Chasing Fantasies

Mulder turned the key in the lock, heart pounding. He opened Scully's door, calling her name.

No answer.

Of course there wasn't. He knew there wouldn't be. She'd gone to visit her mother, just like she'd said she was. He sighed with relief all the same.

He locked the door behind him and glanced around the apartment. It was in total disarray, completely at odds with Scully's normal meticulous self. She hadn't been exaggerating when she'd been complaining to him earlier.

"We've been travelling so much lately that I haven't been able to keep up with my housework. To top it off my cleaning lady's just had a baby. I really shouldn't go to Mom's and just try to get the apartment in order. I hate to let her down though." She'd said over her coffee.

"Yeah, I know the feeling. But you've said you needed to relax a little anyway, Scully. The apartment isn't going anywhere." He grinned at her and passed her a bagel with real cream cheese.

She'd taken it with a grin. "What are you, devil's advocate all of a sudden?"

"Well you see, I did get a petition from your dust mites asking for a reprieve." Mulder fished for a chuckle and was rewarded. He'd gotten his way. She was gone.

He carried a small zippered carry-all into her spare bedroom. It still looked the same as it did when she had him sleeping in here when he was sick from the bad water incident. It needed dusting, perhaps some fresh air, but everything seemed to be where it should be. He set the bag on the bed and opened it. He couldn't help laughing at himself as he pulled out the contents. He set the frilly apron, a g-string, the stockings, the garter belt, the cuffs and the heels to the side. They were absurd looking. They were meant to be absurd looking.

It had taken a long time for Mulder to convince himself to do this. He needed to do something to fight the awful restlessness building inside him. Everything seemed to be frustrating him, the lost leads and closed doors, the dangers and risks leading nowhere, the dressing downs on Skinner's carpet. So much of his life was dark, sterile and oppressive. When was the last time he'd done anything fun? Taken a risk that didn't chance his or Scully's lives? He wanted to do something silly, something outrageous, and something that was erotic and fun that wouldn't hurt anyone.

So here he was in Scully's apartment. With a French Maid's costume, well, most of a French Maid's costume. He would look ridiculous. He would feel ridiculous. But it would be fun. So, he was going to clean Scully's apartment for her.

He'd wanted to do something for her anyway. Just a little thank you for her patience. He wasn't blind. He put her through a lot, all the time, most of it without thinking. Yet, she still followed him, still trusted him. She was without question, the truest friend he'd ever had. As well as the most brilliant and sexy one at that. Sexy. God, was Scully sexy!! Mulder had chosen long ago not to compromise their partnership. It was just too important for him to risk losing. A nice, noble sentiment that had lead to a lot of sweaty, frustrated nights on the sofa watching Shanna McCollough and whispering the forbidden name of Dana.

Enough stalling, he thought, time to get to work. Pulling off his sweatshirt, he went to the window. Keeping the blinds down, he opened the window itself a few inches. That would freshen up this room a little. Stripping the rest of his clothes off, he stacked them in a neat pile on the bed. He put the g-string on first; it fit snugly around him, but wasn't uncomfortable. The stockings took a lot of rolling and tugging to get into place. Mulder soon came to the conclusion that women had a lot more patience with underwear that men did. He snapped the garter belt around his middle and then turned it around so it faced forward. It had a wide yoke covered with lace. He hooked the garters to the stockings. He'd already run one of them. Son-of-a-bitch, they should just teflon these things. Standing up, he put the apron on. The front yoke actually fluffed out, creating a skirt that almost went all the way around. It was organdy, and was quite soft, not itchy as he'd feared. He made a bow, and the tails tickled his behind. He hooked and tied the top into place, and he could see his nipples through the translucent fabric. He gave the cap a miss. His hair just wasn't long enough to pin it properly, and he didn't want it falling off all the time. He lifted the cuffs. These weren't frilly. They were satin lined leather with shiny buckles, just the perfect thing for a day slave.

"You don't know it, Scully, but you got yourself a house-boy for the day." He grinned to himself. This was going to be a romp.

