling. 
" No, not me. I didn't hit him. I held him down a little, but I never 
hurt him. I swear, it wasn't me." 

"Good. Then you get to die quick." 

He pulled the body out of sight under a bush and moved on to find the 
rest of his prey. 

* * * 

Mulder heard something. Skinner! Skinner was in trouble! Skinner 
needed his help and here he was sitting safely up in a tree eating 
granola bars and drinking cool water. He was useless. He was worse 
than useless. Mulder dug the knife out of the backpack, cut his 
bindings and made his way to the ground. 

* * * 

"Did you use the whip on him?" 

Skinner held his foot against the throat of the man who lay at his 
feet, struggling for breath. The heavy combat boot let up just a 
little and the hapless man drew in a strangled breath and looked death 
in its brown eyes. 

Simon had never wanted to mess with this man. Had told Richards that 
it was a mistake and now he was going to die. He saw it in the big 
man's angry face, he was as good as dead already. Well, he wasn't 
going alone. 

"It was Richards! All Richards! He's the one who hurt your boy." 

* * *

Mulder moved through the dense underbrush, listening for any sign of 
his boss. He needed to find Skinner and act as backup for the man. 
That was, of course, if Skinner didn't kill him on sight for 
disobeying his orders again. 

He came on a pool of blood drying on the forest floor and his heart 
sank. It took him several agonizing minutes to locate the body and 
with a sigh of relief realized that it was not Skinner. He had moved 
only about fifty feet away when Skinner grabbed him again and pulled 
him into the underbrush. 

"Cut it out, Walter! I'm only . . . " 

"Wrong, Pretty Boy." 

His heart stopped as he realized his captor was not Walter Skinner. 
His only hope was that Richards would go ahead and kill him quickly 
before Skinner could get his hands on his disobedient and luckless 
agent. 

The AD had just completed a clean kill on the fourth hunter. This 
should leave a clear message to Them that no one would be allowed to 
hurt Fox. If they did, they could expect to end up dead. He didn't 
like to kill, it wasn't really who he was. But the Consortium did not 
play by the rules. The only thing they understood was power. Skinner 
was determined to prove to them that he was not only fully capable of 
defending his property, he would do so with terminal force when 
necessary. 

He crept carefully behind a large tree on the edge of a small 
clearing. He wanted to make his way back to Mulder and check on him. 
The boy just could not be trusted to do as he was told. He was 
relatively certain that only Richards remained in the forest. He had 
to take care of the rogue ex-agent and then get Fox out of here and to 
a hospital to be checked out. Then home. He had never wanted anything 
in his life as much as he wanted Mulder safely home - with him. 

As he peered around the tree, he saw a naked man tied face first to a 
tree. Of course it was Mulder, down from his safe hiding place and in 
trouble as usual. Richards was no where in sight. The AD scanned the 
area waiting patiently. He wasn't sure what the man had in mind but if 
it involved beating the shit out of Mulder, Skinner thought he might 
not interfere for a while. It would save him the trouble later. 

That line of thought stopped abruptly when he saw Richards walk up to 
stand behind Mulder, a large skinning knife in his right hand. 

"Your Master is going to be too late to save your pretty hide, Spooky. 
I caught you fair and square and now I'm going to skin you like the 
prized little Fox you are. Won't that be fun?" 

"You're crazy, Richards." Mulder felt the razor sharp knife slide 
easily into his skin, leaving a small cut at the nape of his neck, " 
Why Richards? Why . . . you . . . hate him. ..so much?" 

"Skinner? Because, he stole Sharon away from me. She and I went to 
college together. I was dating her until he got back from Vietnam. 
Then she left me for him . . . and he killed her. He's a big Assistant 
Director and I was still a lowly agent. He should have gone to jail," 
he grabbed Mulder by the hair and slammed his head into the tree, "He 
killed her!" 

Skinner's breath caught in his throat. He had known that Sharon was 
dating someone from college when they met but it hadn't meant much at 
the time. He and Sharon had hit it off so quickly, it had almost been 
love at first sight. Skinner had never given a thought to that jilted 
boyfriend until now. Now that he held a knife to Mulder's bloody back. 

