Wrong Surprise

"Ah, so this is what we call a reverse ditch then, is it Mulder?"

My partner feigned hurt at my jibe of his past antics. Rather, he thought he was doing me a favour. That I might relish a let out from boring background checks. Wouldn't want to turn down a gifthorse, and all that.

Ever so tenderly, he brushed back a stray lock of hair from my face and spun it around my earlobe. Then he winked, flashed me one of his ironic grins and sent me on my way. Sent me off alone to nowheresville, while he stayed behind. Presumably to complete the paperwork he'd 'saved' me from.

I neglected to mention that it was against FBI regulations for an agent to be unaccompanied in the field by their partner. I was going on trust here. That this was a part of what would turn out to be a more exciting whole. In any case, it was unlikely that I would be in any danger. Hell, Holly could accomplish this little mission with a triple hangover.

Truth is, I'm loving the element of the unknown in a one-off trip like this. He always said he would surprise me some time. Why not tonight? Perfect opportunity. Horny, female agent, alone in motel room after interviewing docile bartender. Mission easily accomplished. Agent now easily bored.

Naturally, at the airport I flaunted my credentials. Scanned flight manifestos within three hours of my touchdown. Checked for any of his alias'. I was peeved that no name alerted me to a forthcoming surprise visit. Still, there could be time. Maybe, he would dash cross country by car. I would damn well make it worth his while if he did.

So, it's after midnight and I've finally got my fingers and thumbs to talk sense to the key I keep dropping and get me inside my motel room. Which is actually pretty classy. Well, at least that is a surprise.

I don't bother with the main light on entering the room. When I checked in I had already set things up a little. Just in case ...... Instead, I remove from my pocket a box of matches filched from the bar and pad softly to the ottoman at the foot of the king size bed. Sitting there, evenly spaced where I had left them, are two small vanilla scented night lights. Between them, dead centre, I had placed a pack of condoms. Not that we ever remember them in our usual frantic haste to get inside each other. But the pack is there, letting him know that I am always ready for him. Anytime, anyplace.

And I think that my luck has come home. I am absolutely positive that he is here. I can sense a presence, secreted in the darkest corner of the room - to the side of a tallboy by the drawn curtains. As giddy as I am with lustful anticipation, I linger over lighting the candles. Best make sure that I'm not entertaining some rapist, and simultaneously keep my movements slow, sultry. Finally, I extinguish the match, exaggerating the pucker of my freshly glossed lips. I'm now satisfied that no maniac is going to savage me. So Dana, on to stage two.

I turn to face his hideout. The two small flames only adequately light up the area I'm standing in. Yet, every now and again, a finger of light extends to the window and a minuscule shadow flickers from beyond the tallboy. Heady vanilla smoke wavers in the still ambience, hanging in mid air as if to signal my cue.

I sling my bag to the floor and begin to strip.

First, my blazer. I never take my eyes off the corner of the room. Even though I cannot see my man, I know that there is enough light for him to be able to zone in on my body. I 'm thrilled that he doesn't give the game away by revealing himself. What control. If we are in tune as much as I think we are, he will know that I want to do this for him. It would be the first time. But as I drop the blue blazer to my feet, I can already feel the wetness gathering between my legs. Whose control are we talking about here?

Next, my pristine white tee-shirt. I don't want this to be too agonisingly slow but I do want to savour the moment. I peel it off in one controlled fluid motion, knowing that he will enjoy seeing the stretch of my taut belly, my navel peeking out from above my tight jeans and the sudden rise of my breasts as I lift my arms up. I drop this on top of the blazer. I am a little slower with my jeans. Five metallic buttons, pop, pop, pop. Then I carefully and seductively smooth them down. Ease the supple denim across my hips. I stop for a moment at his favourite part of my body - where the flat of my inner thighs meets my pubic bone.

I purposely bend forwards to continue pushing my jeans down. My hair flops over my face but, even better, my cleavage is now enhanced in this position. My breasts appear fuller, almost overspilling the small lace cups. I swear I hear a half suppressed intake of breath at this point. Once below my knees, my jeans are unrestrained and slither to my ankles. I am free to buck my head back although my hair doesn't quite follow. I scoop up my carefree mane, dragging it back into place, whilst nonchalantly stepping out of each trouser leg and kicking off my shoes. I hope he can see my tongue between yearning, parted lips, my teeth piercing my bottom lip.

Now my bra. Expertly, I unclasp the front fastening. My breasts are small and firm enough to stay put. What's needed is a slight roll of my shoulders to unanchor the thin lace straps and then the cups fall back. Just enough to reveal how very aroused I am. How very aroused he makes me feel. My palms slide the rest of the bra away and it takes all my willpower to stop touching myself.