The heels went on last. He was surprised that they'd fit him so well, but the gods of mail order had been kind to him. They were only four inches high, which made him tower, but not so high that he would be tripping over himself all the time. The soles were scuff protected and were guaranteed not to skid. Mulder wasn't convinced, but he wasn't going to be sprinting across linoleum either.

A stack of swinging jive CDs on the stereo, and he was ready to rip!

Finger snapping to the beat, he went around the apartment gathering dishes, glasses and silverware. Taking all that he found to the kitchen, he stacked them in the sink. He assembled the kitchen washing too. Hips swaying, singing softly, he rinsed everything loaded the dishwasher and turned it on. He sprinkled powder in the sink and let it sit.

"Dig it, come on, oh man, come on!" he sang as he put cracker boxes away on the pantry shelves, and returned butter to the fridge. "We're the cats who'll hip ya!" He wiped down the counters and surfaces, cleaning with Lysol. "So dig this righteous riff! Bump! Bump!" Mulder bumped his hips appropriately. He proceeded to Windex everything that could be made remotely shiney. He checked for a broom and dustpan, couldn't find it. He checked the vacuum, ah yes, it was meant to do floors and rugs. So he'd do all the floors at once. Pleased, he skipped on the toes of his heels to the opening of "Five Guys Named Moe" out of the kitchen to the bath.

The tub didn't need any serious scrubbing, so he made it a thick white with scrubbing bubbles. He moved the towels to a pile outside the door to add with the laundry. It only took seconds to return the toothpaste, deodorant, powder and perfume to their correct places.

He hit the toilet will all the fervor of a soldier at Normandy. With much spraying, splashing, bubble-making and loud singing, it was clean, disinfected and safe for humanity. Mulder washed his hands carefully, and tossed Scully's last sliver of soap away. He dug in the cupboard and couldn't find any more of the plain-jane deodorant stuff, but did find some prettily boxed bars of gardenia glycerin soap. Probably saving it for guest soap, he thought. Grinning, he unwrapped them and put the bars in both soap dishes. Rinsing the tub with hot water, he checked for scale stains. A little Lime Away got that taken care of. Finally, he hit the room with Windex, hips shaking with the beat.

Seemed like a good time for a ten-minute break. Raiding the fridge, he helped himself to a Corona and found a bag of tortilla chips on top. He sat on the sofa and listened to the long, sad song of "San Francisco Fran" who had loved unwisely.

Mulder took a long drink of the beer. It tasted very nice. It would be better with some lime, but he didn't want to re-wash the cutting board. With a naughty grin, he pressed the cold beer against his nipples. Mmmm..yeah, that felt good. The organdy had damp rings now. The g-string was feeling a little tighter than when he first put it on.

"Bad slave, goofing off like this." Mulder said softly.

He propped his feet up on the coffee table before him. He liked looking at them, in their silken and leather casings. The heels lengthened his legs, but his calves were too well muscled to be convincingly feminine for very long. Well, and there was also the shaving thing.

Even though there was no one else there, and he knew no one else was there, Mulder had the irrational urge to look around before he lifted the skirt of the apron. His cock was semi-hard, out lined by the translucent fabric. He stroked it through the material with his thumb. He closed his eyes. Yes, he was being a very bad slave. Imagine if the Mistress caught you like this.

Just imagine Scully dressed in a black unitard wearing high-heeled leather boots. She wouldn't need much drama dress. Scully would have all the authority in the world in those flashing blue eyes. Tapping a cane against one palm. 'Do you call this finished, Mulder?' Then there would be the guilty leap to his feet, diving to his knees, and kissing her boots in supplication.

It would never happen. Never. Oh, but wouldn't it be nice if it did?

Brushing chip crumbs off his chest, Mulder sat up. Time to get back to work, he thought as he swallowed the last of the beer.