Richards laughed madly as he brought the knife back up and laid the 
blade against the skin at the top of Mulder's spine. The dazed agent 
closed his eyes and waited for the cut that he knew would run 
vertically down the center of his back. He had worked on a case once 
where the victims had been skinned. The crime scene photos played on a 
continuous loop through his memory, tormenting him with vivid images 
of his own immediate fate. 

"Step away from him, Richards." 

The former agent pivoted on his heel, knife held above his head. 
"Murderer! You killed her and now I'm going to kill what you love 
most. She belonged to me and you killed her." 

"Stop where you are, Richards, a knife is no weapon against this gun." 

Richards stared at the barrel of the AD's weapon for one breathless 
minute and then abruptly turned and brought the knife down at the base 
of Mulder's neck. 

A single shot rang out just as the knife sliced into Mulder's smooth 
skin. The agent flinched as he felt the sharp pain and the hot trickle 
of blood running down his back. 

He heard the sound of a body slumping to the ground behind him. He 
hoped it was Richards but could not force himself to look over his 
shoulder. He did not want to his last sight on earth to be Walter's 
lifeless body. 

He relaxed as he felt a soothing hand on his shoulder and heard a 
gruffly familiar voice in his ear, "Time to go home, Mulder. Scully 
misses you." Mulder relaxed and felt the darkness swirl around him. As 
he lost consciousness, the last thing he heard was his Master's voice, 
"You still don't have a clue how to follow a direct order, do you 
Boy?" 

* * * 

Their House
Six Weeks Later 

Mulder lay face down across the whipping bench in the playroom, eyes 
facing his corner. This bench had been custom built by AD Skinner 
himself especially for his recalcitrant slave, high enough that his 
long legs barely reached the floor, his full weight resting on the 
padded bench. His head also rested comfortably on the soft leather 
covering. No neck cramps for Walter Skinner's pretty little slave, no 
way, no sir, he thought sarcastically. His Master liked to save all 
the pain for another, much more appropriate, area of his body. 

Mulder was wearing one of Scully's favorite outfits, tight faded jeans 
and nothing else. He shivered, even covered in denim his butt felt 
exposed and vulnerable. He doubted it would stay covered for long, it 
was due for some very unwanted attention from his Master. 

He stared forlornly at <his> corner. In that overly used part of the 
room, all ready and waiting, was another of Scully's little craft 
projects. His punishment stool. 

Most of the time, it sat in the sunny kitchen window. A tall stool 
with a cheerful ruffled cloth over it, matching bows around the legs 
and a big ferny plant thing sitting on top. Scully got lots of 
compliments, both on her green thumb and her pretty plant stand. If 
they only knew. Under that bright little tablecloth rested a piece of 
bristle brush door mat, cut to fit and glued securely to the top of 
the stool. 

It made a miserable seat for a freshly punished man's bottom. Mulder 
knew that for a fact, he had made its acquaintance before. He hated 
that stool with a passion usually reserved for Cancerman and broccoli. 

It had been three weeks since he had made the fatal mistake of 
climbing down out of that tree to help Skinner. When they had gotten 
home, his Master had not mentioned his mistake until Mulder was 
completely healed from his injuries. Then he had waited another full 
week. Mulder was sure by that time that he had gotten off scott free. 
Until tonight, when his Master had dressed him in these too tight 
jeans and announced that Mulder would spend the rest of the evening 
paying for his sins. 

He glanced at the bench in front of his face. There lay a heavy 
eighteen inch long by three inch wide solid oak paddle and a bar of 
Irish Spring soap. It did not bode well for Mulder. He could think of 
at least two very uncomfortable places that soap could go and he 
wasn't looking forward to either. 

"Keep your eyes on that stool, Fox. Dana worked hard to make that for 
you, the least you can do is admire her efforts." 

Yeah, right. Special Agent Dana Scully, Torture Tool Designer. At 
least he wouldn't have to worry that she would starve, should she 
decide to give up her career in the FBI. Eyes on the sadistic little 
stool, Mulder became lost in thought about what would be done with 
that soap tonight. 