Oh boy, I am really enjoying myself now. Picturing him squirming, fighting back the urge to grasp the huge erection pounding against his thigh. But the picture is only complete with the image of his cool, serene face. The softness of his cheek when he surrenders to me.

I lay myself down on the bed, pleased and nervous that the candlelight really will expose the last part of my show. I musn't mess this last part up. I need to sound alluring, not cheap. And he's resisted well so far.

I stretch out, rewarding myself with the luxury of a low breathy sigh. Then I bend my knees and start to draw my legs up. Even as my limbs are still in control, my brain has truly lost it. Ten more seconds, then just get your ass over here. Don't bother me with no foreplay. Don't lick me, don't finger me, for god's sake, don't even think about my nipples. You can even leave your body behind. Just give me that cock and ram me into next week........ Well, thank god I didn't say that out loud.

Nearly there, lover ......

I am witnessing a favourite fantasy of mine. Dana Scully's little striptease. The sex part eventually became easy to imagine, although it took a hell of a lot of practice. Years of standing in the shower, soaping my raging cock, crying out her name when I spurted all over the tiles. Until, eventually the sex seemed so real that I liberated myself to its foregone conclusion.

But this is something else. Dana stripping for me in some motel room. A game to be played, where I watch her from the shadows, visually devour her show of exhibitionism before pouncing and fucking the life out of her.

Although, it must be said, I never had her dressed casually. In this fantasy, she was ridding her beautiful body of one of her 'don't touch me' suits. But, denim, a pure white tee-shirt and an Armani blazer will more than do it. Especially the way she is wriggling out of those disgustingly tight jeans and cavorting her little ass. Tonight, Agent Scully holds court. Wide eyed virginal innocence and hard bodied feral slut, blended into pure erotic heaven. Does she have any idea how many men could die a happy death at this vision?

Actually, no. No fucking idea, whatsoever.

She could have any man she cared to cast her eye over. She could unleash all that sexual energy, gift wrapped in peaches and cream and polished auburn tresses, onto anyone she damn well chooses to take along for the ride. Well, bully for me. Camouflaged in the darkness of this room, my body is contorted half in rage, half in violent desire. I now know the only thing worth knowing. That this striptease is not for me. What is the point Dana, in having so much power, if you are going to hand it on a plate to the wrong guy?

I pride myself on being able to eventually get what I want. Take what I want. I don't mind working for it. I can cope with being foiled along the way, slapped down for wanting results too quickly. I've tripped up and fought the bad fight many a time. But this really takes the cake. Actually, it rips my fucking heart out.

I know you can't see me. I know you believe you are doing this for him. I've got an eyeball view of the excitement you can barely contain on your face when you are down to your mocha lace panties. Jealously, I fling the thought around that your stunning lingerie is a purchase from him. I chuck that idea out to the dumpster where I should have left my ego. No one that fucking inadequate could kit you out so flawlessly, could he? Yet, that thought is mild in comparison to its immediate replacement. The thought of what he had before this night. What he's got coming to him.

My jaw collapses when your bra joins the pile of clothes at your feet. You pause, allowing a good, long leer at those perfect ripe tits. Challenging him to remain in control until you've finished your show. When I think about all I've seen and done and experienced, no - what I've *achieved* - this really is the most humiliating and pointless exercise I've ever put myself through. An ego stomping trip of the worst kind.

Fuck you, Dana. Why him? Don't you know how long I've waited? How I've held back for the right moment to be absolutely sure of what we could have. What we could be. Prove to you that I AM the one who will be there for the long haul. That, surprise! It was me all along. That all these years, all I wanted was to make it right. Ensure some bliss at the end.

So, I guess that's it then. I crossed you one too many times for you to ever forgive. To ever seriously contemplate me as your lover. My punishment for looking too far forward into the future is unfolding in front of my very eyes. Literally. Panties discarded, you lie back on the bed and slowly, wilfully, spread your legs. For him. For the wrong guy. The loser. You have heard of the term 'loser' haven't you? Maybe you haven't. But I sure bet you know the word 'revenge'. My satisfaction. His blood. His murder.

As it is, I'm unable to take my eyes off you. I cower here in the darkness. Waiting. Suicide, frame by frame. A sorry footnote to an alternate universe dream-in-waiting.

