TITLE: Orchids In Bloom
AUTHOR: bugs
EMAIL ADDRESS: bugsfic@yahoo.com
SPOILER WARNING: One tiny reference to The Unnatural; information
that is known to all inhabitants of the Western world.
RATING: NC-17 all the way. I'm so ashamed.
CONTENT WARNING: A fluffy bit of smut, so those persons who are on
a higher plane should fly away.
CLASSIFICATION: MSR, S, H+
SUMMARY: Scully interrogates Mulder and he spills it.
ACKNOWLEDMENTS: Thanks to Ambress, Finn and Kerri for being
willing to beta some smut. Also, thanks to the feedbackers who
encourage me to keep writing in this alternative universe.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story takes place in my Butterflies Universe.
It's positioned soon after the action of 'Butterflies All Tied Up'
and before 'Even Doves Have Pride'. No familiarity with the
Prince song is necessary to read these stories, nor do you need to
read the rest of the series to catch up. All you need to know is
that Mulder and Scully are involved.

 

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*

Doubt thou the stars are fire;
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be liar;
But never doubt I love.

from Hamlet by Big Willie

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*

 

I'm doing pretty good, I think. I'm able to maneuver up the stoop
to Scully's apartment building with only one fall. My chin hurts
though. Not an 'Ouch!' hurt, but a dull, 'ow' hurt. That's good
for me.

I'm sure I have a scrape on my chin and when she sees it, she'll
realize I'm in a. . .condition. Hopefully I can get into bed
without waking her. I just have to open the door. . .okay, so
it's taking me three tries to get the key in the lock--but as soon
as I get in the apartment. . .ahh. . .there!

"Mulder?" A drowsy voice wafts through the open bedroom door.

I clear my throat to try to sound as sober as possible. "It's
me."

I hear the safety click back in place on her weapon. It's all
clear to enter the bedroom. I linger in the doorway, trying to
decide how to take that piss I desperately need, undress, and get
into bed; all while more blasted than I've been since my college
graduation night.

"Wha time is it?" asks the sleepy voice. I can hear the sheets
whisper against her silk pajamas as she rolls over to check the
clock.

I don't want her to struggle to focus on the small numbers. They
look huge and glaringly red to me from across the room.
Squinting, I bellow, "It's 3:32 am!"

Too loud. Bad boy, Mulder. The dark shape in the bed rises up to
a sitting position. "That late? Didn't the club close at 2am?"

Okay, the interrogation has begun. I force down a defensive tone.
"Yes, but one of the guys needed some help getting home."

"So you helped him?" She's getting out of bed. I back up slowly
so she can't get downwind of me, bumping into her dresser.

"Yes." Keep it short and sweet, that's what I've learned from
years of questioning suspects.

"Oh." Seeming disinterested, she passes me without a glance and
goes into the bathroom.

In anguish, I listen to her take the piss I am now dying to have.

When she comes out of the bathroom, she lingers in the doorway.
Over her shoulder, I stare at the toilet, so beautiful, shiny and
white. "Did you have a good time?"

I can't be a gentleman any longer. Brushing past her with a
muffled 'excuse me', I weave my way to the toilet and flip up the
seat. Damn! My fumbling, frantic fingers can't get my fly down.

"Need help with that?" She's moved with amazing speed to my side.
It takes a great deal of effort to turn my head and look at her.

I sound five years old. "Please?"

A small hand carefully unzips my fly. "Uh. . ." I only meant for
her to do that, but the hand slips into the opening of my boxers
before I can stop it. It gently grips my dick and pulls it out.

I should be mortified. But. . .I really have to pee.

As I finally have my release, her voice whispers in my ear, "I've
always wondered how this was done."

"Huh?" It seems pretty straightforward to me.

"Do you aim it or does it just take care of itself?" It dawns on
me that she holds the power in her hand, so to speak, to humiliate
me. I reach down to relieve her of my dick. Jeez, this has to be
the longest piss of my life.

