You bang, bang, bang, bang and bang, Blame, blame, blame Bang, bang, bang,
bang, bang, It's not my thing so let it go—
To this day, I still don't know how it happened. I'm such a light sleeper;
no one should be able to breach even the admittedly lax security of a
roadside motel without me waking up instantly. Before, I would have thought
it insanity to think that anyone could enter my sanctuary and do things to
me like the things he did... and for Scully not to hear, not to come to my
rescue. The walls are paper-thin in these places. How could it happen? How
could it happen to me?
I never know what to do with myself in the hours before I can finally sleep.
I'm already halfway to being a chronic insomniac; I'm lucky if I get five
hours of sleep a night at the best of times. But when I'm on a case,
especially a case like the one I was on then, where children are being
eviscerated in their beds and I seem to be powerless to stop it, it is not
unique for me to go days with no more than 15 minutes of shut-eye. So,
there are some long hours to fill in, late at night, when I'm alone with my
thoughts. I wish I could be like Scully; no matter how awful the crimes we
investigate, she sleeps like a baby at night. Probably because I push her so
hard during the day, and sleep is her only respite from my demanding
presence.
But that night was different, and I've never been sure why. Did he somehow
slip me something to knock me out? Had the four previous days of
sleeplessness simply caught up with me, even though that rarely ever happens
in my life? I would tend to guess the former, but I had the bottle of
water, which was the only thing I had been drinking from that day, analyzed
when I thought that might be a possibility. Of course it came up clean, and
one more of life's little mysteries eluded me. I guess it could be just one
of those flukes, I just happened to get tired enough to conk out so solidly
I couldn't hear him picking the lock, but my rational mind, the part of me
that also wants to deny that I had any part in the proceedings of that
night, screams at me otherwise. I think I know deep down that somehow I
knew he was coming. I knew, and so my body prepared me through sleep,
therefore conveniently making it possible for him to gain access to my body
through the weakness that is my unconsciousness.
I remember waking at some point that night, before he came. The room was
thick with darkness; the black could have been scooped out with a spoon,
impaled and held on a fork. The lack of visual stimuli soothed me, and
eased me back to a sleep that would probably not have been physically
possible in a dark less solid. The last thing I remember before his tongue
was the image of my sister in my sleep-clogged mind. She tends to appear to
me on these child cases, I've become used to it now. Call her my
inspiration, my muse, or my conscience—she's always there, ready to send me
on.
When I rose to awareness again, I was confused. I wouldn't say I knew
something was off, because I didn't; I only knew that I felt good, and that
the dream I had been having was one I was familiar with. I often had such
dreams, dreams where he came to me alongside my supervisor and my partner,
dreams where I was the center of their sexual attentions. I remembered
these dreams, but they didn't bother me; I had such a nonexistent sex life,
I was happy with what I could get, even if they did involved men, which I
consider an aberration to my understanding of my own sexuality. My mind
seemed able to entertain itself in countless ways, for which I was thankful.
My first clue that something was amiss was the immobility of my arms. They
had been raised above my head in a way that is usual for me in sleep, but
this time when I tried to bring them down, they wouldn't budge, and the
first hint of pain traced its way sensuously from the ropes binding my
wrists along the nerve paths in my arms to my groggy brain. I hissed, more
with the fear of being tied down than from the discomfort. Then I became
aware of that tongue.
A slow, wet movement along the inside arch of my left foot was the first
contact that I was aware of, though there could have been more before I had
awoken. I could feel the coolness of drying saliva on several parts of my
body, my calf, and my right hip, just below my left nipple. The stroking of
that tongue on my foot was slow and methodical, and sent involuntary shivers
up my leg, stopping for a moment at my already rigid cock before moving
onward to my mutinous mind.
Shaking the last wisps of sleep from my consciousness, I attempted to assess
the situation around me. The room was lighter than before; the sun must
have just then been peeking over the horizon. So when I strained my neck to
raise my head, I was able to make out a dark form at the end of my bed.
@@@
If you could see yourself now, baby The tables are turned, The whole world
hinges on your swings; Your secret life of indiscreet discretions. I'd turn
the screw and leave the screen, Don't point your finger—You know that's
not my thing.
@@@
I have to admit it. I panicked. There I was, tied to my lumpy, cheap,
sleazy motel-issued bed, with some weirdo licking my feet. And was sporting
a raging erection to boot. What would you have done in such a situation? I
should think so.
