Friday
Series: Sequel to The Desk
Rating: NC17 for spanking and explicit m/m sex
Feedback: Make me happy at jasmasson@yahoo.com
Archive: The Persuaders Archive; anywhere else just tell me
Summary: For everyone who asked on The Persuaders list; it's...
I don't know why I went to work today. It's not as
though I actually did anything except contribute to
Scully's growing certainty that I'm losing my mind.
And what could I say? "Don't worry, Scully, I'm just
nervous about tonight because my lover...oh, Skinner,
didn't I mention?...is gonna beat me to a pulp." Now,
where *did* she put that straight-jacket?
I pause outside his door, fingering his belt around my
waist. Am I crazy? It's strange, I've never doubted
myself with all the 'crazy' things I believe, but when
it comes to relationships I'm never sure. It can't be
healthy to allow your boyfriend to commit violent acts
on you, can it?
He definitely enjoys it, and, to my shame, so do I.
Does he need to dominate me? Do I need to be
dominated? Are we both just acting out our unhealthy
impulses?
I was never spanked as a child. Well, I was never
really touched as a child. I remember an elicit
thrill when my friends used to talk about being
spanked by their parents. It is erotic when he spanks
me. The sensations are sometimes overwhelming.
My cock twitches.
He left work early today. Like *he* has to prepare.
I'm the one whose a nervous wreck. Who couldn't eat
all day. Scully's going to start looking for a
disease in the X-Files that only effects people on
Fridays. He always spanks me on a Friday. So I can
recover, so he can whip me harder. I know he enjoys
having me like that. Over his knee or something else,
exposed, vulnerable, defenseless. Helpless against
anything he wants to do to me.
The image springs into my mind and I blush at the
humiliating position I see myself in. I think of how
he gets aroused just looking at me like that. I think
of how, in those moments, all his attention is on me.
My cock reacts at the thought.
I love it when he watches me. If this is what it
takes then I'll do it. For him. I take a deep
breath, and knock on the door.
I know he's out there. I heard his car, and I know
he's debating whether or not to come in here. I know
he's nervous, considering our relationship, just
before a severe spanking it's always the same. He
doubts us. Wonders if this is some way for me to have
a son, and him a father who pays him attention. If we
are unhealthy, crazy even.
I've never thought of him as a son. He's an
intelligent, wonderful man. And, believe me, my
feelings when he's writhing over my lap are as far
from fatherly as possible.
I do enjoy it. By far the most erotic thing I have
ever seen, let alone experienced, is to watch Fox
Mulder when he's overtaken with sensations *I* have
given him, whether pain or pleasure. And he enjoys it
too. He doesn't know why, couldn't explain it if you
asked.
He does recognize that he craves the attention, but he
still thinks he does it simply for me. I do do it to
punish him, to make him realize he's important to
someone, to modify his behavior, but also because he
needs it. He finds it difficult to admit how much he
enjoys just letting go, lost in pure sensations, not
having to think about his sister, alien invasions,
responsibilities. Just lose himself in the feelings.
To allow himself to experience.
But I know, and can give it to him. But I'm always
nervous. At least as nervous as him. I took the
afternoon off to just think things through. I worry
that one day I'm going to push him too far, that he'll
hate it, hate me. But to teach him how much I care,
to take him where he needs to go, I risk it.
The responsibility for this falls on my head; he's
passive at these times, and I'm active. If it goes
wrong, it's my fault.
I take a deep breath and open the door.
He's always so calm, like it's completely normal for a
guy to come over to his boyfriend's for a spanking.
He talks all the way through dinner. It's strange.
Usually I'm the chatty one and he's quieter, but on
Fridays he fills the silences. Perhaps he's trying to
keep me calm, to take my mind off it.
I eat every bite of dinner, although I'm not hungry
and don't taste it. At this point I'm trying to take
up time, put it off, and also I know that he'll make
me eat it if I don't. We've been here before, and I
don't want to make him angry. He clears the plates
away. He always does everything on these nights,
cooks, clears up, as I wait, my heart beating faster
and faster. Finally he comes out of the kitchen and
looks at me seriously.
"Upstairs, Fox."
I send him up in front of me, and I hear his quickened
breathing. No matter how much he needs it, he's
always afraid.
As soon as we're upstairs he turns to me, "Sir, this
really isn't necessary. Next time I promise to
think..."
"No, Fox. We agreed on this. I *will* make you
understand how much it would hurt me if anything
happened to you."
