From menippee@ix.netcom.com Tue Mar 11 11:07:02 1997
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: FanFic Challenge Story: "Eject to Eden" NC-17
From: menippee@ix.netcom.com(Emily Gifford)
Date: 11 Mar 1997 17:07:02 GMT
--------
Here goes. I'm not using the actual book on tape that Gillian Anderson
and whoever the guy was did. It was so long ago, I can't remember the
quality of the reading, or what bits got abridged.
The stuff marked off by three *** are quotes directly from "Exit to
Eden" by Anne Rice, with her sentence structure and grammar.
This is the first Mu/Sc story I've ever attempted. Fair warning.
WARNING: NC-17 for implied b/d/s/m fun and a naughty word or two.
Also, it's implied that Mulder may have "played" with both men and
women, but no loving descriptions of homoerotic whathaveyou. So sorry.
Eject to Eden
By Emily Gifford
1993
Fox Mulder stretched on his bed, arching his back. Nothing quite like
a relaxing book on tape, he thought as he adjusted his headphones.
Thank God for Next-Door Frances, legally blind and willing to share her
Serves for the Blind unabridged talking books with him. She'd handed
this one, Anne Rice's "Exit to Eden," to him with a smirk an hour
before, telling him she hoped he enjoyed it as much as she and her
husband had. Frances was an angel; what a relief it was to shut his
eyes as he "read."
He punched play and settled back on the bed, hands behind his head,
listening as a soft voice spoke to him.
***
A slave doesn't get shown at one of those auctions unless he or she has
had the best prior training, unless every test has been passed
***
Memories, each one rendered and preserved in perfect detail, unlocked
themselves in Mulder's mind. He hadn't played d/s games
in years, but when he had, he'd done so wholeheartedly, embracing every
experience, eager to learn all his masters and mistresses
had been willing to teach him. He thought about those times, and
realized that, like Elliott in the book, he'd often overwhelmed and
even frightened his tops with the totality of his surrender, his
willingness to explore the darker side of his own desire.
His arms were still behind his head, even though his erection was
straining for attention. He chuckled soft when he realized that he
had slipped easily and automatically into "sub space;" alone in his
apartment, his last Mistress a distant memory, he was still
waiting for permission to touch himself.
Well, why not? he thought. If he couldn't have a live, in-the-flesh
Mistress, why not let the book's Lisa do it for him?
***
He was still agitated, almost frantic. And my touching him made it
worse. I reached back and undid the strap that was holding his
hands and his arms.
***
After an agonizing eternity, she had finally given permission! As the
woman's voice in his ear described Elliott's reaching for her,
holding her, kissing her as if starved for her, driving himself into
her, Mulder touched his throbbing cock, increasing his tempo as
"Lisa" described what Elliott did to her, taking her with urgency, with
frantic need.
***
I felt that sudden little spurt of my fluids against him, that
impossible opening up, the sensation positively raging, as he came,
roaring right over it, stoking it and stoking it and driving it
further, until I shattered, screaming No, No, No, and God and Shit and
Damn...
***
"No!" Mulder screamed the word, wanting the pleasure delayed, but
unable to stop it as that soft voice relentless whispered to him.
"No! No! God! Shit! Damn!" Mulder's cries echoed through his
apartment as his orgasm rocked him, quaked him, took
him beyond the sea.
He turned off the tape. He couldn't take anymore of that. Not now,
not yet. But this was the most intense autoerotic experience of
his life, and this tape, with that voice, was now going to be copied in
flagrant violation of the law, to become one of his more treasured
posessions.
TWO MONTHS LATER
On an airplane bound for Washington State, Mulder was taking the
measure of his new partner, who sat in the seat next to him,
flipping through file folders stuffed with notes. She was so... prim,
he thought. Impossible to believe that a fellow Generation X'er
could be starchy and efficient. She just didn't look like someone who
had ever taken Extasy while listening to Depeche Mode. But
her personnel file said she was three years younger than he. But there
was something about her that spoke of desires carefully
banked; an inner life that longed for more than the job, deeper
pleasures than a chemical yielding out to 100%.
"Mulder, is something wrong?" she was asking at his scrutiny, and
suddenly he knew why she had instantly seemed so familiar to
him.
"Um, Agent Scully, this is a long shot, but have you ever done any
voice-over work? Like for commercials or something?"
She shook her head. "I'm barely 30 years old, Agent Mulder, and an MD
who's also been a lecturer at Quantico. I haven't had
time for a second career."
Mulder shook his head. "It's just that... there's something familiar
about your voice, Agent Scully. Must be your clarity of diction
reminds me of an old teacher or something."
Scully paused. "Well, you know, I do volunteer as a reader for
Services for the Blind. It's a good way to get in some non-
professional reading, and I can just whip out a book and a tape
recorder to do it whenever I have the time and the inclination. But I
doubt you'd have listened to any of those tapes; they're on restricted
distribution, and I doubt you'd be interested in the kinds of
books I read."
"What kind is that, Agent Scully?"
She blushed. "Well, I have to confess... mostly romantic novels."
He smiled, but not in mockery. "It's a nice world to go to from a job
like this."
She smiled back at him. "Yes. Well, maybe we ought to review some of
these files..."
She turned to some papers on the fold-out tray in front of her,
completely missing the look of mixed speculation and adoration that
briefly crossed Mulder's features before he schooled his face back into
impassivity.
"You know, Agent Scully," he said, his voice even, "I think we're going
to work quite well together."
END
--
"And then they all went to the seashore."
-Al Gifford À!8