So I gathered air to my lungs on one great breath, and was about to spill
that air hot from my chest, laden with a shriek, when my assailant
anticipated my cry for help. In a movement so swift it would have taken my
breath away, the man who had been so sedately lapping at my instep one
split-second before launched himself at me, landing with a audible >thud< on
my chest and stomach. And that actually did force the air from my lungs.
Eyes bugging out of my face, I struggled helplessly to breathe, while the
face of my attacker hovered over my nose by less than an inch. I recognized
the fucker, and my eyes bugged out even further. I'm sure I must have
looked like the F.B.I.'s version of Roger Rabbit by that point. I swear,
that the guy didn't get his own eyes poked out by mine is a small miracle in
itself.
Momentarily forgetting the struggle to breathe, my face twisted into what
must have been a hideous grimace, and I bucked my body in an attempt to
throw my assailant off of me. The man only laughed.
"Oh, Mulder," he said, his evil smile stretching to show straight white
teeth. "You don't think it'll be that easy, do you?"
Apparently my lungs had just needed a short rest from their heaving attempts
to drawn oxygen, for when I next attempted to gather air into my trachea, it
was much easier, and I was able to speak. Sort of. What came out was a
breathy squeak, not unlike an exclamation expelled from the mouth of a
14-year-old boy in the throes of puberty.
"KryCEK!" I squealed, instantly and foolishly embarrassed at the sound.
He sniggered.
"Yup. Hi, Mulder. You've got something I want," he whispered seductively,
bending to position his hot mouth over my ear canal. The blazing little
gusts of air tickled my ear canal, making me wince with the need to poke
something down there, maybe a q-tip, maybe a pair of fucking bolt-cutters;
it didn't matter to me. All I knew was I couldn't scratch my fucking ear,
and a deranged homicidal manic was perched on my naked chest, his ass only
inches from my weeping erection.
I could not believe I was still hard. This was Alex Krycek for fuck's sake,
for real, not in a dream. The fucking cocky bastard. Rage bloomed fiercely
in my chest. Then I made my first mistake.
"You fucking cocksucker! Get off me!" I panted at him, my breath still
short. This was a huge mistake, because if I had just waited long enough
for my lungs to recover from his landing, I could have made a real call
for help, one loud enough to rouse my slumbering partner to come to my
assistance. But my comparatively quiet insult seemed to remind Krycek of
something he had forgotten; at that point, his eyes opened wide for a
moment, and then narrowed again to an evil, menacing, smirking near-squint.
"Ah, thanks for reminding me, Mulder."
He moved only slightly above me, still straddling my chest, and reached
behind him; suddenly I was staring directly into the greased barrel of a
Glock.
"I can't believe I almost forgot to set the ground rules, Mulder. Okay.
Number one, no calling for help. You do so, you get at best a
pistol-whipping upside the head, at worst a bullet in the brain. Number
two, no biting."
I narrowed my eyes quizzically at that one.
He paused to let the implication sink in, then continued.
"If I feel even the hint of teeth, the same punishment goes. And number
three, you do as I tell you. I can make this very easy, or very hard,
Mulder. Just relax and enjoy yourself."
By this point, I was starting to get an idea of what it is I 'had' that he
wanted. My heart started to pound, and I broke out in a cold sweat. He was
going to... to...
"No," I whispered, unable to keep from letting the fear show on my face.
Krycek's twisted little smile just twisted further. He removed his gun from
my face, and laid it, cocked but with safety engaged, on the bed next to my
armpit. If only my hands weren't tied! I shifted underneath him, mind
racing for some kind of answer, some kind of way to get out of this. I
didn't dare cry out; the glitter in his eyes told me that he wasn't just
bluffing about the "punishments" he said he would enact.
My eyes did a quick circuit of the room, as I tried to look anywhere but at
him, then they ended up coming at last to rest reluctantly on his face once
more. He was staring at me, that evil little grin still tacked in place.
I finally (and about time, too) felt pure rage suffuse my mind. I addressed
him, quietly even though my voice shook with fury, going by his "rules" just
in case. "Krycek. If you so much as fucking touch me, I'll rip your head
off and shove it so far up your ass that you'll be watching the sunrise out
of the hole in your neck."
His smirk never wavered.
"Well, something is going to go up someone's ass..."
