Scully’s Dilemma Series by Romp

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Scully’s Dilemma Series by Romp

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Scully’s Dilemma  ⊗  Mulder’s Tail  ⊗  Krycek’s Game ⊗  Scully’s Instruction ⊗  Scully’s Release

Scully’s Dilemma

TITLE: Scully’s Dilemma

Author: Romp




WARNING: Language. Some graphic consensual oral and anal sex between Scully and a mysterious stranger during a dream sequence.

SUMMARY. An inter-agency office briefing on a series of cases involving anal probing stirs strange fantasies in Scully. In order to get to the “bottom” of Scully’s suspicions about having been anal probed, she and Mulder must get very up close and personal.

TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: No Spoilers That I’m Aware of. Set Roughly around the end of Season Six or the beginning of Season Seven.

KEYWORDS: UST, Smut, Humor, Anal probing

DISCLAIMER: The X-Files and the characters of Mulder and Scully belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting and are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from their use.


Dana Scully sat in one of the fifth floor briefing rooms employed for task force operations. She, her partner, Fox Mulder, and a number of other select agents were convened for semi-annual intra-office briefings. The series had been instituted in response to the changing nature of criminal threats and particular concerns over so-called catastrophic terrorism. The FBI Director wanted increased contact among agents from disparate departments within the Bureau, the better to help them share information.

Scully had come to look forward to the briefings as a way of keeping in touch with the more normal side of the FBI. Although she had unexpectedly come to enjoy her work with Mulder on the X-Files, there was still a side of her that longed for the innovative forensic techniques that had first drawn her to the Bureau. The morning’s kick-off presentation on new DNA identification techniques had been particularly stimulating and she was also looking forward to an afternoon briefing on the use of genetic engineering techniques to alter biological agents to be more lethal. The Bureau had been devoting increased resources to such concerns ever since the attack in the Tokyo subway.

She glanced upward at the conference room clock and back down at the typed agenda next to her notebook. 10:45 was slotted for an update on “Unusual public health risks.” The briefing was to be given by one Agent Raymond Daniels. Daniels was generally regarded among the water-cooler circuit as a hard-charging up-and-comer. Golden boy of his Academy class, he privately bragged that we would make assistant director before 35, and many felt he had the talent — and connections — to do it. Young and cocksure, Daniels took the podium and waited for his PowerPoint brief to load.

“Good morning. In keeping with the Director’s intentions for this seminar, I’d like to present the assembled expertise in this room with the facts surrounding a new and potentially disturbing trend that has been identified in a number of Mid-Atlantic states. I’m hoping that a presentation of the facts to such to an interdisciplinary group as this might benefit our investigation.”

Daniels paused seemingly uncertain as to whether or not to proceed. The rest of the room focused on his silence. He cleared his throat.

“In particular, I’d appreciate Agent Mulder’s input.”

Mulder and Scully looked up at Daniels — then just as quickly at one another. Scully had always assumed that their inclusion in these seminars was due to the simple fact that they were chaired by the agents’ immediate superior — AD Skinner. Few outside their basement office seemed to care about — or in some cases even know about — the X-Files. Among those who did, Mulder was universally dismissed as a quack — albeit a brilliant one — and Scully as his long-suffering Watson. For an agent of Daniels’ rising prominence to specifically request Mulder’s input was interesting indeed. Scully tried not to make too much of it, returning to her notebook. She jotted down quick notes as Daniels proceeded with his brief.

Nine deaths over a three-month period. Bodies were all found at home. Locations of the victims stretched over a three hundred mile area from Maryland to North Carolina. But there was no sequential progression to the deaths. The first death occurred in Norfolk. The second in Baltimore. A third in Raleigh. A fourth in Williamsburg. Another in Frederick. And so on in random order across three states. The last victim found one week ago just outside DC.

Scully’s curiosity was peaked and she could tell by the intent look on her partner’s face, that Mulder’s was too. Daniels moved on to the specifics of the deaths.

“All victims appear to have died from sudden and massive collapse of some of their internal organs. Autopsies revealed severe trauma and rupturing of the kidneys, lower intestines, pancreas, and other major organs in the lower half of the chest cavity. Heart and lungs were undamaged. No external trauma or wounds were visible.” Daniels cleared his throat again. “Medical examiners in different states reached similar conclusions: that some of the victims lower internal organs appeared to have spontaneously ruptured and/or liquefied.”

“The absence of any external trauma had initially led to fears of a pathogenic agent. However, the distance between the victims has raised doubts as to whether this could be the earliest phases of a transmissible outbreak. Subsequent investigation by the Center for Disease Control failed to turn up evidence of any known pathogenic agents. Careful medical screening of persons in close contact with the victims — including sexual partners — also failed to manifest any abnormalities.”

Daniels paused to let this last point sink in. “In short, agents, we have something of a mystery. The CDC has also done extensive screening of water, air, and food products that the victims might have been exposed to. All were negative. We have no clue as to why these nine people simply appeared to…rupture…for lack of a better word, from the inside out.”

Scully could feel the rising tension to her left. Mulder was thinking the same thing as she: this case should have been an X-File long before nine people had died. For once though, Mulder seemed content to avoid a moral harangue about the purview of his work.

Daniels continued.

“We have understandably explored other avenues of investigation, to include looking into the victim’s backgrounds for any clues as to the cause of this unusual phenomenon and for any indications of common factors among the disparate victims.”

Daniels paused. Clearing his throat a third — and then a fourth time.

“Here it comes,” Scully thought to herself.

“Our efforts revealed that all nine victims believed they were…”

Daniels finally choked it out: “Well, they all had reported alien abduction experiences.”

A murmur went up through the room. Clearly the assembled agents were unsure what to make of this. Daniels’ reputation was impeccable yet he seemed to have been flung into the middle of the type of bizarre sensationalism in which Mulder reveled.

AD Skinner steered the meeting back to the facts. “Agent Daniels, could you be more specific about exactly what these people believed happened to them?”

Scully saw Daniels’ face redden. She sensed that Skinner’s question had made things only more uncomfortable for the young agent.

Daniels took a deep breath. “All nine victims had reported being abducted and had reported experiences consistent with the standard…‘abduction profile’…developed by Agent Mulder in his work on the X-Files.”

Scully dare not look but she knew that Mulder must have been beaming: to have a case of this nature brought up in this forum, by someone other than himself. Any anger that he had felt about not being brought onboard earlier would have subsided at the simple recognition that someone else, for once, was talking about alien abductions.

Daniels’ redness had receded and now the agent looked almost pale.

“Is that it agent?” Skinner asked.

“No sir. In addition to the ‘standard’ abduction profile…all nine victims had made specific complaints…or…well…had reported specific sensation…with…I mean…”

“Agent Daniels we’re all adults here. Let’s get on with it.” Skinner was clearly losing patience with Daniels’ personal discomfort with this case.

“Yes sir.” Daniels cleared his throat for the penultimate time. Then he matter-of-factly stated: “All nine victims reported having been anal probed during their abduction experience. Although other details of their abduction stories varied, the reports of extensive anal probing remained consistent.”

Scully drew in a deep breath. She was sure that if Skinner hadn’t been in the room, half of her colleagues would have doubled over in laughter. She felt herself barely able to contain herself, more out of Daniels’ discomfort than the fact that he had raised anal probing. She, more than anyone, was sensitive to abduction stories, having possibly been abducted herself. Although she didn’t know exactly what she believed anymore.

Daniels pressed on, clearly wanting to conclude his presentation. “In addition to the…commonalities with respect to the reports of anal probing, all nine victims also were reported to have complained of…of…”

“Agent Daniels!” Skinner’s patience had been exhausted.

“I’m sorry sir. Ahem. All nine had recently complained of…of a phantom sensation that was described as consistent with repeated anal probing or anal sex.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Scully saw one seasoned agent make an awkward dash for the door, clearly red-faced and on the verge of uncontrollable laughter.

Daniels cast his eyes skyward, humiliated. Scully wondered how an agent allegedly as savvy as Daniels had allowed himself to be saddled with such a bizarre case, let alone required to brief it to his peers.

“Finally,” Daniels said with obvious relief, “a strange greenish discoloration was reported on the victims anuses and…and nipples.”

Scully looked up. She made out more smirks around the room. Daniels strange briefing had reduced half the agents in the room to the maturity level of schoolchildren. She would have joined them had not nine people been dead. But still, green nipples and anal probing?

As usual, Mulder was able to remain straight-faced amidst the most lurid of details. “Agent Daniels, could you go back to the issue of the phantom anal probing?”

In the corner, one younger agent no longer could contain herself. She let out a quick chortle of laughter that threatened to erupt around the room. Cowered by a glare from Skinner, she retreated red-faced behind her notebook.

Daniels looked down at his notes and read the details in a monotone: “All nine reported the phantom sensation of having a probe-like instrument anally inserted. In three cases, this phenomenon was actually witnessed by close friends and relatives.”

Mulder was clearly enjoying himself. “Witnessed? You mean they actually saw…”

Daniels inhaled angrily. “The witnesses reported seeing the victims — fully clothed — react in a manner consistent with…being probed…anally.”

Two other agents darted for the door unable to control themselves.

“Huh.” Mulder looked genuinely perplexed.

Skinner tried to restore some decorum. “Thank you Agent Daniels for that…interesting…presentation. I suggest we all take a ten minute break to absorb these facts and, hopefully, compose ourselves.”


During the break, Scully and Mulder repaired to their basement office. Scully couldn’t wait to hear Mulder’s private thoughts on Daniels’ bizarre case.


Mulder played coy. “So?”

“Please! Mulder, you can’t tell me you sat through a presentation like that and you don’t have some theory…or at least a guess?”

“To be honest, Scully, I don’t. Not yet anyway. I asked Daniels to copy me the autopsy reports and all the other material relevant to his investigation. Not surprisingly, young Agent Daniels was all too eager to hand the case off to me.”

“So you don’t even have a preliminary theory?”

Mulder frowned. “No, Scully, I don’t. I mean, to be honest, the most striking thing about the more lurid aspects of this case — the phantom anal probing, the green discoloration — is that they’re things I’ve never seen before.”

Scully let this last point sink in. If Mulder hadn’t seen it, who had?

She glanced at her watch. The ten minutes were almost up. “I’d better get back. You coming?”

Mulder glowered. “No, Skinner wants me to go check out some strange apparition in a church down on Capitol Hill. They painted their rectory and now one of the janitors is claiming he sees John the Baptist on the wall above the water cooler. Apparently one of the parishioners is a good friend of the Attorney General’s and…well, you know the story.”

Scully gave Mulder a sympathetic look. One of the downsides of Mulder’s unique interests was that he occasionally got called in on cases that even he thought were crazy.

Scully moved to the door. “Do you want to meet later for lunch?”

“Sure. How about some green nipples and ham?”

Scully rolled her eyes and walked out of the office.


The rest of the morning and afternoon proved uneventful. Daniels simply retreated sheepishly to his spot at the conference table. The brief on biological weapons had proved dryer than Scully had hoped and she was relieved when the day of presentations concluded.

She had touched base during the afternoon break with Mulder. The “apparition” had turned out to be a combination of moisture from the water cooler interacting with the fresh paint and the undercoat of old lead-based paint. The mixture had resulted in a strange smearing that could, through an outdated pair of eye glasses, be construed as a face. Beyond that, there were no miraculous forces at play and having established as much, Mulder opted to give himself the afternoon off.


Scully had given little further thought to Daniels’ brief, but as she prepared for bed that night, she found herself thinking back on the events surrounding her own disappearance years earlier. Her memories were still fuzzy, despite her attempts at retrogression therapy and hypnosis. She had reluctantly come to accept that something had happened to her, but what specifically she was still unsure. She had been given a thorough physical exam and, as best she could tell, anal probing was, mercifully, not something she had been subjected to.

Still, as she lay down for bed, she found herself focusing on the subject. Anal probing? It sounded so ridiculous, the ultimate cliche of those paranoid individuals who were obsessed with their own questionable abduction experiences. As a scientist Scully couldn’t help but question, why, if beings from other worlds did exist and were capable of visiting earth, they would need anal probes to obtain information about human physiology. Surely creatures that technologically sophisticated would have much more advanced means of performing diagnostics on their human subjects.

Surprising herself, Scully let out a small giggle. Unless, of course, the aliens liked anal probing! Scully grinned and even blushed.

Having been raised in a strict Catholic family, sex was something that was never discussed openly. Scully had found out most of her information on the “birds and the bees” through school-girl rumors and the vicarious experiences of her sister Melissa. Though Melissa was younger, she was always a much freer spirit than Dana and had actually served as something of a sexual mentor to Scully. Most of what she knew about sex prior to her own experiences had come from Melissa’s tales of back-seat encounters with young officers at the naval base where their father was stationed.

Scully looked longingly towards the window. Melissa was gone now.

Maybe it was the fact that Melissa had been so adamant that she would never permit anal intercourse that had first sparked Scully’s private interest in the act. She remembered Melissa coming home furious at a young ensign who “had tried to enter her exit ramp.” Melissa had slapped him silly and, worse, threatened to report his suggestion to her father — an empty threat to be sure, but one the ensign responded to readily. He immediately took the girl home.

Scully had always been the “good girl” of the family and privately she knew that her anal fantasies were a form of rebellion. As a young teenager, she had rebelled by sneaking her mother’s cigarettes. As a young woman, there was a part of her that longed to shatter the ultimate sexual taboo, to cast off any aspersions to righteousness and goodness and take it “there.” She thrilled at the idea of reveling in her own wickedness, in seeing the shocked look on her lover’s face when she requested that particular act.

Of course, she never had.

Certainly, she’d had lovers, but she had never felt comfortable enough with any of them to actually share that particular fantasy. Or maybe, she hadn’t felt comfortable enough with herself.

Now a little melancholy, Scully wondered if she ever would meet the right man, someone she could let in all the way — literally and figuratively.


Scully’s dreams always had a unique hue to them. The hue was sort of a light violet, though at other times more bluish. It was just something that seemed to always be there in her dreams — in the sky, around lights, in reflections. Maybe it was the analytic side of her brain’s way of making sure it was clearly understood that this was only a dream. Thus, as she walked through the Victorian manor, Scully took comfort in the violet haze that streamed in through the windows.

She was dressed in a light silken dress that clung tightly to her body. A firm breeze blew from an open window at the end of the hall. The closer she came to the window the more gusty it became. She pressed on though, taking firm, but short steps down the corridor. Then, as she expected, a man stepped into her path. The hue intensified from the window, casting him in an eerie, but beautiful, purple silhouette.

He was tall, broad-shouldered and dressed in a uniform that seemed familiar, but somehow not. The cloth and cut were similar to the dress white Navy uniforms she had seen her father and brother, Bill, wear, but different, with markings and colors from other eras mixed in to the design. The man himself was handsome and well-built, yet also anonymous. He wasn’t necessarily faceless. It was just more a face she somehow couldn’t recognize and wouldn’t remember.

At the site of him, Scully broke into a short run, embracing him full on the chest. She felt him sniff at her hair, then move a hand to caress her neck. As wind swirled around them, he flicked off the slender silken straps that held her waif-like dress.

Scully’s heart leapt as she was freed from the thin layer of clothing. Gleefully, she pressed her nude body full against the silhouette’s muscular frame. He moved his hand to her chin and drew her up into a long slow kiss. Their tongues intertwined as Scully delighted in the feel of the well-starched uniform against her naked body.

As the two lovers’ tongues melted from one another, the man swept Scully up in his arms, cradling her small frame against his chest. Torn between the chill wind and the warmth of his body, Scully shuddered as the man steered her down the hallway into the confines of a plush bridal suite.

Scully had been here before with him, but past experience did nothing to diminish the rush she felt as he dumped her summarily onto the mat of lush pillows and sheets. She rolled over and then up on her hands and knees, almost feral in her anticipation. As the man stripped off his shirt, Scully arched her back, stalking catlike over to the edge of the bed. Thrusting her hand hard into his waistband, she looked up at his bare torso. With a laugh, she ran her tongue in a hard lollipop lick up his chest then leaned back in abandon, her grip on his belt her only support.

She needed his cock.

Roughly, the figure swatted away Scully’s hand sending her tumbling backwards onto the bed again. She recovered quickly, thrilled by his defiance. She again crawled deliberately to the edge of the bed, the man having now had time to remove the trousers.

Scully reached out and gently laced her fingers under his semi-erect phallus. She rubbed him tenderly between her thumb and forefinger, drawing closer. By the time her mouth was in reach, he was fully erect. She let her hand rest lightly on the top of his rigid shaft, her fingertips flicking playfully at the underside. She pursed her lips and blew warmly on the head, smiling as he jumped at her ministrations.

Then with a ferocity that surprised her, she darted forward, engulfing his head with her mouth. Above her, the man arched and moaned, running his hand through her hair in clear approval. Scully freed him from her mouth, then went to work with her tongue, mimicking the lollipop lick she had applied to his chest. Her nose nestled hard against the side of his shaft, as her tongue darted everywhere, covering his manhood in a thin layer of gloss. With the necessary lubrication applied, Scully hungrily returned to the head, embracing it again in a hard, consuming kiss. Then, she began thrusting downwards, her lips gliding down his shaft.

Suddenly, she felt his grip on her hair tighten.

Scully looked up then released the man from her lips. Questions filled her eyes. This had never happened before. Wasn’t he pleased?

A gentle finger stroked her cheek, letting her know that he thoroughly enjoyed her efforts. He picked Scully up by her shoulders, drawing her into another long, deep kiss.

Slowly, the man began turning Scully around.

She hesitated at first, then went along as the man silently shifted her shoulders, setting her firmly in front of him, her back to him. She needed no encouragement as he applied gentle pressure, forcing her forward onto her elbows. Scully inhaled deeply. This had never happened before either.

Scully rested her head against the crisp linen sheets. She felt the breeze kick up again, playing on her ass cheeks as the man drew her rear up into the precise position.

“Oh!” Scully exhaled hard as she felt a cool dollop of lubricant in between her cheeks. The man was working deliberately now, no longer concerned about her reactions.

Scully cradled her head in her arms and waited.

The man entered her with a hard, almost vicious thrust, sending shockwaves through her body. She grunted and bit down hard, nearly drawing blood from her lower lip. Christ, he must have been all the way in!

Scully’s ass was afire as she adjusted to the skewering sensation. The man’s hands held her ass cheeks firmly and slowly began massaging them. Dana let herself relax, the burning in her backside gradually subsiding, giving way to something new. She felt her opening relax around him, felt herself take in the splendor of the fullness. She smiled.

As if on cue, the man began thrusting again. Slowly, gently. Short deliberate strokes that opened Dana’s body up further to his intrusion. Scully began moaning, almost uncontrollably. The magnificent skewering sensation! The wonderfully unbearable sensation of him moving in and out of her! The naughtiness of it all! Scully was in heaven.

As his thrusts became harder and longer, Dana let herself go. Arching her back, she flipped her hair in ecstasy, pushing her hips back to meet him. Groans and shouts emanated from her that she would have once thought impossible. A chorus of raucous profanity exploded out of her, reaching a crescendo as the man exploded deep inside her. At the top of her lungs, Dana let forth a visceral cry: “Yes!!! Fuck My Ass!!!”

Scully rolled over on her side. She was completely spent but still inciting her lover with a stream of bawdy encouragements.

It was only then that she realized she was talking out loud.

Scully shook the sleep from her eyes slowly. In the distance, she could hear her snooze alarm whirring. She lay in the center of her bed nude, her bedclothes — and pajamas — flung about the room.

Scully collected herself. What a dream! She was slightly embarrassed, but more amazed that she had whipped herself into such a frenzy. A sudden thought flushed her cheeks. How loud had she been screaming? Oh God, the neighbors…

Scully pulled the nearest sheet around herself, suddenly conscious of a more pressing concern. Her ass was throbbing.

No! This was not happening.

Scully lowered the sheet. Her nipples were a bright shade of green.


Ridiculous. Scully glanced at her reflection in the full-length mirror. Under other circumstances, this would have been laughable. There, set against her milky white skin, were two bright green areolas. With her amber pubic hair, she looked like an exotic dancer done up for St. Patrick’s Day.

A half an hour had passed and Scully’s analytic side had finally managed to gain the upperhand. Panicking at this point was useless. There could have been any number of — well, there had to be some logical explanation for what had happened to her. As near as she could tell, the sensation of penetration had not corresponded to the insertion of any device — or anyone for that matter. There was no external trauma that she could discern and, mercifully, no greenish discoloration around her anus — at least none that she could distinguish in the awkward position she had assumed to check herself in the mirror.

Physically, she felt fine. Though her initial thought was to immediately check herself into Georgetown Medical, her instincts told her that this wasn’t a case for ordinary medicine. Still, she made herself a silent promise, that if she knew no more by the end of the day, she would admit herself for observation. She understood all too well that as ludicrous as this situation seemed, it still had the potential to be lethal.

Scully took a short step towards the bathroom and cringed. God, her ass did hurt. Scientific explanation or no, she was left with the strong sensation that her butt had just been royally fucked.

She shook her head. Could the sensation somehow be psychosomatic? Her most private fantasy building up into a physical manifestation of…frustration?

Her last thoughts before drifting off to sleep had been about finding someone to share that particular fantasy with. Scully hadn’t exactly been burning up the dating circuit in recent years and she was growing all too aware of the fact that she was devoting far too much time to her work.

The X-Files.

Scully resigned herself to the fact that if an answer was to be found it would lay in an analysis of Agent Daniels’ case folder. And in Mulder’s insights. Not entirely sure how she would explain her newfound interest in the case to her partner, Scully walked gingerly to the shower.


For once Mulder was in the office ahead of Scully. The shower had done her good, and the application of some moisturizer had gone a small way to easing some of the ache in her backside. Still, the ride in had made it all too plain to Dana that her car needed new shocks. At least the discomfort had subsided sufficiently that she could walk without cringing.

Scully had been dreading this moment from the second she realized she would have to share her predicament with her partner. On the one hand, she knew Mulder was a talented professional who would do everything to help her. On the other, he was also a grade A pervert, as witnessed by the stack of Adult Video Weekly’s stashed in his desk drawer.

Mulder looked up eagerly as Scully entered the office, Daniels’ case files strewn across his desk, clearly well thumbed.

“Morning, Scully.”

“Good morning, Mulder. How long have you been here?”

“Since about four this morning. I couldn’t get Daniels’ case out of my mind so I decided to come in early and get a head start on the autopsy reports. Scully, this is fascinating reading. I’ve never seen anything like this before. I’ll give you the highlights later.”

Mulder was up and putting on his suit jacket.


“Yeah, we have a 9:30 with Skinner that we’re late for.” Mulder grinned. “And for once it’s not my fault.”

Scully let the last remark slide by. She had lost count of how many times she’d had to linger nervously outside Skinner’s office waiting for Mulder to show.

“Mulder, I…” Her voice trailed off. How the hell was she going to say this?

“Scully, what is it?”

Dana took a deep breath. She had to tell him. Time could be of the essence and she couldn’t afford to spend half the morning in Skinner’s office on who knows what.

Mulder glanced at his watch unsure. “Scully?”

“Mulder, there’s something I need to talk to you about. Something that’s happened.”

Her partner’s face clouded with concern. “Okay. It’s okay Scully. What?”

Scully looked down uncertain how to proceed. “Could you turn around?”

Mulder looked thoroughly confused. “I…I don’t understand.”

Scully sighed, her shoulders sloped in resignation. There was no other way.

“Just do it, Mulder. Please. I’ll explain in a minute.”

“Okay.” Reluctantly, Mulder turned towards the door, his back squarely to his partner.

Dana Scully took another breath and began unbuttoning her shirt. Her face reddening at the prospect of what she was about to do, she nonetheless assured herself that there was no other way. Mulder would never understand what had happened to her in her dream, and she didn’t welcome the idea of trying to explain it to him. Her nipples, at least, were hard evidence. Scully grimaced. No pun intended.

She had not worn a bra in order to make this as fast as possible. In a few second she had unbuttoned her blouse and let it hang for a second, the folds still covering her. Then, she inhaled deeply once more, lifted her eyes to the heavens, and pulled back the folds.

“Okay, Mulder.”

Had it not been attached, Fox Mulder’s jaw would have not only dropped to the floor, it likely would have broken through the concrete and ploughed into the earth’s core. He’d seen his partner undressed before — when he rescued her in Antarctica. But that had been in the field and hardly under ideal circumstances. What he saw now was absolute beauty. Scully, her head back, her firm, rounded breasts thrust forward. Not too big, not too small…

Mulder snapped out of his trance.

“Scully, I don’t…what…?” Stammering was the best he could manage.

Scully looked at Mulder suddenly unsure. The look on his face was one of priceless surprise…and confusion. Didn’t he see?

In a panic, Scully glanced down at her chest. Shit! Two perfectly pink areolas winked up at her.

There wasn’t a shade of red deep enough to describe the color on the agent’s face.

Scully’s mind raced. But only an hour ago they’d been — !! She was sure of it.

“Oh God!!!”

Scully clamped the folds of her blouse closed again and dove behind Mulder’s desk for additional cover. What had she done?

Mulder stood in utter confusion. He wasn’t sure what was more perplexing: the sudden desire of his long-time partner to flash her tits at him — and what tits! — or her equally sudden remorse at having done so. Stammering was now even beyond him.

Fitfully working her blouse buttons, Scully could do nothing but mutter. ““Green, I swear, they were…green.”

Mulder focused. Green? Yes, of course.

He moved over and gently put a hand on his cowering partner. “Scully, it’s okay. I believe you.”

For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Scully didn’t feel completely crazy. Looking up at Mulder through matted hair, Scully raised her eyebrows hopefully. “You…believe me?”

Mulder pressed his grip on her shoulder in support. “Yes. Your…your areolas were discolored…green. That’s why you…ummm…”

Scully got to her feet. “Un-huh. I thought showing you would be…”

Mulder nodded.

Scully, her blouse hastily refastened, let herself collapse into the nearest chair. Mulder pulled over one for himself and the partners sat in exhausted silence.


After a few minutes, Scully felt some semblance of composure. Best to lay down the law.

