Partners by Adriana
I've been lurking for a while, and this is my first posted Scully slash, so please be gentle...(but feedback is always appreciated) I apologize for the length, but I do hope you all enjoy the story. Please feel free to distribute as you wish--this baby is off my site, so I can't very well be restrictive, can I?
The characters and situations are the creations and property of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and the Fox Broadcasting Corporation and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended and no money shall be made with this piece of fiction.
I can only hope that the aforementioned can find it in their hearts to forgive this fan for taking hours out from watching their show and using their tie-in products to create and showcase a not-for-profit piece of work. To them, I say...please don't hurt me!
Synopsis: X-Files meets Exit to Eden...'nuff said?
Inspired by Gillian Anderson's reading of the audiobook "Exit to Eden." It takes place is a (way) alternate timeline than the show.
by Adriana -
Special Agent Dana Scully lay in bed, reading her novel and touching herself.
She had made slow progress in the book, due mostly to the fact that she couldn't read it at work. It wasn't her usual thought-provoking tome concerning medicine or current events, but a slightly trashy little piece of fluff called Exit to Eden by that woman who wrote sexbooks about vampires and bitched when Tom Cruise got cast in the movies. Dana wasn't sure why she'd picked up the book when she'd spotted it in a nearby drugstore on a narrow rack with other non-descript bestsellers. Something in the blurb had snagged her imagination like an invisible fishhook. Perhaps it was simply that things had been intense the past couple of weeks and she wanted something light and disposable. Or perhaps it was the concept of sexual slavery that had appealed to her. The idea that someone could wield such power over another that had has stimulated some long-dormant sinkhole of depravity deep inside her psyche.
It had been a long time since Dana Scully had enjoyable sex with a man she felt real love for, and she wondered if she would ever find another. Trailing that fear, like a dingy lashed to a yacht, was the fear that she would never again feel the passionate touch of a man. Hers was not a generation in which the men were receptive to strong women, especially not ones who carried high-powered pistols beneath their blazers. Neither, Dana suspected, were the men of the generation who claimed the author of the book. Was that why she invented this elaborate scenario of a woman taking complete and total control over strong, successful men? Dana didn't try to psychoanalyze, simply read and projected herself into the fantasy while her free hand strayed over her full breasts and lingered between her legs. She never quite managed to please herself--remnants of her Catholic upbringing burst like depth-chargers of guilt--usually finding herself aroused and sensitive between the silky sheets.
Tonight, however, her nerve-endings had reached a fever-pitch, and with tributaries of ice-water lancing through her chest and stomach she dogeared the page and slid out of bed and padded quietly over to the firearm lockbox she kept in her dresser. Using both hands she lifted off the top shelf where it stayed and placed it on the bureau beside her pooled keychain which she picked up and fumbled with, searching for the proper key. They felt unusually cold in her fingers. She inserted the correct one and unlatched the box, pulled open its heavy metal lid.
The box contained the Sig/Saur 9mm Bureau-issue sidearm in its canvas, clip-on holster along with three spare clips and two boxes of 9mm ammunition. Dana lifted these items out to expose the three blank, white boxes beneath. She didn't lift them out, simply popped open the lids and regarded the pink, plastic contents that sat atop black foam packing.
The leftmost box contained the one called "The UFO Vibrator." The joke wasn't lost on her. It may have factored into her decision to buy it. It had a thick, bulbous base where the battery was contained off of which sprang a thin, curved, three-inch long wand with a slightly enlarged snake-like tip. It was a multi-speed device designed to stimulate the labia or the clitoris depending upon which the operator desired to be attended to.
Inside the middle box was a straight, four-and-a-half inch long, narrow probe, the base of which was wired to a small remote-control box. The device was called "The Equalizer," though Dana hadn't a clue why. The device was designed for anal stimulation, the remote-control to allow her to take charge of the speed and direction of the probe without having to reach behind her. Dana skipped over it. This was not the sensation she desired this evening.
The rightmost box contained what would satisfy tonight's cravings. It was called "Mr. Satisfier," and asofar, it had lived up to the designation. It was a meticulously-shaped phallus, a full ten inches long and two-and-a-half inches wide, with fine detailing that included a sculpted, circumcised head and a roadmap of soft veins running along the surface. Dana gently lifted this one out of its box, unconsciously caressing it as she did so, and turned it over to check the batteries. The two Energizers were still good, and Dana carried the soft, warm shaft back to the bed with her using both hands as if it was fragile or treasured. Cool, shuddering anticipation migrated from her stomach to her chest, causing her deep breaths to shudder slightly. She slid back to her spot between the sheets that had grown cold in her absence. No matter. Dana killed her bedside lamp. She could make love without darkness, but not to herself.
Dana placed the Satisfier on the mattress beside her, then used both hands to wriggle free of her panties and pull out of her nightshirt. She shifted during the process, and the warm plastic touched her left buttock, causing her to jump slightly. When she was free of her bedclothing, she settled back and picked up the Satisfier, gently drawing it over her thigh to the space between her legs. Her body cried out for relief, but masochistically, she denied it, instead wetting the thumb and forefinger of both hands with her tongue and touching the moistened digits to her nipples, coaxing them to full erectness and making cool circles over them and around the dark corneas. She did this for several moments, teasing herself until she could not bear it, then her hands went to the firm rod of skin-textured plastic. Inhaling, she slipped it a few inches into herself and switched it on.
In the long, lazy, frantic, explosive moments that followed, Dana twisted and writhed, manipulating the instrument that her body currently rested upon. It had only one speed, but Dana knew her body well enough to be able to tilt it to stimulate her most sensitive areas.
She cried out several times when the wave of orgasms hit; gasping "my god," "Oh...please..." "yes...that! there!"
Generic cries sent into the darkness, for she had no ones' name to call.
* * *
He knows that he will never be accepted by the people laughing and drinking in the bar that fades into the neon-crammed street behind him, so he turns up the collar to his coat and slinks off down the darkened alley where his possible salvation awaits. The night turns black here, drained of the glitz of the nocturnal businesses that line the street. The din of traffic and pedestrians eventually falls off, too, as he slips through a splintered doorway and into an abandoned warehouse. His salvation sits amid piles of dust and litter, handcuffed to a rusted, unused pipe. He is a well-dressed man of about twenty-seven with strong cheekbones and long hair pulled into a ponytail. He looked up with eyes pregnant with terror.
"Don't be frightened. You're simply helping another human being."
Salvation stared up at him with fear bordering on madness.
"You'll understand when it's over. You must have faith in this fact." The linoleum knife comes up and begins the first slice--along the jawline. Salvation tries to turn away, but he has a stronger grip and holds him still as the next few cuts are made. "You must have faith that you'll understand once its over. Just as I have faith I'll belong."