Inside, I quailed. Fuck. He had the control. Fuck! I couldn' t even
think. All that would come to my mind was the sensation of his ass on my
chest, and my insane, horrible wish for him to move back a foot, so he was
sitting directly on my cock.
Slowly, he shifted to my left, pulling his leg over to that side, and I
could breathe a little easier with the pressure off my chest. I watched his
face with a steadily sinking feeling as his eyes hungrily swept my body head
to toe, pausing for a considerable time at my crotch. Finally he smirked at
me again. He held eye contact as he reached his hand out to pluck at the
edge of the sheet that covered my naked body.
I couldn't help it; I tried to squirm away from his hand, desperate to keep
him from seeing my hard-on. My mind was reminding itself over and over that
I had woken up with this erection; it wasn't what he was saying that had
given it to me. I was scared shitless; I shouldn't have been hard at all.
I had never been with a man. I had no wish to be with a man. Yes, I had
gotten hard when I had beaten Krycek before, but I told myself that was
because of the power trip that beating a person puts you on. That wasn't
much reassurance, though, as I was disgusted by the fact that I could get
off on the pain of another, even if it was Alex Krycek.
As I attempted to retreat, Krycek merely followed my truant body while it
shimmied away from him with his hand, and finally he pulled the sheet down
slowly, unmasking my shame. I saw his grin spread to a sickening leer, and
watched his eyes light up like polar flares. I turned my face away,
horrified. I had no control over my body! This man had all but told me he
was going to rape me, and my goddamned penis was fucking whooping it up
without a care in the world.
Strong fingers dug painfully into my chin as he pulled my face back towards
him. He stared silently into my face, that horrible grin finally having
faded slightly, and I began to shake under the ferocity of his gaze. Anger,
I thought. I must channel this into anger. So with a jerk of my head, I
pulled my face from his grip and turned away from him again. Not much, but
it was as much of a rebellion as the bindings and his very real threats
allowed.
I lay there silently, waiting for him to grab my face again, hit me,
something. But I was not expecting the soft licking and gentle sucking of
my nipple, which was his next move. Reflexively I arched my chest into his
mouth before I could stop myself, and a gasp escaped my lips as he took the
nub between his teeth. I shook with the fear that he would bite me hard,
taking the sensitive bit of flesh right off.
But he surprised me, and simply tongued the nipple, finally releasing it in
favour of moving to the other. This time I managed to swallow my hiss of
pleasure, biting down mentally on the sensations that racked my body. After
a taking my right nipple between his teeth too, he let it go with an audible
pop.
My face was still averted, so I didn't know what he was doing until I heard
the quiet rustling beside me. I listened intently, not wanting to give into
the fear of the unknown, but I couldn't stand not knowing what this maniac
was doing next to my exposed body. I kept waiting for the next violating
touch to alight, but the seconds ticked by, and when none came, I couldn't
help myself. I turned my head back to look at him.
Krycek had taken off his leather jacket and t-shirt, and was in the process
of sliding his dusty black jeans off of his legs. He wasn't wearing
underwear. God, I thought ridiculously, how could he stand going commando?
Ick! But, paradoxically, I felt my cock harden further at the sight. He
was bent over at the waist, pulling off his socks, so I couldn't see more
than the upper part of his ass and that lean, broad, wide-shouldered back,
with its muscles rippling powerfully under his skin as he moved. I realized
that I was admiring it, and instantly felt sick to my stomach.
I started when he finally ripped the jeans off his feet all the way and
tossed them across the room. His head turned quickly around at the sound of
my gasp, and that smile was back. He slowly turned the rest of his body to
face me, and sat up on his knees.
My eyes were draw invariably to his crotch. There was no stopping it. I
had to see what was very possibly going to be the first foreign object that
had ever been inserted into my anus. Somehow I have always managed to avoid
the wonderful prostate exam, and thank God, my parents hadn't believed in
rectal thermometers. But when I saw his cock, jutting proudly outwards from
his nest of soft, dark pubic hair, my heart fell into my ankles. Fuck. It
would rip me in two. He can't do this! I can't do this!
His cock was fucking huge, thick and swollen, purpled and bruised-looking in
the hazy pre-dawn light. Its head shined with the pre-cum that was leaking
steadily from the slit at the top. As I watched, a drop began to descend
from the tip, stretching out a thin, gossamer strand, lowering and lowering
until it was obvious it was going to land on the edge of my stomach. Finally
the almost morbid fascination that had held me still until that point broke,
and I began to cringe away from him as far as the bonds allowed. Which
wasn't too damn much.