He remembered the last time soap had come into play. Skinner had taken 
him over his lap for a very long and very painful open hand spanking. 
The man had a hand like a slab of oak and the stamina of a bull. 
Mulder had been sure that he would never stop slapping his exposed and 
blistered butt. It really felt like he had been forced to sit on a hot 
stove by the time the man finally finished with him. 

He had laid passively over his Master's lap, sobbing quietly and 
waiting for permission to get up, when he became aware of something 
wet and slick sliding into his most private opening. 

His body froze for a moment and then he felt the beginnings of a deep 
burning sensation. He squirmed frantically and begged Skinner to take 
whatever it was out. Instead Skinner had inserted a very small two 
inch long butt plug and then allowed his distraught slave to get off 
his lap. Mulder immediately grabbed for his sore backside hoping to 
dislodge the insidious little intruder while he hopped from foot to 
foot. 

Then much to his embarrassment, he had been pulled onto his Master's 
lap. He sat there squirming, with his bare, sore butt chafing against 
neatly pressed wool dress slacks and his face flaming a bright red. 
Skinner had made him go over his every transgression in through and 
mind numbing detail for over an hour. All the while the slender little 
slice of, what he was later to discover, was ordinary bar soap had 
burned into the tender tissue inside his body. He had never been so 
glad to be released from a punishment in his life. It was also the 
last time he had ever taken Scully off on a weekend that Skinner was 
out of town, to hunt sea monsters. 

He was so lost in his miserable reflections, that he didn't at first 
notice that Skinner was standing beside him. 

"Tell me why you're going to be punished tonight, Fox?" 

He found a familiar but dangerous anger rising inside of him. "You 
told me to stay in that damned tree and I disobeyed your order." 

He had meant for that to sound contrite but had failed miserably. It 
was pure sarcasm and he could feel Skinner's eyes glittering down at 
him. 

"That's right you disobeyed my direct order - again. That's quite a 
bad habit for you, isn't it, my obstinate little slave?" 

Mulder abhorred being called <little>, he felt the anger rise another 
notch. "Yes, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir. I just . . . didn't want you to get 
hurt." As if the man appreciated his concern in the least. 

"And why was that, Fox? Why did you want to protect me?" 

Mulder shut his eyes against the strong emotions rolling through his 
body, "Because . . . .I . . . .because I lo . . . Fuck! . . . because 
I love you, damn it to hell!" 

"How romantic." Skinner bent down and kissed his slave's trembling 
lips, "I love you too, Fox. That's why I do this to you. I want to 
protect you from yourself." 

Skinner moved behind him and ran a hand over the tightly stretched 
fabric of his jeans. "You have such a beautiful ass, Fox. I could just 
stand and look at it for hours. Of course, I am going to do more than 
look at it tonight." 

Skinner picked up the wooden paddle and ran the smooth wood down the 
entire length of Mulder's long back. 

The paddle left its resting place at his waist and immediately 
connected with his up thrust butt. Mulder gasped at the sting, he was 
amazed how much it hurt even through the heavy fabric. 

"Hurts, doesn't it?" 

"Yes, Sir, it hurts." Mulder ground out between gritted teeth. 

The paddle landed again, the sound reverberating off the walls of the 
sparsely furnished room. "Think how much this is going to hurt when I 
finally take your pants down and use it on your bare ass." 

"Ouch! Yes . . . yes, Sir." 

"Do you know how many you're going to get for that little trick you 
pulled in the woods, Fox?" The paddle landed again causing its victim 
to jerk vigorously on the padded bench. 

"No, Sir. Oh-h-h-h! Sir, please not so hard." 

The fourth stroke landed harder than the last one, "It has to be hard, 
Fox, otherwise you won't learn your lesson. Now how many of these 
strokes do you think you are going to get for disobeying my orders?" 

"I . . . I don't know, Sir. Maybe, tw . . . twenty, Sir?" 

"No, Fox. You're going to get 100 strokes." 

Mulder jumped up from his prone position to stare, open mouthed, at 
his Master. His backside was already on fire inside the uncomfortably 
tight fitting jeans. Surely he could not be expected to take 100 
stokes with that vicious paddle. 

"100! Are you crazy? I can't take 100. You'll kill me!" 