He continues cutting and stops only when he's removed salvation's face.
Tuesday--129 Port Street
The body that was handcuffed to the steampipe was twisted in death, resembling a bird that had struck a pane of glass and fallen to earth. There was a symmetrical grace to it, even in death, offset by the bloody, pulpy mass that was the face. Or at least what had held it on.
"Have you ever seen this kind of thing before?" asked the fishbelly white officer who swayed just the slightest bit. He was the hardiest of the investigating officers. He was the only one presently not vomiting his guts out.
"Not exactly," Agent Fox Mulder replied, looking over the body. Whoever had done this was careful and efficient. The face had been peeled away from the supporting muscles and skull as easily as the rind of an orange could be twisted away from the meat. Arterial spray over the corpse's chest, arms and the surrounding area leading Mulder to the inescapable and very unpleasant truth that the victim had been alive when skinned.
"Why the hell would anyone do this. I mean...why would they do this?" The officer was looking over the edge, getting close to losing it. Mulder put a hand on his shoulder.
"Do me a favor: head outside and get the crime lab guys in here. I'm going to need this scene roped off and gone over with a fine-toothed comb. This isn't the sort of crime we're going to solve with informants and interrogations."
The officer looked over Mulder with something akin to awe. "It's just you? Aren't you working with anybody?"
Mulder shook his head. "She's on vacation."
"Hope she's having a better time than we are."
* * *
Dana shifted in the kitchen chair, lifting her feet onto the stool by the counter. This was her favorite spot to sit in the morning and drink her tea. Most mornings, though, she didn't have the time to spend luxuriating before the picture window in the suns rays. Most mornings she rushed through her breakfast, already clad in her standard pantsuit, and reading a few headlines before she threw away the remains of her food and rushed to work.
This morning, however, was all hers. She was stretched out in the warm morning sun, thoroughly reading the paper--even the TV section--in her white, terrycloth robe. On the table before her were two, patient, English muffins lightly covered with tangerine jam and a steaming cup of raspberry tea. Time had trained Dana's body to wake at roughly the same time every morning, but these mornings, at least, she could take her time.
In all, Dana spent a full forty-five minutes reading the paper and eating her two muffins.
Later she dressed in a pair of jeans and a maroon turtleneck, gathered up her purse and went to the mall for some idle window shopping. It had been a long time since Dana had bought anything she didn't need, and she felt that she was about due. The mall--whose name she instantly forgot after walking through the front doors--was a recently-built sprawling complex crammed to the gills with shops and department stores and kiosks. Dana walked through them slowly and aimlessly, remarking at some of the things she found, barely seeing others.
It was a slow afternoon, but there were enough couples floating through the mall's traffic lanes to trigger dark ponderings. There had first been her godchild's birth five years ago that raised the question. As a career woman, could she hope to meet someone who would accept her priorities and shoulder a little extra weight in the raising of a child? Then she had been placed with Mulder and thrown into the midst of intense, probing, and often detailed investigations that demanded her time and energy. That was when she wondered if she could ever meet anyone who would be able to accept her lifestyle. Finally, there were the revelations that the X-files had brought. Could she even conceive of a life with an insurance salesman husband and a couple of kids in little league, all settled in their Colonial nestled amid the green of the suburbs?
Dana doubted it.
Problem was, the revelations would not welcome her, did not provide safe haven, leaving her alone and alienated. She had only Mulder as a comrade in exile, and she'd already agreed he would not be a very good lover for her. Their roles as FBI agents and partners simply wouldn't mesh.
She window-shopped for the better part of an afternoon, buying a cordless phone and a pair of flats, before proceeding up the street to the local Barnes & Noble for a cup of coffee and some private reading. She chose a stack of magazines and a cafe latte and a table in the corner.
Dana found the article in the New Yorker. A slightly incredulous profile of a very interesting service located right here in Virginia.
A very interesting service.
"What have you got?" Mulder asked Alex Tayback who sat over his microscope like an amorphous blob in a labcoat.
"Well, I'm not sure if I can give you the same service as your partner, but I did manage to get the autopsy done, if that'll hold you."
Mulder nodded. "Good enough. What have you got?"
"Okay," Tayback muttered as he got up from his microscope and walked over to the examining table where the morning's corpse waited beneath a crisp, white sheet. Tayback pulled it back with a slight flourish, exposing the mutilated face--the mass of glistening, mask-like viscera made shocking by the clear, blue eyes. "No ID as of yet, but we're running prints and dentals. Something should show sooner or later. Victim expired due to blood loss resulting from massive facial mutilation. Big surprise, huh? Here's an interesting little bit, though. Flesh was peeled right off in one big piece. He literally took this guy's face. Not piecemeal or patchwork, he took the whole damn thing. Sound familiar to you?"
"No," Mulder said. "We've had facial mutilations, but never something like this. This is a very particular mania we're dealing with."
"Pity," Tayback said casually. "I was hoping this would ring a bell. I mean, he didn't exactly pick up this talent overnight, did he? He must have had some practice."
"I'll start checking the files. Any idea what he used?"
"Looks to be a short, delicate, and very sharp blade. Something like a strapping knife or an X-acto knife."
"How long until we get a toxicology report?" Mulder asked.
"Formally? About a week, but what you interrupted was me running my own set of somewhat informal tests. Our boy's blood is clean, but for some residual alcohol. Not enough to anaesthetize him. This poor blighter was quite aware of what was happening to him."
Mulder suppressed a shudder. "This is a hell of a case to be going solo on."
"Oh, but you have me," Tayback said with a cold grin.
* * *
Dana lay awake on her couch in the darkened living room, illuminated only by the flickering of the television set cranking out an episode of One West Waikiki. She had to admit, Cheryl Ladd still looked good.
The profile in the New Yorker fascinated her. At first she'd delved into the article simply because it seemed such an outrageous topic, and on some level, it appealed to her. As it most likely appealed to a great many people in a tawdry voyeuristic way. It should have remained an odd little discovery, fodder for fantasy, but she was finding herself considering it more and more seriously.
Was there any reason she couldn't do it? Money wasn't a factor. And the location was conveniently nearby. Was there a reason she couldn't? Was there a reason she shouldn't?
One. She was Dana Scully, and Dana Scully simply didn't do things like this. Dana Scully dated only a handful of boys in high school--went to the prom with a platonic friend, and had only one romance in college.
Dana Scully was a good daughter and sister, sensible and smart. She didn't sacrifice her dreams or career aspirations for matters of love or desire.
But would this mean sacrificing either?