Before I could get anywhere, though, Krycek was straddling my chest again,
moving in that silent, lightning-quick way he has. Suddenly I found my self
face to face with the erect and dripping penis of my worst, most hated
enemy. It bobbed before my face, all but mesmerizing me with fear.
My eyes remained riveted to the waving column of flesh just inches from my
mouth, and so when his hand appeared in the corner of my vision, descending
steadily to his groin, I hadn't seen it coming. He gripped the base of his
penis, pushing it down so that the dripping, swollen head was positioned at
my lips.
I tore my eyes from it with a supreme effort, and fixed Krycek with a
furious scowl, even though what I felt most was fear and humiliation. His
face was slack with what I recognized as lust, eyes shining dully; plump,
sensuous lips slightly apart. His mouth stretched once more into a lazy
grin as our gazes met, and I knew then that there was no point in hoping
that somehow I would elude this ultimate humiliation. My eyes dropped once
more to the penis that was so close to my mouth that I could smell the
smoky, musky scent of him, and set my mouth shut stubbornly. There was no
hope of getting out of this, but I sure wasn't going down easily.
Krycek seemed to enjoy the prospect of a challenge; he laughed softly at my
resistance. Then his cock touched me as he guided it back and forth against
my closed mouth, slicking my lips with pre-ejaculate. This he did for what
must have been a minute or two, but what felt like hours—hours that
threatened to slip into eternity. Then, still gripping his penis by the
base, his hips flexed slightly, only slightly, and I felt the rigid steel of
that erection digging against my lips and, through them, my teeth as he
ground its head against me.
I grunted with the discomfort, and the thrust ended, but his cock didn't
leave my lips. He cleared his throat above me.
"Open your mouth."
I shuddered, shaking my head slightly. God, no...I didn't want this monster
's penis thrusting into my mouth...in my throat...on my tongue... But when
he moved to reach for his pistol again at my continued defiance, I knew it
was foolish to resist him. After all, it was just a blowjob, right? It's
just flesh in my mouth, and maybe if I got him to come right there, he would
be satisfied with raping only my mouth, and leave my ass alone. And that's
what really mattered, right? So I opened my mouth.
The second my lips parted, Krycek thrust his cock violently into my mouth as
far as he could go, and I had to work hard to keep my gorge from rising. I
could feel the thick head butting against the muscles in the back of my
throat, and was relieved when he pulled back again to give me a little
breathing room. But at the apex of the withdrawal, he rammed that hard
length right back in, further than before, which I had not thought possible.
He released his grip from his cock, and threaded his hand through my hair,
grasping it in his fist and raising my head off the pillow. He began a
steady rhythm, pillaging my mouth and my throat as if he was Gaius Julius
Caesar running rampant, claiming all of Gaul for Rome, conquering my face as
his fist yanked on my hair like it was a battered and beaten opponent in
long and bloody war.
This I suffered for what seemed like hours; the suffering made all the worse
by my traitorous body's interest in the matter. His unrestrained plunging
and thrusting sent shivers of pleasure straight to my cock, and I was soon
thrusting my own hips in time with his movements, searching for friction
that was not to be had. Finally Krycek's movements became erratic, and I
knew he was approaching climax. I quickly tried to pull my face away,
turning it aside, but his grip tightened, and I couldn't get away.
I could feel the little pulses and spasms at the base of his penis on my
lips when he buried himself to the hilt in my throat, and a split second
later he exploded into my mouth with a grunted, "Fuck, Mulder!"
Jets of hot, bitter fluid hit the back of my mouth, most of his semen
pouring directly down my throat, but some washing back to lay the taste of
his seed onto my tongue. To keep from choking on what was running down my
esophagus, I had to swallow frantically to clear the passage. In the
process, what part of it was on my tongue rolled around on my horrified
pallet, forcing me to swish Alex Krycek's fucking semen in my mouth like I
was sampling a fine wine. Finally, he drew his softening cock back out with
a sigh, and I swallowed reflexively what was left, grimacing at the taste
and thought of what I was doing. I (loved)hated every second of it.
My eyes were closed, and I preferred to keep it that way; the embarrassment
and shame of having to swallow the cum of the man I (wanted)loathed was
getting the best of me. I could feel Krycek climbing off my chest again.
"That was great, Mulder, really. I always knew you would make a great
cocksucker. Your mouth so hot and wet.and you even swallow!" he said
mockingly.