"Position 1, Fox, Now!" Mulder immediately dropped to his knees at the 
big man's feet. "Look at me!" Mulder raised frightened eyes to meet 
those of his Master. "You just don't learn, Kid. And if you don't 
learn, you put yourself in danger. I won't have that. This punishment 
is going to be different. Next time you decide to disobey my orders, 
I'm quiet certain a mental picture of this paddle will run through 
your mind." 

Skinner held up the object of his agent's torture and watched the 
young man swallow convulsively. 

"Do you think I'm going to give you the one hundred all at once, Fox?" 
He watched as Mulder nodded, "Haven't you figured out yet that I love 
you too much to cause you to end up in bed from a punishment? Everyone 
else knows that I love you, why can't you get it through that thick 
head of yours?" 

Mulder stared at him for a moment, swallowing hard, "I do know," he 
whispered. 

"Good. So here's how it's going to work. You are going to take two 
more on that gorgeous jean covered butt of yours and then we are going 
to take the pants down and you are going to get ten on the bare. Then 
you will spend an hour in the corner on Scully's little stool. That 
should make for a very sore backside tonight. Those little bristles do 
tend to burrow into the most tender places." 

He watched as Mulder swallowed hard again and glanced at the insidious 
little stool. His eyes snapped back to his Master as the man spoke 
again. 

"Every morning this week, after breakfast, you will bare your butt and 
ask me very nicely for six more from this paddle. Then you will leave 
for work with a very hot bottom under those designer suits of yours." 

He watched Mulder closely as the grim news sunk into his dazed mind. 

"Every night you will come home at a reasonable hour, eat a nutritious 
meal, bare your bottom and ask me to give you six additional swats. 
You will then go to bed. I believe that by this time next week, Fox, 
you will have certainly learned a valuable lesson. Don't you think?" 

"Ye . . . .yes, Sir." 

"And I would suggest you watch your behavior this week. Additional 
punishment would be most painful on a bottom as sore as yours is going 
to stay for the next seven days." 

A wide eyed Mulder could only nod his head. 

"Good, now get back into position and lets get this over with before I 
decide to give you a few extra for this delay." 

Mulder scrambled back up onto the bench, his bottom up and ready. The 
next two strokes of the paddle seemed excessively hard and burned 
their way across his tightly stretched butt causing Mulder to cry out 
in pain and his pants hadn't even come down yet. 

He felt Skinner reach under him and lower his zipper. Slow gentle 
hands circled his waist then traveled up his back and down again. They 
finally stopped at the waistband of his jeans and pushed their way 
inside, causing the rough fabric to scrape painfully across his paddle 
warmed skin. He soon lay naked and defenseless. 

Skinner ran a hand over the smooth reddened skin. Such a beautiful 
backside. He ran his hand down under Mulder, his fingers skittering 
over his flat stomach and then down further to squeeze his cock. 

Mulder felt himself harden in his Master's hand. After several minutes 
of rubbing and squeezing the hand retreated and Mulder moaned, missing 
its warmth. 

"Ten on the bare, Fox. Count each one and thank me for it." 

The first stroke came up and under, landing on the tender area where 
bottom met thigh. It was so hard that Mulder's feet were forced up off 
the floor, a harsh cry escaping his lips. He choked out a strangled 
sounding, "One. Th . . . thank you, Sir." He hung onto the bench for 
dear life. 

The next four were not nearly as hard but the damage had already been 
done, his bottom was on fire and overly sensitive to the strokes of 
the paddle. As a sobbing Mulder counted out each stroke he could not 
see the wince that appeared on his Master's face as he delivered each 
stinging blow. 

Skinner took pity on his sobbing slave and delivered stokes number 
five and six to the backs of his as yet unmarked thighs. Mulder did 
not appreciate his charitable efforts, as the young man's cries of 
distress clearly indicated. 

The AD moved over and gently rubbed soothing circles on Mulder's lower 
back, provoking another pained cry as his hand wondered down to pet 
the burning flesh of Mulder's scorched buns. 

"You're doing well, Fox, three more and it's over for today." 

He wasn't sure Mulder had even heard him, he was so lost in his own 
world of pain and tears.

Skinner hardened his heart, stepped back and delivered three swift 
hard strokes to the underside of Mulder's blistered butt, right where 
he would feel them the most as he sat in his wretched corner. 

