More Than Personal

She shut the door behind her and locked the two deadbolts immediately, just like every other time she came home. Then she walked to her phone and checked her messages. Blah blah blah. Just like every other frickin' day. Next she'd take her shoes off in the hall, remove her suit jacket and drape it over the chair, walk into the bedroom and finish undressing, reach into her bottom drawer for the vibrator, grab the KY, and go to work. Another stress filled day forgotten. Afterward, she'll take a shower, as if to cleanse any impropriety from her body.

I've witnessed the scene so often, it fails to stir me anymore. Except for those days when I'm *really* hard up, no pun intended. It's so mundane. After my English friend bit the big one a few months back, I got stuck on surveillance duty again. Kissing ass to the Consortium. Not that watching Dana Scully is a *bad* thing, but since she and Mulder got yanked off the X-Files, it's been so goddamned...*boring*. Same old thing, day in day out.

So when Scully walked into the bathroom instead of the bedroom, I perked up. Anything that deviated from the norm was worth noticing. Something to break up the monotony. Of course, all she did was get into the shower, but that was okay. Wet and naked Scully is always good. Does more for me than that damn vibrator. It's not even sexual for her, just a way to relax. She just lays on the bed and lets the thing do its work, hardly moving, kind of like she was getting a neck massage or something.

Alright, back to the matter at hand. Dana Scully going crazy for once and skipping the vibrator. And paint me red and call me Sally, but I'm not disappointed. Now, whoever had this job before me was just a *little* bit too into it, if you catch my meaning. Two cameras pointing into the bath. Water resistant, antifogging cameras with microphones. One in each corner. Scully in stereo, except with two video images too, one for the front, one for the back. If the woman ever found out how many men got off to video tapes of her in the shower, Armageddon would be now, and it wouldn't be pretty.

She's standing there in the shower, leaning against the pale green tile, eyes closed, dejectedly letting the water spray down the front of her, and I have the biggest urge to take her in my arms and hug her. Nothing else. Just a hug. Because she sure as hell looks like she needs one. Yeah, I know. Kinda funny, isn't it? Me wanting to give someone a hug. And not only because I've got only one arm. It's just that, back when I helped them abduct her, and then that mishap with her sister, it wasn't *personal* back then. I didn't really know her. She was just another job that needed to be done. But now? Now I wouldn't do anything to hurt her. At least permanently. Because she's...well, she's not a "friend" in any sense of the word. Business associate maybe? Whatever. I just wouldn't take a contract for her, that's what I'm trying to say. Because it's personal.

Now she's washing her face, then the rest of her body. Exhausted hands moving the cloth slowly over her stomach, her ass, her legs, leaving trails of soap bubbles that are instantly rinsed from her smooth white skin by the steady stream of water. Then the wet cloth is brushed over her chest. Once. Twice. So slowly. My cock begins to twitch. I'm not made of wood you know. There is something very sexy about Dana Scully washing herself; even more so than other women. I can't explain it. It's one of those rules of the universe I just don't question. She is spending a great deal of time rubbing the cloth over her chest, brushing the rough surface over her nipples. I reach down and begin to rub my cock through my jeans, gasping at the same time she does.

I am intensely glad that I am alone today. Not only because of *that*, but because I feel like I am receiving a gift. Dana Scully is getting down and dirty and actually touching herself, and I am the only one who gets to watch. I reach over and switch off the tape. This show will not be rebroadcast in assorted living rooms around the Consortium. No way, no how.

The cloth is moved down, down, over her stomach, and I'm thinking this is going to get good really soon. But I'm wrong. She just finishes washing up, then reaches down and turns off the shower. I am a little disappointed, until she closes the drain on the tub and lies down in the rising water. Wash cloth in hand, she once again rubs the rough side over her body, paying close attention to her nipples. She's quiet and I can't hear her heavy breathing over the rush of water, but I can see her chest rapidly rising and falling. Oh yeah, this is gonna get *really* good.

She raises her foot to the faucet and lets the water pound on the ends of her toes, first one foot and then the other. I think she is ready to come from that sensation alone. I file it away as Dana Scully fact number three thousand and eleven; not because I harbor any hopes of ever having a sexual encounter with her, in this lifetime anyway, but rather for the fact that after tonight I am one hundred percent positive she will have the starring role in all of my perverted little daydreams.

She discards the wash cloth and starts playing with her nipples, squeezing them between her fingers, first one then the other. I have my pants pulled down to my ankles now and I've got my hand firmly around my cock, squeezing and releasing, trying to find a rhythm. Damn she is hot. Why the fuck can't she find someone who'll just fuck the everliving hell out of her? Fox Mulder has got to be the most colossally stupid man on the face of the earth. He could have what I'm seeing right now. She's his for the asking. But he's too goddamned stupid to realize it. So fuck Mulder. *I'm* here now, watching her writhe around in ecstasy.

She slides her ass down the length of the tub and raises her legs up, parting them, letting the stream of water hit her *there*. As the water fluctuates, moving over her, I catch glimpses. Damn, whoever set up these cameras knew what the hell he was doing. I think I can fucking see her lungs.

Yes, I am using the zoom lens. I'm a pervert; sue me. These days, I take what I can get.

My breathing grows more ragged as she comes. She is quiet, from years of getting off with Mulder in the next hotel room, or maybe from that repressed Catholic guilt of hers, I don't know. It's still good for me, but damn, I would give just about anything to hear her make some noise when she got off. Just once. That would be enough.

By this time my hand is pumping like crazy and I'm just about ready to come myself when she looks right at me. Well, not at *me* but her eyes are wide open, she's having the best orgasm she's had in weeks (trust me, I know these things), and she's staring up at the ceiling, right at one of the hidden cameras. I'm kind of excited by it, but I'm also scared shitless. It's almost as if she *knows* I'm watching her. Which of course she doesn't, but it's enough for me to lose my edge.