The grip tightens ever so slightly. "I have it, don't worry.
Concentrate on standing up."

I begin to sweat. That nasty, stinking, drunk sweat. This is a
clever technique. The questions will begin again.

"Now what?"

"Huh?"

She glances down at my dick. "You're finished. Don't guys do
something now?" She reaches for the toilet paper.

We've been sort of living together for a couple of weeks now. I
know there's no set schedule for relationships, but we hadn't
gotten to that watching each other pee point yet. Well, we seemed
to have reached it with a bang.

"No! Uh, here." I snatch away my cock from her. Really! I'm not
a child! I give it a dignified jiggle and tuck back in.

"That's it? That works?" She seems repulsed as I move past her
to the sink. I'd better wash my hands when she's watching.

"Yes." Back to simple answers.

"Do you want some aspirin?"

I fight the urge to be churlish. "Yes, that would be nice. Thank
you."

While she bustles around getting the glass of water and pills, I
stagger back into the bedroom to collapse in the chair and try to
undress. I get as far as tightening my tie to a painful noose and
removing one shoe by the time she returns.

"Here." Her tiny fingers manage to loosen the tie in a second and
slip it off over my head. She's down on her knees to take off my
other shoe.

"So. . ."

Here it comes. I decide to take the offensive. "There were
women!"

She rolls her head back to look up at me, her face caught in the
light streaming from the bathroom. An eyebrow arches. "Really?
Well, it was a bachelor party."

I retreat. "Yes."

I've left an opening. As she unbuttons my shirt, she asks,
"Women? More than one?"

I would shift my eyes, but that would require too much strength.
"Yes."

"Two? Three?"

"Two."

"And they stripped?" Pop! Pop! Pop! Damn, those buttons coming
loose from their tight holes are loud!

I consider my answer carefully. "They were naked, yes."

Her hands feel dry and hot on my clammy flounder belly as she
pushes my shirt open. "So did they begin nude or did they undress
for you?"

"It wasn't for me! I was just sitting there!" I sound a little
defensive.

She soothes. "Of course."

Is she mocking me? "I was a guest! I had to be a good guest."

She allows some sarcasm to escape. "Your mother would be so
proud."

I stand and waver. Still down on her knees, Scully undoes my belt
and unzips my pants. I'm ashamed to see absolutely no response
from my cock. This looks bad. So far she's held it and is now
down on her knees with her hot breath on my shorts, and . .
.nothing. Damn booze.

She doesn't seem to notice as I somehow manage to step out of the
pants without falling. "So two nude women. . ."

Oh yes. That's right. I'm being grilled. "Yes."

"They danced?"

"You could say that. . ." I have to collapse back onto the chair.

She let's her aggression show. "What does that mean?"

"There was music. They moved."

"But you wouldn't call it dancing?" She's slipping my socks off
and I'm horrified to smell my own feet. God, I hate drunk sweat.
I need to bathe.

"It was a dance. Of a sort."

"How primitive sounding." She's intrigued.

"I wouldn't say that. It was rather complicated."

"Like a performance piece?"

Something to grab onto. "I'm sure someone could put it on stage
in New York and sell tickets."

Her hands are on my knees and she's staring straight into my face.
I began to perspire in earnest. "How much did you pay for this
performance?"

"I didn't pay! We all chipped in. I didn't even get to choose
. . .the performance!"

"How much?"

"$400."

"What!" She rolls back on her heels and I envy her dexterity.

"$400 for a couple of nude women to shimmy around?"

"They didn't shimmy."

"Oh?"

"They did quite a bit more." I had to justify the expense.

"Like what?"

"They gave. . .pleasure."

"To you?"

"No! I just sat there. I was a guest!"

"So you just sat there. Did one of them sit on you?" Her eyes
become slits and she picks up my pants to examine them.