His eyes drop. This is one of our major problems.
And, in truth, the main reason why we must do this.
Deep down he doesn't believe anyone could really care
for him (I swear if his father were alive I'd rectify
that situation myself), and he doesn't believe just
words of love. But I'll show him. With pleasure.
"Yes, Sir," his voice is small and he doesn't look up.
"Take off your clothes."
He begins to undress, his hands shaking, blushing
furiously. Normally he's as comfortable naked with me
as clothed, but in our uneven positions on these
nights he's embarrassed by his nakedness, his
vulnerability.
Finally he stands before me, naked. My breath catches
as I look at him. He's so beautiful. Perfect.
Flushed and trembling slightly, his naked body
flawless, his eyes huge, his teeth worrying his bottom
lip. I take a few moments to admire him *mine* and I
feel his anxiety and embarrassment rise. I watch him,
unable to take his eyes off my hands, as I reach down
and remove my belt from his pants. His breathing
becomes heavier and I watch his chest move. Finally I
sit on the bed and motion him over my lap, I use his
name to keep the intimacy between us, "Come here,
Fox".
It's humiliating to stand naked and vulnerable in
front of him, but even more so to bend over his lap.
He arranges us as comfortably as possible, one warm,
large hand at the small of my back, another spreading
my legs to his satisfaction before resting on the
curve of my cheeks. The exposure is unbelievable.
Spread and naked, helpless under his hands, my bare
bottom trembling, raised and defenseless, awaiting the
first stroke.
"Why are you being punished, Fox?"
His voice is gentle, and so is the hand rubbing my
ass. I know the reason, have been here many times
before, so I answer quickly. "Because I put myself in
danger needlessly." My voice is already breathless.
"That's right. And why is that such a crime?"
My breath catches, and for some reason, even though I
know what he wants to hear, I can't answer.
"Because I love you." It's a whisper, and even though
I knew he was going to say it, tears creep into my
eyes, and I don't answer.
The first blow is from his hand, as I knew it would
be. This intimacy, me so defenseless beneath him,
requires nothing less. He always begins with his
hand. I wonder if it's because he knows how
helplessly erotic I find it. The connection of his
warm, heavy hand on an intimate part of my body. My
exposure and vulnerability to him, the knowledge that
he is enjoying it, that he's focused completely on me,
combine to harden my cock.
His hand strikes me again and again, and I feel my
flesh heat underneath it. The sensation is prickly; it
stings and I feel myself clenching my ass. He spanks
me harder, the tender under curve of my buttock begins
to be painful, and I realize I'm moving, trying to
avoid the heavy hand. The prickly heat spreads
through me, and I feel dizzy under the sensations and
the exposure, my cock throbbing in time to the
quickening beat of my heart.
He's so beautiful. Helpless under my hand. I don't
know if he's aware when he begins to squirm, his rosy
bottom dancing over my lap. Heat spreads through me
as I feel his cock swelling against my thigh. I spank
him harder, needing to reinforce the connection, and
his movements become more pronounced. I smack his
thighs, hearing him gasp as I concentrate on the
tender area at the top where they meet his bottom, and
the sensitive skin between his legs, close to his
swollen balls. I feel arousal spread through me as he
moans softly at the sensations I'm giving him. But
this is not all about pleasure, and I increase the
pace.
Finally I hear his breathing change and know he is
crying. His bottom is red and squirming, futilely
clenching and relaxing, attempting to protect itself
and alleviate the sting.
I stop, rubbing his hot flesh, feeling his body
quiver.
"Stand up, Fox."
It's hard to obey him, but I do. My face is surely as
red as my ass, and I don't meet his eyes, unwilling to
let him see my tears at just a hand spanking, and
knowing it is far from over.
He arranges some pillows on the middle of the and
pulls me over them, so my bare ass is raised and he
parts my thighs to complete my exposure. He goes to
retrieve the belt and it's humiliating to stay here
like this. I picture myself; red, trembling bottom
raised up, awaiting further punishment, my legs spread
and the tender opening of my body exposed to view. I
know he's watching me, enjoys me like this, and my
cock surges again, despite my fear, even as
humiliation sweeps through me.
He touches my throbbing cheeks, and I moan, softly. I
want to plead with him not to do it, but I don't.
Somewhere since starting I've come to accept this as
inevitable.
"You are the most important thing in the world to me,"
he says softly, and somehow it makes more sense.