“I swear to God, Mulder, you make one joke about beads or Mardi Gras and I’ll shoot you again.”

Mulder gave in to a much-needed laugh. “Actually Scully I was just going to ask you to make sure I have singles on me before you do anything like that again.”

Scully tried to stare daggers at him, but couldn’t help but smile despite herself.

Mulder clamped his hands together as if to remind himself that there was more important business at hand. “All kidding aside, Scully, we have a problem. How long has it been since you noticed the green discoloration?”

“Less than an hour, Mulder. I was in the shower. I was sure…”

“I believe you. My analysis of Daniels’ case profiles showed that the previous victims all manifested discoloration in the chest, before the latter stages of the phenomenon.”

Scully looked down. “The latter stages. Which are?”

Mulder felt his face redden. “Well, a similar discoloration around the anus. Followed within four to six hours by the onset of the more severe internal trauma.”

Scully let this information sink in. “And…the…ummm…anal discoloration coincided with the disappearance of the discoloration in the nipples?”

Mulder nodded.

Scully looked down. “So that means that right now…”

Mulder wasn’t sure what to say. “Scully, I think…I think we have to have someone check you. One fact that Agent Daniels left out of his presentation was that the autopsies of all victims revealed the presence of a small electronic chip imbedded in the rectum. I believe that this chip could be the key to preventing the onset of the internal trauma.”

Scully took a deep breath. Great. More chips.

“Mulder, it all seems so fantastic. I feel fine. Maybe I just imagined my nipples were — I don’t know. But you can’t seriously suggest I go down to the Bureau medical clinic and request an examination because I’m afraid my asshole is green!”

Mulder looked at his partner sternly. “Scully, nine people are dead because of this.”

“I know, but I’m tired of playing the laughingstock of the FBI. And, if this is a false alarm, it’s more humiliation. It’s hard enough being a woman in this field without the weight of UFO baggage, let alone phantom fears about anal probing!” Scully was red-faced again, but now in anger rather than embarrassment. “How many ‘Scully anal probing’ jokes do you think will circulate around the executive men’s room in one day?”

Mulder looked down. Part of this, he felt, was his fault. He had chosen the ridicule that came with devoting his career to the X-Files. But it had been thrust on Scully. He didn’t want to see her suffer any more indignities. But he also couldn’t let her risk her health.

“Maybe you could just say you were going in for a…I don’t know.”

Scully looked up at Mulder, having reached a decision. This day had seen no end to embarrassment, but she needed to know. And there was only one way she would feel safe checking. There was only one person she trusted to do it.

“Mulder, I’ll need your help.”

Her partner nodded and hoped that Scully didn’t notice the stirring in his pants leg. Fox admonished himself: his partner’s life was at risk. But God there was a part of him that thrilled at the thought of what was to come.

Grabbing one of Daniels’ files for cover, Mulder stood and moved towards the door. “I’ll be outside. Let me know when you’re ready.”


Had she known she would be in such a situation, Scully definitely would have dressed differently. In her haste to consult with Mulder, she had grabbed the first thing out of her closet: a smart, fashionable business pants suit. A skirt would have been infinitely more advantageous. Instead she had to completely remove her pants and, for good measure, took off the shear calf-high socks she wore underneath. Somehow leaving them on would have made her feel even more ridiculous, not less. The top of the outfit was a cropped jacket that fastened tight at the waist affording zero coverage of her backside. It actually pulled her shirttail upward as she moved. By removing the jacket, she could at least get some modicum of coverage from her blouse, though it scarcely covered the upper-third of her ass. In the front, well, nothing was left to the imagination. She had first thought to leave her panties on, but then realized it would be more awkward removing them once Mulder was in the room.

Thus, Scully wore nothing but a light blouse as she summoned the courage to let Mulder back in. Half disbelieving that she was actually going to go through with this “private inspection,” Dana took a deep breath and headed across the cool tile floor towards the door.


Outside, Fox Mulder tried his best to compose himself. Mulder had a secret, one he shared with half the men in the FBI and probably a few of the women: he was in love with Dana Scully’s ass. Mulder had never permitted himself to admit the true nature of all of his feelings for his partner. Certainly, he loved her. There was no question of that. The precise nature of that love was open to speculation, an internal discussion that Mulder avoided at all costs. Maybe it was because he needed her so much that he refused to let himself indulge the notion that Scully could be more than his partner and best friend. Though, wasn’t that enough?

While his emotions might have remained a mystery, Mulder had long ago accepted his physical attraction to Scully. He had learned that it was better to admit such things to oneself than to deny them and let them bottle up. Certainly, he had never let his yearnings interfere in their working relationship. And few at the Bureau could deny Dana’s beauty. An angelic face. A firm, nicely sized bosom. Slender, well-muscled legs. That stunning, irresistible red hair. And lastly, those luscious hips and firm, inviting posterior.

Mulder had often wished he could sit down with his fellow male agents and see if his partner’s rear end had the same thrall over them. What was it? Maybe it was the fact that it was a just a touch too big? Scully was so small and, personally, so demure in her sexuality. Yet there was something bawdy and inviting about her full, firm backside. It oozed sexuality in an old-school way that was undeniable and in such marked contrast to Scully’s proper demeanor. Her ass seemed to simply beg for a lewd catcall or playful swat.

Doing his best to will his throbbing erection into submission, Fox turned backed to Daniels’ case file hoping for any distraction.

Hmmm. He’d forgotten something: all the victims reported phantom sensations consistent with anal probing or anal intercourse just prior to the discoloration of their areolas. Scully hadn’t said anything…

Mulder was startled out of his thoughts by a knock from inside. Scully poked the top of her head through the door. She looked down at the floor. “Okay, Mulder.”


The door hung half open as Scully retreated back to Mulder’s desk, now clear of any case files. She was taking quick, deliberate steps, obviously hoping to get in position before he was fully in the office.

Mulder rounded the doorway and closed the door behind him. For a second time, his jaw dropped halfway to China. Dear God!!!

Scully was padding towards his desk, giving him a full-on view of her luscious, bare ass. She was truly beautiful, her backside bouncing lightly with each step, peeking out from under the sparse covering of her shirttail. It was even more amazing than he remembered from the brief glimpse in Antarctica. The absence of any alien goo this time obviously didn’t hurt matters. Wordlessly, Scully mounted his desk. Rising to the top on all fours, she was completely exposed to him. Her blouse rode up as she moved revealing her lower back and — Yes! There was the tattoo!

Fox stood back and drank the view in. The full hips. The lovely ass cheeks smiling back at him. The thatch of amber red peeking out from underneath. Mulder might never find definitive proof of alien life, but here in his basement office, he knew that there definitely was a God and a heaven.

“Umm, Mulder?”

Fox snapped to attention. “Uh, Scully, let me, just get my…ummm…flashlight,” Hastily, he rummaged through the pockets of his raincoat. Oh God, he hadn’t expected her to be naked as soon as he walked in. What had he expected? His erection was raging, poking squarely into the side of his left pant leg. Only Scully’s position saved her from noticing.

For what seemed like an eternity to Scully, her partner fiddled with his raincoat. Scully looked down cursing silently. His raincoat! Why the fuck didn’t I put on his raincoat? Then I wouldn’t be sitting here with my —

“Oh!” A cool touch on her left ass cheek startled Dana out of her recriminations.

Mulder was doing all he could not to hyperventilate as he moved in behind Scully to perform the examination. He had reached out almost to reassure himself that what was before him was real. Now just as quickly, he withdrew his hand.

“Scully, I’m sorry…I…I should have asked.”

Scully shook her head.

“Mulder, it’s…it’s…okay. Just do it.” And with that Scully lowered her head, cradling it in her arms. The effect was to raise her ass even higher for Mulder’s inspection.

Exhaling slowly, Mulder reached out and touched Scully in the same spot. He felt his partner shudder slightly. God her skin was soft. Closing his eyes to remind himself of the task at hand, Mulder snapped on his flashlight. Then slowly, he pushed Scully’s ass cheek to the side, bringing the flashlight up to his line of sight.

Even her asshole’s cute, Mulder thought, as the light reflected on her tiny nether opening. It winked back at Mulder, tightly puckered and pink. And ever so inviting. Mulder shook the last thought from his mind, almost violently.

Scully whipped her head back towards him. “Mulder!?”

Mulder stood up, doing his best to not look guilty. It was time to stammer again.

“Umm…all clear…pink…very…much so…good…pink.”

Scully was too relieved to notice Mulder’s nervousness. “Thank God. And all the victims manifested the anal discoloration as soon as it disappeared from their areolas?”

Mulder nodded, thankful to have something to focus on other than his partner’s ass. He turned to the stack of case reports that had been transferred to the bookshelf. Absently, he began flipping through them as if the answer was on a certain page. Scully had swung her legs round so that she was now seated on the edge of the desk, her hands pulling her shirt down in front. Mulder wanted to do anything but look at her.

“So, then, I should be all right?”

Mulder nodded.

Half a smile crossed Scully’s face as she came to appreciate just how uncomfortable Mulder seemed. Her smirk turned to a full-blown grin when she saw the wet spot and bulge protruding from Mulder’s pants leg. His face was now buried in the files awkwardly. Scully composed herself, not believing what she was about to do.

“Still, Mulder, it’s probably best if we do a complete check.”

Mulder swallowed so hard he was sure that his gulp could be heard on the ninth floor.

“Complete, Scully?”

Dana had resumed her previous position, her face squarely away from Mulder. She nodded. “I mean to be on the safe side. We’d better check for the chip. Don’t you think?”

Scully’s tongue danced along her teeth barely able to suppress how wicked she was being. For a moment, doubt crossed her mind. Should she be playing with Mulder like this?

The image of his bulging pant leg assured her that he wasn’t exactly being hurt by this situation. Well, she nearly giggled, at least not hurt in a way he wasn’t enjoying.

Scully breathed in hard as she felt Mulder move his hand to her ass cheek again. This time his touch was firmer, more sure. With his other hand, Mulder reached down and opened his desk drawer. Scully looked back to see Mulder extract a jar of vaseline.

Dana furrowed her brows. What the hell did Mulder keep vaseline around for? She immediately thought of Mulder’s ever-present porn stash and figured it was best not to pursue the question.

“Oh.” Scully shook as she felt Mulder’s lubricated finger glide through her cheeks, pausing just at her opening.

“Just try to relax Scully, I’ll do this as quickly as I can.”

Scully nodded, exhilarated. She felt her body begin tingling at the sensation of him pressing on her tight opening. When he passed into her in one quick thrust she nearly lost it. Every muscle in her body was lit ablaze at the thought of him inside her like this. Mulder’s finger moved smoothly, a much more comfortable intruder than what she experienced in her dream. God she was in heaven! Suddenly Scully realized she was enjoying things too much. Shit! Would Mulder notice? She felt herself growing damp as her face flushed.

Mulder was being relentlessly thorough in his probe, just as she expected him to be. He moved in and out, up and down, rotating his finger at every possible angle to ensure that he canvassed each centimeter of her forbidden chamber.

Scully bit down hard on her lip. What the hell had she been thinking? This was no game. Something had produced that effect in her nipples. There might yet be something deadly at work in her system. But here she stood — half-nude and on all fours — duping her partner into a cheap, prurient thrill!

After what seemed an eternity, Mulder finally withdrew. He hesitated for a second unsure.

“Ummm, all clear. I’ll let you get dressed.”

With that he was off like a shot towards the door.

Scully could all but contain herself as she saw her partner quick step out of the room, his straining bulge clearly needing immediate attention. Surprising herself, Scully thought: perhaps I should have tended to it?


After she’d dressed. Scully lingered in the ladies room. Part of her still felt awful at having toyed with Mulder. Yet something inside of her also thrilled at what she had done.

When Scully returned to the office, Mulder was lurking sheepishly in the corner, sorting files. She noticed that he clearly had “accidentally” spilled some coffee on his pant leg. She knew that she had to set things back on a normal keel as soon as possible.

She went up to her partner and hugged him tightly.

“Mulder, thank you for what you did. I know that wasn’t easy for either of us, but you have no idea what that meant to me.” Catching herself, Scully quickly added, “I mean, I really didn’t want to have to go to a Bureau doctor about my potential problem.”

Mulder nodded. He was glad for Scully’s embrace. He’d felt awful running out of the room, then practically sprinting to the men’s room to jerk off, all because he’d reached a near sexual frenzy over a potentially serious medical situation involving his partner. He’d felt like such a creep, but Scully’s embrace had let him know that everything was all right.

Scully stepped back, something important suddenly occurring to her. “Mulder, if I’m okay down there…”

Mulder finished her sentence: “What produced the initial discoloration you experienced this morning?”

Scully nodded.

Mulder set down a chemical diagram on his desk. “I may have an idea. Phenalchlorolactate.”

Scully gave him a quizzical look. “Never heard of it.”

“Few people have, at least outside the more radical elements of the anti-fur movement. It’s a chemical that induces greenish discolorations in some mammals, including minks. Some fringe groups have been injecting animals with it to prevent their use in the fur industry.”

Scully looked at the chemical formula. “So you suspect that something like this might have been used on me?”

Mulder nodded. “I’d suggest you get a complete blood workup just to be on the safe side. The good news is that there are no apparent ill effects from phenalchlorolactate. I just don’t know why I didn’t think of something like that before.” Mulder turned to his files wishing he could take that last sentence back.

Scully was too preoccupied with another question to read anything into the remark. “That still doesn’t explain why someone would want to produce that effect in me? I mean, what could be gained?”

Mulder thought for a minute. “Maybe what you feared earlier: to discredit your reputation, make you a laughingstock.”

Scully nodded. “Well, then, I guess we handled things the right way.”

Mulder nodded his enthusiastic agreement. “Absolutely.”

“I should probably go get that blood work-up done, just to be on the safe side.”

“Right, and I’ll go deal with the wrath of Skinner.”

Scully had completely forgotten their long passed appointment. “Oh God, he’s going to be furious.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Mulder grinned seemingly a little more himself now.

“What will you tell him?”

Mulder smiled, “I always think of something. You go get your blood work done. It’ll be all right.”

Scully headed towards the door. “Mulder, thanks again. I mean it.”

Mulder nodded as Scully closed the door behind her. Wistfully, he added: “Any time.”


Through the miasma of smoke, the grainy video flickered.

The quality was not the best, but Scully and Mulder were clearly identifiable. Mulder had just taken out the vaseline.

“What will you do with the tape?”

“Do Alex?”

“I assume you’ll want to use it against them.”

“Hardly. When you get to be my age, Alex, you’ll realize not everything is about winning and losing.” He paused. “Especially after so much has been lost.”

Krycek exhaled impatiently. He was growing increasingly tired of these lectures from his self-appointed “mentor.”

“If we’re not going to use it to discredit them, then why did we go through all this trouble?”

The Smoking Man smiled. “To teach them something about themselves.”

He turned to face Krycek full on. “Is it so wrong to occasionally reward a worthy adversary?”

Krycek fumed, “We spend three months on an operation of this magnitude, so you can provide Mulder with a quick feel of his partner?”

A thin line of smoke hissed at Krycek’s face. “You of all people shouldn’t scoff at the merits of a quick feel, Alex.”

Silently, Krycek stalked out of the room.

The Smoking Man took another drag from his Morley and returned to the videotape. Using the zoom mode, he focused in on a clear shot of the sly smile Agent Scully concealed from her partner as he fumbled awkwardly behind her.

“Who ever said I did it for Mulder?”




Mulder’s Tail

TITLE – Mulder’s Tail



CLASSIFICATION – Story/Humor/Angst — Mulder/Other

SPOILERS – Set in the latter half of Season Six. No spoilers I’m aware of.

KEYWORDS – Smut/UST/Equestrianization

SUMMARY – A case involving a unique sexual practice causes Mulder to reflect on his first encounter with bondage and domination. Meanhwile, mysterious older woman offers to be Scully’s sexual mentor.

AUTHOR’s NOTE: Continues story arc begun in “Scully’s Dilemma.” Another related story or two may appear in the New Year.

FEEDBACK: Please! Was it Dennis Miller who said, “All writers are whores for attention?” Thanks to everyone who responded to my first story.

E-Mail: <mailto:>.

DISCLAIMER: The X-Files and the characters of Mulder and Scully belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting and are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from their use.


Dana Scully ploughed the creamy mush indifferently with her spoon. Dejected, she read the label again: Fat Free. Banana Cream Pie Yogurt. Lite. Now With Even Fewer Calories!

Scully sighed. And even less taste. Cultured crap. Why the hell did she do this to herself? Setting aside the yogurt, she turned to the other half of her “lunch,” a bagel with lite cream cheese.

She had hoped to have time for a jog on one of Quantico’s famous training trails, but her lecture ran long. Her audience was especially enthusiastic, and the group of Academy students peppered her with insightful questions long after the allotted lecture time was over.

The Bureau liked the idea of field agents coming in to give periodic lectures. It kept the training program fresh and rooted in day-to-day investigative techniques. AD Skinner had agreed to make Scully available twice a semester for an extended morning lecture on forensic medicine. She welcomed the break from the X-Files and enjoyed the occasional opportunity to focus on something related exclusively to her first love: medicine.

Scully looked out through the wall-length windows of the Academy cafeteria, the cold autumn rain running slowly down the glass. But then, lately, she welcomed any opportunity to get away from the X-Files.

It had been almost a month since the strange events that led her to call on her partner, Fox Mulder, for a deeply personal examination. In retrospect, it all seemed so preposterous, but then so much of their work often did. What had happened to her was never fully explained. Mulder suggested that a substance called phenalchlorolactate was responsible for the strange greenish discoloration in her nipples. But subsequent blood work revealed no such chemical in her system nor any other that shouldn’t have been there.

Scully grimaced. Green nipples. Definitely preposterous.

Yet her nipples had been green. She was sure of it. Sure enough to bare her chest to her partner. Sure enough to have him check her for signs of green discoloration elsewhere, a symptom manifested by nine other individuals who had subsequently died. Sure enough to have Mulder probe her rectum for signs of yet another lethal chip.

No, that wasn’t true. Mulder didn’t really have to check for the chip, Scully admitted to herself. The lack of any discoloration of her anus was sufficient proof that she was in no real danger. No, she had him insert his finger there because she wanted it.

Scully looked down at her bagel. Yes, she thought, you wanted it.

At the time, it had seemed like a harmless game. Mulder’s inability to conceal his erection during the initial stages of the exam had emboldened her to take matters a step further. And God she had loved his touch! The thorough and relentless search with his finger. How many times had she masturbated to the memory in the past few weeks?

Still a big part of her deeply regretted the episode.

To the outside observer there was no discernible difference between the partners. They continued to set about their work diligently. In four weeks, they closed out no less than five X-Files. A mini-record.

And, Mulder was still Mulder. Driven, insightful, intelligent, and occasionally perverted, though he took great care to never even mention the dilemma Scully had found herself in, much less his role in resolving it. They had talked briefly about the encounter immediately afterwards, sealing matters with a hug.

But for Dana things had changed. Increasingly, she found herself finding excuses to go off and do work on her own. She avoided any situation with her partner that would even hint at a sexual innuendo whenever she could.

“Why?” part of herself asked.

“Are you really ready to answer that?” another part responded.

Their next case, she realized, wouldn’t help matters. Scully glanced at her watch. It was almost one and she was scheduled to meet Mulder at two to go over the particulars.

She’d taken a copy of the case file home the night before but hadn’t had a chance to do more than glance over a few of the crime scene photos. They showed an attractive young woman clad in an elaborate animal costume meant to simulate some sort of jungle cat. A lioness maybe? Perhaps a cheetah or a leopard. Scully shrugged. Jungle cats weren’t her specialty.

Flipping through the file again, Scully realized just how intricate the outfit was. At first she had assumed it was just something extra-kinky from Frederick’s of Hollywood or some such place. But she saw now that this was something much more. There was a thorough attention to detail in the costume’s design. In particular, on the woman’s feet there was an elaborate attempt to simulate paws, with fur-covered prosthetics that ran midway up her calves, leaving the rest of her legs bare. Her torso was covered in a tight, spotted unitard that actually seemed to be made from a thin animal skin of some kind. It tapered to a thong in the back, exposing her buttocks completely. Attached to the thong, or so it seemed, was a spotted tale, again surprisingly realistic and possibly constructed with actual animal hair. Lastly, the woman’s head was contained in an elaborate skull-cap that mimicked the head of a jungle cat, but left her face exposed. Her long blonde hair was wrapped tightly through a hole in the top of the head piece and cascaded down freely in the back, furthering the feral impression: from the front, her hair would look like a mane. Lastly, came a meticulous, and possibly ritualistic, face painting. Metallic gold and black paint splotched her cheeks and forehead. The look was topped off by a faux animal nose and whiskers.

Scully frowned. And I wonder why Mulder’s interested in this case, she thought.


“Equestrianization, Scully. A fringe practice among some in the bondage and domination set. One person submits to another by assuming the identity of an animal, often a horse. The dominant partner then assumes the role of master, caring for the ‘animal,’ tending to his or her grooming, even taking them out for rides on occasion.” He paused. “Or so I’m told.” Mulder flashed a smile at his partner, enjoying, as he always did, any opportunity to demonstrate his knowledge of things sordid and sexual.

Scully raised a classic eyebrow and smirked, unwilling to give in to Mulder’s attempts to shock her.

“Let’s say you’re right,” she said, turning back to the image projected on the wall of their basement office, “that might explain the, well, unique circumstances of her death, but not what makes this an X-File.”

Mulder was wearing his typical rebuttal smirk. “C’mon Scully, an otherwise perfectly healthy 31-year old woman’s heart all but explodes during an animalistic sexual practice and you don’t see anything strange about that?”

Scully studied the crime scene photo projected on the wall then looked down at the preliminary medical examiner’s report. Privately, she conceded, Mulder had a point. Putting aside for a moment the unique costume, the medical facts of the case were perplexing, to say the least. Virginia Penn. Age 31. No family history of heart disease. She’d been in for a physical six months before her death. Health perfect. Blood pressure excellent. Avid runner in top physical condition. Ideal weight for her height.

Scully shifted her gaze back to the crime scene photo.

Yet there she lay, dead from some form of violent and fatal heart trauma. An attack so severe that the autopsy had found more than eighty percent of the heart muscle damaged, as if she had a dozen massive heart attacks all at once. In some places the organ had even ruptured, spewing blood into the surrounding cavity and esophagus. A thin trickle ran from her mouth as she lay contorted on the floor of her apartment.

Mulder interrupted his partner’s prolonged silence. “Well?”

Scully nodded. “Okay, definitely strange, but certainly not unprecedented. I could come up with half a dozen plausible explanations for this condition, up to and including an exceptionally adverse reaction to recreational drug use.”

Mulder shook his head and pointed at the case file. “The medical examiner found no trace of anything more illicit in her system than ibuprofen.”

Scully thought for a moment. “All right, then, what about any number of rare but documented cases of congenital heart defects?”

“And the fact that one of these congenital defects just happened to strike while she was playing Sheena of the Jungle doesn’t seem the least bit odd to you?”

Scully shrugged. “Should it? If anything the physical stress and excitement would almost certainly elevate heart rate and blood pressure. It’s just as likely for this…” Scully hesitated. “For this sexual act to have exposed a fatal weakness in her heart as it would be for it to have occurred while she was out running or in an aerobics class.”

Mulder nodded deeply, feigning acceptance of Scully’s explanation. He advanced to the next slide. “Then how do you explain these?”

Scully moved towards the wall trying to get a better look. It appeared to be a close up of the bed linens. They were shredded, with deep perpendicular slashes cut into the mattress beneath. She stared at her partner incredulously. “Oh my God. Are those…?”

“Yep. Claw marks.”


Scully buckled herself into the passenger seat and braced for The Theory.

“Two words Scully: lycanthropy and anthropomorphism.”

Scully restrained herself. He’s been studying for the SATs again, she thought.

Mulder could feel the cynicism building to his right but continued. “Any number of religions have a belief in animal spirits and in the transference of spirits between man and beast. Lycanthropy has been a recurring theme in various folklore legends throughout the Western world, as well as in many other cultures, including among Native Americans, several African nomadic societies, and many religious groups in Asia.”

Scully took a deep breath. “So what you’re saying is —”

“— that Virginia Penn didn’t just dress up like an animal, she actually became one.”

Scully sighed. “Mulder, do you seriously mean to imply that what befell Ms. Penn involved her morphing into a cheetah ala Lon Chaney, shredding her bed clothes, and then morphing back into human form before taking a massive and fatal heart attack.”

Mulder shook his head. “Yes and no. I believe that Virginia Penn may have undergone some form of transformation. But maybe something went wrong, maybe somehow the transference was incomplete.”

“What do you mean?”

Mulder paused, thinking. “During the werewolf hunts in 17th century Europe, there was a belief in the identification of lycanthropes through what was referred to as ‘repercussion,’ wounding the creature in animal form and then identifying corresponding wounds on an alleged human host.”


Mulder took a deep breadth, suddenly conscious that he was about to take a big leap of logic, even for him. “What if part of Virginia Penn morphed backed faster than another?” “Mulder…”

“No, no, Scully, think about it. What would happen if your or my internal organs were required to support the body of an animal?”

Scully rolled her eyes. “Mulder this makes absolutely no sense.”

“Humor me.”

Scully furrowed her brows. “Animal heart rates and physiology vary widely from those of humans. I don’t know. The heart and lungs could either be extremely overtaxed or under worked, I guess.”

“And under the strain of a sudden switch to an alternate, animal physiology, how might the heart respond?”

Scully relented. “I suppose if the heart suddenly had to support a different pulmonary system and a different body weight, you could get the type of violent heart trauma seen in this case.”


Now it was Scully’s turn to smirk dismissively. She opened the case folder in her lap, signaling Mulder she needed a brief respite from his latest foray into the paranormal. If nothing else, it gave Scully an opportunity to read over the background notes in more detail.