"Ouch! Oh! Oh-h-h! Te..ten. Thank you, Sir!" 

"You're welcome, Fox. As soon as you're ready, I'll help you get 
properly situated on your stool." 

Mulder sat miserably on his punishment stool, his feet tied to the 
outside of the legs by the pretty big bows, hands on his head, his 
full weight resting on the prickly little sharp bristles. If he sat 
still it hurt. If he wiggled it hurt worse. If he complained he would 
have to sit there longer. 

He looked down at his throbbing erection. Even with the horrible 
little bristles of the doormat prickling the underside of his balls, 
digging into his sensitive anus and torturing his flaming butt cheeks, 
the cockring kept him fully erect and aching for release. 

After what seemed like hours but in reality had been only twenty 
minutes, Skinner walked over to his repentant sub. Gently lifting his 
chin to meet tear filled eyes. "Do you want the soap now, Fox?" 

A new fear appeared in the large almond shaped hazel eyes staring up 
at him. It was obvious that Mulder had forgotten about the bar of 
soap. 

"Please no, Sir. I'm sorry. I'll follow orders from now on, you won't 
have to worry about that again." 

Skinner snorted, "Yeah, right! Why do I doubt you, Fox? It isn't that 
I think you would lie to me, I know you're an honest man but I also 
know that you're an impulsive one. You'll disobey me again but maybe 
next time you'll think twice and at least tell me what you're up to so 
I can help. That's all I'm hoping for at this point." 

Mulder nodded absently, his full attention on the bar of soap in 
Skinner's hand. The hand suddenly rose and the soap was right in front 
of his face. 

"Now you have three choices with this soap, Fox. We can cut a sliver 
for you to wear in your backside for a while. I know how much you 
enjoyed that last time. Or we can put this bar in your mouth for a 
while. Should make the time on Scully's stool more memorable for you. 
Or . . . " 

Mulder looked at him with fearful beseeching eyes. 

"Or you can ask me to make love to you and we'll forget about the soap 
for tonight. But I warn you, this isn't going to be like every other 
time. I am not going to seduce you. You are going to be doing most of 
the work tonight. So what will it be, Fox?" 

Mulder stared at him for a moment, eyes wide and bottom lip caught 
between two rows of sharp white teeth. Skinner reached out and gently 
dialoged the abused lip. He smiled at his slave and whispered softly, 
"You bloody that pretty lip and I'll make you regret it." 

Mulder startled for a moment and then smiled back at his Dom. He 
remembered a cold, frightening room in New York, six lecherous old 
monsters seated around a table, anxious to see Mulder hurt and 
humiliated . And, he remembered the man who had protected him. The man 
who had proven his love for him in a hundred different ways since 
then. This man was good and honest and caring. Deserving of love. 

Mulder swallowed hard, "Will . . . you make love to me tonight, Sir?" 

"No." Mulder's face fell. "But I'll let you seduce me." 

Mulder smiled. 

"Do you know how?" Skinner raised one eyebrow in question. 

The smile vanished instantly and confusion washed over Mulder's 
handsome face, he blinked at his Dom several times before he stuttered 
out, "Uh-h-h . . . well, no. Probably not. Well, I mean I know the 
basics but I've never really . . . well, you know . . . .I am usually 
. . . .and this will be . . . and . . . it can't be that much 
different . . . I mean I have seduced women before . . .well not 
lately but . . . I ve watched you . . . well, not exactly watched you 
. . .I mean I tend to lose my concentration but I think . . . " 

Skinner threw back his head and laughed as he untied his slave and 
helped him down from his miserable perch. Pulling the young man into a 
rib bruising hug, "You have got the be the cutest FBI Agent in the 
history of the bureau." 

He laughed again as Mulder snarled in outraged indignity, "I am not 
<cute>!" Using what he hoped was his most menacing voice and pulling 
back to glare threateningly at the big AD. 

Skinner thought that was cute, too. 

He grabbed Mulder's wrist and pulled him toward their bedroom, "Come 
on, Tough Guy, I'll teach you the proper way to seduce an Assistant 
Director. Could do wonders for your career." 

The End