Leather. It had a distinctive smell and feel against the body. The smooth texture warmed quickly, its soft suppleness releasing an earthy scent as it molded and bent to the body's shape. The fragrance was redolent with past pleasures, an evocative tang that had him striving to slow the quick upsurge of lust that swelled through his blood.
First things first.
He ran his hand down his leather pants leg, taut against his hips. The sensation under his fingertips and the firm pressure cupping his genitals augmented his focus on this singular purpose. Even after days, it had yet to pall. It drove him; controllable, yes, but irresistible in its pull. It was irresistible to take with impunity what had dropped so neatly into his hands, so neatly and so unwillingly.
That was half the pleasure.
He could feel the tangible quivering of the other person in the darkened room. Faint wisps of sound breathed through the room as the person shifted: the slide of skin on cotton, the hollow clink of metal against metal. Stilling and listening further, he was warmed by the faint but discernible edge in his captive's quickened breathing.
That's what he came here for. That's what he wanted to hear. That's what he wanted to smell: the delicious fragrance of subjugation oozing from his captive's pores.
He breathed deeply to help maintain his control. A whistle of air marked the movement of his arm. Slender leather strips connected lightly with a smooth, firm thigh. The flat snap echoed loudly in the silence; a surprised, muffled breath punctuated it. Hot pleasure spurted deep in his belly.
Reaching out, he trailed a hand over the bared flesh lying helpless before him. Paleness flushed a darker shade where the blood surged and gathered beneath the surface. Scars marked the perfection of form, testament to past indiscretions. He trailed his hand lightly over them, one by one, ghostly lines and ropy scar tissue. With each feathering pass of his fingers, he felt a tremor ripple through the body of his helpless prisoner. By the time he worked his way to angry, red evidence of past unspeakable pain, the tremors had blossomed into shudders and gasps.
Removing his fingers, he substituted the kiss of the leather strips in their place, drawing the flogger in slow, sweeping arches down a leg then back up the other. Black leather strands tangled in black curls, flowing over a hardened length of vulnerability. His captive cried out at the teasing touch.
Blood surged hot in him again; he moved to stand between his prisoner's secured and spread legs.
"Roll over, slave." His soft words rumbled through the room with an unmistakable edge.
The captive, sightless from the blindfold over his eyes, moved quickly. Chains rattled loudly, but not so loudly that his soft moans were drowned out.
It was a deliciously easy capitulation to his demand. The sight of his captive quiescent and helpless against his own will had the man's cock surging even more.
Leather trailed more quickly now, igniting new nerve endings. As he leaned over his captive, the man's leather pants pulled tightly against his own rampant cock. The leather in his hand rose and fell. The muscles in his arm seemed connected in some mysterious way to his cock, each motion shooting a pulsing pleasure between his legs.
Bitten off grunts and groans came from his captive in spite of his pitiful attempts to muffle his reactions The man closed his eyes, reveling in the sounds of leather and skin and a breaking will. It was more addictive than any drug he could ever imagine.
He opened his eyes again, not wanting to miss the sight of the flogger on flesh. Blood swelled to the surface in a dark red wave. His palm sought out its heat, soothing and caressing. The leather flew again and again.
There was no real sense of time in the dim, curtained room. There was only the rhythmic sound of leather rising and falling. It was punctuated each time by the snap of connection against tender skin, and an increasingly loud response. His captive writhed under the blows. Shoulders, buttocks and thighs radiated passionate heat, palpable from a distance away. It filled the man's chest and groin full with a warm, light feeling, nearly eradicating that which he harbored: the smoldering darkness informing his goal.
The man paused to smooth a hand over lovely, reddened skin and found pleasure in it. But regardless of his pleasure, he wasn't at all ready to give up the wrath which drove him. He held on to the darkness with a jealous grasp.
When his slave squirmed and thrust his hips against the bed, he stopped. "Don't move until I tell you."
He reached up and pulled a rope, releasing a device from its moorings on the ceiling. He pulled the sling down and into place. "Up on your knees."
His order was met with a faint, groaned protest.
Immediately his hand connected hard on the already painfully raw skin of the captive's right buttock. "Was that a complaint?"
The captive shuddered and stilled, shaking his head no.
"Then get up."