"No! I told you, no dancing of any sort!"

"Who were they giving pleasure to then?"

"Each other." There. That sounds straightforward. I was present
while two women just happened to be getting off. Simple. A
weight is lifted from my shoulders. I should have told her
everything the minute I came in the door!

Her staccato words pierce my soft, mushy brain. "You paid two
prostitutes to perform a sexual act?"

"No! It wasn't that at all! They weren't prostitutes!"

Rocking back on her heels, she calmly says, "Women who perform
sexual acts for money are prostitutes."

"No, only if they do it to you," I protest.

She retorts, "Someone needs to explain the gray areas to me here.
They performed an act for your sexual gratification--"

I cut her off. "Not for me! I was a guest!"

"So you sat there mentally making out your grocery list?"

I go back to tried and true. "Yes."

She rises to her feet and looms over me, blocking out the light.
I'm grateful. "Why do I not believe you?"

"I was a guest. I was only being polite." That's my story and I'm
sticking to it.

"You told me that. I just can't believe you guys paid those women
$400 to do something you could watch for $3 on a porn video."

"That's not the same. Not the same at all," I say feverishly,
suddenly overwhelmed by the images and sounds of a few hours ago.

"Oh?" She snaps me back to the present with her sharp as a
titanium needle tone.

"No," I answer carefully. What's her move now?

"How is it different?" she asks.

"It just is." There's no way in hell I'm telling her all the in
and outs of my responses to pornography and live erotic
entertainment.

She begins folding my clothes, the picture of the little woman.
I'm not fooled for a moment. "What did they do specifically?"

"Scully!"

She blinks at me with big owlish eyes. "Well, if you were just
sitting there being polite, I would assume you had plenty of time
to take notes."

"They got each other off, that's all," I mutter.

Dryly, she says, "I doubt that."

"I swear, they didn't touch me!" I sound suspiciously like a
squealing pig to my ears.

Patiently, she explains, "No. I meant, I doubt they got off on
it. Those poor women. So let's see. $400. The 'manager' of the
club got $200. That's leaves $200 for them to split. $100 to
degrade yourself for slobbering strangers. No thanks."

"Well, I certainly would never expect you to do anything like
that!" I huff.

"Oh?"

"You would never do anything like that!" I protest.

"Oh?" A word loaded down heavier than a lifeboat from the
Titanic.

I don't know where to begin for my next move. "Uh. . .if you
wanted to do those things, it would be your right. I mean, to
each their own. . ."

The big eyes narrow. "What sort of things?"

I gulp. "Well, there were dildos present."

She furrows her brow. "You mean the women were wearing dildos on
harnesses and fucking each other?"

I may be drunk, but I'm not dead. My cock gives a little hop at
Scully talking sort-of-dirty.

"Yes."

She shakes her head. "I don't understand this male fantasy at all.
What's the point? Why don't you watch a man, with a real penis,
engage in sexual relations with a woman?"

She just doesn't get it. I sigh. "That's not the same."

She lets her gaze fall onto my flat lap. "I suppose if there was
another man present there would be issues of comparison to deal
with. Kind of ruins the fantasy, eh?"

Stiffly I answer. "Yes."

"So it has nothing to do with intercourse between two females.
Real lesbians giving each other sexual pleasure, that is."

When did this become a round table discussion? "You don't think
lesbians use dildos?"

"I know for a fact many do not."

Now it's my turn to furrow my brow. "Oh?"

"I will not share the confidences of friends for your fevered
little imagination," she says sharply.

"Uh--I wasn't asking you to." I'm sure my guilty face gives me
away.

She crosses her arms. "Most women derive their sexual pleasure
from clitoral stimulation. Vaginal stimulation does nothing for
them. You know that, don't you?"

I can't help myself. "You seem to do all right. I mean, both
ways."

She actually blushes as she turns away. "That's different."

I reach out to stroke her arm and watch the fine, pale hairs stand
on end in the beam of light from the bathroom. "How?"