Virginia Penn had graduated Johns Hopkins in ‘92, Yale Law School in ‘95. She’d only recently moved to the DC area after spending five years as an assistant DA in Richmond. Penn had accepted a partner-track position with one of DC’s better known law firms. Well-respected by her peers. Devoted to her job. No known boyfriend. Parents lived in Germantown, Maryland. She was third-generation Irish American. Regular churchgoer registered with St. Charles’ parish. Scully winced. The details of their daughter’s death would make things especially hard on the family,

Mulder eased the sedan up in front of the high-rise apartment, one of the nicer buildings in the Ballston section of Arlington, Virginia. A few minutes later he and Scully were breaking the police tape outside the fourteenth floor apartment.

“The crime scene boys did a thorough check for hair, fibers, etc. Apparently her old boss in the Richmond DA’s office called in a few favors to make sure there was no evidence of foul play,” Mulder explained as he fiddled with the pass key.

Scully nodded. “Pay back for someone she sent away.”

Mulder shook his head as he walked into the spacious, plush-carpeted suite. “Seems a little unlikely though. She mainly worked white collar crime.”

The agents paused for a moment. Before them a large picture window spilled out onto an ample balcony. Beyond was an exquisite panorama of the DC skyline, dominated by the Washington Monument.

“We are in the wrong line of work Scully.”

Scully exhaled in a low whistle. “So, what did forensics turn up?”

“Very little. No evidence of semen stains on the surrounding carpet or linens. Some hair and fiber samples that can’t be completely explained, including animal hair which may or may not have come from Virginia’s costume.” Mulder paused to raise an eyebrow. “No good fingerprints. And no good explanation for why it looks like Tony the Tiger did the rumba on her bed.”

Scully had drifted into the bedroom. Most of the bed clothes had been removed to the lab, leaving just the mattress. The claw marks she had seen in the photos looked even more vicious and severe up close. She’d tried to convince herself that maybe they’d been artificially created. By the prosthetics on Virginia’s feet? By some tool or weapon? But standing here looking at the mangled remnants of a heavy-duty king-sized mattress, Scully had to admit that the word “animal” quickly came to mind.

“I’m not sure what to make of this,” she called to Mulder.

“Then what about this?”

Through the doorway she could see Mulder fiddling with the back of a wardrobe that stood just inside the living room. With an effort Mulder squeezed both arms inside the cabinet and pulled out a large thin sheet of paneling: a false back.

Straightening up, Mulder pulled the wardrobe’s doors wide, revealing a series of hooks and shelves. Arrayed across the cabinet’s back Scully could make out a few implements: a riding crop, a short cat-o-nine tails, a longer leather whip curled around two hooks. With them, were what looked to be tails. Each appeared to be some derivation of a jungle cat. One for a tiger. Another for a leopard. And so on. There were four in all. A fifth hook hung empty. It must have held the one Virginia was wearing at the time of her death.

Peering over Mulder’s shoulder, Scully made a sudden revelation: attached at the terminal end of each tail was a tapered butt plug, thick and round at one end; narrow and attached to the faux tail at the other. Scully understood: when inserted into the wearer, it would appear that the tail was actually emanating from between his or her cheeks. Her face flushed in genuine surprise. From the crime scene photos she’d assumed the tail had been attached to the unitard Virginia had worn. But these obviously…

“Must fasten on via the backdoor,” Mulder finished her thought aloud.

A long, awkward silence hung between the two agents.

Scully looked up. Was Mulder blushing?

“Umm, there’s more underneath. A makeup kit. And, a, um, stand.”

Scully furrowed her brows. “A stand?”

Mulder reached around to the side of the wardrobe, revealing that it, too, concealed a hidden chamber. Scully tugged on the drawers in front. Nothing. The entire piece of furniture must have been built expressly to conceal hidden compartments.

Mulder pushed the false side upward, extracting a drum-like pedestal, the kind a circus lion might crouch on.

Scully let out a deep breath to try to clear her mind. “Okay, so we’ve established that Virginia Penn liked to spend her free time in…well…interesting pursuits. How does this help us with the investigation into her death?”

“Basic deductive logic, Scully. If she liked to dress up like a lion, doesn’t it stand to reason that there must be a lion tamer out there somewhere?” Mulder tapped the pedestal for emphasis. Scully nodded “One who presumably was with her at the time her physical exertions caused her heart to give out.”

Mulder smiled. “Or whatever exactly it was that happened to her.”

Scully let the remark slip by her. “So we find the lion tamer, we gain a better understanding of her death.”

“Right.” “And we start looking at the National Zoo?”

Mulder grinned broadly and reached inside the wardrobe for a small black card. It said simply. “The Menagerie. Rare goods and services.”

Scully held the card skeptically. “Ah, well, case solved.”

“Scully it’s not unusual for practitioners of this sort of, of animalization — or whatever you want to call it — to congregate. Very often masters want to present their animals to other trainers. Among the human equine set it’s not been unknown to hold pageants and competitions, replete with blue ribbons for the best groomed ‘horses.’ Suppliers of equipment and costumes often serve as hosts for such events to drum up business.”

A sudden thought hit Scully: Mulder seems to know an awful lot about this. Just as quickly she brushed the idea aside: Mulder knows a lot about many strange things.

Giving in to a yawn, Scully realized that she was too tired to argue this out with him. Her early morning at Quantico was finally catching up with her. And, truth be told, it only made sense to track down where Virginia acquired her equipment. She relented. “Okay, Mulder. First thing in the morning investigating the Menagerie is our top priority.”


Traffic back into the city was even worse than usual and it was almost seven by the time Mulder guided the car into the FBI’s underground garage, stopping when he found Scully’s car. She’d actually nodded off on the drive back in. He looked over at her now. God, she was beautiful when she was sleeping. But then, he thought, when wasn’t she beautiful? Gently he touched her shoulder.

Scully stirred. Shaking the sleep from her head, she smiled. “Good night, Mulder. We’ll start fresh tomorrow.”

He watched as she strode to her car door, the two firm mounds of her buttocks pleasantly draped under the well-tailored pants of her business suit. Just waiting to make sure she gets in her car safely, he told himself.

He wondered if she had any clue that he stole leers at her backside every chance he could now. It had been a month since he’d had to examine her, but the image was still as fresh in his mind as if it happened minutes ago. Those two beautiful ass cheeks poised invitingly in the air. Scully’s red hair splayed out on his desk as she cradled her head in her arms. Her shudder as he touched her ass cheek. Fox closed his eyes as he felt his manhood stir, remembering how it felt slipping his finger into her puckered nether hole. The sensation of knowing her like that, of exploring that forbidden place. His bold, indomitable Scully so vulnerable, so pliant.

A polite beep roused Mulder from his daydream. Three cars were lined up behind him and he was blocking Scully from backing out of her spot. His erection raged, pushing painfully against the taut material of his suit pants. He shifted into drive. God, I hope it’s not a long ride home.


Masturbating had become a nightly ritual for Fox Mulder over the past month. Certainly he had never hesitated to take pleasure in himself, but lately he was achieving levels of activity not seen since high school. Christ, he had to jerk off every morning just to be able to face her.

Then there was his evening ritual. Scully was an early riser and usually in the office before him. Consequently, she tended to leave a little earlier. He’d watch pointedly as she walked out the door, force himself to count to thirty, then dash down to the basement men’s room. Privately, he hoped that the Syndicate had the room wired so that some poor flunkie had to sit there watching him every night. Once he’d burst out laughing, imagining one of the junior Men in Black calling Smokie up:

“Yes, sir. Masturbating, sir. Again, sir. Yes. Umm, maybe three or four minutes. No, no sir, no magazine that we can discern.”

A sudden thought occurred to Mulder: when had he ever masturbated this much without the benefit of some kind of pornography?

On those nights when he was denied his visit to the men’s room for some reason, he’d suffered intolerably during the ride home. Usually, those evenings were capped with what he affectionately dubbed a “twilight-double header.” Tonight had definitely been one of those nights, the trip to Victoria Penn’s apartment and the details of their new case doing nothing to alleviate his seemingly hopeless lust for Scully and near obsession with the woman’s posterior. He’d resigned himself that sooner or later his longing would die down, no matter how much jerking off he had to do. After all, what else could he do?

Mulder rolled off his futon and reached under the end table for his phone book. As he thumbed to the white pages, he had to admit that tonight Scully wasn’t the only woman on his mind. Ms. Penn’s collection of tails and other sundries had stirred a different set of memories.

After years of having his place routinely ransacked by one government operative or another, Mulder had learned one thing: if you want to keep something private, put it in the phone book. Bibles, dictionaries, and journals all were inevitably searched, but near as he could tell, no one ever bothered to look in the phone book. Arriving at the G section, he found what he was looking for: a homemade six-inch by four-inch section cut into the pages, perfect for storing photographs.

The first was his wedding picture. He passed over it quickly.

Next came two polaroids of Diana Fowley in his favorite piece of lingerie, a classic black-lace teddy. Front-view. Back view.

Last were the two snapshots he was looking for. A slight smile crossed his face remembering the first night he’d seen them.. It was the only time he could recall seeing her that nervous.

Phoebe Greene. Soon to be a rising star at Scotland Yard, at the time a fellow grad student in Oxford’s psychology program.

Despite his studies, Mulder was too naive to understand the dynamics of bondage and domination at the time. He remembered just how surprised and confused he’d been by the photos. For him, Phoebe was anything but submissive. Confident, self-assured, smart, beautiful, and ever so aggressive in bed. Mulder found it almost impossible to reconcile those qualities with what he saw in the portfolio she laid out before him.

But there she was: nude save for rigid calf boots protruding down into mock hooves fitted over her feet. In her mouth, a leather bit hooked up to a pair of reigns which hung loosely down her bare back. Her hair braided into a high pony tail jutting straight into the air before swaying down on her right shoulder. And lastly, the tail. He’d practically passed out when it dawned on him just how that particular accoutrement was held in place. One of the photos he now held displayed a wonderful view of that long, luxurious appendage hanging down from between Phoebe’s taut athletic buttocks.

Not quite as nicely rounded as Scully’s, he thought.

Mulder wondered how many outside the “community” had seen these photos. Looking back he realized just how big of a risk it was for Phoebe to share them with him. A unique honor indeed. Of course, at the time, that’s not how he saw it at all. After recovering from his initial shock and arousal, he asked the most jealous question possible:

“So who exactly took these pictures?”

Phoebe had nearly cried. Another first for her.

A legendary row followed.

Phoebe tried to explain her interest in submission logically: it was precisely because she was so forceful and in control externally that she needed this type of secret release from time to time.

Mulder had responded clumsily: “Couldn’t I just tie you up?”

She’d rolled her eyes and gone into more depth about what it was she loved about this particular act. The utter servitude of it. The complete relinquishing of responsibility and choice. The pleasure that came from surrendering absolutely to a trainer and having him reciprocate with care and respect..

Mulder couldn’t remember ever being more angry. “And what exactly does a trainer do for you?” he demanded.

Phoebe had struggled to assure him that this practice was strictly non-sexual for her. Sven just provided her with grooming and took her out for the occasional ride.

Mulder cringed. “Sven?”

Next he exploded. “You mean he actually saddles you up?!”

Phoebe replied straight-faced, “Of course not, only the male ponies are ridden directly. I pull a buggy.”

Inexplicably Mulder felt his anger subside as he gave into unrestrained laughter.

Patiently, Phoebe waited for him to regain his composure. The door now open, she tried again to explain her rather particular tastes and interests in detail. They spent the rest of the night in a deep soul-sharing session consummated by slow, tender make-up sex just before dawn.

By sunrise, Mulder had accepted Phoebe’s assurances that she wasn’t having “wild horse sex” with anyone behind his back. He even agreed to attend an upcoming human equine “event” with her at a private estate in Scotland.

Lord Weldon Baxter, himself a closet “pony boy” and his wife, Margaret, an accomplished trainer, opened their private estate up to the human equine community once each autumn. Unlike other events, this one was something of an “open house” with significant others invited to attend even if they were non-practitioners of equestrianization.

Friday night was a normal dinner attended by the “animals,” their trainers, and select civilians. Mulder estimated there to be about thirty participants in all, including a half dozen outsiders such as himself. This dinner was a meet-and-greet affair, a way for the submissives and doms to interact on an even plane before the festivities began in the morning. Mulder drank heavily that night in an attempt to wash away his remaining misgivings about how Phoebe would spend the next day. One upside was that he had actually cozied up to Sven after his fifth Scotch, finding the sixty-five-year-old retired horse trainer to not be half the dirty old man he expected and far less of a threat than he feared.

Phoebe woke well before Mulder on Saturday, having warned him the night before that she would be gone and in full horse regalia by sunrise. His instructions were simple: enjoy a nice hearty breakfast in the dining hall, have his run of the house, and wait for Sven to call him.

Wandering through Baxter’s mansion, Mulder had to admit he couldn’t think of a worthier setting. The house was at least four hundred years old and had a nice “haunted-but-in-a-friendly-way” feel to it. He could easily imagine Holmes and Watson stalking prey out on the surrounding lawns or picture John Steed and Emma Peel hunting down some prototypically British supervillain in the manor’s high-ceiling, oak-paneled banquet rooms.

Of course, atmosphere wasn’t all the mansion offered. Its most desirable characteristic was remoteness. The breadth of the surrounding grounds ensured guests sufficient privacy from prying eyes. Mulder smiled as he stopped to admire a wonderfully quaint suit of armor at the bottom of the stairs. Hmm, must have been a little too tipsy to notice that last night.

The breakfast spread was expansive with all manner of meats, eggs, and pastries strewn across a forty-foot banquet table. Mulder was clearly the last to rise and found the dining hall deserted. He welcomed the solitude. Despite his efforts to understand Phoebe’s “hobby” he still didn’t feel entirely comfortable with his fellow guests.

Passing over the heavier foods, Mulder assembled a selection of breads and took a seat by a picture window overlooking the manor’s south lawn.

It was then that he saw them. Not Phoebe. Not horses. No, a zebra and a unicorn.

A surreal scene unfolded before him: two female bodies frolicking against the rich dark green carpet of the manor grounds. The first a Rubinesque beauty, completely nude, her body painted with remarkable care to resemble a zebra. A full, round ass and two ample D-sized cups bounced across the lawn for Mulder’s pleasure, the horizontal black-and-white stripes only accenting her curves.

Her counterpart was a tall, lithe woman of athletic build, with pale, milky white skin suggesting Scandinavian descent. She lacked extensive body painting but wore instead white calf-boots similar to the ones he’d seen on Phoebe in the photos simulating hooves over her feet. Her small, firm breasts stood readily at attention. On her head was an elaborate headdress culminating in a single horn. The woman’s straight blonde hair was pulled up in a braided pony tail that ascended in a high arc before descending down her back. Her simple accoutrements meshed well with her natural coloring and shape, giving the women the look of something truly mythological. Mulder had no idea what an actual Valkrie might look like, but he sensed that this faux unicorn would come close.

Both women bore the trademark tales Mulder had anticipated: the unicorn’s long, white, and flowing, the zebra’s shorter, black, and frayed at the end.

Mulder felt himself stir even now thinking back on the two lovely creatures as they pranced unencumbered across his view. He watched then for at least half an hour. They were playful with one another, without necessarily being overly suggestive. He couldn’t help but wonder if they knew he was watching and whether that heightened their enjoyment.

A tap on his shoulder had broken his trance. He’d looked up to see Sven. It was time to go.


A few miles away in Georgetown, Dana Scully surveyed the collection of implements arrayed on her bedspread. Melissa would be so proud, she thought. “Liberation via vibration.”

There were three toys in all:

The Backdoor Burrower: four-inch battery-powered finger-shaped device, replete with a fly-by-wire controller.

The Waldorf: standard six-inch dildo with internal vibrator.

The Anal Assassin: ten-inches long and stereotypically black. Heavy duty suction cup on one end for wall mounting.

Truth be told, Scully had to admit her “toy chest” was a miserable failure. She purchased the various implements a week after her encounter with Mulder. She’d been called to Albuquerque to do an autopsy and on a whim — no, make that an impulse — realized that she had the perfect opportunity to shop for sex toys. Of course, she could have gone to any of a number of discreet boutiques in Washington, but her fear of being recognized always prevailed. The anonymity of a strange city melted her inhibitions and she loaded up at the first store she could find, filling her shopping bag with the three implements and a quart of something called Astroglide. Scully remembered how she had blushed shamelessly in the checkout line, belatedly realizing she would need to use her credit card to pay. The elderly woman across the counter had smiled politely, “There’s an ATM around the corner if you’d like me to hold these for you dear…”

A quick cash advance later, Scully was striding out of the boutique with a newfound feeling of liberation. She’d always shirked her anal fantasies, relegating them to late-night longings and the overactive imagination of her subconscious. Now she had embraced them head on and had a receipt for $67.53 to prove it.

Scully laughed softly to herself. Who the hell goes to Albuquerque for sex toys?

Her sexual freedom was short-lived, however. After the initial novelty wore off, she’d rapidly grown tired of each device. The “Burrower’s” motion quickly became repetitive. Plus Scully felt utterly ridiculous — and a little apprehensive — having a wire coming out of her butt to the control mechanism. The “Assassin” was, well, simply impractical. She’d only picked it up in a flash of bravado and had used it just once with utterly disastrous results. The “Waldorf” somehow just felt cold — too mechanical. None provided her the true stimulation she craved.

Her analytic side gradually had formed a hypothesis: as devices, the toys were inherently incapable of conveying feelings in addition to sensation. It’s not simply the act of anal penetration you crave, she told herself, but the surrender to another that accompanies it. You can buy the toys, but you won’t let anyone else play with them.

Scully sighed. I hate my analytic side sometimes. Dejected, she swept her toy collection back into its shoebox and prepared for bed.


Almost fifteen years later, Mulder still had to admit it was one of the most erotic afternoons of his life. He’d been instructed not to speak to Phoebe as “Phoebe” but rather to treat her as he would an animal — kindly, respectfully, but also impersonally. The bit in her mouth obviously complicated communication anyway, but still he was strictly warned against addressing her directly.

He’d felt his manhood first stir, then rapidly come to full erection within seconds of his initial glimpse of her. If her photos had aroused and intrigued, seeing her up-close ignited and engulfed. God she was amazing!

Phoebe stood firm and straight-backed in the late morning sun. Her nude, well-muscled body slightly glistening from the fruits of her early morning workout. Her eyes were fixed firmly straight-ahead, peering out from under a pompadour headpiece she’d had made just for the occasion. Mulder drank in the smell and look of a leather corset fitted tightly over her abdomen and bosom. The corset served as harness, linking up to a small two-wheeled riding buggy behind. Leather reigns draped across her bare shoulders.

After gently climbing into the buggy, Mulder allowed himself a full-blown grin. He couldn’t ask for a better view for his ride! Phoebe’s lovely ass served as a frame for the forbidden tassel masquerading as her “tail.”

Unsure what to do, he had gently snapped the reigns. On cue, Phoebe started to saunter down a marked trail and across the lawn, the buggy trailing lazily behind her. The next few minutes were filled with an array of sights befitting a future custodian of the X-Files. In the distance a sumptuous red-headed pony pulled her boyfriend in a carriage similar to Mulder’s. To his left three completely nude male ponies trotted with female riders decked out in full jockey outfits on their shoulders. To the right, he saw his old friend the zebra pausing to pose on a tree stump. Behind him, an elderly woman “walked” her seventy-year old husband, who crawled slowly across the grass, nude with a light saddle on his back. The words, through the looking glass came to Mulder’s mind.

He “rode” Phoebe for perhaps an hour, more or less letting her wander where she wished over the manor’s extensive grounds. Mulder had no idea how to “steer” her and refused to even think about employing the buggy whip which Sven had left for him.

He wasn’t sure how Phoebe knew he wanted her to stop. She just did.

Dismounting the buggy, Mulder gently pulled the reigns around in front of Phoebe looking her dead in the eye. She tried her best to not meet his gaze, staring distantly towards the horizon. Playfully he scratched her nose. In a few minutes he had undone her corset and was leading her by the reigns into the woods. Unsure what exactly he was looking for, Mulder took his time, clearly enjoying the sensation of trolling a nude Phoebe through the countryside.

After a few minutes of wandering, Mulder saw it. A massive weeping willow stretched out to his right, its low-lying, thick branches providing the perfect place to tie Phoebe’s reigns.

She’d shuffled in place as Mulder laced the leather straps under one bough. Her eyes widened as she realized he was continuing to pull the slack on the reigns, slowly forcing her to bend over.. Reluctantly, she moved her hands from her sides, where they had been rigidly planted since the start of their journey. She braced herself on the low branch.

Mulder had been staring at her backside for almost an hour, but it did nothing to diminish the glee he felt as he moved in behind her. Brushing aside her faux tail, he reached under Phoebe, gently stroking the outer regions of her sex. He smiled. She was moist and more than ready for him. With a swagger, Mulder moved in even closer as he heard Phoebe moan against the bit still in her mouth. He grinned. And the horse you rode in on.

Playfully, he twisted her tail. She let fourth a low yip against the bit and flexed her ass back against him. Surprising himself, Mulder let fly with a hard smack to her left ass cheek. Phoebe smoldered under him, her back arching, her cries more feral that equine as she literally chomped at the bit.

His manhood had been aching for her for hours now. Unleashing his member from his jeans, Mulder grasped himself tightly, enjoying the unrestrained fullness and lust of a well-cultivated erection. Gently, he began rubbing himself underneath Phoebe, letting his cock skim along her moistened lips. His pleasure was only heightened by the light dance of Phoebe’s tail around his shaft.

Then something utterly unbelievable happened. Phoebe whinnied! Not once, not twice, but three loud guttural whinnies. She bucked backwards and then ground her ass towards Mulder’s groin.

He got the message: enough foreplay. With another spank, this time to the right cheek, he entered her hard. She gasped deeply. He gave himself a moment to enjoy her velvet warmth, then slowly began rocking as she bobbed and pushed in time with him.

Mulder braced himself against her backward thrusts, quickly moving his hands to her hips. He needed to slow her down! This was too good. It wasn’t every day he got to fuck a beautiful woman in the Scottish countryside, horse costume or no. He wanted this to last.

Decreasing their speed, Mulder lengthened his strokes, withdrawing almost completely before plunging fully back into her. Along the way, he made sure to let his head play against all the right places in her silky walls, probing and prodding for just the right spot. Long and slow, in and out, he paced himself as Phoebe continued to moan passionately against her bit.

Finally, he could take no more. Tightening his grip on her hips, Mulder began heaving forward with almost as much verve as Phoebe pushed back against him. He willed himself not to come, desperately wanting Phoebe to give in to the ecstasy of the moment first. He knew he was seconds away and redoubled his efforts when he felt her body tighten and release beneath him. A low shudder escaped from Phoebe as the first of two orgasms crashed into her. Mulder followed immediately, unleashing himself with an almost painful explosion inside her. His head swam, his heart nearly stopped, and Fox Mulder had the best damn orgasm of his life. As he would later record in his journal, “Even better than on Conan Doyle’s tombstone.”

Minutes, maybe hours passed, as he and Phoebe spooned under the willow tree. They still hadn’t talked and she remained in character the whole time. Fox let his hand wander up and down her back, through her hair and under her neck, gently massaging her taut muscles.

The rest of the day was largely a blur. He remembered leading Phoebe back to their buggy and re-harnessing her. He dimly recalled the long slow meandering trip back to the manor, both of their energy expended to the fullest. That night she and the other “animals” had slept in their stables while the trainers and civilians shared a quiet supper. Mulder had retired early, unable to recall ever being so physically spent by a single sexual act.

They’d left early the next morning, both having important meetings with their dissertation advisers on the following day. He’d feared that things might be awkward once they left the confines of the manor, but, if anything, Mulder was amazed at how rapidly Phoebe transitioned back to her old self-confident persona. As soon as they’d left the compound, any trace of the total submissive she’d been for the past twenty-four hours was gone.

Mulder winced as the happier side of his memories with Phoebe gave way to the more painful times. Shortly after the Scottish weekend, things had taken a turn for the worse in their relationship, though her equestrian pursuits were the least of their problems. Phoebe might not have been into “wild horse sex” but she did eventually stray, nearly breaking Mulder’s heart in the process.

Mulder replaced the photos in their phone-book cubby hole. Deciding to forego the waterbed, he rolled over on the futon, pulling his New York Knicks sweatshirt over him as a blanket.


As it turned out, the Menagerie wasn’t as difficult to find as Scully had feared: it was listed in the White Pages. A short phone call later, the agents were headed west out of DC. The establishment was located in a suburban section of northern Virginia just beyond the Beltway, not far, Mulder couldn’t help but note, from CIA headquarters in Langley.

Set back on a large piece of property in a prominent residential area, the building that housed the Menagerie gave no hint of what business might take place inside. From the road, the non-descript structure could have passed for anything from a dance studio to a dentist’s office. It was only when their car had made its way halfway up the long gravel driveway that the agents actually saw a small sign, simply announcing, “You have arrived at the Menagerie. Welcome.”

Any pretense of normalcy was quickly lost as soon as they entered the small anteroom which served as…an entrance? A coat check? Scully couldn’t exactly tell. The walls were lined in what looked to be black velvet. At various points multi-colored silhouettes of naked women and various exotic animals were pressed into the velvet. The room was now lit by simple track lighting but Scully suspected that during business hours a black light or some form of florescence would be used to create a truly psychedelic effect given the unique wall-covering.

Scully didn’t actually hear the main door open. Rather, she saw it open in the reaction on her partner’s face. Mulder’s became aglow, as a short, buxom young woman stepped through and asked for their identification. Scully felt something stir on the back of her neck. A short buxom woman wearing nothing but the briefest of bikinis. And bunny ears. And a tail.

As Scully reluctantly showed the young woman her badge, she elbowed Mulder and whispered, “You’re drooling.”

Mulder didn’t seem to care. The “bunny” costume was not the typical Playboy ensemble. No, Scully suspected, this woman was meant more to be a field hare, her bikini and accouterments all cast in a light brownish shade. Her natural coloring was a striking mocha hue. Espresso Scully decided. At first, Scully had taken her for being of Mediterranean descent, but looking more carefully at her features she decided now that maybe she was South American or some sort of ethnic mix she couldn’t begin to guess at. Whatever her pedigree, Scully had to admit the woman was striking in a truly exotic sense. High cheek bones, a wide-full-lipped smile that would have made Cameron Diaz proud. Short dark hair framing her classic features. And lastly, luscious deep blue eyes that stood in wonderful contrast to her dark complexion. Her body was idyllic: perfectly rounded C cups that appeared real enough. A tight, muscular bottom and an even tighter, six-pack abdomen.