His captive moved slowly, pushing himself into position. Quickly, he pulled the sling beneath his captive's body, securing it into place. Tension sang through his captive's body; his chains pulled taut.
A slight smile graced the man's face. He had not used the sling before. He liked the look of anxious anticipation on his slave's face.
As his captive did so, the man adjusted the sling, allowing his captive's legs to hang down free. The sling cradled his helpless body and head; the chains remained attached to the bedstead, keeping his limbs fastened.
Reaching underneath, the man checked that his captive's cock and balls hung free, touching nothing. As his hands casually and efficiently adjusted his slave's genitals, they elicited another heartfelt groan. The man smiled with a dark humor and lingered a moment, fondling his captive's dangling sac, stroking the swollen flesh and running a thumb over the leaking cock.
His captive reacted with quivering tremors, but was careful not to jerk in his bonds. The man rewarded him with a soothing hand on his enflamed and abused skin.
Trailing his hand over his captive's flesh, the man walked around to the other end of the platform. The sling raised his captive's head to just the right height. The sight of a naked, trembling mouth below the black silk blindfold called to the man, urging him to give free reign to his desires.
One hand entangling in his captive's hair, he reached down and unfastened his pants, freeing his own cock from its constraints. It bobbed a dark red in front of his slave's face. A hand forced his captive's mouth to it. At that moment, the man nearly loved this helpless creature for the feeling of omnipotence his slave's defenselessness assigned to him.
"Take it. Swallow it. No gagging." The order fell deep and edged, warning of retribution if it were not followed carefully.
Slowly, lips parted, and he pushed himself in between them. Teeth scraped and he hissed, tightening his fingers warningly. The teeth disappeared, replaced by soft, teasing flicks of tongue and hot, hard suction. It felt good, and he fucked his captive's mouth with his eyes closed.
Deeper into that hot cave he went, thrusting over palate and down his swallowing throat. Throat muscles tightened around his cock with delicious flutters, until he bit his own lip to keep from groaning out loud.
Abruptly, he picked up the discarded flogger and brought it down on sensitized skin in time with his thrusts. His captive began to moan again. The vibrations it created around his cock were exquisite. Before it undid him, the man quickly withdrew from the tempting place. He refused to give his captive the reward of knowing how talented and pleasurable his busy mouth had been.
Cool air caressed his swollen, wet cock as the man walked back around the platform. A cabinet to one side revealed the items he now wanted. Quickly, he rolled on a condom. He would prefer to feel skin on skin, but it was a necessary evil. Lube sat warming in the warming tray. He took some, parted his slave's cheeks and worked it into his ass. There was little resistance; his prisoner had been wanting this for some time. After many days, he knew just how many strokes of the leather to apply before his captive was ready.
Holding his cheeks wide apart, the man guided himself in, pushing firmly past slight muscle resistance. With one hard motion, he slid all the way in until his balls slammed firmly against his captive's sac. He paused, reveling in the pleasure of that tight ass swallowing him whole, the reflexive spasms of his captive's anal muscles tightening around him.
Each time he thrust into this ready and available cavern of pleasure, he was filled with the power of victory, his own past pain ameliorated by hot sexual pleasure and an even hotter triumph. Each thrust was a willful feeding of his own need for vengeance.
Pulling out, the man thrust again, enjoying the many wordless sounds his captive made. His hands clenched in gratification around his prisoner's hips as he continued to fuck him leisurely.
When he heard a muffled "please", he reached over in the cabinet to extract two things. The first item, a leather cock ring, was placed around his captive's cock and securely fastened. The other was a flat platform embedded with hundreds of feathers. With a powerful swell of lustful anticipation, he placed it directly under his captive's dangling cock.
When he started to fuck his slave again, the sling rocked gently from the force of his thrusts. His slave's cock and balls were dragged back and forth through the stand of downy feathers. The sensation they created wrung open-mouthed cries from his helpless victim each time he slammed home.
He'd had the feathers used on him once before; he knew the feeling. Just the remembrance of their ecstatic torture caused his own cock to swell, filling his slave's ass completely.
As a prelude to fulfillment, the feathers were unparalleled in their sensual stimulation.
As a means to never-ending sensual torture, they were even better.