The sad truth was, she was programmed. She was conforming to her own invented stereotype. She had become frightened and small-minded and unoriginal. She had settled for simply being Special Agent Dana Scully, competent FBI agent and medical doctor. Dana Scully the woman nearly no longer existed. Only the purchase and intermittent use of the devices in her lockbox acknowledged that part of her personality.
Perhaps it was time for an indulgence.
The phone number listed in the profile mentioned that it was answered 24-hours a day.
And she could simply take a look, an evaluation. Plenty of time to change her mind if she wished.
With trembling hands and an ice-filled stomach, she reached for the phone on the coffee table.
1187 W. Pinecrest
The dental records had come through late last night--the faceless man was named Steven Briggs. He was a grad student at Georgetown supposedly out for a night on the town. But it was a little more complex than that. By pounding on doors early in the morning and catching students on their ways to class, he'd come up with some reasonably thorough leads. The OT didn't bother Mulder. Actually, he welcomed the intrusion of work into his private life. It kept him from thinking about Phoebe.
Phoebe. His albatross. The letter incomplete. His failing. The pursuit of a killer who'd left no clues distracted him from the tougher demands on his life.
The mansion was a beautifully renovated domicile, all white Corinthian columns and vast green estate that shone in the Indian Summer heat. Mulder parked on the outskirts of the property and walked up the long driveway. The Daughters of Liberation Social Club wasn't known to any of the Bureau databanks, and the generic-looking seal that adorned the front gate didn't tell him much, either.
Question: Why was this address written in yesterday's box on Steven Briggs' wall calendar?
The initial stages of the answer appeared to Mulder in the form of a tall, platinum-blonde woman in a tuxedo. The black of the suit clashed pleasingly with her fair complexion and hair. Her face was supported by some of the most beautifully prominent cheekbones Mulder had ever seen.
"Yes?" she aid coolly. Mulder flashed his creds. The woman's blue eyes scanned them, but didn't register surprise, alarm or even interest.
"I'd like to ask you or the head of the household or the leader of the Daughters of Liberation a few questions."
"You should speak to my employer, Ms. Cole. She is all three."
"Okay," Mulder nodded. "Is she in?"
"Yes, please follow me." The woman led Mulder down a marble-tiled corridor and into a softly-carpeted study dominated by a great, polished slab of oak that served as a desk nestled between two towering bookcases jammed with hardcovers. The woman who sat behind the desk was an image off of a pornographic magazine cover: airbrush-perfect features, long, luxurious black hair, piercing blue eyes, and impishly attractive features, now regarding Mulder with abject curiosity.
"Ms. Cole?" the butler asked. "This is Agent Fox Mulder of the FBI. He'd like to ask us a few questions about a Steven Biggs..."
"Briggs," Mulder corrected her. "He was found murdered last evening. Apparently he was scheduled to come here today."
Ms. Cole nodded authoritatively and gestured to the seat opposite her expanse of desk. "Please...Megan. Have a seat Agent Mulder. Tia, you may leave us now."
The butler said nothing and left the room. Megan Cole leaned forward and propped the elbows of her violet silk blazer on the reflective wood. "So, Agent Fox Mulder, what is it you'd like me to tell you about Steven Briggs. I'm afraid whatever it is, it won't be much."
"What was he going to do here, for starters?"
"He was going to interview me for a thesis, I believe. Women's Studies. He wanted my perspective on assertive women in business. Murdered, you say? Well, that is disturbing."
"Mutilated is more like it," Mulder said authoritatively while he tried to keep his gaze from being pulled to Megan Cole's chest. It was a bit too prominent for his peace of mind.
"My God," she said emotionlessly. "Well, it's becoming a dangerous world isn't it? This just proves a point."
"Yes it does," Mulder nodded, his gaze dipping into the part beneath the collar of her blouse. He caught a glimpse of black bra. "But tell me: what exactly are the Daughters of Liberation? Sounds vaguely revolutionary."
Megan Cole smiled coldly. "Well I can assure you that we are not. In fact the DOL is a sort of support organization for women in business. We publish a magazine, offer seminars and workshops concerning women's role in the business world. Host speakers, offer college scholarships, that sort of thing."
"This is a beautiful estate. Unlikely for your type of organization, isn't it?"
For the first time, Mulder saw a genuine emotion cross her face--appreciation and warmth. "It's my grandfather's. He left it to me, and I've been maintaining it ever since. I'm the only person who lives in the mansion, spare the staff, so I saw no reason we couldn't simply set up the organization here."
"Unique use of space."
"Yes, and it saves me from the tiresome corporate trappings. Do you like horses, Agent Fox?"
"Um," Mulder said, taken aback. "Sure, I guess."
"I'll have Tia show you the stables. There's a little business for me to take care of here, but I could join you in a few minutes. We could take a ride together."
Mulder knew that he'd never forgive himself if he passed this up.
* * *
"So what's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?" Mulder asked the platinum woman who led him down the hallway. she smiled and looked him over with cool, grey eyes.
"I actually work for Ms. Cole in a variety of capacities. This is only one in my rotating roster. I also serve as an executive secretary, business liaison, accountant...I'm a Renaissance woman, really."
Mulder grinned and nodded. Tia paused by a doorway and gestured inside. Mulder took a few steps before he realized that it wasn't a hallway, but an empty room. He turned, throwing a quizzical look at her.
Tia stood in the doorway, a short-barrelled tranquilizer pistol leveled at his chest. "This is another one of my various capacities," she said shortly before the dull exhale of compressed gas and the sting in Mulder's midriff.
He had only three seconds of consciousness to be amazed.
Megan Cole was looking over the latest applicant evaluations when her phone buzzed. She picked it up. Tia's voice.
"Agent Mulder has been handled without incident."
"Very good," Cole said. "Put him in B-quarters and have Teri prepare him for his return to consciousness."
Cole hung up and signed off on the evaluations. A moment later the phone buzzed again. Tia's voice. "Ms. Cole? Your nine-thirty appointment is here."
Megan Cole smiled. "Please, Tia, send Dana Scully in."
"Tell me, Ms. Scully," said the elegantly-dressed, raven-haired woman behind the desk, "are you a professional woman? Please, don't tell me what it is. That's not important."
"Yes," Dana said. "I am."
"And has that affected your decision to come here?"
"I'm...I'm afraid I don't understand."
"Well, is your current...dissatisfaction a result of your status as a professional woman? Even in a small way?"
"I guess so, yes. Men tend to be put off by my profession, as well as my dedication to it."
Megan Cole nodded sympathetically. "You're good at what you do?"
"I imagine that's caused problems at work as well as in your private life."
"Yes, it has."