She swings back around to look me square in the eye. The game
playing is over. I better pay attention. "It's different between
us, that's all. It's not a theoretical discussion. It's not
impersonal suggestions about what may or may not work for sexual
pleasure. It's not fantasies and role-playing. It's just you and
me."

Why did 'you and me' sound so fucking sexy? As sexy as reading
the back of video box had in the past?

I croak, "Oh?"

"Yeah. . ." She moves closer. But she's not touching me. At
all. But I can't stop my breath from quickening.

"Do you want to try an experiment?"

I don't know where she's going with this. "Yes. I mean, what
kind of experiment?"

"I'll put forward the theory that I can get you to come without
touching you. Without even talking dirty to you."

"What sort of experiment is that?"

"It'll prove that a truly satisfactory sexual experience is one
based on a relationship. A relationship with intimate--" Somehow
she was breathing that word into my ear so that it swept over my
over-heated brain, cooling the pulsing hot folds. "--knowledge.
That knowledge makes it possible to have a much more intense
sexual experience than an impersonal, if intriguing, sexual
encounter with a stranger. Or in this case, two strangers."

"Normally, Scully, I would bow to your theories." She shoots me
an astonished look. "At least in this area." I sadly look down
at my lap. "But little Mulder is sleeping it off, I'm afraid."

She moves behind my chair. "I understand. But that's what's
makes being a scientist so exciting. You can theorize all you
want. . ." Her hair brushes my ear as she bends over to whisper
in my other ear. "But you're never quite sure what the outcome
will be. Right?"

"Yes."

"So you're willing to give me a chance?" The hairs on the back of
my neck stand on end as her soft words dance through them.

"A chance?"

"A chance to see if I can turn you on more than those women did?"

"Scully--I wasn't turned on. Trust me. We need potatoes and foil
and toilet paper. . ."

Her chuckle massages my tight shoulder muscles.

"That's all right, Mulder. I can understand you being turned on
by watching a sexual act. I would hope you would be. It means
you have an active imagination. I like your imagination. . .
especially when you use it on me."

"I had some time to think of a few things. Over the years, that
is."

"Yes. Thanks for sharing some of them."

"Want to share some of your fantasies with me?" I almost beg. I
had had this ridiculous belief that physical intimacy with Dana
Scully would give me the 'answer' to her. I should have known
that this would be like any other quest I'd undertaken: complex
and often frustrating. And like every other quest, I have no
intention of wavering on my course.

"I told you, this isn't going to be about fantasies. It's going
to be about the real. The tangible. The hard. . .cold. . .well,
maybe hot. . .facts," she murmurs.

"Are there rules?"

"What?"

"Rules. Are there rules of this game," I ask.

"I told you, it's not a game. It's deadly serious. I'm a
scientist, after all." She's moving away.

"All right. What are the parameters of the experiment?" I call
after her.

She flicks on the bedroom light, frying my retinas. "No touching.
Of each other or ourselves. No clothing removal. No provocative
movements of any sort."

"Scully, no way! I'm limp as a wet noodle as it is. There's no
way." I motion with frustration to my lower body.

"Just words, Mulder. I'll do it just with words. Your
imagination will do the rest," she says with a small smile as she
settles herself on the edge of the bed, her small pale feet
dangling loosely.

"Aren't your feet cold? What kind of words will make that happen?
You said no dirty words, right?"

"Thank you, Mulder. Yes, my feet are cold." She gets up, goes to
the bureau and retrieves a pair of socks. Sitting back on the
edge of the bed, she leans over to pull them on. I can see her
breasts swinging, heavy and loose, inside her top. I gulp and she
straightens up quickly, giving me a sharp glance. "No dirty
words, other than in a descriptive sense. I'm not going to get
that scientific on you. I'll call a cock a cock, for instance."

"So this'll be a dirty story?" I swallow the lump that's developed
in my throat.