“My name’s Thumper.”

Scully blinked. “Your name’s Thumper?”

Mulder looked gleefully at his partner. “Her name’s Thumper.”

Scully rolled her eyes as Thumper led them into the chamber beyond. Mulder’s eyes were clearly somewhere else.

The next room appeared to be some sort of bar or club, empty now. It stretched the length of the building. On the sides were booths and down the center ran two rows of round tables. A large central bar dominated the back third of the area. To its left was a set of stairs and to its right, Scully noted, a small stage.

Thumper was leading them up the stairs now and her elevated position vis-a-vis Mulder’s face was only heightening his enjoyment. Scully was pretty sure that her partner had lost the power of speech.

“So Thumper,” Scully ventured, “do you, um, perform here?”

Thumper halted in her tracks, half turning around. Mulder damn near headbutted her crotch before stopping himself. She smiled. Then giggled. “I wouldn’t quite call it performing.”

Mulder tried to regain some pretense of being an investigator. He waved his finger in the vague direction of her bikini. “And…umm…this…this is your…uh…work costume?”

Thumper smiled even more broadly. “Oh, no, I usually work nude. Just my tail and ears.” She wiggled the former. “Ms. Lydia said I had to cover up because you were the police.”

Blood was rapidly draining from Mulder’s head to other body parts. Scully shoved by him on the stairs as Thumper resumed walking upwards.

The room at the top of the stairs was obviously the Menagerie’s showroom.. It was extensive and, Scully had to admit, featured some beautifully crafted items. The walls were lined with perhaps two dozen mannequins, each wearing a different costume. Immediately on her right, Scully saw a jungle cat outfit very similar to one worn by Virginia Penn on the night of her death. Further along there were a few more derivatives of the “bunny costume” worn by Thumper. Next came a skunk, then a series of costumes apparently meant to mimic horses.

The costumes on the far wall were even more eclectic. Scully’s jaw dropped: was that one supposed to be an elephant? Others were non-animalistic per se, but rather elaborate derivatives of the traditional leather dominatrix outfit.

In the center of the room were a series of racks and display cases featuring related paraphernalia, including handmade tails, animal make-up kits, and props for “trainers,” in addition to more conventional sex toys and lovemaking oils.

Surveying the room, Scully’s eyes locked on the costume in the far corner: a red, leather devil outfit, replete with horns, a pitchfork, a leather bustier, and thigh-high red-leather boots.

“It’s beautiful isn’t it?” a lyric voice said from a few feet away.

Scully turned around with a start. She hadn’t heard anyone else enter the room, yet standing less than an arm’s length away was a striking older woman.

Scully stared in close at the woman’s face. It was lovely to be sure, but there was something almost familiar about it. Then it clicked: the woman was a dead ringer for — oh what was her name? Scully’s mind raced. Barbara Eden? No, the other one — from Bewitched. Yes! Elizabeth Montgomery, that was it. Scully remembered her and Melissa watching the silly sit-com every night after supper with their Mom during junior high. This woman was nearly identical to the late actress.

She was, at most, Scully guessed 50, but more likely in her mid-40s. A mane of platinum blonde hair framed her eerily familiar face. She wore an elegant, yet business-like white dress. Scully was simply relieved to be dealing with a fully clothed woman.

“I’m Special Agent Dana Scully. This —” Scully looked around. Where the hell was Mulder?

“Umm…Fox Mulder, ma’am.” Mulder spat out as he stood up from an all too careful examination of one of the display cases.

“A pleasure to meet you both. I’m Lydia Carnivale. How can I help you?”

Scully eyed her partner angrily then began her explanation. “Ms. Carnivale, we’re investigating the death of Virginia Penn, who died under somewhat, well, mysterious circumstances two nights ago. She was found dead in her apartment wearing a costume that looks like it might have come from your collection. We found other items that your establishment seems to sell at the scene, as well a business card for the Menagerie.” Scully reached into her coat pocket and produced one of the milder crime scene photos. “Do you recognize this woman, Ms. Carnivale?”

Lydia waved away the photo. She sighed. “I knew Ginny. She was one of our regulars. Yes, she did buy her costume and props from me.” Her eyes seemed to mist over. “She was so proud of herself…”

“Proud?” Mulder asked.

“That she had accepted her sexual interests. Proud that she was finally getting in touch with who she really was.”

Mulder nodded, understanding all too well. Next to him, Scully shuffled uncomfortably.

At least, Scully thought, Mulder seems to be finally focusing on the matter at hand.

“Ms. Carnivale, we believe there may have been another person with Virginia the night of her death. Someone who may even have been responsible for it.” Mulder paused to let the information sink in. He continued, “Do you have any idea whom Virginia engaged in her activities with?”

Lydia shook her head. “I’m afraid the activities of our patrons our strictly confidential.”

Mulder took a step forward. “Ms. Carnivale, I noticed the video camera in your anteroom. I’d rather not have to get a warrant.”

Lydia looked up, seemingly amused. Gradually an edge set into her features. “You’d be surprised who might turn up on that tape. Are you sure you could get a warrant?”

A moment of uneasy silence passed. Then Lydia spoke again. “I’m not sure I like you Agent Mulder.” She shifted her gaze to Scully. “But you, Dana, you, I like.”

The agents looked at one another unsure.

“I’ll make you both a deal. I have a fairly good idea who it is your looking for. I’ll trade that information.”

Scully looked at her confused. “In exchange for?”

Lydia smiled. “Five minutes with you, Dana.”


Mulder hadn’t liked the idea of Scully going off with Lydia alone, but the sudden reappearance of Thumper had helped temper his displeasure. For her part, Scully was taken aback by the offer but felt no real threat. Besides, Scully thought, Mulder’s camera ploy had been clumsy. This woman clearly cared about Virginia — Ginny as she called her. Mulder needn’t have resorted to threats so soon. Scully couldn’t help but think that her partner was running a bit high on testosterone in more ways than one. Maybe Lydia just felt more comfortable passing confidential information on to another woman. Scully decided she would get her information and leave this place in peace.

Lydia Carnivale closed her office door and offered Scully one of two luxurious leather arm chairs that dominated the area in front of her desk. Overall, Scully saw, the office was well appointed. The desk and book shelves oak, the trimming brass. Deep-pile carpet. As in the rest of the establishment, no windows.

Casually set against the wall was a set of old-fashioned stocks — the kind used to put wrong-doers on display in colonial times. The wood was a close match for the desk and bookcase. As Scully sat down, she found herself wondering if the item was merely an elaborate display piece or if it had a more practical purpose.

“So, Dana, what shall we talk about?”

Scully smoothed the lap of her skirt. “Ms. Carnivale, if you have information relevant to our investigation, I can assure you —”

Lydia cut her off with a raised hand. “Dana, I’ll tell you what you want to know. But I believe you promised me five minutes of your time.”

Scully stared at her uncertain. “Ms. Carnivale, I don’t understand…”

“Please call me, Lydia. I want to talk.”

Scully raised her eyebrows, “About?”



“Yes. Are you happy?”

Scully let out an angry breath. “Lydia — Ms. Carnivale, I don’t have time — “

“Actually dear you owe me another four and a half minutes.”

Scully shook her head. “I don’t understand. Is this some sort of game? Did someone put you up to this?”

“No game, Dana.” Lydia smiled. “At least not now.”

An awkward pause hung in the room.

“Dana, aren’t you the least bit curious about what we do here?”

Scully leant back in her chair, slightly exasperated. “Not really. I assume you run some sort of unique strip bar or gentleman’s club or whatever you want to call it. You pay young women like Thumper to exploit themselves for a bunch of drooling middle-aged men in mid-life crisis, who overpay for watered-down drinks in exchange for an opportunity to imagine they’re Tarzan for a night.” Scully folder her arms. “About sum it up?”

“Hardly. You are right, I do pay Thumper. But she’s the only member of the Menagerie I pay, other than the bouncers. And Thumper’s remuneration isn’t for her services as a hare, but rather for her efforts in helping me maintain and run this establishment.”

Scully looked at her watch. “Should that impress me?”

Lydia let another pause build.

Gradually Scully’s curiosity got the better of her. “So you don’t pay any of your performers? They just take their clothes off and dress up like woodland creatures for free, I suppose?”

Lydia nodded. “That’s right, Dana.”

“And they do that because…”

Lydia looked deep into Scully’s eyes. “Oh, I think you know why these women come here. I think you know why they put those costumes on and serve the man or woman who finds his or her way into my establishment.”

Scully held Lydia’s gaze. What the fuck am I about to do? she thought. Quietly, she spoke. “Let’s say, that — that you’re right. Let’s say I do know why they come here, why they enjoy submitting. What difference would that make?”

“I told your partner that Virginia learned to accept her sexual interests.” Lydia stopped, reflecting for a moment. “And to explore them with another person. So can you.”

Scully looked down wistfully. “I don’t think my interests lie in your specific area of expertise.”

Lydia leant closer and placed her hand on Scully’s. She spoke in a whisper. “Perhaps you’re right.” She laughed softly. “But I do think it would be good for you to join the Menagerie for a night some time.”

Scully felt herself blushing. What the hell is wrong with me?

Lydia spoke again. “Dana, whatever it is, maybe I can help you make peace with it. Even embrace it.”

Uncertain Scully looked up. She wondered if Lydia could tell she was on the verge of crying. “How?”

Lydia leaned backed in her chair. “That would take some explaining. Why don’t you come back and see me again some time? In an unofficial capacity.”

As if watching another person, Scully became aware that she was nodding, “Yes.” She brushed away the proto-tears that had welled-up in her eyes.

Lydia was writing now. She handed Scully a small Post-It.

“His name is Philip Raglan,” she said. “He’s a very dangerous man. You should find him at that address. Be careful.”

Scully stood to leave.

“Come back soon, Dana.”

Silently, Scully left the office.


Raglan’s house was located still farther west of DC, deep into the suburbs of Northern Virginia. It took the agents nearly half an hour to reach the residential community where Lydia’s address led them. The neighborhood was a fairly new development, just beyond Dulles Airport. Most of the homes appeared to be less than five years old and all resembled one another to an unsettling degree. As he prepared to knock on the white colonial door of Raglan’s two-story house, Mulder’s couldn’t help but think of the Falls at Arcadia.

With the first thump of his knuckles, the door slowly swung half-open. Mulder eyed Scully and both agents simultaneously drew their weapons.

“Mr. Philip Raglan? FBI!” Mulder shouted as he pushed the door wide open.

Peering through the doorway, the house appeared completely dark. Scully could make out what looked to be a living room off to the right and maybe a staircase straight ahead, but that was it. Mulder edged across the threshold as Scully put a hand on his shoulder.

“Mulder, let’s get back up. A forensics team. If Raglan is linked to Virginia’s death, we should do this right.”

Mulder peered into the house desperately wishing he could pierce the veil of darkness.

He nodded and took a step back. He holstered his weapon as the two agents turned to walk away.

A small yelp from Scully was all that alerted Mulder to the fact that something had gone wrong. Under other circumstances Mulder would have thought she was reacting as if she had inadvertently sat in something wet. But as she half turned around, he saw that it was something far more serious. His eyes locked in on the small dart protruding from her right buttock as Scully dropped awkwardly to her knees.

“Oh God, Mulder…”

Behind him a man raced out of the house in a blur. Mulder reached for his weapon when his eyes caught a glimpse of a blow gun in the assailant’s hand. Mulder spun back immediately to Scully. If it was a blow gun….

Scully was leaning forward on all fours now, her knees and arms threatening to give out. Trying hard not to think about what he was doing, Fox Mulder pulled the dart out of Scully’s backside. Then he leaned in close, bit gently around the wound, and began to suck hard.


He fingered the cigarette thoughtfully. He would have given anything to light it, but he knew he mustn’t. She wouldn’t permit it here. Perhaps downstairs, but not here in her private sanctuary. And, for the moment anyway, he needed her help. Her special services. The thought of being reliant on another’s skills annoyed him even more than the denial of his Morley.

The Smoking Man forced himself to focus: Lydia’s harangue was nearing an end. Pocketing the cigarette, he met her gaze.

“I agree, we misjudged. We didn’t believe Raglan to be that dangerous. The dart wasn’t supposed to be tipped with curare.” The Smoking Man paused to reflect inwardly on his miscalculation: how many times had he picked a man who was more efficient at killing than he’d intended?

He continued. “But, in the end, his attack on Agent Scully may have only furthered our plan.”

Across the oak desk, Lydia glowered. She knew, however, that the Smoking Man was right. Recent events had only brought Scully and Mulder closer together. It would take far less effort to push Scully in the desired direction now. “Provided,” she said out loud, “that this little incident hasn’t completely destroyed Dana’s trust in me.”

The Smoking Man put on his best veneer of confidence. “Nonsense. You warned her Raglan was dangerous. If anything, his attempt on her life should only strengthen the bond you established at your preliminary meeting.”

“You’re just lucky Mulder knew what to do.” She paused. “It’s possible I misjudged him.”

The Smoking Man’s lips formed a razor thin smile. “Yes, he’s quite resourceful.”

When he’s not masturbating like a fiend in that basement restroom he added silently.

Lydia hesitated for a moment then decided to press forward with the question that had built in her mind for some weeks. “And does your respect for Mulder have anything to do with your particular interests here? You never did fully explain your motivation in this endeavor.” “Nor shall I,” he responded crisply. The Smoking Man took a breath to steady himself. “You of all people should know better than to pry, Lydia.”

Lydia nodded. Confidentiality was an essential part of her trade. Why should this instance be any different? And, much as she hated to admit it, there were times when she needed the protection of this man. Surely there were others who had asked her to use her skills to far more nefarious purposes. Best to move on she decided.

“So now we wait.”

“Now we wait,” the Smoking Man echoed. “Soon enough Scully will come back to you, I’m sure of it. And then…” His voice trailed off.

Lydia smiled, a little ashamed at the images she was conjuring in her head. “And then I melt the Ice Queen.”


Visiting Scully in the hospital was becoming an all too common an occurrence for Fox Mulder. How many times was it now since that the first fateful time at Georgetown Medical when she’d been returned? Five, six. He’d lost count.

Her prognosis this time, mercifully, was good. He’d managed to get enough curare out of the wound to prevent the poison from doing any serious damage. She’d experienced some temporary numbness and dizziness, but that was largely it. She’d be kept at the hospital for two days as a precaution while an antiserum was administered just to ensure there would be no residual ill effects on her system.

As he entered Scully’s room, the Garfield helium balloon Mulder trailed behind him managed to evoke an immediate smile from her. Truth be told, when Dana Scully let her guard down she was a sucker for goofy-looking cartoon characters.

“Mulder, you shouldn’t have.”

“C’mon, it’s not every day I get to practice my boy scout snakebite survival skills. I owe you big time.”

Scully laughed softly, knowing that it was she who owed him her life.

“Any word on Raglan?”

Mulder shook his head. “No, but we have an APB out on him through the entire lower 48. We may not have anything to link him definitively to Virginia Penn’s death, but he’s wanted for the attempted murder of a federal agent now. We’ll find him Scully.”

“So there was nothing in the house tying him to Virginia Penn?”

“Oh, there was plenty. An ample number of accoutrements that fit in with Ms. Penn’s lifestyle. Also videos and photographic stills of him engaging in ‘animal training’ of females. There were also a number of herbs and symbols used in Shamanistic practices often associated with shape-shifting.” Mulder paused to raise his eyebrows. “But nothing that would prove definitively that he was with her on the night she died.”

Scully smiled tightly. Mulder had saved her life. She’d let him off the hook for once. If he wanted to believe that Raglan had actually changed Virginia into a lioness somehow, so be it.

“So, I guess from our standpoint, Mulder, there’s not much more we can do. Other than wait for the manhunt to turn up Raglan.”

“I guess not. Besides, Skinner’s ordered you to take the next ten days off. No arguments.”

Scully nodded. “I’ll probably need a few days to get over the side effects of the anti-serum.”

Mulder tied the balloon to the end of Scully’s bed. “Well, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. I’ll, um, give you a call in a few days when you’re back home.”

“Thanks, Mulder.”

As soon as he’d closed Scully’s door, Mulder let out a hard frustrated breath. Oh, and by the way, Scully, your ass tastes great. Looking around, Mulder quickly located the nearest men’s room.


Krycek’s Game

TITLE: Krycek’s Game



CATEGORY Story/R/H/A — Scully/Krycek


SUMMARY. Krycek has information Dana Scully desperately needs. What

is she willing to wager to get it?

TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: Set in the latter half of Season Six. Maybe spoilers for “One Son” and “Two Fathers.”

KEYWORDS: UST, Smut, Humor

AUTHOR’s NOTE: This just sort of happened. I finished “Mulder’s Tail” and I kept writing. This was sort of the result. It moves the story arc from “Scully’s Dilemma” and “Mulder’s Tail” along, but isn’t necessarily vital. Really it’s just a smutty vignette.

WARNING: This story is NC-17. Lots of very bad language, egregiously frank sexual insinuations, and Scully being coerced into some fairly humiliating acts. If this isn’t your thing, please move on. If you’re under 17 definitely move on. In fact, go read a book.

DISCLAIMER: The X-Files and the characters of Mulder and Scully belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting and are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from their use.


The Wulfskeller. Scully knew the bar well. It was a popular place for impromptu college reunions and on more than one night she’d met friends from Johns Hopkins there to engage in the establishment’s specialty: rare and unique beers from around the world. Scully wasn’t much of a beer drinker, but somehow sipping an over-priced amber from the Czech Republic or some such place made it seem more elegant. As Scully surveyed the bar now, she couldn’t help but feel a bit of remorse. How long had it been since her last drunken evening? How many friends had she lost touch with since joining the X-Files?

Scully winced. Lost friends. Wasn’t that what brought her here tonight? Mulder had been missing for over five days now, having seemingly disappeared without a trace. No alien abduction. No signs of kidnapping. Just gone. Scully had driven herself mad trying to find some clue, some lead to follow. But in the end, there’d been none.

Until an hour ago. She’d just returned home from work when she got the call: be at the Wulfskeller in one hour. Come unarmed. Leave your cell phone at home. Call no one or the meeting will be aborted.

“Come alone and I’ll tell you where Mulder is.”

It had been her final instruction, conveyed via a digital voice scrambler.

The Wulfskeller was only ten minutes from Scully’s apartment in Georgetown, which left her half an hour to agonize over the decision. Call Skinner? Or the Lone Gunmen? She would need some kind of back up, wouldn’t she? No, she couldn’t risk it, she decided.

A dozen half-baked ideas floated through her mind next. Could she conceal a tape recorder? Maybe hide a small weapon somewhere on her body. She cursed herself for never having procured a small-caliber Beretta like Mulder.

In the end, she resigned herself to do exactly as instructed. She needed Mulder back. What else could she do?

The Wulfskeller was located beneath a posh hotel, just off Dupont Circle. It would be fairly crowded at this time of night and Scully didn’t particularly fear for her own safety. Still, under the circumstances, she felt more than uneasy as she sat down at the main bar. Immediately, she slipped a pack of sealed playing cards out of her coat pocket. She’d been instructed to purchase them in the hotel gift shop first, then to set them on the bar, presumably, Scully reasoned, as some sort of sign to her contact. She had tried to read into the significance of this act. Did that mean that whomever she was to meet had never seen her?

She ordered the first beer that came to mind. She wasn’t planning on drinking it. She just didn’t want to look conspicuous.

A tap on her shoulder startled her. How the hell had she let someone sneak up on her? Turning around, she saw a young blonde woman, maybe twenty-two or twenty-three at most, Scully decided. She wore a loose apron over jeans and a black t-shirt. It took Scully a second to understand: the woman worked here.

“Are you Ms. Scully?” she said pleasantly enough.

A little unsure, Scully nodded. “Yes.”

The waitress smiled innocently. “He’s waiting for you in a private room in the back. If you’ll follow me?”

Scully rose to leave when the waitress raised a hand. “He said you should bring the cards.”

A little uncertain, Scully picked up the deck and began weaving through the labyrinth of tables and brick columns that ran the length of the establishment. The Wulfskeller was narrow, with only room for two rows of tables across, but stretched back nearly half a city block.

When they’d finally reached the back, the waitress stood to one side, motioning Scully through a simple dark wooden door. Eyeing her uncertainly, Scully put a hand on the door knob. The young woman smiled back. “Go on in, I’ll bring your beer back.”

Scully twisted the door and stepped inside. The walls were brick like the rest of the bar. A pool table was set off to the right. To the left was a large booth, decked out in green velvet benches. Comfortably sipping a Scotch, sat Alex Krycek.

The door close behind her. Scully let her hatred fume. She wondered if Krycek knew how lucky he was that she’d decided against bringing a weapon. Crossing her arms, she stared death at him. And waited.

Krycek smiled the rat’s smile. “Good evening, Agent Scully.”

Scully glowered. Barely audible, she whispered, “Krycek, what the fuck do you want?” It was the nicest thing she could think to say.

“Want? Why I don’t want anything.” He paused to take a drag of the Scotch and Scully sensed he might be a little drunk. “If anything, I believe it’s you who are in need.” Scully closed her eyes, willing herself under control. She let out a deep breath. A slight smile crossed her face as something occurred to her: he’s been taking diction lessons from the Smoking Man.

Letting out another slow breath, she asked bluntly, “Where’s Mulder?” Her tone was a notch gentler than her opening comment.

“The Syndicate’s taken him. Well, what’s left of the Syndicate has.”

Scully looked up wide-eyed. She hadn’t expected a straight answer. Still caution got the better of her. “Why? Why take him now?”

Krycek took another draw from his Scotch and shook his head. “What’s left of the conspiracy is cleaning up after itself. Our smoking friend has been eliminated. Without his protection, Mulder was a natural target. They’re holding him for now, to see how much he knows. But soon, well…” Krycek drained the last of the Scotch, grimacing as he did.

Scully felt something well up inside her: a sad sensation that accompanied her instincts that Krycek was telling the truth. She swallowed hard. “But you know where he is?”

Krycek nodded absently, meditating on the bottom of his glass. “And I’m going to tell you.” He paused. “In time.”

Scully planted herself firmly in front of the booth. Breathing steadily she tried to put on the most even handed voice she could. “Krycek, I know you have no love for the Syndicate. Tell me where Mulder is and I let you walk out that door. No questions asked. You were never here.”

The rat’s smile flashed again. “Of course I was never here. But I don’t need your consent for that.”

Instinctively Scully reached for her phone. She would have every federal officer and DC patrolman here in seconds. Belatedly, it hit her: leave your cell phone at home the voice had said.

Krycek tried to refrain from outright laughter. “I can be two states away before you even make it to the pay phone.”

Scully let her hands drop to her sides loosely. No weapon. No phone. For a second she contemplated whether she could beat the information out of Krycek. No, she decided, even with one arm he was still far too dangerous.

Again willing herself under control, Scully flexed her fists open and shut. “Okay, Krycek, when do I get the information?”

“Did you bring the cards?”

“Yes…” Utterly confused, Scully produced them from her coat pocket.

The rat smile reached full bloom. “Excellent. We’re going to play for it.”


Krycek was standing by the pool table now, lazily bouncing a cue ball off the bumpers. Scully had been silent for minutes, still letting the proposition sink in. She held a cell phone now, albeit one with the battery pack removed. It wasn’t hers, but she knew it well enough that it might have been. As soon as Krycek had pulled the device from his pocket she recognized it as Mulder’s. Not just on the basis of the brand. No, this was more than simply the right make and model. Every minute scratch was the same as her partner’s phone. The worn spot where he gripped it. The smudges on the numbers. Something so cold and inanimate, yet she knew undeniably that it was his. Whatever else he might be up to, she no longer doubted that Krycek knew where Mulder was. And increasingly she feared, there might be no way to get him back other than to play Krycek’s twisted little game.

Finally, she turned towards him. “You’re a sick fuck.” Distantly she realized the remark had the sound of a concession, rather than an affront.

As a smirk crossed his face, Krycek tossed the cue ball into the air with his good hand. “Yes, I am. And more. But I’m the sick fuck who has the information you need. And,” he turned to meet her gaze, “I’m offering it at a fairly low premium when you think about it.”

Scully put her hands on her hips and stared intently at the floor. There had to be some other way.

“C’mon, Scully, before medical school weren’t you a mathematics major? Or was it physics? Either way, you must know about probability. The odds would be more than in your favor.”

Scully bit her lip. It had been physics but she saw no need to further enlighten Krycek about her past. Silently, she reviewed his proposition, vulgar as it was. Krycek had said he wanted four challenges or bets. They would cut the cards once per challenge. If Scully drew the high card at any time, he would give her Mulder’s whereabouts immediately and the competition would end then and there. If Scully lost, she had to carry out the challenge and draw on the next one. Krycek had made no pretense of the fact that the payoffs would be of an extremely personal nature.

Fingering the sealed deck, she wondered if this was all a set up. Could Krycek somehow have planted a trick deck on her? It seemed unlikely. She’d selected the pack at random from more than two dozen on display in the gift store. Could he have somehow replaced them all? Even if he did, what advantage could be gained from something like a marked deck? This wasn’t poker, just a straight high-low card draw.

And the odds were in her favor. Krycek’s little game would end as soon as she won a single draw. She would have a fifty-fifty chance in each draw. That meant there was a one in two chance that she would have to perform the first challenge, but only a one in four chance that she would also have to undertake the second pay-off. Thereafter the odds got even better: Only one in eight that she would have to go through on the third challenge as well and one in sixteen that she would have to undertake all four pay-offs.

Scully exhaled her resignation. “Why?”

Krycek looked at the far wall distantly. Scully actually thought his eyes might be misting. After a fashion, he shook his head. “No reason really, Dana.” He looked up at Scully. “May I call you Dana?”

A vicious scowl answered him.

He chuckled softly.

“No reason, Scully. Other than that’s there’s not much else left to do. The conspiracy’s gone. The Syndicate’s feeding on itself. And humanity…well, humanity’s had its day.”