I said nothing, feeling only the heat that suffused my face, hoping he could
see it in the gradually lightening room. But he certainly did see
something.
"Well, well. What's this? You liked it as much as I did, did you?"
I must have jumped a mile when his hand rested itself gently on my aching
cock. He just chuckled, and he began a slow, lazy stroke, his thumb moving
up to the catch the drippings at the tip to lubricate my shaft. My hips
began to thrust involuntarily into his hand as my body's excitement grew.
'Oh yeah, Mulder, you did like that. Do you want me to reciprocate?" he
asked, his voice a low growl.
Inside my head, I was screaming yes, yes, do it now, please! But,
thankfully, the words caught in my throat, and all that came out was a
pained groan that probably expressed more than the words would have
themselves. Krycek laughed again, and after a few agonizing moments, I felt
the bed shift and his hand lifted my cock up. Then he was on me, I was in
him, in his mouth, and I jerked and shuddered against him, trying for
leverage to thrust fully into his hot wet mouth. His tongue swirled around
the head of my desperately weeping cock, sucking up my fluids, making me
gasp.
This he continued for several moments, when he then stretched out beside me,
and pushed his groin against my leg. I froze as I realized what I felt, and
I felt my heart take up residence in my big toe again. He was hard. Again.
Oh God, what would he do to me know? I had thought the threat was gone...
@@@
You've got a little worry, I know it all too well. I've got your number, So
does every kiss and tell Who dares to cross your threshold, Or happens on
your way. Stop laying blame, You know that's not my thing.
@@@
Krycek, obviously feeling me freeze up, gave a few last laps to my cock,
which didn't seem to respond to the perceived threat of that new hard-on
pressing into my calf, staying stubbornly excited and erect. He raised his
head to look at me, and a sly grin slithered across his features. Meanwhile
his hand continued to milk me; pulling me, with my mind kicking and
screaming, closer to the inevitable climax. He watched my face as I neared
fruition, so I closed my eyes to halt the process of his leering expression
crossing into my subconscious.
When I was on the brink he stopped, pulling his hand away gently.I don't
think I expected anything different from him. It would have been too easy.
There's no way he would ever have let me go without working for it, without
suffering his torture. Panting, I kept my eyes screwed shut, willing him to
leave, to go, to finish me off, to fucking do anything , just so I wouldn't
have to lay there and think about what had happened; about how all this flew
out of control.
"Turn over."
My eyes snapped open, and the look of fear was so obvious that Krycek
actually thought to comfort me.
"It's okay, I'll take it slow. It won't hurt."
His eyes shifted to the side for an instant, and then met mine again.
"Too much," he amended. He paused and started again. "Then it won't hurt at
all, and you'll like it. I promise, Mulder."
By now I was all but cringing; I thought I could feel my ass already
beginning to ache. To tell the truth, I had no clue what it was going to
feel like. I had never let this be done to me before. Not that I hadn't
been with men, but in those situations, I had always been the fucker, not
the fuckee.
I fixed Krycek with a glare, defiant, hoping against hope that maybe I could
influence him to not do this. But he just laughed, a full, throaty sound,
and forcibly turned me over himself before I could even gather myself to
resist. Desperate ideas of how to escape flitted through my mind, most of
which involved using my feet, which were not tied, but I knew that no matter
where I kicked him, he would be able to grab the gun just because I couldn'
t, and it would only end up aggravating him to no end.
Finally I decided to do nothing; if he was going to rape me, he was going to
rape me, and that was it. But maybe he would be gentle with me if I didn'
t resist; he could definitely make it horrifically painful if he chose to.
Kicking him in the balls would almost undoubtedly be a shortcut to intense
pain, and I didn't want to know what else.
Of course I realize now that under all this mental arguing with myself was a
desire to justify my staying still and letting him do this to me. I know
now that I wanted it. God help me, I wanted it, and I wanted it from Alex
Krycek, and I couldn't bear for that to be true, so I had to make a cover
story for my conscious mind. Is that so horrible? I still can't bear it.
To this day I can't believe I let him do it without fighting him more. But,
my defense today is that he had wound me up so tightly that I was ready to
do anything for release, even face my fears of penetration.