She grins wickedly. "It will be a bedtime story."

"Should I get in bed?" I ask hopefully.

"No. I don't trust you. Stay there." She settles back on the
bed. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes."

"Good." She clears her throat. "Once upon a time, there was a
pretty average looking princess."

"Ah, now, Scully--"

"I'm telling the story. Shush. The princess was very lonely.
Only she didn't know she was lonely. She was in a deep, deep,
sleep. A sleep with her eyes open, but not seeing."

I settle back in the chair and she settles back into the pillows
of the bed. This is nice. I won't get off, but I'm curious as to
where the story is going.

"There was a very handsome prince there too. Maybe he had heard
that a kiss could wake a princess, but he couldn't get up the
nerve to try." She rolls over and gives me another wicked little
grin. Uh-oh, it's going to be that story.

"So the princess thought he was waiting for another fair maiden to
come along, and not being the sort of princess to make a fool of
herself, didn't dwell on him too much."

"Not too much at all?"

"Nope. Stop interrupting. Then one day, a very bad troll came
out of his hole and hurt the princess. The prince was very upset
and cried tears of wine. A wine that made the princess drunk, so
drunk she kissed the prince after she drank them. And then there
was no going back."

"No?"

"Nope. The spell had been broken for the princess. But no one
told the prince. He could be pretty thick-headed sometimes."

"Are we going to get to the sexy part yet?"

"Soon, very soon." She rolls back over to face me again and I
watch the fabric of her top dip low and reveal some flesh.

I point. "No fair!"

She shifts the top back up and gives me a dirty look. "Where was
I? Oh, yes. So the princess tried to let the prince know she was
interested. But subtly. So that he would think it was his
idea--"

I had to break in. "Why the hell would the princess do that? Why
wouldn't she just say, 'Prince, I wanna fuck.'?"

She gives me a withering look. "Because she knew the prince
really well. She knows he can be skittish. He needs to feel
strong and masterful."

"He does?"

"Yes. Sometimes. Like when he shows her how to play baseball."

Oh. Hmmm...Hadn't really thought about that. Loss of feelings of
control at crucial time of sexual development leads to problems
with relationships. Often pursues relationships with strong-
willed women, resulting in feelings of loss of masculinity and
thus leading to breakdown of relationships...but she's been going
on without me--

"The prince kisses the princess but he's afraid of hurting her.
So he runs away. The princess has to chase him. And she does.
She realizes she has to be in control just one more time, until he
realizes the spell is broken."

"What spell?"

She squints at me. "The spell that made all love hurt him."

"Oh."

"And the princess is very, very happy. You want to know why?"

I think she's getting to the dirty part. I whisper, "Yeah..."

She rolls onto her back and I watch her chest rise and fall. Her
breathing has quickened. She's excited. I find my breath
quickening too.

"The princess decided to kiss the prince. Just to know how it
could feel to plunder the castle, so to speak. But she needed so
much more..." Those last words came out as a groan and I join
her.

She gives me a look of reprimand. I press my lips together.

"And she gets it. You kissed my breast. Not just any kiss, but
an open-mouthed suckle."

I remember that moment. That first moment of having Scully's
breast in my mouth. Wow. . .

She takes a deep, calming breath. "I can feel the back of your
tongue on my nipple and just when I think it can't feel any
better, you slip your tongue over the top of it and the slick,
warm underside of your tongue was caressing my nipple. Oh God,
Mulder, you can't imagine how that feels!"

I gasp out, "No, I can't."

She gives me a sad look. "I'm sorry, baby. I try to do it to
you, but your nipples don't protrude enough."

"That's okay. I mean, hearing about it is nice. Very nice."

"I'm glad. Where was I? Oh yes. My nipple and your tongue. So,
your tongue feels just how I imagine my own cunt would feel on my
nipple, if I could somehow pull that off. Because I can feel
myself, so hot and wet. I can feel myself opening and closing, my
lips, gasping for your life-giving breath, for your cock. . ."