He paused and Scully again had the unsettling feeling that Krycek was telling her the truth, ugly as it was.

“There’s really nothing left for me Scully other than to indulge in earthly pleasures.” He turned the rat smile full on her and it sent a shiver down Scully’s spine. “And for me, pleasure involves dominating. Do you know the thrill of knowing what it’s like to own another human being utterly and completely?”

Scully hardened her gaze. Dismissing the question, she moved on to one of her own. “Why me?”

Now Krycek laughed out loud. “Do you really need to ask that?”

Anger finally boiled over in Scully. “Yes I do! What is it about me that makes you want to play this sick little game?”

Krycek paused mid-laugh, suddenly surprised. Could it be that she really didn’t know? “Scully, you were the pin-up girl of the Syndicate.”

Dana took a step back, letting the information sink in.

Krycek explained. “Hell, this isn’t exactly a field rife with intelligent, young beauties who actually are open to the possibility of extraterrestrial life. Half the Syndicate seriously thought about cloning you for harem girls. In the end, Smokie had to hire a digital artist to generate pornographic pictures of you, just to satiate the old perverts. He was afraid if they didn’t get some satisfaction, they’d take you away from Mulder for good.” Krycek stared intensely at Scully. “Dana, your calendar was my Christmas bonus for the last three years.”

Scully felt something sickening in the pit of her stomach. Dear God, were there really men out there who had nothing better to do with their time than manufacture fake nude photos of her?

An awkward silence hung between them.

Finally, Scully asked the question she’d most feared, in part because of what Krycek might answer, but more because she realized that asking it was one step closer to playing his game. “What are the specifics of the challenges?”

Krycek grinned. At last, he was getting somewhere.

“I said I wanted to own you.”

Quietly Scully responded, “You did.”

“The first pay off is fairly simple. You lose, I get your clothes. All of them.”

Scully felt her cheeks flush. She’d expected something like that for starters, possibly even worse. Still, hearing it out loud only heightened her rage.

She bit back her anger, not wanting to give Krycek the satisfaction. “And then?”

Krycek moved to the side of the pool table and pulled up a leather sack. Matter-of-factly he dumped the contents out onto the green felt. Scully’s eyes widened. She saw a large dog collar. And a leash.

Krycek picked up the dog collar and examined it thoughtfully. “Challenges two and three will involve humiliation. First, private, for my enjoyment.” He locked eyes with Scully. “You have to put this on, get down on all fours, and bark for me.”

Scully bit her lip, almost too angry to talk. She knew Krycek was twisted, but this…

“The third challenge involves public humiliation.” He held up the leash now. “I take you for a short walk through the bar outside.”

Scully uttered a simple word. “Why?”

Krycek looked at the implements thoughtfully. “Because collaring and leashing you are ways I can feel ownership,” he said matter-of-factly. “Almost as much as I’ll feel if you lose the last challenge as well.”

“Which is?” Scully forced the words out of her mouth, rethinking her plan about beating the information out of him.

“Lastly,” Krycek said nonchalantly, “I want to do what your partner should have done long ago.”

A volcano seethed behind Scully’s eyes. Her voice measured, she asked, “And that would be?”

Krycek stared straight at her, “Why fuck that magnificent ass of yours, of course.”

Involuntarily, Scully took a violent step towards him. For a second, fear might have actually flashed in Krycek’s eyes. Scully held his gaze and slowly mouthed the words, “You son of a bitch.”

Krycek smiled a mock apology. “I’m sorry Scully, were my answers too straight forward for you? Hmmm, maybe you’d prefer if I hid my true desires and talked abstractly around them so that neither of us knows what the hell I want? Would that be better?” He watched the anger build in her eyes. Then he pulled the trigger: “Or at least more like what you’re used to?”

“You’re an evil bastard.” Scully spit the words at him.

Krycek chuckled coldly. “I may be an SOB and a bastard.” He let his eyes run up and down Scully’s body. “But you’re a piece of ass.”

He let the words hang in the air as she fumed.

Then he continued, “You’re also running out of time. And so is Mulder. What’s your answer?”

Taking a penultimate deep breath, Scully looked at the now useless phone in her hand. Mulder’s phone. Then she threw the deck down on the pool table. “I get to shuffle.”


And shuffled she did. For almost ten full minutes, to Krycek’s amusement. Finally, when she was content that there could be no discernible order to the cards, she set them down apprehensively on the pool table.

Krycek hadn’t hesitated. He reached out immediately, cut the deck midway and turned up a card. A Queen. He placed it down silently next to the deck, waiting for Scully to make her selection.

Scully calmed her nerves. She was prepared to lose one or even two challenges if necessary. She would do what she had to if it meant finding Mulder. She took a deep breath and reached for the deck. How bad could it be to be naked in front of Krycek? She looked down. The ten of diamonds. She was about to find out.

“Would you like some music, Dana?”

Scully closed her eyes, doing her best to ignore Krycek’s taunting. She tried to focus on the sensation in her hands, the feel of her clothes as she removed them. Just pretend you’re at the doctor’s office, she told herself. Ignore him, ignore him, ignore —

Krycek’s stream of low whistling made her commands to herself impossible to follow. Scully had her sweater and jeans off now and Krycek was not being shy in his approval. A second later she had removed her bra and panty set. Defying all logic, Dana Scully found herself nude in the backroom of a bar with Alex Krycek.

He clapped sarcastically. “I’m impressed Dana. Most girls don’t wax this late into the season.”

Scully felt her cheeks flush once more. In anger she acted rashly: she reached out and drew a card, moving immediately on to the next challenge. Scully gulped. A seven.

Silently, she prayed as Krycek dallied by the table, showing no signs of being in any hurry to select a card. Finally, he did. He flipped it across to her. An eight.

Shit. Scully’s shoulder’s sank.

It was then that the door opened. The waitress who had first led her to the back walked in carrying Scully’s long-forgotten beer. Instinctively Scully covered her face with one hand and tried to contain her breasts with the other. Good, Scully berated herself, so that way they only have your bush to stare at.

The young woman stopped in her tracks clearly amused. “Whoa! Didn’t realize this party was that private.” She set the beer on the sideboard and made a hasty exit, already giggling to one of her compatriots.

Scully closed her eyes. Could this get any worse? She opened them to see Krycek approaching her with the dog collar. The answer, apparently, was yes.

Inclining her chin upwards, she let him fix the collar around her neck. It hung loose as she brought her eyes down to meet his gaze. She saw pure rat smile.

“Dana, I believe you owe me a few barks.”

Almost as if watching another person, Scully sank to her knees. Then gingerly she leaned forward onto her hands. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Krycek reposition himself behind her, clearly not wanting to miss any angle.

Setting her chin straight ahead, Scully cleared her throat. Trying to sound as dispassionate as possible, she simply said, “Ruff. Ruff. Ruff.”

Krycek exploded into a chorus of hearty laughter.


The next hand wasn’t even close. Scully’s head swam as she saw the four of clubs come up in her palm. Krycek easily beat it with a nine. She’d stood stock still then, uncertain what to do. Krycek had actually been fairly gentle. He’d gingerly picked up the leash and quietly fastened it to Scully’s collar. He could read the terror in her face. He stroked her cheek.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered. “How bad can it be?”

Then slowly he began walking towards the door, letting the leash drift over his shoulder. When the slack drew taut, Scully started following behind him.

What happened next surpassed the surreal. Scully felt her heart tighten then leap as Krycek opened the door. Fear, exhilaration, and humiliation all jumbled together. How strange the air felt on her body as she moved nude through this public place.

She started out the door with short baby steps, Krycek slowing slightly to let her ease out at her own pace. Then she’d taken two, maybe three strides before anyone had noticed. That was perhaps the strangest feeling of all, those first few seconds when the crowd was still occupied with their conversation and their beer.

It had been a young woman who had spotted her first. She let out a loud cat-call and a “whoo-hoo.” The girl was the female equivalent of a drunken frat boy and clearly wanted to make sure no one in the house missed this rare treat.

From that point on, there had been all manner of reactions ranging from blushed faces to lewd hooting. The worst part was seeing the look in the faces of people in advance. Scully tried not to meet anyone’s gaze but she couldn’t help it. She locked eyes with one woman, perhaps her own age, dressed in a smart business suit. She saw her look of curiosity and amusement from a distance. Then Scully had to endure her deep gaze up and down her body as Krycek led her slowly down the aisle past her.

At one point Scully’s heart nearly stopped: did that man in the corner have a camcorder?

Scully’s ears were assaulted as well. People commented freely on her body from just a few feet away. She heard everything from “great ass” to “buy a Stairmaster.” There were plenty of “nice’s” too: nice butt, nice tits, nice knobs, nice bush, etc. And, of course, more than one, “All right, the carpet matches the curtains.”

When they reached the midway point, Krycek mercifully turned around and began leading her back to their private room. Then, just as Scully thought she could endure no more, an overweight, middle-aged man reached out and swatted her hard on the ass, forcing her to yelp and skip forward. The act drew a bawdy round of laughter from the crowd.

Scully closed her eyes, trying to make herself disappear. Then she was just steps away. Krycek tugged Scully back into the private room with a hard jerk of the leash that sent her stumbling through the doorway. Behind her the patrons rose to a standing ovation.

Krycek stepped back outside and bowed.


Beyond dejection, Scully leaned against the pool table, no longer caring that her breasts were hanging plainly in view. After what she’d just experienced, private humiliation was almost welcome. She still wore the collar and the leash hung loosely down her back for the moment, though, Krycek had made it abundantly clear that it would see more use if Scully lost the final draw.

She buried her face in one hand. What the hell had she been thinking?

You were thinking about getting your best friend back, a voice inside her answered.

You were thinking about getting back the man who never gave up on you when you disappeared. The man who freely risked his life plowing through the Antarctic waste to find you, to save you. So some drunken strangers saw you naked. Big deal. So this pig of a Krycek has something to masturbate about tonight. Big deal. You can still win. Beat him.

Scully stared at Mulder’s phone lying on the green felt. Then she stared at the deck which had now mocked her three times.

She set her jaw. Points to the internal monologue for the pep talk, she thought.

“Draw, Krycek.”

Her comment startled Alex out of his leer. Scully might have grown tired of covering up, but her adversary clearly had not lost interest in gawking.

He smiled menacingly. “Are you sure Scully? You could always walk away. You get your clothes back. No hard feelings.” His grinned broadened, clearly proud of his attempt at a pun.

Scully set her posture in stone. “I came for Mulder. I’m not leaving without your information.”

Much to her chagrin, her defiance only seemed to feed Krycek. Calmly he reached down and drew a card. Smugly he showed it to her. A jack.

“Dana, do you prefer Vaseline or KY?”

Scully closed her eyes. Please God, she thought. She drew a card and held it face down, almost unable to look at it. Reluctantly, she brought it up to her face.

Oh Christ, she thought! It’s an eight. Scully felt her body go numb as the realization set in.

Then the impossible happened. Mulder’s useless phone began ringing. It must be ringing she thought. Something is.

She looked up at Krycek and he smiled sadly. “Shit,” he said, “just when it was about to get good.”

Then he and the rest of the room faded away.

Scully snapped awake, her heart thumping. It took a few seconds for it to hit her: A dream! Thank God! None of it had happened! And Mulder was back! More accurately he had never gone. She felt endorphins of relief rush through her body.

Dimly she became aware of the fact that the ringing was continuing. Frantically she scrambled to the phone, realizing only then that she had stripped her pajamas off in her sleep.

She managed an awkward, “Hello.”


Her heart leapt. “Mulder!”

On the other end, her partner hesitated. “Everything okay?”

She tried to sound composed. “Yes, um, fine Mulder.”

“Did I wake you?”

Scully looked around for a clock, “Yeah, I guess you did. What time is it?”

“Scully, it’s almost noon.”

Scully thought for a moment. She must have slept for nearly fifteen hours.

Unsure, Mulder continued. “Anyway, Scully I wanted to let you know they found Raglan. He’s dead. He was fatally wounded by a Tennessee state trooper while trying to run a roadblock outside of Memphis.”

Scully sighed. Even though the man had nearly killed her, Scully had hoped he could be taken alive, if only to clear up some of the mystery surrounding Virginia Penn’s death.

“Are you okay Scully?”

Somewhere a voice inside her said, “No, Mulder. I’m not. Come over and take care of me. Please.” But that voice remained silent.

“I’m fine. Just still feeling the side effects of the anti-serum,” she said into the receiver. Mulder paused on the other end. “Okay, well, I’ll let you rest and check in with you tomorrow.”

“Thanks Mulder.” Scully hung up the phone. Looking around she realized that her bed clothes were also strewn across the room along with her pajamas. A sudden thought occurred to her and she glanced down nervously. Relieved, she thought: at least my nipples aren’t green this time.

Scully let her head sink into her hands. This type of dream had become a nightly occurrence over the past week. Each time it was a different man from her past dominating and humiliating her in some way.

Last night it had been, Robert Modell, “the Pusher.” She’d imagined going in to a hostage situation to negotiate with him only to have him send her back out to her colleagues nude, save for heels. She swallowed. And a fox tail.

Another night she’d been a French maid at a dinner party hosted by AD Kersh. She’d spilled the cocktail weenies and he’d stripped her in front of half her academy class.

Fantasies and erotic dreams were one thing, but Scully sensed that things were getting out of control. Each morning was the same: a heart-pounding awakening from the most humiliating situations imaginable.

For a moment she thought about making an appointment with Karen Kosseff, the Bureau social worker she sometimes saw for counseling. Scully felt a flash of guilt. Could she bring herself to discuss such things with a therapist at her work? She shook her head. No. You are too uptight for your own good, Dana.

Pausing for a moment, Scully made a decision. She reached into her night table and drew out a thick black business card.

Are you sure about this? she asked herself.

Picking up the phone, Dana decided that she wasn’t. But she also knew she had to do something.

A polite voice answered on the other end.

Scully hesitated for a moment, then said. “Yes, this is Dana Scully. I’d like to speak with Lydia Carnivale.”


Scully’s Instruction

TITLE: Scully’s Instruction


E-MAIL: <mailto:>

AUTHOR’s NOTE: Continues Story Arc of “Scully’s Dilemma,” “Mulder’s Tail,” & “Krycek’s Game”

CATEGORY Story/R/H — Scully Slash sort of (I never know exactly what to put here)


SUMMARY. Scully gives in to her submissive side.

TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: Set in the latter half of Season Six. No spoilers that i’m aware of.

KEYWORDS: Smut, Humor, Scully Slash

WARNING: This story is very much for ADULTS ONLY. It is rated NC-17. It features explict sexual situations, including consensual anal intercourse, and highly intimate touching between Scully and another woman. If this is not your thing or if you are not into domination/submission stories, please move on.


ARCHIVING: Also sending to Gossamer’s and Whisper’s of X. Anyone else who wants it, just ask.

DISCLAIMER: The X-Files and the characters of Mulder and Scully belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting and are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from their use.


She’s so little, the woman thought. The comment was by no means an assessment of Dana Scully’s character. If anything Lydia Carnivale immediately felt great respect for this young woman. Empathy followed almost as quickly.

Still Lydia couldn’t help but be struck by how small Dana seemed now. Removed from her power suits and over-sized heels, Dana was almost waifish. No, that wasn’t quite correct, Lydia decided. “Waif” was a term best left to the near androgynous supermodels who seemed so ubiquitous these days. That Scully was not, as made plain by her full, if not overwhelming bosom, and her firm, luscious hips. No, Dana had her due allotment of womanly curves.

It was just that she now appeared so small, having been stripped of her corporate armor. Lydia paused in her reflection: stripped? An interesting choice of words. Yet, that seemed the right phrase for Dana as she sat huddled in the leather armchair, her knees pulled up to her chest. The jeans and sweatshirt she wore were a marked departure from anything Lydia had seen this woman in before — either in person or in the numerous still photos she’d been shown. And with her hair pulled back in a band, this Scully seemed a full ten years younger than the woman who first visited Lydia’s establishment a week ago with her partner.

Lydia did her best to stare patiently at Scully now. The “patient stare” was one of the true art forms of this side of Lydia’s profession: finding the correct balance between giving the other person time to feel comfortable enough to speak freely without making him or her feel conspicuous in the process.

For her part, Dana seemed lost in the same spot in the carpet she’d been eyeing intently for the past five minutes. Finally, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, Lydia, maybe this was a mistake.”

“On the phone, Dana, you said that you were having some dreams that were unsettling for you.”

“I was.” Scully paused. “I am.” Only a few hours ago she’d woken in a heart-pounding fever from another of the humiliating dreams that had become a nightly occurrence. Each time it was a different man from her past, dominating and exposing her in some sordid way. Robert Modell. Assistant Director Kersh. Alex Krycek.

What concerned Scully most was that each night the dreams seemed to grow more elaborate and more stunning in the extent of humiliation she had to endure. The encounter with Krycek had been particularly unsettling, prompting her to make the call to Lydia in the first place. Now, as she sat here in her office above the singular establishment known as “The Menagerie,” Scully couldn’t help but wonder if she made the wrong decision.

Repeatedly on the ride out of DC, she’d asked herself just what she was doing. This woman was no therapist. She simply ran some strange little club where women came to parade around in bizarre, submissive costumes. Yet, there had been something in Lydia’s voice that first time they met, something that instantaneously made Scully want to open up to her. “Dana, whatever it is, maybe I can help you make peace with it,” she’d said. “Even embrace it.”

And, somehow Scully felt as safe baring her soul here in Lydia’s office as she did anywhere else. She’d tried bringing herself to talk to Karen Kossef at the Bureau’s Office of Professional Services, but somehow Scully balked at the thought of broaching such a delicate matter in a work environment. Lydia seemed the best alternative.

Letting her eyes drift up from the carpet, Scully exhaled slowly, looking for courage. You came out here because you needed to talk about this, she told herself. So talk.

“I’ve been having dreams.” Scully laced her fingers together tightly, as if hoping that the sensation would somehow distract her from the anxiety she was feeling. “Dreams where I’m being humiliated. Dominated. Exposed. By men whom in the past I’ve considered enemies, or at least adversaries.”

Lydia inclined her chin slightly upward in a half nod. “And this bothers you?”

Scully looked back surprised. “Shouldn’t it?”

“They’re just dreams Dana. Not real.”

Scully thought for a moment. “Someone once told me that a dream is the answer to a question we haven’t learned how to ask ourselves yet.” Scully avoided Lydia’s gaze, realizing she was approaching the core of the issue. “I worry what these dreams say about me. About my desires.”

“Dana, do you enjoy the feelings the dreams engender? The humiliation, the exposure?”

Scully thought, her throat suddenly feeling very dry. She let her mind drift back over the images that her unconscious had generated over the past few nights. Krycek’s leashing her and parading her nude through a bar full of patrons stuck out most vividly in her mind. She shook her head and quietly said, “I don’t know.”

Lydia thought for a moment. “Dana, when you first came here, I suggested that you understood why the women who frequent my establishment behave as they do. I believe you understand the desire to submit. The allure of surrendering to another.” Lydia stopped for a moment, letting her words sink in. “And, Dana, as I recall, you didn’t tell me I was wrong, did you?”

Scully responded in something less than a whisper, “No.”

“Dana, is it possible, that the reason you’re being dominated by enemies in your dreams is because you’re not entirely comfortable with that side of your sexuality? That you only feel justified in experiencing those emotions when they’re forced on you?”

A silence built in the room as Lydia waited for her question to sink in.

Scully sat locked in her own internal analysis. She had to confess that Lydia’s assessment seemed on target. By her own admission, Scully was uncomfortable with those aspects of her sexuality that involved submitting. She’d spent so much of her life fighting to establish control: over her career, her life. Her time at the Bureau only enhanced those instincts, as she fought to prove herself in a male-dominated organization. More so, she couldn’t help but think, since her assignment to the X-Files and the attendant skepticism her and Mulder’s work evoked from so many of their colleagues. Showing any form of weakness seemed so wrong. Her experience with her cancer only heightened that sensation. The inability to control her destiny — her very life even — had perhaps been the most difficult of all to accept during her ordeal with the disease.

Scully realized she was only proving Lydia’s point. The more taboo surrendering seemed, the more logical it was that Scully should crave it. Privately, she knew of the jokes that circulated in certain circles about her occasionally frigid demeanor. “The Ice Queen.” To the hack psychologist around the water cooler, Scully seemed a sure-fire bet for a closet dominatrix. But the more thoughtful analysis revealed just the opposite: someone who reveled in the idea of surrendering control to another, a person who spent so much time in charge of herself that it was nothing short of ecstasy to hand the reigns over to another — figuratively and perhaps literally as well.

“Who, Dana?”

Scully looked up, startled out of her thoughts. “What?”

“Who were you thinking about?” Lydia’s voice was gentle and soothing.

Scully’s gaze returned to her favorite spot on the floor. “I wasn’t…I wasn’t thinking about anyone. I suppose I was just thinking that you might be right. That my difficulty in accepting the submissive side of my nature might produce the type of dreams I’ve been having.”

Lydia let the words hang in the air, waiting for Scully to say more.

Slowly, Scully looked up and met her gaze. She blushed. “I guess I just admitted I’m a submissive at heart.” Her lips formed a tight, bashful smirk.

Lydia returned the smile. “Dana, you’re only a slave to those things that you let control you. It may sound oxymoronic, but that goes for submitting too. Surrendering control doesn’t necessarily mean losing control. It means trusting another enough to put yourself in their hands. It’s a preference, not a flaw.”

Scully sat silently, thinking. Her voice back to the whisper level, she said, “So, is that it? Will the dreams stop now?”

Lydia laughed slightly. “I have the distinct feeling they will.”

Scully looked up, puzzled.

Quickly, Lydia added, “And if they don’t, I think you should look at them as a safe way to explore that side of your personality. Maybe now that you’re cognizant of your motivation, the dreams will be more constructive. If they continue.”

Scully hesitated, glancing down again. Mentally, she was starting to liken her conversation with Lydia to easing into an overly hot bath: the further she went into the water, the more comfortable it felt. Even so, Scully found it difficult to believe what she was about to ask.

“What other ways might there be to explore those feelings…safely?” Scully felt every nerve in her body tingle. Had she actually made that request out loud?

Lydia’s smile grew to a full-blown grin, making Scully uneasy again. Then the lyric voice returned, “Yes, Dana, if you like. I could provide you some basic instruction. Under two conditions.”


Lydia smiled reassuringly. “First, Dana, you understand that the private instruction I’ll offer you is on a one-time basis only. Thereafter, you’ll have to find someone else to share with.”

Lydia paused, searching Scully’s face for any sign that she might have someone in mind. A slight blush affirmed that she did.

“The second is that you simply consider, or reconsider, joining us one night in the Menagerie.” Lydia’s smile broadened again. “I’m sure we could find you something to wear.”

Scully settled back in her chair, a strange mix of temptation and fear spreading over her. She suddenly felt half her age, a fifteen year-old about to embark on her first date. Scully thought of the elaborate leather costumes she’d seen in the Menagerie’s showroom and for a second pictured herself parading around in the club below dressed as some strange sexual beast. Just as quickly, she shook the thought from her head, though a part of her relished the mere fact that she even allowed herself to consider the proposition.

Her cheeks bright red, Scully simply said. “We’ll see.”

“Very well. As to your instruction, be here at 11:00 am tomorrow.”

Scully hesitated. “Is there anything we, um, should discuss beforehand?’

Lydia looked at her thoughtfully. “Ordinarily, I’d say yes. But I think I have a pretty good idea of what you want, Dana.” Lydia’s eyes twinkled and Scully had the unsettling feeling that the woman could see straight into her innermost fantasies. “Just think of a safety word tonight, something that you can say in case things go outside the bounds of what you’re comfortable with. It should be something unique, a word you wouldn’t say casually or by accident.”

Scully stood to leave. “Umm, is there anything you want me to wear?”

Lydia chuckled. “Anything you like, my dear. You won’t have it on for long.”


Scully’s heart pounded as she eased her car down the Menagerie’s long driveway, making her way back onto the main road. Back to the real world.

Was she really going to do this? Had she actually agreed to a domination session?

Scully shook her head, every instinct in her body wanting to launch into a stream of recriminations: You can’t do this. This is crazy. What if someone finds out?

But those inner voices were silenced by something new, an overwhelming feeling of freedom. Scully’s mind flashed to an image of a skydiver. She had taken the plunge and, nervous as she was, her soul was in love with her for it.

The sensation was a far more intense version of what she’d felt after her shopping trip to an Albuquerque sex boutique weeks earlier. Then she had simply taken a step towards acknowledging her anal fantasies by buying appropriate toys. What she had done today was far in excess of that. For the first time in her life she had actually shared some element of her submissive side with another. And, though she hadn’t mentioned her anal interest explicitly, Scully had the feeling that somehow Lydia was more than attuned to that aspect of her sexual interests.

Thoughts of what Lydia would inflict on her the next morning rushed through her mind. You won’t have it on for long. Scully felt a warm shimmer run through her body at the thought of cowering naked at the older woman’s feet.

Slowly, the obvious fact that she would be engaging in this activity with another woman sunk in. “And how exactly do you feel about that?” she asked herself.

Scully thought for a moment. Domination didn’t necessarily imply sex. Indeed, to the extent that she knew about the subject matter, very often the practice was non-sexual. Though the submissive or the dominant might become aroused by the activity, sex was not necessarily the end game.

Scully remembered an interview with a dominatrix she’d read somewhere along the line. Was it in The New Yorker? The woman had gone to great lengths to stress that a dominatrix wasn’t a prostitute; she never engaged in sex with any of her clients. It was one of the reasons that being a dominatrix was technically a legal profession; they didn’t provide sexual services per se, even though their clientele often received immense sexual stimulus from the activity.

Scully tried to will herself into relaxing. Don’t overanalyze everything. If anything, she told herself, you’ll be safer with Lydia than with a male dom who you might actually be tempted to have sex with. Scully grimaced. And wouldn’t that be awful.

