by Russianrat
Thwack!!
The strap added another welt to the collection on his
buttocks. Krycek hissed through clenched teeth.
"Well?"
The word was spoken quietly, right next to his ear. Krycek
maintained his silence and refused to look at his captor. He
tugged at his chains, making them speak for him.
Suddenly the man was in his face, so close that Krycek could
see the nick by his mouth where he'd cut himself shaving.
"You may as well give it up, boy. I'll get what I want
out
of you, no matter how long it takes."
Krycek finally met the other man's flat brown eyes.
"Go to hell, Skinner."
Skinner's eyes narrowed. He reached up to check the manacles
that held Krycek suspended in the center of the basement
room. Then he ran his hand over the straps of Krycek's
prosthesis to be sure they were holding. Skinner paused with
his fingers still lightly caressing Krycek's shoulder.
"Maybe you'd rather hang from one hand."
A flick of his eyelashes was Krycek's only response. If he
hadn't been securely hobbled, he would have kicked Skinner
viciously. A draft of cool air on his bare skin made him
shiver. He closed his eyes.
Something poked him beneath the chin. His eyes snapped open
and his head jerked back involuntarily. Skinner stared at
him and prodded him again with the deceptively soft leather
of a quirt. Krycek squirmed as Skinner drew the leather
across his chest, flicking it painfully over each nipple.
"Tell me," he demanded.
One nipple taken, squeezed hard between large fingers.
Krycek grimaced at his captor, but did not scream. Not
quite.
"Tell me what I want to know."
"Yob tvoyu mat'!" snapped Krycek defiantly.
Skinner moved closer, until Krycek could feel the other
man's chest hair brush his own smooth skin. Dark eyes bore
into him.
"I suggest you leave my mother out of this," said
Skinner
softly.
Krycek's eyes widened. Skinner understood Russian? He'd have
to control his temper if he wanted to live...
As if reading his prisoner's mind, Skinner dropped the quirt
suddenly and wrapped his hands around Krycek's throat. He
increased the pressure until dark starbursts began to form
and dissolve in Krycek's vision. Krycek bucked against his
restraints helplessly.
Then the hands were gone. Krycek drew great, shuddering
breaths through his raw windpipe. Skinner ignored his
distress, bending down to retrieve the quirt. He stalked
past his quarry until he was out of Krycek's line of sight.
Minutes passed. Krycek fought to calm his breathing, not to
give Skinner any satisfaction by showing his fear. The man
had him trapped in this basement room, totally at his mercy.
Krycek had been cuffed and blindfolded when he arrived, but
he presumed they were far from any prying eyes or ears.
The whistle of the quirt warned him only seconds before
leather contacted skin. Krycek flinched. Several more blows
fell in rapid succession. The quirt was smaller but more
intense than the strap, and Krycek bit his lower lip until
it bled. Still, he did not scream.
Krycek's stubborn silence seemed to anger Skinner. He
dropped the quirt again and moved closer to his victim.
Krycek felt Skinner's chest press against his back, and the
soft denim of Skinner's jeans against his own bare buttocks.
He shivered, wondering what kind of twisted game this was
becoming.
"Like that, do you, boy?"
Krycek gasped as Skinner's right hand crept around his thigh
and grazed his scrotum.
"Want some more?"
Skinner's whisper sent cold fire through Krycek's veins. He
felt the skin covering his balls being rolled and pinched
lightly, and tried not to react. Then Skinner squeezed,
hard.
"God!!"
"He's not here," replied Skinner.
The bulge of Skinner's erection nudged Krycek's thigh.
"We can do this the easy way--" Another nudge. "--or
the
hard way. Your decision, Alex."
"You know what, Skinner?" Krycek's lips curled back
from his
teeth. "You can kiss my American ass."
Skinner stepped back into Krycek's line of sight. His eyes
glittered dangerously.
"American? Don't give me that crap. I don't care where
you
were born, either, you're as Commie as they come."
He tossed the quirt aside and walked over to a table a few
feet away. Skinner paused, then selected an item from
several choices, keeping it hidden from Krycek until he
turned around. He hefted a flogger, its strips at least
three feet long. The leather was dull, and the strips had a
dark edge as if something had dried there.
"So." Skinner prowled behind the shackled man once
more.
"What's it going to be? Easy? Or hard?"
"Fuck you!"
"You wish," snarled Skinner, and brought the flogger
down.
Flames bloomed on the raw skin of Krycek's back. He lurched
and twisted in his chains like a broken marionette. The lash
continued its work, first across his shoulders, next his
thighs, until the pain became a living thing. He could never
be sure where the flogger would land next.
Krycek began to feel as if he were in the middle of a
whirlwind. His consciousness detached and floated apart from
his body. Suddenly Skinner dropped the flogger and pressed a
hand to Krycek's bare back, skimming his fingers over
reddened skin and drawing hitching gasps from his prisoner.
A hand grasped and stroked his cock. Krycek wondered when
he'd gotten hard.
Skinner pushed gel into Krycek's ass with one hand, while
the other continued rubbing his irritated skin. Krycek
swayed and moaned in his chains. The sound of a zipper
opening made him shiver. Then Skinner's chest was against
Krycek's back, his cock demanding entrance. He lifted his
squirming captive high and impaled him in one smooth motion.
Pain and pleasure shot through Krycek as Skinner's slow
thrusts drove him to the brink of madness. A banshee wail
rose from his throat and carried throughout the basement
room. Skinner kept a hand tight at the base of Krycek's
dick, making the double agent frantic with the need to come.
This torture was far more cruel than any whip.
Skinner's movements quickened. Krycek twisted about, trying
to loosen the grip on his cock. Finally, Skinner released
his hold and pummeled Krycek's ass, roaring with the
intensity of his orgasm. Krycek danced on Skinner's cock,
his own semen painting abstract designs on the far wall.
Krycek slumped weakly, held only by his chains and Skinner's
arms. After a couple of minutes, he was roused by a
crescendo of applause.
"Bravo!"
"That was so hot!"
Jeffrey Spender and Fox Mulder watched enviously as Skinner
pulled out of Krycek and reached up to unfasten his chains.
"Glad you liked it," said Skinner, rubbing the younger
man's
shoulders and right wrist gently. He kissed Krycek's damp
forehead, then led him to a bench and sat him down.
"You were great, babe," he whispered, before turning
back to
their audience. Both Spender and Mulder sported obvious
bulges in their jeans.
"Sorry, guys," said Skinner. "You'll have to
find your own
play space. Alex needs his rest."
Spender grumbled, but Mulder grabbed his hand and pulled him
into his arms.
"I just installed cuffs on the waterbed," he murmured
in
Spender's ear.
"Mmm." Spender's expression brightened. "Let's
go."
end...
rycek kept very still indeed. The last thing he wanted to
do was to anger the man at his back. He could feel hot
breath on his neck, a typical interrogation tactic. Keep the
prisoner guessing.