The living room and the computer zone looked worse than they were. Happily, Mulder found some scented votives to lighten up the air. Oh, Trapps! Scully spends extra on hers, Mulder grinned as he lifted the lit candles well above apron level. Swinging around and singing to "You're My Meat", he picked up all the obvious trash and threw it away. Soda cans, wrappers, crumpled reports, and old bits of newspaper went out. The desk area got a swipe with the Endust for Electronics he found. After a bit of searching, he found a stack of magazines on a lower bookcase shelf and added the loose ones to the top. "I love your hands, and your big fat hams, I love you sooooo!!!!" Books went back on the shelves with markers in place. He found a couple of pieces of clothing, so he added it to the pile of towels to go into the laundry. The afghan he folded up and lay over the back of a chair.

Checking where the vacuum was kept he found an ostrich feather duster. He looked it over with interest. It was a lot bigger than the day-go green one he had at home. Flouncing it breezily, he went to work with it. The feathers caressed everything and did get the dust quite well. Mulder sashayed slowly around the flat, singing "Is You Is or Is You Ain't My Baby," quite tunefully. He wasn't quite finished when the song ended, so he put it on repeat and sang it again. After shining up her coffee table, he hit the vacuum.

Scully's vacuum cleaner wasn't very complicated and man, could it suck. He had to fight it for every throw rug corner and it swallowed two quarters from under the sofa cushions before he could stop it. It did well on the hardwoods, and he took care of the corners. It looked like the regular cleaning lady had done the floors well before she left, so they looked fine after he was finished.

He found the washer and dryer in one half of the linen closet. In it he found at least three spare changes of towels and sheets. Once again, Scully beat him out in household organization. He stacked the laundry he'd accumulated at the base of the washer. Taking down some fresh towels he hung them in the bathroom. Then he turned and faced the door he'd saved for last. This was the door to the temple, Scully's bedroom.

It was ajar, mocking him with a silent welcome. He pushed it open, staring at his shoes, as if he were afraid that there would be someone inside. Her bedside lamp was on, giving the unmade bed a soft glow. Some shoes were kicked in the middle of the room, and pair of jeans and a tshirt were tossed over a chair. The top of the dresser was a jumble of vitamins, cosmetics, hair clips and vanity set.

After swallowing in nervousness, Mulder walked in. Briskly he looked around and went to the closet. There he found three laundry hampers and a basket. There were already a couple of towels in the basket, so Mulder pulled it out. One hamper was marked "Dry Clean" in Marks-A-Lot on the lid. Of the remaining, one held whites, delicates and (uhmm) underthings. The other was full of ordinary clothes. He tossed the jeans and tshirt in the latter. Mulder took the towels out of the basket and went to the washer. He put those towels with the other things and tossed them in the washer. Setting it going, he gathered fresh linens for the bed.

Seizing the comforter first, he unbuttoned the cover and yanked it out without ceremony and tossed the cover on the floor. Folding the comforter up he moved it to the chair. Turning back to the bed, he stopped, his mouth dropping like a prize bass.

On one side of the bed was a handful of paperback books and a vibrator.

This was not any kind of a vibrator, but an electric one as long as his forearm. He knew it from his extra-circular reading. It was a Hitachi wand, with a G-spot attachment, unattached and laying under the cord. He was so agog over the sight of it that the paperbacks didn't register at once. Finally, he reached out and turned one to read the title.

No Other Tribute, Erotic Tales of Women in Submission. He reached for another. Mistress Mine. This was getting very interesting. By Her Subdued. Leather Women. He picked up one with a woman in a tightly cinched corset on the cover. The Darker Passions: The Fall of the House of Usher. The paperback fell open, to a section often re-read.

"Heaven help me, but he used his bare hand to spank me until long after the tears flowed. The crop was one thing, the paddle another. Nothing, though, had prepared me for human flesh against human flesh. His one smack to my derriere the previous evening had been like a drop in the ocean. Blows were raining down on my vulnerable bottom at such a fierce pace that could not tolerate them. And yet I could do nothing, for his arm locked about my waist, prohibiting escape."

Sitting hard on the edge of the bed, Mulder scanned down the rest of the page.