So I struggled against him only half-heartedly as he shoved a pillow under
my hips, raising my ass into the air, leaving me exposed to him and his
desires. Luckily there had been enough chain between the handcuffs to allow
a little slack; that turning over thing could have been rather painful on
the wrists. But as it was at that moment, the only thing hurting was my
pride. My right cheek was pressed hard into the mattress, and my hips
thrust mindlessly into the pillow, finally achieving the friction I had
craved.
Seeing me humping desperately, Krycek laughed again.
"Oh, Mulder! Aren't you the little slut." This he punctuated with a
stinging slap to my right buttock. I jumped a mile, my yelp of surprise
turning quickly into a moan of arousal as the shock and humiliation went
straight to my cock.
I was moaning steadily by then; it pains me to admit it. I thrust and
thrust and thrust into that pillow, feeling my exposure deliciously, that
stinging warmth on my ass; I humped like I had never humped before, moaning,
driven half mad with lust. If he would just get it over with and put it in
me! But I couldn't ask, I couldn't...I (did)didn't want this, damnit!
But he didn't seem to be in a hurry.
"So, slutboy, will you give yourself to just anyone like this, or is it just
me?" he asked, and I burned with shame. I didn't answer. But his question
didn't give pause to my movement; in fact the arousal grew at his continued
use of the word "slut", and the thought of giving myself to just anyone, and
the thought of giving it to him, Alex Krycek, only him...
When he saw that I wasn't going to answer him, he chuckled once more, and
moved off to rummage through his jacket, returning with something that I was
hoping was lube.
Finally I felt his hand on me, his slicked fingers slipping between my
buttocks, poking teasingly at my hole. A finger would dip in for a moment,
just a few millimeters, then it would be gone; then it would be back again,
only to veer off again just as quickly. Finally, the next time his finger
poked in, I had had it, and I thrust backwards violently, impaling myself on
Alex Krycek's index finger and the groan that ripped out of me could have
woken the dead, but not Scully, somehow.
The feeling of the finger inside me was strange, but not as of then painful.
It caused a light burning sensation, and a feeling of fullness; it was just
what I wanted.
Krycek laughed abruptly, but kept his finger still, inside me but not
moving, and I was going crazy. Of course that was undoubtedly what he was
wanting, because when I began to slowly fuck myself up and down on that
digit he began to talk quietly, his voice a growl coming deep from inside
his chest.
"Oh yeah, you're a slut, Mulder. You'd give it to anyone, wouldn't you?
You'd let any man take you, fuck your mouth, take you up the ass... Or maybe
it is just me you want. Me, who betrayed you, who you think killed your
father...you want me to fuck you again, but fuck you for real this time..."
He inserted another finger on my backstroke, and pain tore a little strip to
my brain, but it was over soon, and he crooked his fingers and felt for
my... That's it!
Pleasure exploded through my body as he continued to massage my prostate.
Krycek chuckled again, then went on.
"Do you let the other agents fuck you, Mulder? Do you suck them off in that
basement office of yours? Do they take turns bringing you home? Or do they
all do you at once, lining up to get the chance to plow into your tight
hole..."
He slipped a third finger into me. I yelped in pain, but kept on
backthrusting, stretching myself over Krycek's digits, skewering myself on
his hand.
"...maybe taking you on the bathroom floor... How about A.D. Skinner? Does
he mine your shaft on occasion? I bet you'd love some disciplinary action
from him, wouldn't you?"
By then I was all but delirious with arousal, and I thought I was going to
go insane if he didn't stick his cock in me. I was about to break, weeping
and crying, to beg Krycek to fuck me when he yanked his fingers out of me
again. I sobbed quietly at the absence, feeling my rectum attempting
already to recover, twitching its way to closure again. I pushed back into
vacant air for a moment, searching for him, but suddenly there was something
blunt and altogether too big at my anus and, oddly, I froze.
Krycek just laughed at me, laughed at the incongruity of my fucking myself
on his fingers, but cringing when his penis came into play. He grabbed my
hips then, and shoved.
Despite the stretching, pain ripped through my ass as the head popped into
my rectum, and I gasped. He barely gave me a chance to adjust before moving
on, sheathing himself with my body in one long, fast, hard thrust. When he
was in as far as he could go, he fell over me, panting and obviously
fighting for control, and I was glad for the lack of movement so I could
wait for the pain to dissipate.