"Dana, your situation is not original. In fact it's practically mundane. Your stories aren't new, no matter what you do--whether you're a cop or a doctor. What we need to know aren't the details of your angst, but of your private life. Your most intimate situations."
"I imagined as much. Well, my last lover was..."
"Have you ever made love to a woman, Ms. Scully?"
Dana blinked. "I'm sorry. What..."
"It's a simple question, Ms. Scully. Have you ever had a lesbian experience?"
"I don't see what that has to do with..."
"Ms. Scully," Megan Cole said wearily, "if you're truly interested in the DOL, then you're going to have to get used to divulging intimate facts about yourself. It's like saying if you're going to be a football player, you're going to have to get used to physical exertion."
Dana mulled this, fighting her own defensiveness.
"Ms. Scully, may I submit that you wouldn't have come to us if you didn't want an outlet for your intimate thoughts and feelings, as you have no one to share them with."
Dana nodded. "You're right, I'm sorry. I'm just a little nervous, I guess. To answer your question, though, no. I've never...never been with a woman."
"Do you find the prospect repellent? Either physically or morally?"
"No, I suppose not. I know several homosexuals. I just never, uh, felt that way. About women."
Megan Cole nodded clinically, and Dana felt a strange ease settle through her. "I see. Have you ever been in a power-relevant relationship, and by that I mean a relationship in which one partner is clearly the stronger of the pair and asserts this authority?"
"No. Not that I can think of."
"Have you ever practiced bondage or sado-masochism?"
"Have you ever had sex with more than one partner at a time?"
"No. I guess you could say that I've never really violated the norms. I must be a very boring applicant." Megan Cole gave her a reassuring smile.
"Most people who come here are those who've played by the rules all their lives and wish to find a comfortable place to...bend those rules. Now tell me, do you masturbate?"
"Yes," Dana's mouth was suddenly dry and she cleared it. "Yes, I do. On occasion."
"I see. Do you do this manually, or do you use a device of some sort?"
"I use something."
"Yes," Dana nodded.
"Are uncomfortable touching yourself?"
"I...It must be a holdover from when I was a teenager. I grew up in a Catholic household."
"But self-gratification hasn't been condemned by the church in a long time, Ms. Scully. Actually, homosexuality is much more of a hot-button to the church. Interesting that you don't seem to feel any Catholic guilt about that."
"I never thought about it."
"I'll bet not. So why are you here, Ms. Scully? Tell me."
Dana took a breath and tried to organize the loose jumble of thoughts. "I suppose because...I want to bend those rules. I want to be something that I'm not. That I can't be in my normal life."
"The normal life when you must give up the strength and determination that brought you to this admirable point in your career in order to make romantic contact? The compromises others expect you to make because they're intimidated by you? The compromises men expect you to make?"
"Yes," Dana said softly. "I don't want to compromise anything anymore."
"And you're willing to do what for this?"
Dana took a breath. "Whatever I have to. I'm owed this."
Megan Cole got up from behind the best and slowly paced around the side, walking with the measured stride of a casual tiger. She stopped at the right arm of Dana's chair. "Whatever?" she asked before her mouth came down. Dana tasted the woman's tongue probing at her teeth, lashed back with hers and cupped Megan Cole's face in her hands. When they broke, Megan Cole slowly leaned back against the desk."Well," she said evenly, "I guess we can start you off right away."
The ice in Dana's stomach turned to heat.
* * *
Mulder felt consciousness return with a dehydrated graveliness in his mouth, and a dull ache that ran throughout his body. He opened his eyes to darkness, wondered for a moment if he was blind, then noticed differing shades of dark. He was in an unlit room. Groaning under his breath, he stretched into a sitting position and felt some kind of rubbery cocoon surrounding him. His body felt warm and clammy. Was his body burned to the extent that the nerves had been wiped out? No, he felt some sensations that weren't attributable to massive neural damage. He reached to his hip for the implausible comfort of his holster, and felt cool leather. Incredulously, he ran his hands over his body and found that he was encased in some sort of body-suit. Slowly, he stood. The suit pinched his joints. With groping hands, he felt a cot with a soft mattress and sat down on it.
"I'm dressed for Debbie does Dallas," he muttered. "There's not going to be any easy way to explain this in my personnel file."
"Get off the cot!" The voice was a cold, strong female voice, distorted with an electronic resonance which would make a voice-print impossible, but didn't detract from the firm femininity behind it. "I won't ask twice!"
Mulder looked around. It was impossible to judge from where the voice was coming from. "Yeah, sure, okay. Hey, I'll tell you what: you tell me where I am, and I'll get off the cot. Sound fair?"
There was a buzz/crackle and the stench of ozone just a fraction of a second before the shock gripped his body, shook him spastically, reducing him to a jerking, twitching puppet on the floor, trying to cry out in pain, but unable to do something as simple as drawing breath. A moment later it was over, and he was a trembling heap in the darkness, sucking air into his starved lungs, feeling sweat slicken against the leather.
"Please make this difficult. I do so enjoy breaking a challenge. And I will break you, servant. Make no mistake."
"If this...is the way they treat the staff...the cook's going to spit in the food." It was a feeble insult, but Mulder felt his strength ebbing away. The crackle of electricity met him, took him, controlled him. When it stopped, he inhaled with a whimper.
"Understand your situation, servant. There are electronic nodes implanted in your uniform. I can send the pain directly into your spine. But that's really rather crude and unoriginal, so some...latitude was built into the system. I can, for example, control precisely where the pain occurs. I can use this to deprive the brain of oxygen and destroy parts of your brain--making you a vegetable. And as a cherry on the sundae, I can set these things to electrocute you. Slowly, if I wish. So be as tough as you wish, servant, it'll only make breaking you that much more fun."
"Where...where am I..." Mulder gasped. The electronic voice whispered mechanically in his ear. He would have reached out for her, if he could lift his arms.
"In my complete and total control...all mine."
Megan Cole stood silently in the corner of the room, the tranquilizer pistol pointed at Mulder's rapidly relaxing bulk. Carley stood above him, looking like a cross between a porno star and a Borg in her Mistress uniform and Nitefinder goggles. She whispered something Mulder's ear and he reaches lazily for her. He looked subdued, but experience had taught Megan that servants weren't above playing possum. She kept the pistol levelled, but it seemed a redundancy, as Carley suddenly took a step back and lashed out with one muscular leg, her boot's spiked heel catching Mulder in the cheek, sending him to the floor, listless. Carley looked over at Megan through her goggles. Megan nodded at the door and the two of them walked out through the soundproof door. The hallway was pitch black, too, but only until the quarters' heavy door slammed shut and the electronic lock engaged. The lights came on dimly enough not to hurt their eyes.
"Prognosis, doctor?" Megan asked.