"With my bottom aflame, he positioned me across the arm of the chair, my face in the cushion, and penetrated me mercilessly, using the guttural words, 'I shall fuck your cunt, Miss, until you thank me for my trouble.'

"Never have I felt so violated, so filled. His cock seemed to have a mind of its own, and I nothing I said or did would stay it from its course. I found that out quickly enough when he grasped my hips and fucked me with long deep strokes. His cock pulled out so far out that only the head remained inside, and then he thrust deep, that head knocking against my cervix and rubbing the deepest parts of my canal. My cunny was as tight as when he first took me, although now there was no barrier to breech, and this time I had the added reward of a stinging-hot bottom to amuse me.

"'Thank you, Master Usher! Fuck me harder, I beg you! I must learn of your domination.' That and other words I did not know I was capable of uttering."

Sweat beaded on Mulder's brow. He suddenly felt ferociously hard.

He set the book aside and picked up Mistress Mine. It too fell open to a long loved page. He read it without hesitation.

"Summoning up all my courage, I made a single, swift, downward movement and felt the twin spikes enter the very heart of my intimacy. The sudden violence of cunt and arse took my breath away, and I gave a little gasp of astonishment. Yet the sensation was by no means unpleasant; I began to understand how the chair had gained its name." Mulder couldn't care less what the chair was called. He read on. "'Fuck yourself Sophia. And use your finger to pleasure yourself.' I gazed deep into Mademoiselle Milan's eyes and read the message so clearly spelled out in their violet depths. The message that read, 'Fuck yourself and imagine that I am fucking you...'"

Mulder's breath gasped out hotly. It was too exquisite. Scully, his beautiful, wonderful Scully had lain here reading these words to drive her to pleasure. God, how hot! He wondered if she wanted to submit, imagining herself at the mercy of the Master or Mistress or was she the Mistress, bending the beautiful girl to her will with torments of pleasure.

The g-string was now very, very tight. Mulder pushed it down, letting the fabric cup his scrotum. Without conscious thought, he fell back against the pillows. Scully's scent hit him with a sensual caress. He breathed in the soft, gentle perfume of her hair, the sweet floral of her perfume, and then it was there. The tang of arousal, the smell of desire. The hidden perfume of Scully's most secret self. He touched himself then, breathing deep, wanting to absorb it all.

He opened his eyes, and began picking up the rest of the paperbacks, reading the passages they fell open to. Mostly, they were scenes of beautiful, brave submissive women, experiencing joy in pleasure and pain. Giving the gifts of sexual ecstasy to Masters and Mistresses. He thought of Scully, on her knees, collar on her throat looking up with perfect trust. To him? Letting him be her Master, wanting to please him? Perhaps to Skinner? Worshipping the stern countenance that had helped and guided them? Oh, that would be so beautiful, to see them like that. Mulder let the images blossom in his mind. Leading Dana in on a leash dressed in beautiful lingerie and black heels, to present herself to Skinner. Unsnapping the lead, and watching her walk to their supervisor and drop to her knees. Moving to a corner chair to watch them.

Mulder groaned in want.

Could he do that for her? Be that for her?

Mulder wondered if Scully's interest in women had gone beyond fantasy level. She had to be intrigued, some of the books were definitely intended for bisexual or lesbian women. She would be so lovely, tangled in another woman's arms. Her head thrown back in passion, while another woman pushed her fingers deep inside Scully's vagina, driving her to orgasm. Oh, yes he could see it easily. He could also see Scully, voice gentle, eyes soft kissing another woman, stroking her hair. Making her feel wonderful, needed and protected. So much power, Scully could give in one embrace.

By Her Subdued, opened to fantasies of powerful women. So, perhaps she had thought of being the Mistress, letting her natural strength flower. Didn't that echo the fantasy that he was playing now? Her slave, her house-boy, wanting to do nothing more than please her? She was the Mistress of his heart, always had been. He wanted and dreamed so much.