After a couple of moments, Krycek began moving, gliding slowly in and out of
me, giving my prostate a good rub with each inward thrust, giving me
rhythmic bursts of excruciating pleasure. I tried to shut my mind to the
fact that it was him doing this. But I wanted to think that it was him
doing this. I was confused even as he fucked me. My guilt complex was
working overtime as his speed and force increased, as he slammed into me
over and over. The sound of skin slapping skin, the feel of his balls
hitting my ass as he hit the zenith of each thrust, distracted me. I was
getting off on my own confusion, I realize now. I have such a fucked-up
mind. But we all know that already, don't we?
" Yeah , my little slut , you're my whore , I want to fuck through the
ground ," Krycek grunted, punctuating every couple words with a vicious
thrust, sending his penis careening through my soft tissues. I felt him
reach around and grab my dripping, desperately swollen cock, and start a
fast rhythm on it, in time with his own movements.
With this new, finally direct touch, I raced towards orgasm. After what
couldn't have been more than five strokes, I felt the heralding tightness in
my balls, and my body finally whip-lashed into a climax like I've never felt
before. Every molecule in my body seemed to instantly pool in my crotch
only to shoot violently out of my cock. I writhed and moaned my pleasure
beneath that pounding body, covering Krycek's hand and the pillow under me
with my hot, sticky semen.
I lay there twitching, complacent, as Krycek strained above me, pounding his
way in and out of my unresisting body, and he came only scant seconds behind
me. His whole body went rigid, and I could feel once again the spasms in
his cock as he pumped out his seed to bury it deep inside my body. He gave
me a few more half-hearted thrusts, then he collapsed above me, panting
breathily into my ear.
We lay there like that for a moment or two, and then he commenced to snuffle
soft kisses against my cheek, rubbing and nuzzling his nose into my neck. I
stayed silent, eyes closed, absolutely humiliated, to the point of what I
felt right then was beyond redemption. I was angry, too, deep down; how did
he have the colossal gall to act like this now, after raping me for fuck's
sake? But my guilty conscience played first violin in this symphony, so I
swallowed the little crust of anger, and wallowed instead in the stinking
pig's mud of my tattered psyche.
Krycek sighed heavily, and with a final peck on my cheek, he levered himself
off me, and I listened as he began to dress himself. I didn't move. I didn
't want to. Hopefully he would just go away, and let me torture myself in
peace. But, no, that would be too easy , right?
After the sound of his dressing, there was a lengthy silence. Finally, when
he realized I wasn't going to move, let alone say something, he spoke up.
"There's some information here for you in this envelope on the nightstand,
Mulder," he said. Great. He came to give me information, but decides to
throw rape into the bargain. Wonderful. What a guy. I couldn't believe he
was talking to me like this, especially right after he had said all those
things to me while he fucked me. But I stayed silent.
He sighed expansively at my lack of response. Then, "Don't blame yourself
for this, Mulder. You didn't have a choice. Remember that."
Ooo, I thought, isn't it nice that he's thinking of my feelings.
All he got from me was more silence. He sighed again. I heard feet
approaching the bed, softly, then felt something very light hit the back of
my head, and bounce onto the mattress. I finally looked up to see what it
was. A handcuff key.
"There," he said. I still wouldn't look at him. I had vowed at that point
to never look at him again unless it was to watch as he turned blue under my
choking hands, but I really knew even at that moment that I wouldn't greet
him with violence next time. At least not that kind of violence.
"I'm not so insensitive that I'd make you yell for Scully to come untie you.
I doubt you need that right now."
I didn't respond even then. How nice of him, I thought sarcastically.
"Okay, Mulder. See ya."
And then he was gone. I carefully unlocked myself, and got up to fetch
myself a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. I didn't think I was going to be
going back to sleep anytime soon. Then I sat on the bed, and thought. And
kept on thinking right through to when Scully knocked on my door to let me
know she was ready to start work. And then I thought all day, and all
through the night.
And now I'm home, a couple of weeks later, and I'm still thinking about it.
What would I have done different? How could I have prevented it?
And, worse, would I really want to have prevented it?
Finally, the biggest question of all. What will I do when I see Alex Krycek
again?
Well, you can bet one thing for sure. What I'm gonna do, he's not gonna be
expecting it.
You kiss on me, tug on me, rub on me, jump on me, You bang on me, beat on
me, hit on me, let go on me... You let go on me.
The End.
To This Day
by LC Sulla
If you could see yourself now baby; It's not my fault you used to be so in
control. You're going to roll right over this one; Just role me over, let me
go You're laying blame Take this as a no, no, no, No NO