Jeez, too many images for my addled brain. So the blood leaves my
brain and heads on down to my dick. There's hope here yet.

"But then you pulled away and I thought I was going to have to
kill you. I'd never felt like that in my entire life. So
frantic. I needed you so bad. You knew that?"

"Uh--not really. I mean, I thought you wanted to get laid. Not
just me."

"Oh Mulder. I could get laid anytime."

Droop goes my dick. "Yeah, I know."

She slaps the bed. "I wanted you. Do you get it?"

An odd, warm sensation spreads across my limp body, as though I'm
a pancake being covered with hot syrup. I can only nod. "Okay.
Back to the story."

"Yes. I had to see it. I had to see your cock. To feel it. I
had seen it before, of course, but that almost made it worse. I
could see it in my mind, but I wanted to see it with my own eyes.
I wanted to see you hard and take it all it. Into my mind, into
my body."

I feel my hips start to lift off the chair and look down to see
the erection has returned, developing nicely. I wonder if she
will actually pull this off.

"I felt like I had to hold you down, so I didn't dare touch your
cock with my hand. I did it with my foot. Do you remember?"

Do I remember? I'm concerned I'm developing a serious foot fetish
ever since then. Perhaps it was just for her feet.

"I've never touched a hard-on with my foot before. It was a whole
new set of sensations."

"Did you like it?"

"Yes, Mulder, I did. The soles of my feet have always been very
sensitive. But you know that by now, don't you?"

I could only gurgle. I'm twisting in that fucking chair now,
trying to keep myself from jerking up too much. She rolls over
onto her stomach and I swear she's grinding her hips into the
mattress slightly. "No fair," I moan.

"Yes, the story," she pants. "I was crouched over you. For that
brief moment, I was scared. You know why?"

"You were afraid everything wouldn't be perfect?"

"Yes! Exactly. But I wanted it so bad." Every letter of 'bad' is
pulled out like a long string of caramel taffy. "So bad." She
dwells on the word again. "I let my labia just touch the head of
your cock and I could feel the life in it. I couldn't refuse
myself--you--either of us that feeling. Oh God, Mulder, it felt
so good! That first slide down. I was worried you would be too
big--"

"But I wasn't?" I try not to sound sad. My hips still.

"You were. But when I want something, I can accommodate." She
grins again. "I didn't even need to move. You were filling every
corner of me. You were beating in the chambers of my heart. You
were that large, that full in me. Do you remember?"

"Fuck, yes!" Somehow my dick has gotten out the fly of my boxers
and seems to be a red-capped, belligerent little gnome in the
middle of this conversation. I can't touch it. I remember the
rules, so I hang onto the edge of the chair for dear life.

"And then you did that thing. Oh, Christ, Mulder, you did that
thing!" She can't stop herself from humping on the bed. Well, if
we're going to break the rules, we might as well do it together.
I start to rise to go to her.

"No! Please!" She flops over on her back. "I'm in control."
Her voice quavers, but she goes on. "You started thrusting into
me...like I've never felt before. You went places no man has ever
gone. The angle...Jeez! And every time...my clit was getting
rubbed by your pelvic bone. I had to look. . .Did you look?"

"Fuck, yeah!" I'm nearly incoherent. My head has fallen to the
side and my hips are pumping up and down off the chair
unashamedly.

"When I saw your cock...it was so dark and powerful looking. I
felt like a princess...just a little silly fairy princess, being
fucked by the beast. By my big, hairy animal out behind the
palace..."

I have to close my eyes. That doesn't help. I'm getting too many
images. Our bodies that night, crashing together. Me on some
dark night, growling and snorting over her lily-white naked body.
Every muscle taut and tight, like my balls felt right now,
squeezed in a vise of need. Grinding into her. Her eyes...