She's lying there, immersed in the water. She has turned the faucet off and I can hear her shallow panting as she comes down from her orgasm. Me? I'm stuck holding the stick, so to speak. I figure I've got all the time in the world now; I'll take it slow, enjoy the scenery as long as I can.

And that's when she starts shaving her legs. There's nothing sexier than seeing a beautiful woman with legs like hers shaving. It does something for me, in a big way. She takes her time and I stop stroking myself, just sitting there, rod in hand, leaning forward to intently watch the screen. The razor moves over the skin, delicately clearing away the white foam. Short strokes around the ankle, long smooth strokes over her calf and shin, short strokes at the knee, long strokes over the thigh. <shrip shrip shrip, shwooosh, shwooosh, shrip shrip shrip, shwoosh shwoosh> I am hypnotized.

When she's finished she notices the nick on her knee. My tongue comes out and wets my lips of its own volition, the desire to lick those little droplets of blood overpowering. I gasp as her tongue does so. Once, twice, then twisting her head to the side and licking down -or is that up?- her thigh. She can only bend far enough to make it halfway, but the way her tongue is stretching, I am almost ready to believe that she can reach the juncture between her legs by sheer will alone. God, what *that* would do to me. But she moves back up, licking a path back to her knee.

Just as I am regaining a little of my composure, she decides to give her knee a blow job. It sounds funny, but that's the best way to describe it. She licks the whole surface, then begins sucking in the flesh, taking as much into her mouth as she can, concentrating on first one then another part. She is relentless, angrily laving the kneecap with her tongue, then using the soft underside to smooth over the abused skin. In my mind her knee is replaced with my cock, her mouth hot on the tip, taking it into her mouth little by little. Then, oh God, she starts bobbing her head on her knee. It's not that she can get her knee into her mouth because that would just be impossible. She sort of slides her mouth along the side of it, making soft sucking sounds as she moves, licking and sucking and bobbing and my hand is moving at a furious pace and then I'm coming and coming and coming in spurts all over myself and the video equipment and it just keeps shooting out of me until I fall back in the chair, exhausted.

My mind shuts down for a while, I'm not sure how long. The next thing my brain computes is that she is standing up, and I am screaming within my head, "No! It can't be over yet!" I don't even take the time to be troubled by my thoughts. I just know I don't want this time to end.

She is draining the water out of the bath, turning on the shower, and grabbing her shampoo. It's some type of herbal stuff. I almost bought some myself once, but it smelled a little too feminine for my taste. I opted for the kind that smells like black cherry Kool Aid instead.

Her hair finally washed and rinsed, it is with a considerable amount of regret that I watch her reach down to turn off the shower. However, she surprises me again, laying back down in the tub, getting comfortable before spreading her legs again under the faucet. Isn't the woman satisfied by now?

<Obviously not, dipshit,> I tell myself. It's a shame that ol' sparky isn't up to playing again tonight. Well, it's actually okay by me because I don't think I would survive something that intense happening twice in one night. So it is with a detached eye that I watch Dana Scully getting off again.

She didn't plug the drain this time; her panting and soft sounds are echoing within the ceramic confines of the bath. Yes, she is making noises this time, and I think that is going to be my undoing. She gets right to the edge, groaning and grunting and shaking, and then she loses it. Three times. I feel bad for her. It sucks when you're riding that high and you just can't hit your peak.

But then her body starts to hum -is that possible? I mean, her whole body is shaking, almost imperceptibly, and it seems like it's humming. Her mouth flies open and she is gurgling in her throat, eyes rolling back in her head. It just keeps going on and on for what seems like an eternity. If it's even *half* as good for her as it is for me, I think she must be in heaven. Her face is frozen in an expression of ecstasy, and it almost looks like she is being strangled to death, gasping for air and making those low noises. That gives me a little extra thrill, sick fuck that I am.

Her body is just wound so tight, raised up, her knees on either rim of the tub, the top of her head pushing against its bottom, her arms stretched out above her. The gurgling gets louder and her hips give this amazing thrust, just once, her whole body thrown up into the air. I feel my own hips give a jerk and am stunned to realize that I'm coming again, in one short burst as she yells, "Fuck!" and falls back into the tub, out cold.

Oh.

My.

Fucking.

God.

I cannot believe this. I can't catch my breath. I'm almost hyperventilating. I cannot fucking believe this. I have one hell of a mess to clean up before my 'relief' shows up. And I still cannot fucking believe this. The most amazing sexual experience of my life and I was alone. Well, I was and I wasn't.

Minutes tick by and she's still passed out. It's damn lucky that she didn't plug the drain because I am not in any condition to go in there and keep her from drowning. And I'd do it. I'm almost obligated to after what she just gave me. She made it more than personal. Stepped way over the line there, intentionally or not. And damn me if I'm not regretting turning off that tape.

Thank Yous: Big thanks to Sarah for her enthusiastic encouragement! Also, thanks to Syn and Kristine for beta reading and helping me find all the little spelling mistakes and grammar errors. Of course I couldn't resist tinkering with it after they sent it back to me, so any mistakes are completely my fault. Also, thanks to the OBSSE mailing list, for assigning homeworks and making me kick my brain into gear again...

Author's Note 2: I normally don't write smut/erotica. I pretty much stick to humor, but this little ditty was screaming to get out. Also, this is my first posting, so let me know if I should stick around or go back to lurking. Which brings us to...

Feedback: Slavering worship, constructive criticism, general comments, and potato recipes will all be welcomed at malefescent@hotmail.com