Pausing at a stop sign, Scully indulged her paranoia for a moment. Hidden cameras? Blackmail? Scully reasoned that both were always possibilities. But she’d long ago given up any hope of avoiding surveillance. If the Syndicate wanted to film the most intimate details of her life, she reasoned that it was more than possible for them to do so without her knowledge. She had equally reasoned that living in constant fear of that fact would only give them an element of control over her life that she refused to allow anyone to have. She had to live her life, regardless of who might be watching.

Scully just as quickly dismissed the blackmail angle. If the Syndicate wanted sexually explicit photos of her, they could no doubt manufacture wonderful images of her having sex with another woman, one of her superiors, or any number of farm animals. There would be no reason to expend resources actually coaxing her into compromising situations.

And, for some reason that she couldn’t completely put her finger on, Scully felt an innate trust in Lydia. Indeed, Scully reasoned, she was lucky to have encountered someone so understanding.

Reassured, Scully tried to let her euphoria build again. So, you try this once, she told herself. A unique, one-time thing that a part of you has always wanted. Like someone skydiving or bungee jumping. You do this and learn what you can from it. And enjoy it. What could go wrong?


“It went well.” He said the words with the confidence of a statement, but the inflection of a question.

Lydia nodded, uncomfortable as always with his presence. She would be glad when this particular favor was performed and she could return her visitor to arm’s length.

“And her dreams?” he asked.

“They’ll stop. It’ll help convince her that she’s on the right path.” Lydia stroked her forehead gently. “Besides, I’m not sure that I could manage another one.” In more ways than one, Dana Scully was proving to be more of a challenge than Lydia had anticipated.

The Smoking Man stood to leave, already fingering the cigarette he would light as soon as he left the office.

Lydia eyed him curiously. She desperately wanted to revisit the issue of his motivation in this affair, but knew better. “I think I can whet Scully’s appetite sufficiently to ensure that she returns on Thursday night.”

“Good. Mulder’s attendance should be simple enough to engineer.”


Scully arrived slightly before eleven. She’d been up since eight following the most restful night of sleep she could remember in some time. There had been no humiliation dreams and their absence was not lost on her. Perhaps it all was a matter of accepting who she really was, to include her sexual tastes.

Appropriately enough, Scully entered the Menagerie through a backdoor. Lydia had told her about it on the phone, when Scully voiced some concern about entering through the front, where a surveillance camera was stationed for security purposes. The back entrance was for the performers and provided access to the main club on the lower level, behind the bar. Scully immediately headed upstairs where she found Thumper polishing the display cases. Nude. Except for her bunny tail and ears.

Trying not to appear too awkward, Scully smiled a polite hello as Thumper gleefully waved. Truth be told, she found Thumper far less disconcerting when Mulder wasn’t around to drool over her. Still, Scully couldn’t help but wonder if the woman ever wore a full set of clothes. And that tail had to get uncomfortable at some point, didn’t it?

Scully entered Lydia’s office with a light knock, the door half ajar. She was feeling more at ease than she had anticipated. Maybe it was the good night’s sleep; maybe she’d just exhausted her anxiety the previous day.

Lydia’s reassuring smile made her even more comfortable. “Good morning Dana.”

Scully immediately surveyed Lydia’s clothes. She hadn’t expected to see her in a full-blown leather dominatrix outfit; that simply didn’t seem Lydia’s style. At the same time though, Scully hadn’t quite known what to expect. But as she eyed Lydia’s long, gray skirt and black calf-high walking boots, Scully felt something inside her stir. Lydia’s hair was pulled back into a schoolmarm bun, leaving her beautiful, angular face nicely on display. The look was topped off by a plain, but elegant white blouse and a black suede vest. Scully tried to put her finger on the exact look. She thought for a second: it reminded of her something one of her undergraduate professors used to wear — attractive, but at the same time simple and practical.

Lydia returned the favor, pausing a moment to note Scully’s own attire. Despite her joke about not having clothes on long, she’d been curious about how Dana would outfit herself for this event. Pleased, Lydia noted that Scully was looking much more herself today. Casual black slacks with a dark green turtleneck. Over-sized heels. A black wool topcoat. Inwardly Lydia grinned. She liked the idea of dominating the woman she had observed for so long, rather than the girl who visited her office yesterday.

“So, Dana, I think we’re about ready to begin. Have you thought of a safety word?”

Scully looked down, slightly embarrassed. “Yes, I have. It’s Starbuck”

I am so going to hell she thought to herself.

“Starbuck.” Lydia repeated. “I like it. Now remember, Dana, if things get too out of hand for you, you can immediately stop the session with that word. Understood?”

Scully nodded. “So? Is there anything I need to know?”

“Ordinarily, I’d suggest that we play out a scene. Role-playing can be so much fun. But I’m not sure you’re ready for that.” Lydia eyed Scully critically. “Instead, I think we should start simple. A basic game: you do what I say and I have you do what I want.” Lydia put the slightest hint of menace into her comments and searched Scully’s face for a reaction. Her cheeks had flushed.

A little apprehensively, Scully simply said, “Okay.” Then after a pause, she quietly asked, “What should I call you?”

Lydia smiled, clearly enjoying the prospect of what was to come. “You may call me mistress.”

Scully’s cheeks reddened a shade deeper. Mistress. “So, um, how exactly do we start?”

Lydia reached into one of the deep pockets of her skirt and produced a small brass emblem. She let it fall to the ground at her feet. It was only then that Scully saw that it was an X. Lydia walked towards the door.

“You start, Dana, by taking off all your clothes and placing them on my desk. Then I would like you to kneel at that X. And wait for me.”


Being naked heightened each of Scully’s senses. Her ears perked up for any sound of Lydia’s return. Her eyes scrutinized every inch of the office for signs of what torments might be in store. She eyed the antique stand-up stocks against the wall warily. And, Scully ‘felt’ everything. The air moving past her exposed skin. The deep pile carpet nestling underneath her knees. The motion of her hair, brushing lightly against her shoulders. The strange feel of the heels of her feet pressing into her bare buttocks as she leaned back on her haunches. How long had it been? Ten minutes. Fifteen. She thought about getting up to check her watch, which now lay with the rest of her clothing on Lydia’s desk. But something inside restrained her.

This is crazy she thought for perhaps the ten-thousandth time.

Relax and enjoy yourself she fired back yet again.

Her internal argument was interrupted by the sound of the doorknob clicking. Scully came to rapt attention on her knees, her heart pounding.

Eyes downward, Scully could feel Lydia’s gaze wash over her body, as every inch of her form was revealed. She looked up to see Lydia smiling approvingly. Scully desperately wanted to cover her sex, but willed her hands to stay by their sides.

Lydia smoothed her skirt and tucked her blouse in for effect. Scully got the message: You have clothes on and I don’t.

“You’re lovely, Dana.”

Scully uttered a simple, “Thank you.” Then added quickly. “Mistress.”

Lydia walked in a slow circle around her, making a point of inspecting Scully from every angle. Lydia paused when she was directly behind her.

Scully could feel the motion of Lydia bending down to look at something. She shuddered as a cool finger touched her lower back.

“An ourobis, Dana? What an interesting choice.” Lydia traced the circular tattoo with her finger, then straightened up. “Interesting indeed.”

Scully closed her eyes. Had she actually let this game begin? Was she really doing this?

Lydia was piling Scully’s clothing into a large desk drawer now. Scully turned half around to watch her.

Without looking up, Lydia said, “Eyes straight ahead, Dana.”

Scully faced back towards the door. As she did, she heard the distinct sound of a lock clicking. Being denied physical access to her clothes made her feel even more naked somehow.

“Don’t worry, Dana, I’m sure I’ll let you have them back at some point.”

Lydia circled back in front of her desk and resumed her inspection. She laced her hands behind her back, and eyed Scully up and down leisurely. “Now, Dana, whatever shall we do with you?”

Scully stood stock still uncertain how to answer. The intensity of Lydia’s gaze was making her feel immensely vulnerable, as if the woman was probing every inch of Scully’s body for some sign of weakness.

Scully looked up to see Lydia over by the wall. She was leaning on the antique stocks. Scully gulped audibly.

“Do you know what this device is Dana?”

Scully tried to clear her throat. “Yes, mistress. It’s a set of stocks. They were once used to punish people publicly. In colonial times.”

Lydia frowned. “I’m sorry, dear, that’s incorrect. ‘Stocks’ is the term for a device where the prisoner sits down. There’s also a slot for the offender’s feet with stocks. No, Dana, this technically is a pillory. But it’s a common enough mistake.”

Scully stared straight ahead blankly. Would there be a punishment for wrong answers?

She heard the squeak of wheels. Lydia was moving the pillory into the center of the room, affording Scully her first up-close look at the device. She saw now that it had only been made to appear antique. The wood was new and the supports had some sort of hydraulic suspension that would allow the device to be raised or lowered to the appropriate height. The business end of the device, however, was all too familiar: the interlocking beams with slots cut out to fit over the prisoner’s head and hands.

“You may stand now, Dana.”

Scully stood slowly, her legs wobbly from the prolonged kneeling.

Lydia had raised the top bar of the pillory and was gesturing like a spokesmodel towards the opening for the head and hands. Smiling, she said in a gentle voice, “Come over here Dana.”

For a second Scully hesitated, her safety word dancing on her tongue. She quickly shook that idea off. Much as it might trouble her, something inside her wanted this. She stepped forward and leaned into the appropriate slots.

Lydia slowly lowered the top beam and slid a small bolt into one end, locking Scully into the device. Next Lydia adjusted the height of the pillory, gradually bending Scully over, so that her torso was almost perpendicular to her legs.

The effect was to make Scully feel as vulnerable as she ever had in her life. Her breasts were in free fall mode, swinging uncontrollably with the slightest motion she made. Her sex was on full display for anyone positioned directly behind her. And, lastly, her ass felt utterly huge, sticking prominently up in the air, completely defenseless.

Lydia ran her finger lightly down Scully’s spine, giving the younger woman a visceral shiver. Scully sighed as her breasts bobbed and giggled even more.

“Yes, Dana, you truly are beautiful.” Lydia said the words resting one hand on Scully’s prone posterior. Scully closed her eyes tightly trying to fight off the unbearable excitement that raced through her veins.

A hard slap to her left buttock snapped Scully back to reality. Was Lydia spanking her? A second and third spank delivered to the right cheek confirmed that she was. A fourth and fifth spank landed, the blows reddening the delicate skin of Scully’s backside. Incredulous, Scully could barely speak, as five more spanks were distributed across her bottom, the last two stinging severely.

Scully found herself panting, as Lydia provided a brief respite. “Now, Dana,” she said in her best pedagogic voice, “the next time I ask you a question, I expect you to know the answer. Pillory. Not stocks. And, use of the device was not confined to colonial times. It was employed in Delaware up until 1905.”

Another wave of spanks assaulted Scully’s tender flesh. Scully saw now that the brief interlude had made her skin more sensitive, not less. As Lydia, splayed twenty additional swats across her bottom, Scully bit hard into her lip, desperately not wanting to cry out. The spanks were steady and continuous, each one stinging more than the last. Finally, Scully gave in, letting forth with a stream of grunts and whimpers.

Lydia stopped. Scully dug her fingernails deep into her own palms and pressed upward against the top beam angrily. She would have given anything simply to be able to rub her ass.

Then a shudder passed through Scully as a wave of coolness spread over her backside. She closed her eyes in delightful relief, as Lydia applied lotion to the reddened flesh.

“Pleasure and pain, Dana.” Lydia said the words matter-of-factly, as she continued to knead the lotion into Scully’s buttocks.

Then her hand slipped between Scully’s cheeks.

Dana’s neck snapped upward, every muscle in her body rigid.

“Relax,” Lydia cooed. “I’m just touching. For now.”

Scully tried to will calm over herself. But the sensation of Lydia — of anyone — touching her there was so foreign, yet somehow so welcome. Lydia’s fingers glided up and down, spreading generous amounts of the lotion in between the firm mounds of Scully’s ass, her fingers making sure to linger over Scully’s puckered nether opening.

After a few minutes the messaging stopped. Scully was left waiting, while Lydia busied herself in another part of the room. Shortly, she returned to Scully’s view and leaned an elbow on the top beam of the pillory. Scully struggled to turn her head to meet Lydia’s gaze.

Lydia’s smile was pure menace. “I’m sure you’ve realized that I’ve lubricated you for a reason, Dana?”

Scully nodded as best she could, afraid to acknowledge that fact out loud. Thick beads of sweat were building on her forehead.

Lydia held a large dildo directly in Scully’s view. Dana eyed it apprehensively. It was bigger than most of the toys she’d bought in Albuquerque, though not all. But this device had one noticeable difference: every inch or so there was a raised ring or notch. Seven notches in all.

“Do you know what this is Dana?”

Scully’s heart was now pounding. A slight draft in the office played on the thin layer of lotion that covered her rear end. “A dildo. Mistress.” She said the words in a shuddered breath.

Lydia stroked Scully’s hair gently. “That’s right. Though I prefer sex toy. Dildo sounds so vulgar.” She paused again, rubbing the tense muscles on the back of Scully’s neck. “This one’s more than that, though. It’s also a lie detector.”

Scully furrowed her brows. “Mistress, I—I don’t understand.”

Lydia didn’t respond. She walked to Scully’s rear. Then, without warning, she inserted the first inch of the toy, its well-oiled path allowing for relatively easy penetration. Scully’s reaction was instantaneous: she let forth an awkward, high-pitched squeal, as her opening rebelled against this unannounced intrusion.

“Dana, do you own one of the these?”

Scully took quick, hard breaths, trying to bring herself under control. “Yes, mistress,” she uttered quietly.

Lydia pushed the toy in another notch. The raised ring inflicting added torment on Scully’s stretched opening.

Scully felt herself begin to dampen as her heart continued to race. Her face glistened now with sweat.

Lydia asked her next question, “And have you ever used it here?”

Scully could only nod weakly this time. Mentally, she braced for the anticipated response.

Another inch, another notch.

This time Scully couldn’t restrain herself. She let forth with a sudden, “OH GOD!”

Lydia placed a reassuring hand on Scully’s hip.

“And, Dana, did you enjoy it?”

Scully thought desperately. Had she? Yes, but not nearly as much as this. Cautiously, she whispered, “Yes, a little… mistress.” The last word was barely audible.

Lydia paused as if weighing the validity of Scully’s answer. Then another single notch was inserted, as Scully bit down violently on her lower lip. A visceral groan followed as her muscle squeezed desperately around the toy.

Lydia took an extra moment before her next question. “Now tell me, Dana, have you ever allowed anyone to touch you there?”

Scully’s mind flashed back to Mulder’s blissfully thorough exam in their basement office. Was there anyway this woman could know? Scully closed her eyes, anticipating the punishment she secretly craved. Taking a deep breath, she said, “No.”

Lydia was brutal. She slid the remainder of the toy in all at once.

Scully gasped silently, her mouth wide open, but unable to form a sound. She stared straight ahead, wide-eyed as her muscle sought in vain to acclimate to this new level of intrusion.

“Somehow, Dana, I don’t believe you.” Lydia patted Scully gently on her reddened ass cheeks. Scully bit hard into her lower lip, still unable to give voice to the pain and pleasure that threatened to rupture her body.

Lydia stepped back and took in the full view of Scully’s efforts to accommodate the toy’s new intrusion. She suppressed a chuckle as Dana wiggled her ass left to right, trying anything to adjust the toy into a more favorable position.

Scully’s breath was coming in short, hard gasps. Her body ached under the impalement Lydia inflicted, but Scully also thrilled in the double release she felt: her body succumbing to this forbidden pleasure, her mind rejoicing in the complete surrender to another. Her excitement was physically apparent and Scully knew Lydia could see the glisten on her inner thighs. Scully surrendered to that too: the feeling of being utterly exposed and vulnerable, of sharing her love of this illicit stimulation with another.

Lydia’s lyric voice broke the silence. “Dana, will you be okay if I go out for a few hours?”

Scully’s heart nearly stopped. Unable to form words, she emitted a distressed grunt. A few hours? Searching for a voice Scully tried to utter the safety word, then stopped. A few hours. Of ecstasy. Her breathing slowed slightly as Scully contemplated it. Could she stand it? Would there be anything left when Lydia got back?

“No, Dana, I have a better idea,” Lydia said the words from just behind Scully’s ear. Then she felt Lydia’s long flowing skirt brush against her naked thighs as Lydia took up position behind her.

Scully’s breathing quickened again. Was she going to…?

Lydia rested a gentle hand on the swell of Scully’s back, while her other brushed the delicate curls of Scully’s sex. In a gentle voice, Lydia said, “Are you okay?”

It was a deviation from the game to ask, but Scully understood. Lydia needed explicit permission for this.

Without hesitation, Scully gave it.

Erasing “Starbuck” permanently from her vocabulary, she simply said, “Yes.”

Then, in a whisper, “Please.”

The first moan escaped out of Scully with palpable force. The pillory shook as Scully reacted to Lydia’s first true thrust. She extracted the toy two-thirds of the way, before plunging it back into Scully’s sobbing orifice. From there, the strokes became short, but relentless. Lydia pulled out an inch, maybe two, making sure to let the notches torment Scully’s opening appropriately, before thrusting back in.

Scully’s body shuddered constantly and her voice was a stream of low grunts. Her mind reeled at the intense pleasure she felt as Lydia intensified the reaming. Her ass was practically numb. Just as Scully thought she could take no more, Lydia slowed her strokes to a gentle pace.

It was then that Scully felt Lydia’s other hand. Lydia cupped Scully’s mons first, letting the ample lubrication slide through her digits. From there, Lydia let her fingers drift to Scully’s natural pleasure points, stroking and messaging her firmly and steadily. Her ministrations weren’t needed for long.

It hit Scully like a wave of scalding water, smacking into her body. She felt it grow deep in her sex, then rip through her limbs, an all-consuming fire. Her ass smoldered as her muscles gripped and tensed involuntarily around Lydia’s toy. Scully felt totally skewered, the sensation a wickedly delightful contrast to the pure pleasure she felt in every other inch of her body.

Her guttural moans were now loud, long screeches. She couldn’t remember coming like this before: no name, no words — just raw, primal sounds — shrieks at the top of her lungs. The wave continued its long, relentless crash over her and for a second Scully thought she might succumb to it, almost losing consciousness.

Then she felt the cool air of Lydia’s office return.

Vaguely, Scully realized that her muscle was free of its tormentor. She felt her opening flex, emptily grasping. Lydia’s fingers had also withdrawn from Scully’s velvet folds.

Scully became aware that Lydia was unlocking the pillory. Lifting the main beam, she gently put a hand on Scully’s shoulder, pulling her back and upwards. Lydia raised Scully to her full height and then gripped her in a firm embrace. Scully hugged back with every ounce of strength she had left.

After a few moments, Lydia guided Scully over to the nearest armchair, all but pouring her into its thick leather cushions. She applied a gentle kiss to the top of Scully’s head. Absently, Dana let her head nestle against the cool fabric of Lydia’s blouse.

Scully looked up to see Lydia pushing on one of the wall panels. It slid back to reveal a hidden room, which Scully now saw contained a sink and shower.

Lydia smiled over at her. “Dana, you can wash up in here. Your clothes will be waiting for you when you get out.”


Scully let the hot water run down her back, its soothing heat caressing the slight ache she still felt in her ass cheeks. She leaned forward, helping the water find its way into her crevice where it gently kissed at the puckered soreness. Straightening up, she let the stream cascade through the dark amber of her hair, washing away the flat saltiness built up by her exertions.

A fire stirred in her chest as the recognition of what she’d just done sank in. Her mind made the obvious analogy: like losing her virginity. She couldn’t believe she’d actually gone through with the game. The extent to which she’d surrendered herself and handed control to Lydia was mind-boggling in retrospect. My God, she thought, being locked in that pillory…

Scully searched her thoughts, trying to remember what day it was. Wednesday. Since coming home from the hospital she’d spent the remainder of the previous week sleeping off the effects of the curare anti-serum. More recently, her days had been preoccupied contemplating her newfound openness to her submissive side. Letting the water run down her neck now, she couldn’t believe that she would be back at work on Monday. It seemed that so much had happened.

Scully licked her lips, the afterglow from her orgasm still tingling through her muscles. She laughed lightly. So much for non-sexual.

Lydia had made it perfectly clear that this would be a one-time event. There was only one alternative if Scully wanted to revisit her submissive side anytime soon. The Menagerie.

Scully let the water message the sore muscles of her neck now. Could she really bring herself to do something so public? To don one of Lydia’s elaborate costumes and parade around in front of strangers?

Scully thought for a moment. Was there any reason her face had to show? Many of the costumes she’d seen in the Menagerie’s showroom featured some sort of face appliance to go with the bodily accouterments. Couldn’t she select one that hid her features?

Scully felt her heart race. “You’re actually considering this, aren’t you?” she thought.

Quickly, her mind moved to the next obstacle. What were the odds that someone she knew might frequent the Menagerie? Slim at best, it seemed. The club was far too quirky for Mulder. No, her partner preferred his smut undiluted. She could expect to run into him in at a straight ahead go-go bar maybe (or certainly at a porn theater), but not at the Menagerie. Skinner? Unlikely. He didn’t seem the strip bar type and, even if he were, the Menagerie would be an odd choice. Certainly, it would be unlikely that anyone her brother Bill might know at the Pentagon would show up at Lydia’s club. There had to be a dozen more convenient establishments competing for the business of the local military personnel. A half-smile crossed her face. And if one of his friends did see you there, she thought, who among them would actually have the guts to tell him what his sister was up to?

Scully felt herself grinning uncontrollably. She shook her head wildly in the shower stream, spraying water across the bathroom. Why not do it? What was there to lose?


I’m sure we can find you something to wear, Lydia had said. Standing now before the red devil costume she first glimpsed over a week ago, Scully felt her inner fire reach an appropriate inferno. It may not have been the most beautiful thing she ever saw, but it was easily the naughtiest. A hand-made red leather bustier. Thigh-high red leather boots exquisitely detailed. Long red silk gloves that would pull up above the elbow. Capped off by a set of clip-on horns and, presumably, Scully thought (and hoped) a matching tail that would be attached by a wonderfully depraved system involving a butt plug. It would have to, Scully reasoned, for the most delicious part of the costume was the complete absence of any bottom. Between the thigh high boots and the bustier, the wearer would be completely bare — her sex, hips, and ass cheeks totally on display.

Scully wanted the costume desperately but two concerns held her back. First, she had no idea how much it would cost. Second, it was one of the items in the Menagerie’s collection that left the wearer’s face completely exposed.

As she stood contemplating these two drawbacks, Lydia approached her from behind. Silently, she slipped an elegant red leather mask over Scully’s face. Scully took it in her hands to examine the mask more carefully. It was primarily made out of two large triangles joined at the nose. The sides swept down to hug the wearers face and would provide ample coverage of her main features. Only her mouth, chin, and part of her forehead would be uncovered. Plus, she saw, the mask’s pointed ends would complement the costume’s horns nicely.

“Do we have a match then?”

Scully shook her head. “Lydia, it’s wonderful, but I don’t know that I could ever afford—”

Lydia held up a hand for her to stop. “Nonsense. Consider it a one night loner.”

“I couldn’t.”

Lydia grinned wickedly. “Come Dana, when my other patrons see how you look in it, I’m sure sales will go through the roof.”

Scully shrugged. She’d come this far in playing out the fantasy. Why not be a working model for a night on top of everything else? She smiled. “Okay, then this is the one.”

Lydia crossed in front of her, taunting playfully. “Now are you sure this is the one? You wouldn’t want to try one of the animal costumes?” Lydia’s grin was playfully evil. “Perhaps a fox?”

Scully bit her lip, then laughed despite herself. How did this woman know her so well? In a quiet voice, she said, “I think the devil costume will due nicely.”

“Very well, Dana. And don’t worry, there is a tail.”

Scully’s cheeks reddened for the umpteenth time.

Lydia flicked off the overhead lights leaving just the base lighting illuminating the show room. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some things to tend to before tomorrow night. Be here by four if you want to get dressed before the others. Can you see yourself out?”

Scully nodded. In an even voice she said, “Thank you, Lydia.”

Lydia smiled back and for a second, Scully thought she seemed a little sad. “It was my pleasure, Dana.”


Scully’s Release

TITLE – Scully’s Release



AUTHOR’s NOTE: Completes story arc running through “Scully’s Dilemma,” “Mulder’s Tail,” “Krycek’s Game,” and “Scully’s Instruction.”

CLASSIFICATION – Story/Humor/Angst — MSR

SPOILERS – Set in the latter half of Season Six. No spoilers I’m aware of. KEYWORDS – MSR, Smut

SUMMARY – Scully finally gives in to her fantasy of performing at the strange club known as “The Menagerie.” Unexpected consequences ensue, forcing her to consider confronting Mulder about the true nature of her feelings.

FEEDBACK: Please! Was it Dennis Miller who said, “All writers are whores for attention?” Thanks to everyone who responded to the previous stories.

E-Mail: .

WARNING: This story is rated NC-17 for language and adult sexual situations.

ARCHIVING: Sending to Gossamer’s and Whisper’s of X. Anyone else who wants it, just ask and promise to keep all headers intact.

DISCLAIMERS: First, this story contains a couple of well-known lines from the Charlie Daniels’ Band song, “The Devil Went Down to Georgia.” Obviously, I don’t own the song, they do. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from its use. Second, there are a couple of lines spoken by CSM that draw heavily on dialogue from William Davis’ excellent script for “En Ami.” Again, no infringement is meant. (That episode served as the inspiration for one of the “under stories” in this series of tales and I can only hope I do justice to Davis’ portrayal of our favorite villain.) And, lastly…The X-Files and the characters of Mulder and Scully belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting and are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from their use.


The tile felt cool against Dana Scully’s bare buttocks. That was the first thing she noticed. The second, of course, was the unwelcome realization that she was completely nude.

No, that wasn’t quite right. She had on a pair of her better high heels, the four-inch, suede uber-pumps that were among her favorites. But, for some reason which she couldn’t quite understand, she found it impossible to take them off.

Standing slowly from the crouch she’d awoken in, Scully found her legs wobbly. The uber-pumps didn’t help any, but after a few moments she nonetheless managed to regain her balance.