"He's hard, but I've had harder." Carley yanked off the headset and adjusted the lace-down bustier of her Mistress uniform.
"You do enjoy the double-entendre, don't you?"
Carley smiled impishly. "Okay, say this: less than a week and he'll be as hard as I want whenever I want."
"When will the shocks be unnecessary?"
Carley shrugged, nearly pulling out of her bustier. "Electricity always makes for a fun coupling, but as a training method? Maybe two days, maybe less when the Dopamine takes effect."
"You are the master."
Carley grinned. "Well, his anyway."
Megan Cole returned to her office and found the co-director sitting in one of the visitor chairs. She swiveled and threw her thick braid over her shoulder. "Both are here?"
"Yes," said Megan closing the door behind her. "Both have started their regiments."
"Where are we?"
"In the initial stages yet, but both of them are such...model recruits this promises to be a relatively easy process."
"Pride goeth before the fall. What's the progress?"
"He's in his initial will-breaking stage. Scully is too, I suppose. I think the alienation she feel from her body is at the linchpin to many of her reticence. Remove that and she'll be doing virtually anything that excites her."
"And you're removing this how?"
"By teaching her to masturbate without embarrassment. We started her out with one of the horse-trainers. The male stimuli and promise of sex with a man who works with horses seemed to be the easiest way to ease her into it. Since then she's moved up to using only a film as stimuli and has been practicing in front of a mirror."
"They're being taped?"
The co-director nodded, then stood. "Is the hot tub fixed. Megan," she asked teasingly.
Megan Cole returned with a teasing smile. "Of course, Phoebe."
* * *
Dana Scully lay across the silken bed in the stretch of golden afternoon sun that shone brazenly though the room's window. The black silk of her lingerie slid languidly across the silver silk of the bedsheets making a soft noise like a sigh of pleasure. The red lace trim scraped like fingernails across a naked back. She enjoyed the sound, loved it and loved the feel of the bed sliding beneath her body. In her life, Dana had never known the sensuality this room had afforded her. For the first time, Dana intimately knew the most sensitive places on her body. Knew how to touch them and caress them and make them respond with a power and intensity she'd never felt before. For the first time, she didn't consider her body--her vagina--dirty, evil, staining, but a wonderful, amazing thing. A miracle of nature designed and given to her for no purpose other than her own pleasure. She'd learned to love its slippery-slick feel, its scent, its secret places and mysteries.
She stretched out on the bed and looked at the mirror that covered the ceiling. She had a beautiful body, she realized. Curvaceous. Strong, shapely legs, a full, inviting chest, a breathtakingly narrow waist. Dana laughed at her own luxury and realized that she was even more beautiful when she smiled.
The door chimes jingled and Dana pressed the buzzer on the nightstand. She didn't ask who it was. Most of the magic of this place, she'd found, came from the surprise of who would walk through the door and what they wished to show her. Tia strode in first, confident, but not assuming. She didn't wear her tuxedo, but a short, cotton bathrobe. Following her was a smaller, darker young woman with long, ringleted black hair and enormous dark eyes. She reminded Scully of the girlfriend in Ferris Bueller's Day Off at the age of eighteen.
"Yes," she sighed happily.
"Ashley and I are here to bathe you, Ms. Scully," Tia said primly.
"Oh? Is my personal hygiene in question?"
Tia smiled sheepishly. "A self-luxuriating bath is part of the regiment. Ashley and I have been specially trained for this honor. You'd be amazed at how few people truly understand how to pamper a body."
Dana felt her lips curl in a mocking smile. "Specially trained for this...honor?"
"A body like yours is such a beautiful thing," Ashley said, meek but enthusiastic. "I mean, why wouldn't it be? You don't know how many people would look at you with complete envy..."
"All right, I'm sold," Scully said, sliding off the bed. "Do what you will."
Carley Meijer forced Mulder onto his back with a quick, precise kick of her stiletto heel. By the seventh session, she'd let him see her, flooding the room with 200-watt lights that after however long he'd been in the darkness which had blinded him and left him crawling, staring at the dark-tiled floor. "You were attempting to stand, weren't you?" Carley asked, her natural voice unencumbered by the voice-distortion device and carrying an edge that electronics couldn't best. "Weren't you, servant?" She pulled the short, plastic whip off her belt, coiled it and lashed out across Mulder's thighs and buttocks. He gasped in pain--the sting, Carley knew, would carry nicely through the leather. The servant tunics were specially designed to be softer, less resilient in certain areas. "I thought we had an understanding. This disappoints me to no end, servant. You seemed smarter than this."
"I am, Mistress," Mulder's voice was rough-edged and dry. The dopamine was working his system by now, Carley knew, knocking down his psychological resistance without doing any permanent neurological damage. Carley sat on the couch and allowed Mulder to place his head in her lap. She touselled his hair and whispered in his ear.
"Then why did you try? Don't you know better than that?" Mulder nodded, the motion exciting her beneath her leather G-string.
Carley reattached the whip to her belt and quickly brushed her fingers over the control pad. Mulder's collar buzzed sending him to the floor. Carley slid off the cot in a low crouch, placing her steel-toed boot tip on his throat and gazing down into his desperate, malleable eyes. "Then you'll have to redeem yourself," she hissed as she pulled the chrome-plated handcuffs off her belt and ratcheted them on his wrists around a water-pipe. When she was done, she stood over his prostrate form, a boot on either side of his leather-clad torso. "Are you ready to redeem yourself, servant?"
"I am, Mistress," was Mulder's weak reply.
Carley smiled. "Good," she said smugly and unsnapped the lower portion of her Mistress uniform and let it fall onto Mulder's chest. With a suede gloved hand she stimulated herself into moistness, then lowered herself onto Mulder's waiting mouth.
* * *
Dana Scully floated in a luxurious sea of warm, lilac-scented water while unseen hands played over her body with firm but forgiving strokes, kneading muscles, easing tension, sending relief flooding through her limbs and chest.
"Lay back a bit," Tia asked quietly from behind her. "I want to work on your shoulders." Dana, her eyes still closed, nodded and let her upper body sink even lower into the sweet-smelling water. She felt Ashley's hands gain further purchase on her legs and thighs. The dark beauty sat between her legs, tending to her lower body.
"You have such good muscles...how do you keep in shape?" Ashley asked meekly.
"Exercise," Dana murmured as she felt her shoulders being massaged, "a steady regiment."
"Does that feel good?" Tia whispered. Dana felt wisps of the woman's blonde hair touch her cheek.