He could see her again in his mind, in her black unitard and boots. Catching him touching himself on her bed. 'Well, well, this is how you amuse yourself when you think I'm not watching, Fox.' He'd protest at the use of his name, and she'd let the cane thwack against his thigh for talking out of turn.

His hand tightened on his cock, stroking.

His Mistress, his Goddess, standing over him. Using the cane to redden his inner thighs and force his legs apart. She'd make him lace his hands behind his neck. He'd close his eyes and take the discipline that he needed.

His hand was rough and urgent on himself.

'Close your eyes, Fox.' She'd say in that soft voice that cut deep into him. He'd obey without question, proving his need to obey, his need to trust, his need to forgive and be forgiven by her. He'd hear the drawer, hear her doing something. Then there would be the wonderful hot wetness of her mouth on his cock and the cold firm invasion of her dildo penetrating his ass. He'd moan in need and in dread.

He was hot, sweaty and shaking. Orgasm filled him, choked him, obliterated him.

Slowly he returned to himself. With a shaking hand he took some tissues from the nightstand and wiped himself off. Lying still, he just let himself breathe.

Rising up, he rearranged himself into the g-string. Stacking the books and the vibrator on the chair he stripped the bed. Taking the vibrator to the bathroom he cleaned it and the attachment with soap and water. Taking a wash-cloth, he also cleaned off a bit of his own excesses. He toss the cloth to the clothes piles, and hoped he didn't reek too much of gardenia or sex. Wrapping the vibrator in a clean towel, he put it and the books in a lower drawer of the nightstand. Quietly, almost reverently, he made the bed with the clean linens. He fluffed the pillows and propped them up and turned the corner of the comforter back in a welcoming fashion.

The rest of the room only needed straightening. Within a few minutes he was done. After spraying some freshener in the room and vacuuming the floor, he was done. Content, he started the next load of laundry, and went to empty the dishwasher.

On the third load of wash, he gathered the trash up and put it in a large sack. Tying it, he set it down in the kitchen. Mulder whistled "Jack You Dead", and brushed the apron skirt. Time to change back, he figured.

He stripped down, rolled the outfit up and tossed into the bag without ceremony. He put the shoes in last. He slid into his jeans and was tying his shoes when he realized his CDs were still going. Shirtless, he went into the living room and switched off the stereo. He was putting the CDs in their cases when he heard a car drive up outside. He whipped around. No, no, it couldn't be.

A familiar red-headed woman was walking up the steps, holding a shopping bag and a cake box.

"Oh, shit! Scully!" Mulder shot into the spare bedroom, just as he heard the key go into the lock. Pushing the door closed save for the barest crack, he struggled into his sweatshirt.

Peeking through the door, he could see her easily. Scully walked in without really looking, taking the shopping bag and the cake box to the kitchen table and setting them down. She looked around, dumb-struck. "What?" she wondered aloud.

Both of them jumped when the dryer buzzer went off.

Turning she went to the linen closet. Mulder didn't watch anymore. He turned to the window he opened earlier and drew up the blind. Praying that it wouldn't squeak, he raised the sash and tossed his carry-all out into the bushes. Climbing up, he jumped out afterwards, hoping he wasn't over roses.

He rushed to his car, grateful that he hadn't parked in front. Mulder sat behind the driver's seat for several minutes, watching to see if Scully rushed out. She didn't. She appeared at the guestroom window for a moment, looked around, and slowly closed the window. She dropped the blind. Mulder sighed in relief and drove away.

On the drive home, he stopped by the bookshop. Just for a little light reading. Just looking for a few paperbacks. For long evenings...

The Musicale of which Mulder plays for his Enjoyment wilst Cleaning Mistress Scully's abode is called "Jumping Jive" and was Record'd by a Mr. Joe Jackson.

The Books mentioned Forthwith, are real and the Material quoted is indeed Written by Mrs. Amanthea Knight and Mrs. Valentina Cilescu. These Works are Publish'd by Masquerade Books and held in the Highest Esteem by the Authouress. She does Recommend that the Readers aquire them for their own Pleasures!!