Dana. Shall I tell you this? You mesmerise me. This is the most erotic thing you have ever done. Until this moment, I didn't think that anything could beat that first time we had sex. The first time I finally feasted on your lush body. Sank my face into glistening curls. When the ache of wanting was merely replaced by the ache of wanting more. The ecstatic moment when you first yelled out my name. Screamed that I was going to split you in two and then wounded my back with your nails in approval. At least until I had you the second time and then the third time. But now I know that every time is like the first time for us. Because no one else lets me fit myself so well.

I thrill to tonight's little scenario. It seems programmed into us somehow, even though we've never done it this way before. That is, I turn up without warning, hide in your motel room and somehow have the good sense not to jump you the second you walk through the door. I like this. Playacting that there is an element of danger about our union. That although you are the one running the show, I'm being the archetypal man and getting off on a bit of old fashioned voyeurism. And yes, it does make me feel like a man. Watching my woman strip off her clothes and reveal herself. For me. An extra treat before we get down to the fucking and the rapture.

Our work has meant that we haven't been able to do this as often as we would like. That before I drove like a madman to cover the distance to get to you, I was so full of pent up lust that, like some teenage boy, I thought I would come all over the dashboard.

I would be enjoying this more if it wasn't for the pain in my lower back. My legs taking the strain of not moving, my inability to breathe properly. A burning sensation in my groin that is not letting up but will have to be denied until you give the sign that I can come over to you.

God Dana, I think I love you. I mean, how could I not, watching you this way? So unbelievably, gorgeously rampant. How else could two people tear each other so apart only to find such simple solace: Flesh on flesh. My body for yours. If it wasn't love? God Dana, you sure were worth the wait.

So, now you are down to your underwear. You are pushing all the right buttons tonight. You've even remembered to wear the silk mocha set. My gift. Unfortunately, it's becoming more difficult to ignore the extreme pain in the lower half of my body. My mouth is uncomfortably wet as I watch you unhook the front clasp of your bra, freeing your small, firm upright breasts. As you push the bra back, I see your fingers glide across each rose flushed nipple, giving them a clandestine tug so they stand erect, waiting for me to suckle on them. I am jealous of your fingers.

Now, you hook your thumbs into the top of your panties. You take the tease one step further by turning your back, so that I only have your cute, bite me ass in my blurry sight. My whole body is in acute pain. Please hurry, baby. I'm dying here. But somehow, I have the control of some invisible power to remain where I am. Watching you hungrily. No, actually, starving to just fucking be inside you.

You lie down flat on the bed. But only for a second. Then, you draw up your legs, your knees bent but clamped together and your heels flat on the covers. When your feet are pressed up against your groin, you let your knees fall gracefully apart. Wide, wide open. Your hands caress the line of your inner thighs. Where my mouth should be. Even the two small candles, gently quivering, seem only focussed on lighting up your swollen, layered sex. Pink on pink. A pooling of milky honey that remains in memory on my tongue. Down my throat. Edible pornography.

I can barely hold out a bit longer to hear your come-on. And despite the vicious thudding in my ears, your voice is the sweetness that cuts through the pain.

"Uh, ready to fill me up then Alex?" you say.

I stagger forwards a few steps and let out a choked scream at the sheer agony I can no longer suppress. I'm in reality mode now. My mouth is so wet because I am drowning in my own blood. Blood that splatters down my shirt and fills up my lungs. I never should have disappointed you this way.

What you didn't know Dana, is that I arrived five minutes after your partner. Ruined his surprise. He saw me coming and he had the knife ready. It took a few seconds at first, before I realised he had wrenched the blade into my back and dragged me behind the tallboy. To wait for you. To punish us.

But you know how tough I am. No more so than with myself. No way was Mulder going to hear me scream. I'm done with screaming and at first this didn't seem quite so intense as having my arm sawn off. I could survive this also. He held me up while we watched you. It only took me another minute before I realised that, uh huh, this was serious and he had probably gouged out my kidney. Yet I steeled myself to remain silent. If I could live through this, then we might one day laugh at what is the funniest of all cliches. What you called our fatal love. But shit, if I was going to die then I wanted to see you naked one last time. Engrave you on my consciousness.

I think it was his rage that kept me upright. I think it was the thought that I should tell you I love you that kept me alive for a few more seconds, before my forehead made direct contact with blood soaked carpet. And that, if I had the time, I would tell you that you didn't waste yourself on me. That I really was going to work it all out in the end.

The one corner of my fucked up world that had any synchronicity with decency is now shot to hell.

They say that before you die, your hearing is the last of your senses to give out. And as I fell at the foot of our bed Dana, what I heard was crystal, fucking clear.

I heard the crackle of a thousand billion atoms splice into the universe by one solitary, living bullet.

Surely not... I rarely want my 3 fave people to suffer