"Oh yeah," Dana sighed and leaned back into Tia's firm breasts. "Yeah, don't stop that." For several long, languid moments, Scully existed there in the center of a warm, moist Universe, tended to by all the elements therein. Her body was growing looser and looser, her legs spreading wider and wider. A moment later there was a sudden surge in the tub, warm florid water over his midriff and breasts. Suddenly Dana felt the presence of a very close body, and a moment later a mouth tentatively touched her breasts--just a fleeting brush of the tongue over the extended nipple. Dana started, but heard Tia's voice in her ear.
"Shhhh...relax, Dana. Don't you want to be pampered?"
"Well, yes, but..."
"Then jut sit back and let us do our work," the voice was all level composure. "Is this your...first time?"
"Yeah," Dana choked past the steam.
"Well, don't worry. We're gentle," Tia giggled.
"You have such a beautiful body," Ashley gushed. "We can't help but want to...touch it an play with it. I mean, you don't mind do you?" The last one must have been accompanied with a hair flip, since Dana felt it brush her stomach. She was suddenly very hot and too tired to deal with her insecurities or prejudices.
"Ashley," she said, "you can do whatever you want."
A moment later, Dana felt an eager, girlish mouth on her breast and a stronger, more mature set of lips on her neck. She slid her hand between her legs and found a set of fingers already there. She didn't care whose. They linked and explored together.
Daughters of Liberation HQ
Megan Cole stretched out on the long, wide expanse of a bed, more aroused than she should have been by the action shown on the high-resolution video-feed monitors. After all hadn't she seen countless Mistresses pampered and servants disciplined?
But this time, Phoebe was so fascinated with them that some of the residual excitement was affecting her. The air was thick with sex pheromones, she guessed. On the large, central monitor she watched as Dana Scully gave in peacefully to Tia's and Ashley's ministrations. It was always this way with button-down types, she knew. First it would be passive--allowing the women to pamper her. Laying still with her eyes closed while her body was stimulated and pleasured. Perhaps she was fantasizing of her dream man. Perhaps not. It was difficult to tell. Her hand suddenly went between her legs--good sign! Masturbation with other women meant her inhibitions were crumbling. She watched as Scully's fingers twined with Ashley's to work her clitoris. Tia was french-kissing her aggressively. Good technique: Tia the aggressive one to challenge the woman; Ashley the demure one that she could retreat to if Tia went too far.
Scully's body began to convulse, but her pubic region never cleared the water and Ashley wasn't aggressive enough to try and eat her out underwater. Pity, that would be an important maneuver for Scully to experience. Then Ashley surprised her. The Italian nymph suddenly brought their linked hands away from Dana's pussy and to her mouth, sensuously sucking and licking them, the girl's quick, pink tongue dating over them. Then she lowered their hands between her own legs and began to work on herself. Dana was suddenly put in the position of being the intimator. Megan waited breathlessly for the next few minutes while Dana went through the motions automatically, then she shifted, pulled Tia toward her and took one of the woman's firm breasts in her mouth.
"The girl's good," Phoebe said. "What's her name?"
"Ashley," Megan answered. "She is a subtle little vixen, isn't she?"
"She certainly is doing a job on Ms. Scully. Let's switch over to Mulder." Phoebe pressed a few of the keys set into the office chair she lounged in. The image of Scully's homosexual threesome was banished to one of the outer screens and replaced by a view of Mulder being dominated by Carley Meijer. Carley had slipped off the detachable G-string portion of her uniform and was straddling Mulder's face, rocking and bucking against him. "Well she certainly seems zealous. What's her name?"
"Carley Meijer. One of our senior Mistresses. We recruited her out of Catholic school. Our best recruits seem to come out of private schools."
"Interesting," Phoebe said dispassionately as she watched the scene. "She must be talented to be able to submit to his ministrations, but still keep control like that."
"It takes years to develop talent like that. And even then, half of it's talent."
Phoebe nodded. "All this is being recorded?"
"Yeah. This just happens to be a live feed."
"These'll be helpful, but the final stage tapes will really be what gives us leverage. What do we have on the good Senator?"
"Playing horsey with Rita and a bridle."
Phoebe grinned coldly. "Well that should ensure he votes our way. Unless CNN wants to play that on a constant loop. How about Judge Werner?"
"He seems to have a predilection for the horse trainers along with the Mistresses."
"We had to bar him from the stables. Don't ask why, but know that it's on tape."
"Excellent," Phoebe said, then wheeled around in her chair. "So when does Ms. Scully reach the end stage?"
Megan stretched out of the bed. "Soon. I want to test her in a few more ways first to make sure she has all the skills and proclivities necessary to be efficient for our purposes. In short: I want to see how well she dominates a man before we assign her a servant."
"Well, that can't be too hard. Send a masseuse in after the bath. I think after that workout she's going to be looking forward to a little intercourse."
"Fortunately, I don't have the same cravings," Megan smiled. Phoebe grinned back and crawled onto the bed.
* * *
The bath had been the most languid, sensual experience that Dana had ever received. She'd long heard the assertion--often she'd chalked it up to the imagination of the writers of Penthouse Forum--that women make better lovers since they know what another woman wants, where to touch her, how to be gentle, delicate, and loving. Tia and Ashley had certainly proved that this afternoon in the warm, sweet-scented bath.
And now she lay on a soft, cotton towel while Andre the Swedish masseuse kneaded her back and shoulders. Dana was acutely aware, however, by a certain craving that nagged at her--a longing that no tongue or hand could fulfill.
Dana was thinking of alternate uses for Andre.
He was an almost stereotypical Swede--large and well-muscled with soft, delicate features, long, wavy blonde hair, and a ridiculous accent. His strong hands played over her and she made a content noise in her throat and turned her head so she could admire his well-defined abs and fantasize about what lurked beneath the towel he wore around his waist.
Dana had definite ideas about what Andre could do next. She slowly rolled onto her side and propped her head up on one hand. Smiling, she ran a fingertip down his rippled musculature, feeling the heat of his smooth skin, until she reached the towel. She tugged at the soft knot and let it fall away, exposing his stiff, torpedo-shaped member. Dana ran a fingertip over that member, sliding it along the length of the underside until she reached the bulbous tip. Very meticulously, she drew the nail over the sensitive head, enjoying the involuntary shudder that went through Andre's body as she traced the trench on the dorsal side.
She sat upright on the table and gripped Andre's entire package with both hands, kneading his cock with one, while the other cradled his genitals. She gazed up at him, smiling coquettishly, then backed him to the wall and fell to her knees. Dana gently kissed the tip that strained for her attention, ran her tongue over it, eliciting a low moan from deep within Andre's chest. Then she grew more bold, sliding her hands around behind him to firmly clasp his muscled ass as she took the first five inches or so into her mouth. She held it there between her tongue and teeth for a few exquisite moments before drawing him deep into her throat. Using her tongue and throat muscles, she worked him for long moments, until she felt his hands ruffling her hair.