It was only then that she recognized where she was: the hallway outside her and Agent Mulder’s basement office. Her heart thudded into overdrive as she searched desperately around for any covering. Nothing. No clothes. No blankets. Not even a fucking sheet of scrap paper. The hallway was completely bare. Scully grimaced. Pun intended.

Worse still, the elevator lights at the end of the hallway were charting the descent of carriage from the fourth floor and Scully knew in the pit of her stomach that it was headed directly to the basement.

She glanced in the opposite direction at the door to her office. Black. Mulder wasn’t in yet! Her heart skipped. And he kept gym clothes stashed in that infernal desk of his, didn’t he?

Scully broke into as fast a trot as her uber-pumps would allow, promising God that this time she really would start attending Sunday mass again, if (please, oh, please) the door would just be unlocked.

Pulling at the knob, she felt a surge of relief at the solid clicking sound the mechanism made as it turned in her hand. Whisking herself inside the door, Scully stole a furtive glance back at the elevator: first floor and closing.

Her fingers flittering in the dark with the knob, Scully realized the device simply wouldn’t lock. She quickly moved on to plan B: flicking on the overhead light, she dove madly at Mulder’s desk, intent on turning the drawers inside out if that’s what it took to find one of his musty old Knicks T-shirts.

Blind panic quickly set in. The drawers wouldn’t budge. Scully stood back from the desk. They looked liked they’d been welded shut. How could that be?

Footsteps in the hallway focused her attention elsewhere. With every ounce of will, Scully forced herself to focus. An office door that won’t lock. Drawers welded shut. And just how the hell did she get here naked in the first place?

As the truth dawned on her, Scully glanced up at the light fixture for confirmation. She saw it: a slight, violet glow, the kind she always saw around light sources in her dreams.

No, it occurred to her, not always. For several nights she’d been plagued by a series of dreams where she’d been humiliated and tormented by men from her past. On those occasions, she’d been completely clueless to the fact that she was actually asleep, safe in her own bed. Indeed, those experiences had seemed all too real. Which, she only now realized, was completely uncharacteristic for her: ever since she was a young child, Scully always had a rare knack for realizing when she was dreaming.

Why, exactly, her unique gift had abandoned her in recent nights could be addressed in more detail during her waking hours. As the distinctly masculine footsteps in the hall grew louder, a more pressing thought occurred to Scully: she was naked, in her office, and a man was about to walk through that door.

A wicked grin spread out over her face. And she could do anything she damn well pleased with him.

Scully looked around, trying to decide how best to position herself. Her first inclination was to crouch behind the desk, to let him — and she had an all too good idea who he might be — have to search for her. She quickly discarded that idea. This was her dream world, she could be as bold as she liked.

Scully got up on the desk on all fours.

After a few seconds, she shifted into a seated position on the edge of the desk. There was bold, she decided, then there was giving the man a heart attack before he passed the threshold.

Crossing her legs, Scully laced her fingers over her knee, pointing the tip of one uber-pump straight in the air. Pretending to admire the shoe-tip absently, she did her best to look disinterested as the doorknob clicked.

It seemed as if the man on the other side held the door for an eternity before opening it. Scully let her excitement race, as she felt a slight draft wash over her body from the movement of the door.

Devilment in her eyes, Scully looked up. “Good morning, Mul—”

There weren’t shades of red deep enough to describe the coloring in her face.

“Agent Scully, was there a change in the Bureau’s dress code I wasn’t apprised of?” AD Skinner barked the question as he slammed the door shut behind him.

Not sure that her heart was beating, Scully did the only thing she could think of: she glanced quickly back at the overhead light. Still a violet hue. She was dreaming then. Wasn’t she?

“I believe I asked you a question agent?” Skinner was only feet away from her, his chin slightly upturned at the optimal angle for sternness.

Awkwardly Scully scrambled off the corner of the desk, secretly giving thanks that she had abandoned her previous position. Her hands moving awkwardly to cover herself, Scully could only stammer, “I…I…don’t know…don’t know what to say…sir.”

Skinner was staring her dead in the eyes and Scully desperately wished his gaze would take itself to some of the more obvious attractions that presented themselves.

He let out a disgusted breath. “Agent Scully, I have a good mine to parade you up to my office like this before signing the papers to terminate your employment with the Bureau.”

Something clicked with Scully. She let her hands drop to her sides. She knew for sure now: definitely a dream.

“Agent Scully, I expect this type of bizarre behavior from your partner, but frankly I’m shocked to find you like this. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Setting herself, Scully placed her hands on her hips. Then she balled them into fists. Yes, she decided, that was better. More defiant. She cleared her throat.

“Yes, sir, I do have something to say.”

Skinner glowered. “And that would be?”

The wicked smile returned. “I think I’d like that.”

Skinner’s chin dropped as he switched from stern to confused mode. “You’d like what, Agent Scully?”

Scully took a slow seductive step towards him. “The part where you parade me through the building. Nude.”

Skinner’s cheeks flushed as confusion passed into arousal. “Really, Agent Scully?”

Scully took another step, her mind planning all sorts of delicious things. She’d been hoping for Mulder, but, in a pinch, Skinner would do. She reached out and ran her fingers up the underside of his necktie, stopping at the knot. “But do you know what I’d really, really like, Walter?”

Skinner took off his glasses. “What would that be…Agent Scully?”

“I’d really like your cock in my ass right now.” Scully stepped back to examine his reaction, inwardly thrilling at her own naughtiness. It was her dream, Scully decided. She could talk like she was in a porno movie if she wanted.

Scully’s eyes were still locked on Skinner’s as she heard the whir of his zipper being undone. Followed by a loud flop.

Scully looked down and gulped. Porno movie, indeed.

“Is there a problem, Agent Scully?”

“No, sir.” Merriment in her eyes, Scully took two greedy steps and leapt into his arms.

Then the alarm clock went off.


“GODDAMMIT!” Scully barely finished saying the word before she’d beaten the alarm clock into submission.

It was only as the pain in her wrist set in that she realized she’d said it out loud. Her face reddened. And at the top of my lungs, she noted.

Scully eyed her bruised alarm clock sadly. So many times in recent days the device had been her savior, summoning her back from the brink of one of the many tortuous dreams she’d experienced of late. It deserved better.

Still, she desperately wished this morning’s dream had reached (pardon the expression) its climax. The fact that it revolved around her superior at the FBI, AD Skinner, wasn’t necessarily the point. Though she certainly found the assistant director physically attractive, he didn’t conjure up the range of emotions that her relationship with her partner, Fox Mulder, did. No, what made this dream so special was that for the first time in what seemed an eternity she had been aware she was dreaming, indeed, even was in control of the dream to an extent. And she had very much enjoyed that.

Scully sighed. In eight hours, she was to arrive at the Menagerie where she would indulge one of the most wicked and forbidden fantasies she could imagine. At the invitation of the Menagerie’s proprietor, Lydia Carnivale, Dana Scully — yes, Dana Katherine “raised-devout-catholic-son-of-a-naval-officer-trained-as-a-medical-doctor-special-agent-of-the-FBI” Scully – would don an x-rated red leather devil suit and act as one of the Menagerie’s serving wenches for a night. Scully’s heart quickened. This particular costume would render her nude from the waist down.

It was insane she knew. She could jeopardize almost everything she cared about: her career, her livelihood, her reputation. If, and she stressed the word if in her mind, anyone ever found out. But she’d gone over the scenario a hundred times and couldn’t see any way that anyone could know. The costume would conceal her facial features, as well as the tell-tale tattoo on her lower back. She’d arranged to get dressed before the other performers arrived. And for some reason that she couldn’t quite name, she trusted this woman, Lydia Carnivale, deeply and instinctively.

Scully felt a warm glow build inside her. Hell, she’d let Lydia dominate her and the ensuing orgasm had brought Scully to the brink of passing out. Scully closed her eyes tightly on the memory. Was what she was going to do this evening really so wrong?

Repeating the mantra she had developed to calm her anxiety prior to her session with Lydia, Scully told herself that this was a one-time event. She would do it, enjoy it, and learn what she could from it. A one-time thing. Like skydiving. Or bungee jumping.

She had imagined all manner of potential negatives before allowing herself to be dominated by Lydia and none of them had come to pass. Instead she’d experienced one of the most intense sexual experiences of her life. Once more Scully assured herself: you do this once, you enjoy it, and you move on. Really, what could go wrong?


“You have no idea how glad I am that you’re joining us tonight, Dana.”

Seeing Lydia again had not been as awkward as Scully feared. There was still a part of Dana that felt slightly uncomfortable with the notion of another woman provoking such an intense sexual response in her. But Lydia had a certain air about her that put such concerns and taboos readily to rest.

Scully cleared her throat. “Lydia, before we begin, I just wanted to thank you again. Both for what you gave me yesterday and for what you’ve helped me understand about myself.”

Lydia smiled warmly and placed an arm around Scully’s shoulder guiding her through the Menagerie’s showroom. “You’re more than welcome. But as I told you when we first met, that’s what I do. Help people accept themselves.”

They paused in front of the red devil suit.

“Have you thought of a name?”

“Name?” Scully asked.

Lydia laughed lightly. “Well, I don’t think you want me calling you ‘Dana’ tonight.”

Scully blushed. Good point. But she hadn’t had time to consider a name and she hated having to choose on short notice. Then it came to her. It was silly, even stupid, but the song had been in her head for days now:

>Johnny, Johnny, Rise Up Your Bow and Play Your Fiddle Hard<

>Hell’s Broke Loose in Georgia and The Devil Deals The Cards<

Wincing, Scully said, “Do you know that old Charlie Daniels Band song?”

Lydia smiled knowingly. “All too well.”

Scully decided. “Okay. My name will be Jonni.”

“Jonni it is.”

They continued on to Lydia’s office, arm-in-arm now.

“By the way, have the dreams stopped, Dana?”

Scully shook her head. “Yes and no.”

Lydia turned to face her, surprised. “Oh?”

“The dreams are different now. There’s still an element of humiliation. But I’m somehow more in control.” Scully laughed. “Bottom-line is that I enjoyed the most recent one a hell of a lot more than ones from previous nights.”

“That’s wonderful, Dana.” Lydia’s smile broadened. “Now, let’s get you dressed.”


Eying the stack of videos assembled in his basement office, Fox Mulder admitted that there were times he disgusted even himself. “Ass Kittens 4.” “They Came From Planet Butt.” “Victoria’s Secret Ass Party, Part II.” “Backdoor Becky and What the Parrot Saw.” “Buttman 7.”

For some reason — one it didn’t take an Oxford-educated psychologist to unravel — his choice of porno tapes had recently strayed towards those focused explicitly on the female posterior. With Scully out of the office recovering from an all-too-close encounter with a curare-tipped dart, Mulder had abandoned any pretense of concealing his collection.

He grimaced at the thought of the curare dart. Part of him recoiled at the thought of how close he’d come to losing Scully. Part of him berated himself for the secret pleasure he took in the memory of sucking on his partner’s luscious backside to remove the deadly poison from her wound.

He sighed. I am one sorry son of a bitch.

His hormones had been on overload ever since he’d been forced to examine Scully’s derriere for signs of a potentially deadly discoloration some weeks ago. Deep down, a part of him knew that matters were getting out of hand. He was jerking off up to five times a day and that was without even having to see Scully on a daily basis. By Monday she would be back on the job and Mulder was beginning to fear that he would need to spend a full half of his day in the men’s room.

An abrupt beep startled Mulder back to his computer.

Clicking on Outlook Express, Mulder saw the tell-tale signs of an untraceable e-mail: a blank domain address. Under sender, it simply said, “A Friend at the FBI.” There was no accompanying path or address to respond to and Mulder knew it would be hopeless to try to trace the sender. He’d received similar e-mails before, but none in almost three years. Not since his last benefactor inside the Syndicate — the man he knew simply as Mr. X — had been assassinated.

The text of the message was short and Mulder was out of his chair before he’d finished reading it. It simply said: “As you value your partner’s life and reason, be at the Menagerie tonight at 6:00 pm. Come alone.”

Vaguely Mulder realized that the wording of the warning had been borrowed from something he’d read once. Sherlock Holmes maybe? But he brushed the matter from his mind. Riddles could be solved later. Right now he needed to get in touch with Scully.

Cell phone in one hand, the door knob in his other, Mulder was completely defenseless as he opened the office door. The figure waiting in the hallway already had his weapon drawn.

Alex Krycek fired point blank into his ribs and Fox Mulder’s world went black.


Pain. Then pleasure. And lastly power.

At first the leather seemed so tight Scully was sure she could barely breathe. The boots were perhaps the worst. Lydia needed to pinch and prod Scully’s thighs and calves every inch of the way as she laced the zipper up the back of each tapered boot. With six-inch heels, the boots were true weapons: both to anyone she might inadvertently step on, and to Scully’s own feet. She felt like she was walking with her feet at an impossible angle, practically placing all of her weight on her toes. The bustier was little better. The first few seconds after Lydia laced her in, Scully feared she might suffocate. She had to strain her stomach muscles just to exhale. Her head piece was equally constrictive, even though it was open in the back.

But the pain and discomfort quickly subsided after a few minutes. The leather of the bustier relaxed and adjusted to the rhythm of her breathing. Her mask, too, settled after a fashion, letting a blissful layer of air in between the leather and her skin. And the boots. Well, after she got used to the sensation of balancing on the six-inch stilettos, the boots made her feel — literally and figuratively — ten feel tall.

The whole outfit imbued Scully with an immense sense of power. Just the way she felt moving through Lydia’s office made every muscle somehow feel preternaturally strong. The height and power of the boots, the steel-like support of the bustier, and the ironclad anonymity of the headpiece all combined to make Dana Scully feel as sexually potent as ever she had.

The sensation was only heightened by the whoosh of air on those parts of her body not covered by the costume. There had always been a part of Scully that felt overly conspicuous because of her firm round ass. Somehow it seemed a little too bawdy for her personality. With the red leather stiletto boots and tightly drawn bustier, the effect was to accentuate her hips and ass. But not in a way that made Scully feel more subconscious about them. Just the opposite: by leaving them on full display, it seemed the consummate act of rebellion. Instead of worrying about concealing and hiding her ass as she had her whole life, Scully was literally going to stick it in everyone’s face.

Scully examined herself in a full-length mirror. She smiled wickedly under the mask — her mouth and chin the only distinguishing features visible. Powerful indeed.

“You look wonderful Dana,” Lydia said as she helped Scully slip on a pair of red silk gloves that ran high above her elbows. As ludicrous as it might seem, Scully actually blushed at the comment.

Next came a small set of clip-on horns to round out the “devil look” of her head. Scully admired this new item as well then said, “I guess that’s it.”

Lydia shook her head, a wicked smile once again on her face. From behind her back she produced a two-foot long black leather tail which ended in a classic “devil’s point.”

Scully eyed the tail — and in particular the healthy sized butt plug at the terminal end of the prosthetic — and grinned sheepishly. “I’d forgotten about that.”

Lydia made no pretense of believing her. “Had you now?”

Scully nodded and breathed deep in anticipation.

Lydia took a step forward. “Lean forward, Dana.”

Lydia was exquisitely rough in its insertion and Scully harkened back to their encounter the previous day.

With a pat on the ass for good luck, Lydia moved towards the door. “I have to see how the other girls are doing. I’ll be back in a half hour, Dana. When it’s time for the ritual.”

Scully felt her stomach sink. Ritual?


She spent the next half hour patrolling Lydia’s office, attempting to get used to the twin sensations of walking in the exaggerated heels and of moving with the wonderfully wicked devil tail now securely in place. Almost a half hour to the moment she left, Lydia reappeared, looking resplendent in a flowing black velvet gown. In her hand she held a long stretch of red ribbon.

She smiled pleasantly. “Ready?”

Scully laced her hands together awkwardly. The feel of the silk on silk between her fingers momentarily distracting her from the anxiety now raging in her stomach. “Umm, Lydia, you…you didn’t mention anything about a ritual.”

Lydia’s grin took on a bit of a menacing hue. “No I didn’t.” Then she laughed lightly. “But I promise you, it won’t be anything you won’t enjoy. Just a little something we do for new members of the Menagerie.”

As she spoke, she laced a large loop at one end of the ribbon. Scully had a fairly good idea where it would go. Lydia gently placed it over Dana’s head. For a second time, she asked, “Ready?”

Scully took a deep breath. Too late to turn back now. Without a word, she just nodded.

At a slow pace, Lydia began leading Scully out through the showroom and down the staircase into the main bar area. It was only at the point where she was halfway down the stairs that the limited view of her mask allowed Scully to see who was assembled below. Five other women lined the base of the stairs, two on one side, three on another. Scully immediately saw the now familiar sight of Thumper’s her well-muscled, espresso-colored body, completely nude except for her hare’s tail and clip-on ears.

To her right a tall, beautifully Rubinesque woman stood equally nude, save for an elaborate peacock-like headpiece and — Scully shuddered to think what was holding it on — a large fanned peacock tail which must have been at least three-feet at its widest.

On the other side stood a small, brunette outfitted with a single unicorn horn on her head. More modest than the others, she wore a kind of white tasseled material over her breasts and sex, but her ass was bare, save for a thong and the a trademark white tail poking out between her well-rounded cheeks. A pair of white, spiked ankle boots topped off the look.

Next to her, a striking African-American woman wore a pirate costume similar in design to Scully’s own devil ensemble: thigh-high black buccaneer boots complemented by a tight black bustier. The woman wore no tail, nor a mask, but did don the requisite pirate hat.

Finally, came a young blonde woman, perhaps 5′2″, with beautiful (and seemingly real) breasts thrust forward. With the exception of a pair of faux white hooves on her feet and a rough-looking matching tail emanating from her backside, the woman wore nothing, but did have an elaborately decorated shield across her back. Leather straps ran under her arms securing it in place. She was also the only performer tonight wearing the type of elaborate face paint Scully had expected to see. The woman was made up to have a distinctly equine look, an image only enhanced by the braiding of her hair into a plume rising straight up from the top of her head. Latin characters also were painted at various places on her body. Scully thought she understood: the woman was supposed to be some sort of warhorse from classical times.

Arrayed out in a loose semi-circle around this short corridor of performers were perhaps ten or twelve customers, the first of the night and mostly male.

Reaching the end of the stairs with Lydia in the lead, Scully saw now that each of the costumed women held a serving tray in one hand. Scully suddenly had a bad feeling about “the ritual,” a hunch that was immediately confirmed as Thumped applied a hard smack to her left ass cheek with the tray. Each of the other women spanked in turn. Scully bit down hard, not wanting to cry out, despite the fact that the butt plug was serving as a lightening rod for the sting of each blow. To her credit, she managed to survive all five swats without so much as a yelp.

At the end of the mini-gauntlet, Lydia halted and addressed the room: “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Jonni, our devil.”

A surprisingly thunderous ovation followed. The spanking had distracted Scully from the obvious fact that she had officially entered the Menagerie. Here she stood with almost every aspect of her body on display for a roomful of strangers. Scully’s heart quickened. She was loving it.

Scully quickly realized that Lydia still held her homemade leash and she was leading her now towards the small stage set off to the right of the bar. Lydia looked back and cooed reassurance, “Don’t worry, Jonni. I’m sure you’re going to do fine.”

“Do I have to?” Scully whispered back in a voice she thought only Lydia could hear.

Thumper squeezed her from behind. “Of course you have to! All the newbies get first dance of the night!”

Over the sound system, Scully heard a song kick in. Her mind searched and then clicked on it. Oh God, she thought, it’s that band with Axl what’s his name. “Welcome to the Jungle,” reached its crescendo and kicked into high gear as all eyes turned to Scully. Lydia slipped off the ribbon and helped her to the stage, Thumper giggling wildly nearby.

Then Scully did something she never thought she would. She grabbed Thumper by the shoulders and pulled her up onto the stage with her. Shouting into her ear, she screamed, “Show me how to dance!”


Goldfinger? Was that that the movie? The one where Sean Connery almost has private parts incinerated by an industrial laser. Then, just when he escapes that unpleasant fate, a technician steps up and shoots him point blank with a tranquilizer dart. Only Connery doesn’t really know its a tranquilizer dart till he wakes up on a plush private jet with Pussy Galore.

Mulder glanced around his dingy basement office. Honor Blackman was nowhere to be seen.

Still lying on his back, Mulder sniffed the dart he’d extracted from his ribs. The odor wasn’t anything he recognized. Must have been one of the Syndicate’s homemade brews. He doubted that it would be lethal. If Krycek wanted him dead, Mulder reasoned, he wouldn’t be awake now pondering the nature of the substance that had rendered him unconscious. And now left him extraordinarily dizzy. And nauseous.

For a third time, Mulder tried to struggle to his knees only to be sucked back to the floor in a gut-wrenching internal whirlwind. Clinging to the cool tile, Mulder tried to steady himself.

Scully. He had to get to Scully.


The hours passed remarkably quickly. After she and Thumper brought the house down with her inaugural dance, Scully set to tending a section of six tables. It was still early and the crowd was light. One table was occupied by a middle-aged professional couple. They treated her practically like a china doll. Ever so polite and complimentary on how nicely Scully filled out the devil costume. They were sweet, but Scully had the unwelcome feeling they were searching for a third corner of a private triangle to be formed later.

At another table, sat an overweight young man. Scully couldn’t guess at his profession, but he clearly could afford to tip well. He was another sweetie and actually did his best to try to make conversation with her whenever she would stop by to check on his drink. Looking into his eyes that first time, she hit upon an important truth: at least half the men in the bar were thoroughly intimidated by Scully and the other performers. An aging beatnik and an elderly lawyer rounded out her current slate of customers.

People came and went, but the Menagerie never really seemed to fill up. The tone was muted and respectful, though the gazes of some patrons could be extremely uncomfortable at times. But, as a whole, the Menagerie’s clientele was extremely well-behaved. Scully sensed there might have been a screening process or even membership requirements. A small team of well-muscled bouncers patrolled behind the scenes and at the door in case anyone failed to obey the rules.

Scully delighted in each moment: the sensation of the air moving on her bare buttocks and sex never seemed to grow old. So, too, she thrilled to the secret surge she felt each time a new pair of eyes locked on her for the first time. That wonderfully naughty sensation of exposing herself to some anonymous stranger, a man or woman who would see her most intimate parts but have no clue as to her true identity or the entirely respectable and proper life she led outside these walls.

And then, of course, there was the wicked tail! It swung gently side-to-side as she moved in the six-inch boots up and down the aisle. The swaying reverberated in the attached butt plug, making it a virtual pendulum of pleasure. It was a wonderful feeling and made her constantly recall the splendid reaming Lydia applied the day before.

Scully came to welcome the long winding walk through the table from her section to the bar where Thumper now reigned over an elaborate network of taps and bottles. The knowledge that every eye was focused on her as she passed set her insides ablaze, as did the feel of carting mugs and glasses of beer and wine around to her customers. It was raw. It was dirty. And it was so unlike anything she’d ever done before. Maybe that’s why she loved it so. Scully willed herself to enjoy every moment, promising herself that she wouldn’t come back, that she could only risk this experience just this once.

In between serving, there was time to laugh and compare notes with the other girls. Kara, the peacock, tended the adjoining section and was relatively new as well. She and Scully exchanged schoolgirl whispers about the blissful insanity of what they were doing. The more seasoned performers stopped by to welcome Scully — “Jonni” — and flatter her on the magnificence of the devil costume. Sarah, the unicorn, made Scully promise that she would be her next dancing partner, as soon as time allowed them to get on stage together. God help her, Scully actually found herself looking forward to it.

Setting her tray down on the bar, Scully couldn’t believe how much she was enjoying herself. It was like nothing she could have ever imagined, yet somehow so enjoyable.

Thumper loaded up two more Scotches for the middle-aged couple at table four. Dropping the drinks off with her admirers, Scully turned round to find a new occupant at one of her empty tables. Her heart stopped. Her entire body blushed.

Scully had once reasoned through the odds of running into someone she knew at the Menagerie. She’d examined the possibility of encountering Mulder. Or Skinner. Or a friend of her brother’s from the Pentagon. She hadn’t thought to worry about Melvin Frohike. But there he sat, his hair slicked back, a shocking white ascot poking up from the top of his fully buttoned leather jacket. And he was staring straight at her.

Scully willed herself into remembering that there was no way — absolutely no way — that anyone could recognize her through the red leather mask. But she knew she would have to get out of there now. She couldn’t risk discovery. God only knew how long he would stay. But she also knew she was trapped for the moment. A sudden retreat could tip her hand. No, Scully decided. Get his order. That’s it. Get his order. Give it to Thumper. Then get up to Lydia’s office and go the hell home.

Using the same slow seductive prance she’d employed with her other customers, Scully eased up to the table. Only this time, she laced her hands together and waited for him to speak first.

Frohike eyed her head to foot, making no pretense of concealing his enjoyment of the picture she presented.

So much, Scully thought, for Lydia screening members.

“A quiet one, huh?” Frohike said the words with the a classic 60s-era playboy smirk.

Scully nodded. Then let a hand slip to her hip. She was waiting.

“French fries, sweet cheeks. And a root beer.”

Scully turned to leave. Then something truly extraordinary happened. Melvin Frohike spanked Dana Scully’s bare ass. No, Scully would later reflect, the extraordinary part came next. She didn’t plunge her fist into his chest to extract his still beating heart. Scully simply waggled her finger at him and walked away, thinking Dear God, Frohike just spanked me. She paused. And maybe I enjoyed it.

Scully quickly put such details aside. Amused as she may have been, she couldn’t risk staying. She dropped her tray with Thumper and gave her Frohike’s order.

“I have to go,” she whispered.

Thumper nodded. “No problem, there’s a rest room up in the showroom.”

Scully sighed. She really was starting to like Thumper, but brains clearly weren’t her strong suit.

“No, Thumper,” she said in a hush, “I need to leave. I know that man who just sat down in my section.”

Thumper nodded, then thought for a second. “Bummer. Head up to Lydia’s office. I’ll buzz her you’re coming.”

Scully started to leave when Thumper leaned over and kissed her on the neck. “Thanks for the dance.”