Her voice, light and far away, reaches me. "Do you know your eyes
turn blue when you're about to come? Our eyes become the same
color. Look at me, Mulder. I want to see you. Like that
time..."

I manage to get my eyes open to see her face and that sends me
over the edge. Her mouth is impossibly soft looking, her lips
slightly parted. The hundred times we've made love since that
night come rushing back. I see my cock between those lips...I see
her pussy, just as soft and wet, sucking me in. I'm the man. Her
man. I've never had any woman make me feel this way. And her
eyes. Her eyes have turned sea-green. She's right. We become
the same.

I let my hips go and finally feel the release. "Fuck!" Without
my hand to draw it out, my cock shoots its stream out quickly, and
then I fall back into the chair with a groan.

"Wow."

Oh yes, I have an observer. I open my eyes again to see her
watching me avidly. Cleverly, she's used the technique of shared
intimacy to subdue me. It worked perfectly. I'm completely
incapacitated.

Scully's secrets are the deepest, richest jewels on this earth.
I'll gladly pay anything to possess even one. "Well, you did it,"
I gasp.

"No, you did it."

"We did it."

"Okay." She rolls over so her back is to me. I look at that
round little ass in the slippery short bottoms to her pajamas.

A thousand ideas come to me all at once. Clarity after
befuddlement. Unlike most men, I actually feel more mentally
sharp at moments like this.

I rise slowly from the chair. "You shouldn't have done that. Now
there's nothing left for you."

Her shoulders shrug, but I can see her little sock-covered feet
writhe together impatiently.

I feel the residual of the animal. I grab her suddenly and she
squeals. I've notice the collection of pillows has grown on her
bed as we spend more and more nights together and find more and
more uses for them.

Keeping one arm firmly around the struggling little body gasping
in my ear, I begin to pull some of them in a pile. I fling her
over the mountain I've created and yank down her pajamas bottoms.

That ass. I'll never get too much of that ass. I realize I don't
have that much energy left, better to concentrate on one area. I
know the backs of her thighs are extremely sensitive and her
knees...I start nibbling and sucking.

"Mulder!"

"Is there a problem?" I can smell her arousal and pull her hips
up higher to get a look. Her thighs part in invitation. Sure
enough, engorged clit, dripping melted butter from the folds...I
slip a finger in her opening and receive a squeeze in response.
Yep, my little hot potato is ready to be cracked open so the steam
can be released.

Shoving another pillow under her hips to bring them up to my face
level, I ignore her half-hearted protests. "Sorry, Scully. I
doubt we're going to see a repeat appearance of little Mulder
tonight, so I'm going to have to improvise."

Her response is a tightening of her ass and a wiggle of those
hips. I know I have absolutely no technique tonight, still
slightly sloppily drunk. I must make up for that with enthusiasm.
I dive in like a kid at a pie-eating contest, slurping and biting
wildly.

I pull her ass cheeks apart to give myself as much access as
possible from this angle, twisting my head to and fro to find what
I want. Her damned clit keeps disappearing into the pillows and
we both begin to groan in frustration. Perhaps I won't be getting
extra points for originality.

Finally I fling myself down on my back and just pull her back to
straddle my face. That does the trick. And I can reach her tits.
I grab two handfuls. Her restless fingers running through my hair
forces my gaze upward to look at her.

What a view! Her bright pink nipples are squeezing out from
between my gold fingers wrapped around the perfect sized globes.
Her neck is arched back so far I can see the pulse jumping in her
jugular vein as her head tosses from side to side. Her mouth
gasps and gasps for breath and I wonder if she is getting any air.

I'm not, but that's not important at this point. My life's breath
is her warm honey filling my mouth. I let go of her tits and
grasp her hips to change the angle. Now I'm in a terrarium of her
steaming humidity and her slippery, wet thighs pressed against my
ears.