Desire called her hands to her breasts and vagina, but she paused, trying to figure out why, if she had a fully functioning man before her, she should resort to masturbation. Dana tried to pull away, but Andre's hands were firm against her head. Dana knocked his grip away easily and pulled away into a sitting position. Andre looked quizzically down at her. "What...?" he started, but Dana suddenly grabbed him by the cock and yanked him to the floor onto his back. Dana loomed above him, throwing a leg over his body while she braced herself with her hands on his shoulders. Deliciously slowly she lowered herself onto his staff, filling herself with him, then allowing him to go free. For a few minutes she pleased herself with long, firm strokes, but the desire was cresting like a tidal wave within her, begging to be released. Her bucking became faster and more frenzied and more precise--stimulating the sensitive shallows of her cunt, pausing occasionally to use his rock-hard shaft to work her clitoris, setting off a chain of quick, easy orgasms like a string of firecrackers, before resuming her joyous descent onto his staff.
When the orgasms hit--the ones from deep within her body--she shuddered and thrashed, raking her nails across Andre's pale skin, drawing lines of blood. She moaned, then shouted with deep primal satisfaction that she'd never allowed to be expressed before. Shefelt as if her world was exploding across the galaxy like a comet and she was its mistress, in complete command and control.
Dana coaxed seven fireball climaxes out of Andre's engorged cock before feeling the warm, satisfaction roll through her breasts and stomach. Panting, running her hands through her damp hair, Dana dismounted and stood, reaching for her robe.
"Wha-wait!" Andre's choked. "I'm not done yet!"
Dana blinked at him. "And this affects me how?"
Andre grew a bit more insistent. Dana broke his wrist and then dismissed him.
The Control Room
Phoebe Green stood in the small room off of Megan Cole's bedroom where the woman dozed satisfiedly, and looked at the bank of monitors showing the workings of the club. The various members doing the various things--all caught on videotape. Leverage, credit, and merchandise. Phoebe's attention, however, was drawn to the two favored guests. Both were engaged in sex acts, though playing it from different ends. Scully was practicing with one of the other Mistresses. They were working on impertinent subjects, Scully showing an impressive set of skills with the whip and stun-gun. Mulder, by contrast, was pleasuring Mistress Carley--anally it looked like, but from the camera's vantage it was difficult to tell. That would be about the right stage in his training, Phoebe knew. If a man could be taught to perform anal sex to the specifications of his Mistress and without succumbing to the temptation of playing a dominant role, his training would be considered a success.
Phoebe thought about Scully and Mulder, the club and the plan. Her plan.
She thought about her P-7 9mm pistol--loaded and cocked.
She thought about the resident of suite 15. The one watched by the bottom-left camera. The one that took faces.
"I think you're ready for your first servant," Megan Cole said, making Scully warm and wet beneath her sarong skirt.
From behind her desk, Megan Cole held her hands palms up. "Don't thank me. Mistress Margi tells me you've got innate instincts for this work. Not many do. Most have to make do with the most dominated servants, the most submissive. But according to Margi you're a natural with the tools, and you didn't need any training in the martial arts."
"I took a self-defense class," Dana said.
"Well," Megan Cole smiled, "you're ready, and that's the bottom line. Go back to your suite. You'll find a Mistress uniform in the closet. Dress. A few minutes later, your servant will arrive."
"If I'm unhappy with him, will I be able to select another?"
"Of course. We simply want you to be happy. Now we've tried to find a servant whose personality profile matches your own. We've put a great deal of work in the process--not taken lightly at all."
Dana uncrossed and recross her legs, abating the heat there. "I'm sure I'll be very happy with your selection."
* * *
He sat in the corner of his room, by the barred window, reading a magazine and smoking a cigarette. He was a lean, wiry man, kept clean-shaven and well-groomed, but his eyes had a dull meanness to them. "So, you're telling me the door will be open?"
Phoebe nodded. "Of course."
"And I go to suite thirteen."
"And I kill the woman, but not the man. He's yours."
"I'll take care of him, yes," Phoebe said.
"And afterwards, I'm free to do whatever I want to whomever I want in the compound." He shook his head. "Sounds good. But how do I know I can trust you?"
"Do you have a choice? If you don't want to stay here for the rest of your life."
Phoebe smiled. "Then I'll see you when I see you."
Dana admired herself in the mirror. The Mistress uniform had been tailored to fit her body perfectly and flatteringly. She was not shapely or leggy, she knew. She didn't have a fashion model's body, but she was attractive and the tailors of the uniform knew how to accentuate her best parts, while hiding the hindrances.
She tilted her body to better view it and the lines of the uniform. The boots, which despite the four-inch heels were comfortable and easy to walk in, came up just past the knees, where they flared slightly to allow a certain freedom of movement. The lower portion of the uniform was G-string which exposed more of her downy, curvy buttocks than she would have liked, but a few minutes contemplation in the mirror assured her that it wasn't such a bad view. The G-string snapped onto a leather, front-lacing corset which showed off the swell of her breasts and the alluring haven of her cleavage. The gloves were fingerless, but fit tightly up to her elbows and had palms which were sensuously soft when being rubbed over something, and excruciatingly stinging when slapped against the same.
The ensemble was completed by a velvet choker that bore a strange seal. Dana admired herself for a few moments longer, then began fitting her tools onto her belt.
The whip and the control pad in case the servant got impertinent.
The plastic explosive and detonator had been attached to the main gas line of the house at it source, deep within the basement's depths. The timer had been set and was counting down in soft, metallic clicks.
A buried sub-system command was entered into the estate's maintenance computer's autoexec.bat file that would ensure that the door to suite fifteen would be unlocked at the proper time.
And now she watched the action take place on the screen. She was dressed and ready. Now all there was to do was wait.
"Keeping tabs on our new Mistresses first challenge?" Megan's voice cooed from behind her.
Phoebe turned with the silenced 9mm, put a single shot through Megan's chest, then turned back to the screens.
* * *
He's here," Tia informed her. "He's fastened to the bed in the other room."
Dana turned away from the mirror and nodded. "Good. I can hardly wait."
Tia smiled and gave Dana a hug and a peck on the cheek. "Have a good time," she said and slowly trailed out of the room. Dana waited until she heard the suite's door shut and lock before she pulled herself away from the mirror and looked at the doorway into the main room of the suite. She took a deep breath and walked in.
The servant knelt beside the bed, his wrist clasped in one of the frame's built-in restraints, looking at the floor. Scully pressed the release button set into the wall beneath the lightswitch. "You're free," she said, "but please don't get any ideas. We both know what we're here for. Understand?"