Blushing under her mask, Scully began the careful ascent of the stairs, almost as challenging a task as the descent had been, given her boots. She had just reached Lydia’s office when the alarm started clanging downstairs. Immediately, random shouts began echoing up the stairway. One chilled Scully’s blood: “It’s a raid!”


Christ, Mulder thought, I could be dead down here and it would be weeks before anyone thought to check on the strange smell coming from the basement. He glanced at his watch: seven o’clock. An hour past the deadline set in the mysterious e-mail he’d received. Almost three hours since Krycek’s attack.

He glanced around again for his cell phone, but to no avail. Something told Mulder that Krycek had dropped into the nearest urinal on his way to God knows where. From his vantage point on the floor, Mulder could also see that Krycek had been thorough enough to yank the phone lines from the walls in the office itself. He was completely incommunicado.

Mulder swallowed back against the urge to regurgitate once more. Taking slow steady breaths, he prepared himself for one more effort to stand.


Scully had envisioned many different sensations and situations prior to her evening at the Menagerie. Dangling out of a window completely nude save for a pair of spiked red leather thigh-high boots was not one of them.

Scully had nearly run into Lydia as she burst from her office in response to the alarm emanating from below. The two had exchanged an immediate look of dread: Lydia knew just as well as Scully that an FBI agent could ill-afford to be found here at the Menagerie, dressed like this. Lydia quickly ushered her into the office and immediately began undoing the elaborate snaps and zippers that bound Scully into her costume. But sirens could already be heard out front and official sounding voices were making their way up the stairs. Lydia had managed to free Scully of the bustier and headpiece.

But there hadn’t been time to take off the boots. Or, Scully now realized, to remove her tail. God, Scully thought, the thing’s been in so long it’s starting to feeling like a part of me.

Thumper had fought as best a delaying action as she could, employing her ample assets to stay the approach of the intruders en route to Lydia’s office, but soon they were just steps away from the door. In desperation Scully had thrown her keys and the knapsack containing her street clothes out the window of the small bathroom that adjoined Lydia’s office.

Now as she clung to the window’s ledge, she could hear men talking to Lydia: small grease-fire, they were saying. Need to close down for a few days. Have you back open soon, Lydia. But business is done for the night.

Scully closed her eyes tightly. It hadn’t been a raid at all. A grease-fire. Scully’s cheeks flamed. Frohike and his fucking French fries.

Lydia’s familiarity with the local fire department notwithstanding, Scully knew she had to get out of there. The Menagerie’s patrons had fled the building at the sound of the alarm and they were milling hither and yon around the building, though none had yet made it to the rear of the establishment Plus fire and other emergency personnel were everywhere inside the building and there was every chance that Scully would have met (or would someday meet) one or more of the local police and fire officials in the course of her work at the Bureau. She had to leave. Now.

Looking down at the drop below her for the umpteenth time, Scully estimated it at about nine or ten feet. If she let her legs go slack and rolled, she prayed she could manage it without breaking an ankle. If only there’d been time to get rid of the boots.

Realizing that she wasn’t exactly on the best spiritual footing, she nonetheless said a short prayer, then let the ledge slip from her fingers. The ground hit she hit was damp and relatively soft. Scully bounced once off the balls of her feet, then contracted her body and tucked into a series of rolls as planned. As she came out of her third tumble, she was able to right herself on her hands and knees, sore and a little dizzy, but with nothing broken.

Scully gave herself a few seconds to adjust to the cool night air. It felt wonderful after the smoke-ridden heat of the club, and her skin welcomed the respite from the confining bustier. The moon was full and she was having no problem seeing, despite the absence of any artificial light. Still on all fours, Scully cast about for her where her knapsack had landed. Then she heard it.

The slow, sarcastic clapping.

The rat’s smile flickered in the moonlight. “Well, well, Scully, I wasn’t expecting you to be in that position till later this evening.”

Alex Krycek stood over her, her knapsack strapped around one shoulder, her keys twinkling in his good hand. “Looking for these?”

Any embarrassment that Scully felt about being nude in front of Krycek was subsumed by the blind rage the man immediately engendered in her. And that was under normal circumstances. Now, as he held her keys tauntingly in front of her, anger oozed from her every pore. Straightening her chin, Scully stood deliberately, managing to do so without faltering in the damp grass. Locking her eyes with Krycek’s, she said simply, “Give me those.”

More rat smile. “What’s the magic word, Dana?”

Scully bit back a half dozen obscenities that threatened to explode from her at once. In between short, deliberate breaths, she uttered a single word: “Please.”

Krycek laughed loudly and let his eyes run up and down Scully’s body. Then he heaved the keys off into the depths of the night’s darkness.

Scully took a violent step towards him, and Krycek’s eyes filled with clear excitement. “You son of a bitch.” She said the words with clear, cold precision.

Krycek was nonplussed. He shrugged and directed his gaze elsewhere. “Nice tits.”

Another angry step, another visceral condemnation: “You’re an evil bastard, Krycek.”

Krycek chuckled coldly. “I may be an SOB and a bastard. But you’re a piece of ass.”

Scully’s heart skipped. Piece of ass? Hadn’t Krycek said almost the exact same thing in her dream days ago. Hadn’t she said “evil bastard?” Confused, she took a step backwards.

Puzzlement also flashed across Krycek’s face for a moment. Then he set himself. Time to get down to business. “Look, Scully, let’s keep this simple. This place is teaming with cops and firemen and I’m you’re only ride out of here.” He paused and let his gaze drift down to her crotch. “Although I imagine you wouldn’t have any trouble hitching a ride once you make it to a main road.”

“And I suppose you’ll help me out of the kindness of your heart?”

“Actually, I had a few unique services in mind for you to perform.”

Scully nodded angrily and began glancing around her. No one had yet come out behind the Menagerie where they stood now, but voices were getting closer. Unless she was willing to give in and get help from the police there was no retreat either back into the building or around front.

Her mind cast about for other options. Her car was parked about a quarter mile away on a residential side street. She’d left it there, presciently it now seemed, to make sure no one would recognize it in the Menagerie’s driveway. What were the odds that she could somehow navigate her way to the vehicle unseen? And then what? Break into her own car, hotwire it, and drive forty minutes to Georgetown completely nude?

Plus she didn’t even know what direction to take. There was no way she could cross round to the front or sides of the building unnoticed. Behind her there was a steep hill descending down into a thick wood that led who knows where. Even with her advanced skills at running in high heels, Scully sincerely doubted she could navigate the descent without taking the boots off first.

Scully closed her eyes, contemplating the impossible. Could she really go with Krycek? Put herself at his mercy like that? When she opened them, Krycek had made the decision for her. Extracting a digital camera from his jacket, he asked, “You don’t mind if I snap a few mementos while you mull over my offer? Just for my private scrapbook?”

Maybe it was the years and years of anger and hatred inspired by Krycek and all his works. Maybe it was the frustration of having her fantasy evening so rudely interrupted by Frohike and the fire department. Maybe it was the frustration that had been building in her ever sense her alarm clock curtailed her rendezvous with Skinner’s cock. Whatever it was, Scully was fairly certain she could never execute a move quite like it again. Not in six inch heels on wet, muddy grass at night anyway.

From Krycek’s perspective, it was one of the nicer views he could remember seeing prior to having an act of violence perpetrated against him. His eyes locked on Scully’s rich thatch of amber as she spun and swung her right leg around, executing a perfect — and powerful — wheelhouse kick that sent his camera spinning aimlessly off into the dark. It was followed by a shorter, straight-on kick of equal power delivered with care and precision to the epicenter of his crotch. As his stomach congealed and his genitals screamed out, Krycek collapsed in a lump on the ground.

Unfortunately for Scully her knapsack swung forward and under him as he fell. She took a short step towards him, hoping to free it, but quickly saw that it was hopeless. The brief scuffle had attracted attention and men were rounding the building now. There was just no time. Out of options, Scully turned to the hill, determined to try to make it home somehow on her own.

Just as she was ready to begin the descent, she felt a taut, tugging sensation coming from in between her cheeks. Laughing through his pain, Krycek had snagged her tail. Scully’s eyes narrowed to slits of rage, but she knew there was only one choice. Biting her lower lip, she took a deliberate step forward, her tail squirting free with an audible pop that reddened her cheeks yet again. Then she dropped into a sideways roll hoping her momentum would carry her to the woods below. Krycek’s wicked cackle echoed in her ears as she tumbled down the wet hillside.


From the top of the hill, Scully hadn’t been able to make out the stream. It really didn’t matter. The little gully and cool spring which drifted along through it provided something of a gentle break for her tumble. And the shallow ravine actually afforded decent cover from the various people milling around behind the Menagerie. Sitting on one muddy back, Scully realized she was beyond the point of hopeless. She knew deep down that she had no reasonable prospect of making it back to Georgetown like this on her own — nude and covered with mud. No, as she massaged her aching calves, she realized that she would need some other plan. For the moment, her best hope was to wait for the fire department to clear out of the Menagerie, scamper back up the hill, and hope Thumper or Lydia was still around.

As a shiver ran through her, Scully winced. The trick would be to not catch pneumonia before the coast was clear.

At least she finally had a chance to take off those damn boots! Moving her ministrations down to her heels, she was starting to understand why Thumper performed barefoot.

Not for the first time, she glanced up at the full moon, hoping against hope to see a purplish halo around it indicating that she was, in fact, asleep in her bed in Georgetown. But all she saw was the moon’s pale, undiluted surface.

Looking up at the heavens, she couldn’t help but think of the one person she truly wished was here to save her now. Mulder. She closed her eyes thinking of him. Was there anyway he could know she needed him now? In her work on the X-Files she’d seen so much she couldn’t explain. Telekinesis. Telepathy. She and Mulder had their own link of sorts, didn’t they? Wishing for the impossible, she prayed that somehow he would find her tonight. That he would scoop her up in a warm fuzzy blanket then whisk her back to his futon-ridden apartment and slowly, painstakingly lick the mud off every inch of her body.

Scully sighed. Yeah, that’ll happen.

Then she felt the overcoat slide over shoulders. Her heart leapt as she looked up into the face of —


“Come on Memnoch,” he said, “let’s get you home.”


There was humiliation, Scully decided, and then there was humiliation.

Huddled in the front seat of Frohike’s van, with mud caked in places she dare not think about, Dana Scully decided that tonight qualified as a truly humiliating experience. From Krycek yanking out her faux tail — her ass still smarted from its unexpected departure — to the necessity of being rescued by Frohike from certain arrest for indecent exposure, there was almost nothing that could qualify as dignified about the entire evening.

Scully let out an exasperated breath. And, worst of all, she had to admit that it was all her fault. She had been the one who’d decided to take the plunge. She had been the one who had gotten the high off her version of sexual skydiving. So much, she resolved, for experimenting.

“Umm, Scully?” Frohike’s voice was soft, mildly paternal.

Scully didn’t want to talk. She desperately didn’t want to cry and not being verbal in any way, shape, or form, seemed like a smart move to that end. Begrudgingly, she whispered, “Yes?”

“What happened tonight…I want you to know it doesn’t change anything. In terms of the respect I feel for you.”

Scully’s ears perked up. “I don’t understand?”

“Well,” Frohike’s voice was steady, even, “It’s just, I’ve always had a great deal of respect for the women at the Menagerie.”

Scully stared out the window absently. “You do?”

Frohike nodded. “It’s hard for me to respect myself in a place like that if I don’t have equal esteem for my female counterparts.”

Scully gave in to a small, but much needed laugh. There was some sort of warped logic in that she supposed.

“Scully, there’s just one thing I don’t understand. That really I never understood.”

Scully looked at Frohike now. Her eyes glistened, but the threat of full blown tears had receded for the moment. Somehow this conversation was actually making her feel better. “What’s that?”

Frohike gulped audibly, realizing he was getting to the hard part. “I just never understood. I mean, it’s none of my business. But, well, there’s Mulder with his bevy of porn tapes. And then well, there’s you and your, um, unique interests…”

Scully was too tired to get angry now. So she indulged him. “Yes?”

Frohike shrugged. “Well, I guess a lot of us just wondered why the two of you never got together.”

Scully mulled the question in her mind. Hadn’t it been what she’d been wondering for the past several weeks as well.

Frohike eased the van up in front of Scully’s building. For the umpteenth time that night a look of terror crossed Scully’s face. Oh God, she thought, my —

“Keys?” Frohike held the magical implements in front of Scully as she gasped in disbelief.

French fries forgiven.

“H-How did you?”

“I came across them in the woods while I was looking for you. I recognized the moon landing key chain Mulder gave you.”

Scully leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead, no longer caring that she was probably giving him a full-on view of her bare breasts as she did. She brushed his cheek lightly. “Thank you, Melvin. For everything.”

Frohike let his eyes run up and down Scully’s body. The old letch was back. “No, Scully, thank you. For one of the most amazing sights I’ve ever seen without the benefit of controlled substances.”

She blushed visibly, but let him enjoy his moment.

Mercifully, she made it to her apartment without encountering any of her neighbors. Though Frohike’s overcoat covered everything important (if just barely), she wasn’t quite sure how she would explain her bare legs and mud-stained feet.

Once inside, Scully was willing to permit herself to cry, but found the tears just wouldn’t come. Instead, she walked somberly to the bathroom and began drawing a scalding hot bubble bath, with the intent to stay in it for at least a fortnight.


“It was a good plan. As plans go. A noble plan.” He paused, reflecting on the simmering cigarette, pointed upwards in his right hand.

She resisted the urge to ask the question that had built in her mind over the past weeks and months. No, she thought, let him do this at his own pace.

“But then all plans seemed destined to go awry. Even the noble ones.” He pulled deeply on the Morley, exhaling slowly.

“In the end, one only wonders at the randomness of the plan’s undoing.”

Lydia cleared her throat, ready to speak now. “Raul…” She started slowly, uncomfortable with the use of his first name. “I’ve had it checked thoroughly. The fire appears to be entirely accidental. Something went wrong with the deep fryer. One of our regulars, he always orders French fries…”

“French fries?” The Smoking Man laughed the words.

An awkward silence hung in the room as he returned to his contemplation of the smoldering Morley.

Finally, the Smoking Man shrugged. “So be it.” He extinguished the cigarette.

Lydia reached out lightly, touching his hand. So cold, she thought.

He stared back at her, more amused than aroused. “Your work was exceptional Lydia. You have nothing to fear.”

Lydia massaged the clammy flesh on the back of his hand. “It’s not me I’m concerned about.” She looked down for courage, then up into his icy gaze. “You seem to have invested so much into this operation. So much into this woman.”

The Smoking Man smiled. Not the usual Smirk of Evil, but an honest, true smile. “Would it surprise you, Lydia, if I said I had genuine affection for Scully? That after so much time watching her, my admiration blossomed into something more?”

Lydia held his gaze, a tingle coming over her. How many people ever got this close to him?

“Perhaps after so much time trying to do what was right to protect so many, I felt there could be redemption in doing for just one.” Gently, he let his hand slip from under hers and stood to leave, a fresh cigarette already between his fingers.

“Raul?” she said the name crisply this time.

He turned in the doorway, the Morley now in his lips. “Yes?”

“Are you so sure that we failed?”


Mulder sat at his desk pouring over field reports. It was, of course, no way to spend a Saturday morning, but his work was the one thing that he could count on to put his mind at peace.

He rubbed his side, still sore from the tranquilizer dart. No apparent explanation for Krycek’s attack had yet to present itself, but at least Scully was safe. Mulder had finally gotten through to her around ten on Thursday night and she swore no harm had come to her whatsoever.

“The Menagerie?” she’d asked. “What would I be doing there?” She’d been sleeping soundly all night. She would be back at work on Monday. And that was all that really mattered.

The fact that Scully was safe at home the whole time was scant consolation for Mulder, who felt sure his partner was meeting some horrible fate while he toiled under the aftereffects of Krycek’s assault. Mulder managed to make it to the elevator before finally succumbing to the nausea for a full half hour. Then he’d willed himself up the first floor where more vomiting ensured. The maintenance workers on two floors were still giving him dirty looks for the trail he’d left en route to the first available payphone, which, unfortunately, happened to be located in the cafeteria.

All in all, Mulder decided, another reason to hate Alex Krycek’s guts.

Mulder skimmed the latest file. A park ranger in Idaho reported a sighting of a creature he described as “half-man, half bat.” Mulder chuckled to himself. Man bats? Some things even he had a hard time buying.

“What’s so funny?”

Mulder’s head snapped up. “Scully?”

He rounded the desk and gave her a full-on bear hug. Pulling back, he noticed something strange. It was Saturday, but she was wearing her full-length business raincoat. And heels.

“I didn’t expect to see you to Monday.”

She grinned sheepishly. “I, um, just wanted to talk, Mulder.”

A look of concern crossed Fox’s face. “Scully is everything —”

“Fine,” she cut him off. “Everything’s fine.”

“Okay…” Mulder sat down on the edge of his desk, confused.

Scully looked down towards the floor for courage, then up into his eyes. Her smile was suddenly radiant. Not sheepish, not bashful. Mulder couldn’t help but smile back.

She laughed the first words, “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” Then she composed herself and added quietly, “But then I can’t believe a lot of the things I’ve done lately.”

Mulder watched her in silence, utterly perplexed, but pleased to see her this way. It was rare that Scully was so effusively happy.

“Mulder,” she paused, a little unsure. Then the contented smile returned. “Mulder, I have something to tell you. Something I’ve never felt comfortable enough to trust anyone with.” She paused and thought of Lydia. “Well, practically no one.”

Mulder was nodding slowly, wanting to help her in any way he could.

She slid her hands deep into the pockets of her coat, the motion somehow emboldening her. “You remember, of course, a few weeks ago. When I had the, uh, discoloration.”

Mulder’s cheeks flushed full red. He couldn’t look at her. He’d been jerking off to the image of her half-nude on all fours for weeks now. He managed to gulp out a “yes.”

Scully’s smile grew brighter at her partner’s embarrassment. “I’m sorry Mulder.”

Mulder shook his head, still unable to make eye contact. “For what?”

Gently, she said, “I didn’t need for you to be so thorough in…in your examination.”

Mulder’s cheeks were absolute flame. Dry-mouthed, he looked into her eyes.

She inclined her head in sympathy: he looks like a deer in headlights, she thought. She took his hand in hers. Mulder’s heart beat triple time.

“I’ve never shared this with any man I’ve known.” Her voice quivered as she got to the important part. “And I believe you’re the one I should share it with.” He was staring dead at her, but now it was she who couldn’t make eye contact.

“Mulder, you have been my friend, my colleague, my nemesis, and my companion. You have gone to the ends of the earth to save me.” She looked up, and what she saw in his eyes told her everything she needed to keep going.

“There are elements of my sexuality that I have never been sufficiently comfortable about to share with another.” She let the statement hang in the air. Mulder could barely breath for fear that the exertion would cause his pounding heart to rupture.

Tears building in her eyes, Scully crossed the Rubicon. “Mulder, I love you. I guess I always have. I wanted you to touch me that way because — “

His lips were on hers with a force that almost made her cringe, their mouths interlocking with a sweet intensity, their tongues intertwining till Scully couldn’t tell where she ended and he began.

She had no idea how long the kiss lasted. It just lasted. And lasted. Six years of passion and feelings unleashed in one moment.

When the kiss ended, Scully wasn’t sure who had stopped or how. She just felt herself free from his embrace. And already she missed it. But that was but a small smirch on the otherwise utter bliss that consumed her. She opened her eyes and felt like she was seeing the world for the first time. There he stood. Grinning.

A wicked smile built on Scully’s face. She turned around and the raincoat slipped to the floor.

Later, reflecting on the moment, Fox Mulder would note that somehow his brain must have been working in reverse. As the raincoat fell, he focused on the heels first. Then the stockings. Only last did his eyes lock on the most gorgeous ass he’d ever seen. The Uber-ass, he decided. Or, the Queen of All Asses. Maybe, Ass to the Google Plex.

Then she turned around. If the rear view grabbed his animal instincts by the throat, seeing Scully front-on evoked every image of classical art Mulder had ever been exposed to. Pure beauty. No other words could describe her.

Then it occurred to Mulder: she said she wanted to be touched where?

Mulder straightened his posture and walked back around his desk. His voice firm, he spoke while rifling desperately through the drawers. “Agent Scully?”

Dana set her hands squarely on her hips, her tongue dancing playfully along her upper lip. “Yes, Agent Mulder?”

Mulder stopped searching the drawers. His voice artificially stern, he barked, “There’s something I’ve wanted to say to you since the first day you joined the X-Files.”

“And that would be?” Scully cooed in response.

Mulder set the jar of vaseline down on the desk with a thump.

“Bend over.”


Another office. Another miasma of smoke. Another grainy videotape.

All that masturbating had done wonders for Fox Mulder’s stamina, the Smoking Man thought.

It had been going on for at least twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of pure ecstasy on the face of Dana Scully.

Perhaps, the Smoking Man thought, all plans don’t go awry.



The Santa hat fell off for perhaps the eighth time. Fox Mulder paused from his exertions to replace it firmly on his partner’s head.

Dana Scully smiled broadly as she felt Mulder return to the wonderfully full thrusts he applied to her ass.

She had met Mulder at her door wearing nothing but the Santa hat and a pair of spiked red heels. The shoes hadn’t lasted to the couch, but for some reason Mulder seemed to particularly enjoy the site of her nude in nothing but the hat. He was a quirky little pervert. But her quirky little pervert.

Three months. Three years. Three decades. What had it been? How long since the first fumblings in their basement office. Both of them so unsure about what they were doing. How could they ever have questioned it?

Scully’s heart still leapt at the thought of Mulder setting the vaseline on the desk and ordering her to bend over. Funny, of all things, it had been their mutual interest in this particular act that had finally torn down the barriers. It was almost laughable. After years of being unable to explore their basic feelings towards one another, they’d finally broken through with one of the most taboo of sexual acts.

Scully gasped as Mulder pushed up into her with another long, slow deep thrust. He withdrew at an equally excruciating pace, almost pulling completely out of her, letting his head dance around her tight opening. Then quickly he pushed back in, rapidly engorging himself between her two ethereal ass cheeks.

Utterly content in the fullness in her backside, Scully thought back to when anal sex had first become part of their regular repertoire, when she’d finally convinced him that it was not only okay, it was actually highly desirable.

It’d been a blustery November Saturday and the two of them had squirreled themselves away in Mulder’s apartment to watch the Army-Navy football game. On a whim, Scully proposed a challenge: if Army lost, Mulder had to go down on her that night once for each touchdown that Navy won by. If Navy lost, Mulder could fill her ass once per each touchdown the Midshipman lost by. She’d considered it a win-win bet but secretly thrilled as Navy went down in a crushing defeat. They lost by 21 glorious points and she’d had to endure three splendid ass-fucks in the same evening.

Mulder altered his style with each one. The first quick and dirty: he needed to get off. The second, long, slow and splendidly punishing, her every nerve-ending tingling with the ecstasy of his skewering. The third, was somewhere in between. Mulder, his endurance at its peak, alternated between vicious rounds of fast, hard reaming and deep, rhythmic stroking. He had taken care to mix in two wonderfully deliberate oral performances after the first and second screws, just to ensure that Scully came in every sense of the word. Though she loved anal, she still couldn’t always achieve orgasm off it.

Scully had never felt so spent as Mulder cradled her in his arms after the third ream. He had the slyest, guilty school-boy look on his face. “What is it?” she’d queried him.

He finally gave in to the laughter he’d been trying to hold back. “I was just thinking what your brother would say if he found out what I got to do to his sister because Navy lost a football game.” She’d giggled hysterically before passing off into the sleep of the fucked and the contented.

That was almost two months ago. Now he knew it was okay. Now he knew that he didn’t have to hold back. They’d established a safety word in case he ever did anything that she really found painful, but she’d agreed to that more for his peace of mind than out of any requirement for it herself. She trusted him and she wanted him in complete control, at least here in this bed, doing this particular act.

Scully grinned as Mulder quickened his pace. There was, of course, so much more to their sex life. Being the perfectionists they both were, they strived to out do one another with their oral ministrations. And neither of them was ignorant of the fact that Scully also had a perfectly wonderful vagina: there was always plenty of time for good old-fashioned fucking. Or simply making out or even cuddling. But, God help her, there was just a part of Scully that couldn’t help but love it when Mulder fucked her ass.

As she felt him tense inside her, she squeezed tight around him, forcing forth the warmth that he unleashed deep in her bowels. As Scully cooed to his quick, erratic jerks, she closed her eyes and tilted back her head to meet his lips.

He withdrew and turned her full round to face him. The Santa hat tumbled to the floor for the umpteenth time but neither of them bothered to replace it now. He looked her deep in the eyes and she gazed back equally enchanted. Then he pulled her tight, pressing her breasts flat against his chest, one hand wandering down to massage that magnificent ass. Their tongues melted into one another.

Breaking away gently, Fox drew up a small black box from under the covers. Scully furrowed her brows. How had she missed that?

“Merry Christmas.”

Scully smiled and eyed the box. For a second her heart nearly stopped. A small black box. No, it was too big for that. More of a medium-sized box really. And it was too soon for a ring, wasn’t it? Nervously she undid the bow and opened the black cardboard.

She grinned from ear to ear.

Inside was a small bunny tail attached to a tapered butt plug. With it were a set of clip-on bunny ears. A note said, “Compliments of Ms. Lydia’s Menagerie.”

Mulder grinned. “I thought they would look good on you while you make me breakfast tomorrow.” Scully laughed. Then pushed Mulder backwards. Very hard.

“I’m sorry, Mulder, what was that?”

Mulder sat up laughing. “I said I think they’d look great on you while I’m bringing you breakfast tomorrow.”

Wrapping his arms around her, Fox pulled her down under the covers. They both shivered as the cool linen adjusted to their warmth.

“Well, Scully, is this the best Christmas ever?”

She nodded. “Much better than shooting one another in a haunted house.”

Mulder smiled as she nestled against his chest. Definitely nothing paramasturbatory about tonight. He’d never much cared for the holidays. But now as he cradled this wonderful woman and beautiful friend in his arms, Fox realized he was feeling something he’d only glimpsed since the earliest days of childhood. As Dana Scully drifted off to sleep in his arms, Fox Mulder knew he was happy.




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