I wrap my lips gently around her clit and finally manage to settle
down. Holding it delicately, I work the end with the tip of my
tongue.

She looks down at me in wonder. "Mulder. Oh God, Mulder."

She can't stop her hips from swiveling around my face, and I grip
her as hard as I can to keep her in place. I suck her clit in,
hard, and I think the pressure alone is what sends her flying.

She has to flop over the top of me, blocking out my light,
stretching away to ride out her orgasm.

Panting to her finish, she slides down my body to cover me and I
give her a good, long, doggy tongue lick as various parts pass by.
Then her hips hit my erection.

Where did that come from? I don't have time to question. She
gives out a squeal of glee. "Mulder! Just what I was looking
for!" She slips down onto me before I can think of a proper
response and starts bucking away.

I can tell already that I won't last more than a minute. I have
absolutely no control over these things when I've had too much to
drink. I'm always just thankful for the erection.

I push her back so she has to hold herself up on her hands next to
my knees. Remembering her story, I look down at our joining.
She's right. It's fucking incredible. I can see the fat cherry
of her clit riding my dick.

Okay, two things to do at once, can I handle it? I bite down hard
on my lip and concentrate. I recall her previous clear concise
instructions like they are commandments carved on a temple wall.
First, make sure to keep the hips at that thirty-six degree angle
that will cause my cock to hit her G-spot. Give short, hard jabs.
Next, reach for clit. Remember, she's already had one orgasm, but
that was off of the tip. The sides can still be worked without
discomfort.

I squeeze the plumb berry between my thumb and forefinger and
start giving it a vigorous rub down.

She pants. Pants like a dog trapped in the back of a car on a hot
day. I did that.

Jab and roll. Jab and roll. I can do this.

Oh, fuck, no I can't! I can feel the familiar painful tightness
in my groin.

"Shit! Hurry, Scully!"

She's a woman who knows how to take care of herself. She starts
shimmying on my hand at a blurring fast rate, gasping like a
runner nearing the finish line. God, I hope so. I'm lost, gushing
and thrusting upward.

She lifts the damp hair from the back of her neck in an
agonizingly slow movement as I keep the stimulation on her clit
going as fast as my fingers can twitch. "Yeah! Oh. . .oh,
Mulder!" She moans. That's it, right there, thank god! She goes
completely rigid and then boneless in one wonderful moment.

 

I can hear her speaking, but it's very far away. Across the
universe. "Mulder? Do you want some water? I think you're
dehydrated."

I can nod. That I can do.

A hand lifts my head and a cool glass is put against my lips.
Yes, that's wonderful. Goodbye. Turn the lights off when you
leave.

 

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*

 

A pounding in my head. Cotton in the mouth. Every nerve is
screaming. It must be morning.

I will not open my eyes. I will not. I listen. The sounds of
Scully. Morning sounds. The perking of coffee. The swishing of
her clothing as she dresses. The closet door opening and
shutting. A swoop as she passes me on the way out to the living
room. The TV being turned on. She's going to check the traffic.

She isn't changing the station. I hear the volume go up.

Mike Raaker, the sleaze-ball who calls himself a journalist, is
talking. I'd know that bastard's whining voice anywhere. Why
would she watch one of his horrible reports?

"...when the entire affair reached a Babylonian crescendo of
decadence. Seen here is one of the revelers, a FBI agent, Fox
Mulder, assisting an obvious prostitute to hide in a dumpster."

I open my eyes now. I believe in greeting my executioner with a
direct gaze.

"MULDER!!"

 

--The end

 

MORE AUTHOR'S NOTES: This one was inspired by my best friend and
her hapless boyfriend. We ganged up on him the other night to
squeeze the truth out of him and later, I realized it was so fun I
wanted to put Mulder through the ringer.
BTW, I wrote this before reading Rachel Howard's fabulous 'Show'.
Run, don't walk to read this perfectly written vignette.
Feedback me at: bugsfic@yahoo.com