Thrust after thrust, he slid in all the way, and occasionally brought his hand down with all his terrible strength onto his slave's ass. Red hand prints glowed in the midst of already reddened skin, as much a feast for his eyes as the cries were to his ears, while the musky scent of their sex perfumed the air and filled his nose. The sensory hedonism was perfection. For the first time that day, he sank himself completely into the experience, wanting to feel everything, not wanting it to end.
He sped up the speed of his thrusts and his falling hand, imagining his captive's torment. He reveled in his power over his slave, knowing he could do this over and over and over again, whenever he wanted, for as long as he wanted. Fucking him, not letting him come until the captive surrendered everything to him, everything. Until there was nothing left of him, no information, no knowledge that he had not surrendered, nothing left but shuddering massive animal need...
He came with a roar, slamming in twice more and digging bruising fingers into sweet, hot cheeks for purchase. His orgasm gripped him from his gut outward. He gasped, loud violent breaths, rocking mindlessly into the squirming, sobbing body beneath him. Eventually, he stilled, standing for long moments to regain his breath and his thoughts, ignoring the whimpers of his unfulfilled captive as he carefully pulled out, removed the condom and discarded it.
He sighed, tired now. Rolling his head around on his neck to remove the kinks, he glanced down at his watch. There was just enough time to dress and drive back.
His captive sobbed quietly now, quivering in the sling as the man removed his leather pants and began to pull on the clothes he normally wore. Leaning down near his captive's ear, the man stroked his head and his face, feeling tears under his fingertips.
The moisture felt wonderful, bringing back with exquisite clarity that luscious sense of power his captive gave to him. It made him want to stay. Only with reluctance did he finally walk away and close the door behind him.
There'd be time enough later for more. Meanwhile, his prisoner could hang around here for a while...the thought made him smile...before he'd alert one of the trainers to allow him food and use of the bathroom.
He didn't bother to remove the feathers or the chains.
The afternoon meeting adjourned. Agents pushed their chairs back from the table and stood, chatting and gathering their reports and notes, walking out in groups as they left to return to their respective offices. Slowly the crowded room emptied, until there were only two.
Skinner stood up, sorting the files on the table in front of him.
Mulder couldn't resist the unconscious invitation and nuzzled a warm mouth behind Skinner's ear.
Skinner cursed, twisting around. "Jesus, Fox."
Mulder chuckled quietly, his breath brushing against Skinner's neck. "You smell...interesting."
"Do I." Skinner glanced around the room and at the door.
"Everybody's gone. And so, obviously, were you, for lunch."
Skinner reached into his suit pants and withdrew a key, handing it to Mulder. "Here. I'll meet you at the club later on, after my meeting with the Director."
Mulder examined the key, marked Room 36. He looked up with an inquisitive expression, beginning to feel the sharp edge of forbidden pleasure derived from anything connected with the club.
Skinner's eyes gleamed with an odd light. "I think you'll be - pleasantly - surprised. Think of it as an early birthday gift."
Out the door, down the elevator, and all the way through DC traffic, Mulder wondered and burned.
The door to Skinner's suite at the club unlocked easily with the key. Mulder walked into the living room, discarding his coat and suit jacket. Nothing stirred in the room but the watery yellow streaks of sunlight streaming in the far windows and across the pale cream carpeting.
The bedroom door was closed; Mulder headed for it. His experiences in this bedroom had been varied, and he'd learned that Skinner never repeated a lesson. So, as always, he had no idea what awaited him on the other side of the door. Yet his eager body had no doubt that whatever it was, he was going to enjoy it.
The door was unlocked. As the door swung back, Mulder felt a drugging sense of fear and anticipation. Drawn drapes left the elegant room in shrouded calm.
A man lay prone, suspended in the ceiling sling over the mattress. Slender legs, gorgeous tight ass, dark hair falling over a blindfold. The man groaned, and Mulder walked closer to him, a pervasive sense of unreality making his limbs move with a sluggish speed.
Another slave. Another partner in crime. His heart pounded desperately, desire surging fully to the fore.
And a very beautiful one at that...
A shudder passed through him.
One hand was draped over the edge of the sling, chained to the bed.
One hand. One arm.
Mulder smiled, and began undressing.