The servant's head snapped up and he stared at her with wide, green eyes beneath a well-trimmed shock of brown hair.
"Scully?" he said.
Phoebe waited, her eyes glued to her watch. The seconds ticked down. Then the minutes.
"Mulder?" Dana said, feeling as if she'd been sucked into a whirlpool. It was a unpleasant, unwelcome sensation. One she'd longed to leave behind.
"Scully," Mulder croaked as he shakily stood up. "What the hell is going on here? What are doing dressed like that?"
"I could ask you the same thing."
"I was kidnapped...I had a case..." he shook his head dumbly as of trying to override the effects of a powerful drug, though Dana knew that was not the case. "Why are you...never mind, we got to get out of here."
"What? No. You're free to go if you want, but I'm not..."
"Scully, this is serious! We've got to move! You have no idea..."
Her hand went to the control pad before she even knew what she was doing. By the time it caught up with her, Mulder was on his knees shaking. All of the defiance, the assumed authority, the confusion, was left behind. It sunk to the floor with him and puddled away.
Mulder looked up at her, shocked. "Scully...what...?"
Dana's boot caught him flush in the cheekbone where Mistress Margi had taught her to aim. It sent Mulder sprawling on his chest. She planted the heel between his shoulder-blades and pulled the plastic whip off her belt. "You will refer to me as Mistress," she said. "And nothing else. Do you understand?"
"Scully..." The whip came down on his butt with a crack.
"Mistress!" she hissed and gave him another jolt. Mulder writhed beneath her boot. "Mistress! Do you understand?"
"What...oh God...Mistress...Please Mistress..."
Dana lifted her boot and let Mulder roll over. He looked up at her with dull, beaten eyes. She crouched beside him and kissed his cheek. "Now that wasn't so hard was it?"
She didn't lie to him. The door opened and he was free with his linoleum knife. First he had the job to complete, and then he was free to hunt.
The people who'd kept him here as their pet, their slave, their guard dog.
He'd enjoy robbing them of their masks.
He continued to suite thirteen.
Phoebe watched the drama unfold on the monitor before her. He was freed from his cage in suite fifteen and on the hunt. He appeared to be moving toward Scully's suite. Good.
The camera in that suite showed Scully dominating Mulder; first subduing him with the control pad and whip, then crouching over him. The bitch.
She walked away from the monitor. She wanted to watch Scully being skinned.
She didn't notice Tia, blending into the shadows.
Dana had unlaced her corset and was allowing the servant to nurse her erect nipples and caress her through the leather G-string. She was quite pleased with this one, he was now compliant and gentle and satisfying her deliciously well. His trainer had done a good job with him.
Her first orgasm was quickly approaching when the door to her suite burst open and a thin, wolf-like man bolted inside, metal glinting in his hand. Dana barely had time to process the scene when she was thrown against the far wall, a knife at her throat. A long, bent face leered at her.
"It'll only hurt a little," he grunted. Dana felt the edge bite her neck.
Then it was gone. She blinked and took in the sight of Mulder yanking the thin man away from her and struggling to disarm him.
"No!" A cry from the doorway. Phoebe Green stood there, dressed like she should be delivering a report to the Scotland Yard Administrators. The thin man ignored her, locked as he was in his struggle with Mulder. He twisted free, swiped the knife across Mulder's chest, drawing blood. Phoebe screamed in shock and produced a silenced automatic. There was a dull thump and the thin man whirled, blood flowing from a hole in his throat. He looked with wide eyes at Phoebe who shot him again. This time he fell and didn't move.
"Your killer, Foxy," Phoebe said. "He was supposed to take out that bitch of a partner, not you. You're mine."
"What the fuck is going on here?" Dana demanded.
"Simple," Phoebe said, levelling her pistol at both of them. "The DOL was set up as a bondage club for high-priced call girls. But Megan and I got involved and tailored it to a different clientele: businessmen and politicians. Judges, lawyers, influential people. We videotape all of the goings-on here. It gives us leverage. John Doe over there was a recent recruit. A good way to put on the thumbscrews, as it were."
"By taking skins," Mulder said.
"Exactly. Megan would handle domestic affairs, and I was brought in to take the program international. Unfortunately, you were assigned the case of the skinned, victims, so we had to destroy the two of you. It was only supposed to be Mulder, but when your prissy little partner showed up looking for a little thrill...well, things just fell into place. It was supposed to work that the two of you would eventually be subject to intense psychotropic drugs. That the tapes would be doctored to look like Scully killed you during one of your bondage games. The club would be exposed, Scully would be humiliated and arrested, and you...your memory would be dumped and you'd belong to me."
"You've got severe codependency problems," Mulder observed.
"Be that as it may, now things are going to change a little." She spun, pointing her gun at Dana. "The whole place is going up in smoke in about a minute, but before it does..." She squeezed the trigger, blowing a chunk out of the wall next to Dana. Then she corrected her aim, sighting on Dana's left eye.
A gunshot shook the room. Dana flinched, felt nothing, and saw Phoebe slide to the ground, a hole in her chest. Striding through the doorway was Tia, a big revolver in her hand. "She killed Megan," the woman said simply. "I guess we wipe it all away now, huh?" She pointed the gun at Mulder, but Dana had already gone for the whip, cracking it across Tia's wrist, Indiana Jones-style, sending the gun flying. She pivoted, threw a powerful kick into Tia's midriff sending her into the far wall. She grabbed Mulder's hand. "Let's get out of here!" she shouted.
"Sounds good to me."
They ran for the entrance, made it, found the keys in the Bureau car and actually cleared the gate before the explosive ignited the gas line and vaporized the house in a great inhale of oxygen, feeding a ravenous ball of flame.
Agent's Personal Log: Dana Scully
The Daughters of Liberation social club has been completely destroyed. Informal inquiries with the various fire departments that responded to the call confirms that nearly the whole set up has been ruined. The secret things that occurred there are still secrets. As are the secrets that Mulder and I share. We have returned to work and manage to go about our usual (?) duties without tension or incident. It would seem that any lingering feelings about what happened in that mansion went up in flame with the estate.
Apartment of Dana Scully
The work day had finished, and Scully had bid goodbye to Mulder and everyone else at the Bureau and headed for home. She'd had some errands to run on the way home from work--a couple of suits to pick up at the cleaners, and a package to UPS to her mother for her birthday. Along the way, she picked up some fast-food Chinese.
That was four hours ago.
Now she stood before her bedroom mirror, admiring the way the Mistress uniform looked on her, enjoying the way Mulder knelt as he waited for her.
Tonight, he would do whatever she commanded. As he had last night, and the night before that.