There is a warning tap of leather on my flesh, before
it's taken away and returns, a streak of fire on my
already sore buttocks.
I cry out in pain and struggle against the firm hand
at the small of my back, holding me down. The belt
falls again on the tender tops of my thighs and I
begin to sob, writhing, trying to escape the pain as
the belt falls again and again.
Soon I don't know how many times the belt has hit me,
only that my bottom is on fire, and my throat sore,
and the only other thing I am aware of is his
incongruously gentle, steadying hand on my back. I'm
crying, my emotions overwhelming me as well as the
pain. Eventually, I stop struggling, accepting, and
the hand moves gently up my back to my hair, caressing
it soothingly and I accept the loving gesture easily,
naturally, through the pain.
Finally the belt stops, and another hand begins to
stroke me, accompanied by soothing murmurs I can't
understand.
I know we are close to finishing when he stops
struggling against me. He can't help the involuntary
squirming of his scarlet buttocks, but he lies there
accepting the lash, and leans unconsciously into my
hand as I smooth his hair. Both of our erections are
gone, but as he whispers my name as he lies there
dazed, I feel my heart swell. I soothe him gently,
murmuring nonsense until his sobs stop and he lies
still.
I go into the bathroom and return with a cold towel
some cooling ointment and some oil to finish our
ritual. He hisses as the coldness touches his scalded
buttocks, but settles as he feels the worst of the
pain begin to leave. I move on to the ointment and
rub it gently into the sore flesh of his bottom and
thighs.
He's so beautiful, wearing my mark, now completely
uninhibited under my hands, spreading his legs easily
as I trace his crack with some of the ointment. At
his low moans of pleasure/pain I feel my arousal
return, and gently kiss the back of his neck.
The pain fades as he soothes me. I no longer feel
embarrassed under his gaze and am simply grateful for
his presence as he cares for me. Grateful *that* he
does care for me. It's always a strange moment when I
return to my senses following the spanking. Almost
like returning to earth after floating, after being
lost in sensations with only him to ground me, as he
touches me all through it. I feel his concern and his
arousal as he strokes me, his lips soft against my
neck.
It's always like this when he spanks me, I go from
arousal under his hand, to insensible under the pain,
to arousal again when I return to find him waiting for
me. Always tired but relaxed, the emotion drained
from me, every nerve ending sensitive, every feeling
purged. I feel my arousal returning as the pain
fades, and, as he strokes between my cheeks, I part my
legs wider. I feel so comfortable lying there, open,
knowing he's with me, that he's been with me, that he
cares for me. So much easier to accept now. My cock
stirs as the heat spreads through me and I moan under
his touch. His finger is slick and insistent as it
presses into me and I push back, wanting to give him
whatever he wants, wanting any sensation he will give
me.
I've seen it many times, but it never ceases to amaze
me how beautiful he is, exhausted, open, honest and
replete, covered in sweat and trembling under my hand.
I push between his hot, red buttocks and into his
eager little hole, moaning as he pushes back into me.
I stroke his throbbing, quivering bottom with my other
hand as I push in another finger. He thrust back into
me, taking more of me and rubbing his straining cock
against the pillows. But I want more. I know we are
never as close as we are right now, after a spanking,
he's never as open to me, as ready to accept my love
as when I've proved it to him physically. I spank him
on Fridays, not just so he'll have time to recover,
but also to take full advantage of our closeness for
the weekend.
I turn him over gently, pushing the pillows up to fit
under the small of his back and push up his knees to
take most of his weight off his buttocks.
His face is still flushed and tearstained as he meets
my eyes, but there is no trace of embarrassment or
anger, and in his open face I read the love that he so
often feels he has to hide.
I push my yearning cock against his hot, begging hole,
feeling it spasm with need, and hearing him moan,
trying to push down on me. I thrust inside his velvet
heat, feeling him contract around me, hearing his
guttural moan of completion.
I thrust again and again into his sweet, tight ass,
his moans in my ear, and feel him grabbing my
shoulders, pulling me closer. I reach between us and
pump his hot, straining cock with my slick hand, and
he cries my name as he comes, his muscles clenching
down on me, pulling me along with him.
We lie there exhausted until I push myself up and look
into his flushed, happy face.
"You know why we do this?" I ask him, solemnly.
He smiles sweetly back at me, as if he's never
doubted, as if it's always been easy for him to
accept, to say, "Because you love me."
And I know we have taken a step closer together.
finis