【24/7】（1-2）

page views:1 Publication date:2023-06-11 17:41:30

Chapter 1: The Contract Author: xanthe Word Count: 15291
Mulder sat at the dark oak table, looking relaxed, without the tension he had expected. He was confident that his proposal for this meeting would be compelling and would not be rejected.
He surveyed the room; it was simply furnished with only a table and six chairs. It didn't look like a meeting room, but more like a dining room. There were some photos on the walls, very avant-garde and beautiful, without any hint of pornography, much as he had imagined.
How he wished the meeting would start soon…
He sat up, stretched, and lightly patted his tie.
The most peculiar thing about this room was an entire wall of mirrors. The huge mirrors made the whole wall appear somewhat blurry. He wasn't stupid; he knew this was a so-called one-way mirror, someone was watching him from behind it—secretly observing, evaluating, and judging.
Involuntarily, he felt an impulse to go up and fuck, but reason told him that this was a crucial moment.
Six years.
He had been playing this game for six years, and he was very good at it, damn good at it.
He couldn't find anyone better. If he was looking for the best sub in DC to play with, he didn't need to look for anyone else. Mulder was here, and Mulder was that sub. This wasn't arrogance; he was good, and he knew it.
"Mr. Mulder, Mr. Mulder," a high-pitched voice suddenly came through the microphone, deep, secretive, cold, and sensual.
Mulder swallowed, trying not to let the other person see that he was startled. He was a player, and a very good one at that. He had the right to meet here, in one of the most exclusive private clubs in DC, with the best player in the city. This meeting was the last chance for him to present himself to him in person.
"Mr. Mulder, you've gone to great lengths to see me. I'd like to know why," an elegant voice asked, but behind the polite tone lay a steely coldness.
"Thank you very much for your willingness to see me, sir," he said respectfully.
“Mr. Mulder, you’ve been pursuing me for over a year now, and in the end, I figured it would be easier to come see you than to avoid you.” The voice paused, then continued.
“You’ve been avoiding me? Why?” Mulder frowned.
“Mind your manners, Mr. Mulder. I’ve noticed you—who wouldn’t?
You’ve been with almost every dom in this city.”
“They didn’t have anything to complain about, did they?” Mulder asked defiantly.
“No, not at all, except for your short-lived enthusiasm… You have a tendency to leave once you’ve exhausted your top and move on to the next one.” The voice seemed to find this amusing.
“I don’t find anything in them… interesting enough to keep me company.”
Mulder shrugged.
“What makes you think I can meet your demanding standards?” The voice laughed.
Mulder hesitated; this wasn’t part of his plan. “I don’t have any demanding standards… I just…” He hesitated, unsure how to explain. He had been playing in this city for many years, from a newcomer with eager eyes to a seasoned veteran, but the moments of excitement were always so fleeting.
“I want more,” he whispered. “Although I can reach orgasm every time, it’s difficult, and I can’t last long. I’m well-trained, and you’ll find playing with me very exciting.”
“It’s not about excitement. This training is…” the voice said coldly.
Mulder stared at the mirror, trying to see the man behind it.
“Can you explain to me why I should be bothered with you?”
“You’re a legend, everyone knows you exist, but nobody knows who you are. You’re the best player, there are…”
“And you think only the best deserve to be with you?” the voice asked him.
“Yes… no! I just mean… I need something.” Mulder’s voice sounded fragile; he couldn’t express his needs in words.
“You’ve said a lot about yourself and your needs,” the voice pondered.
“If you let me be with you, I will focus on you and your needs,” Mulder said eagerly. “I am a player, sir. I know how to please others. If you accept me as your sub, I will do my best to please you, and I will make you very happy, very happy.”
He glanced slightly at the mirror—a challenge, a promise, an implication—which would it be?
If the man was willing to say “yes.” He didn’t know.
“No, Mr. Mulder, you will only do your best to please yourself, and to that extent, please me. I believe I will be satisfied. But before long, when you realize it’s just an empty feeling, you will want me to leave… Your suggestion is unacceptable to me.”
Mulder sat down, feeling as if his heart had been punched. “Please, sir…
give me a chance,” he whispered.
“No,” the voice was surprisingly amiable, “you shouldn’t be here, Mr. Mulder.
If I were interested in you, I would have come to you myself, and you would have been spared this… humiliation.”
“Oh, haven’t you heard? I’m a masochist. Humiliation excites me,” Mulder confessed awkwardly.
Laughter came through the microphone. “Sexual masochism,” the voice said. “Do you like the dictionary definition?” The voice paused, and Mulder guessed it was a rhetorical question.
“Sexual masochism, 1: a term in psychiatry. The deriving pleasure, especially sexual pleasure, from humiliation or pain under the control of another person, etc.”
Mulder closed his eyes, as if he saw himself bound by restraints, his last master whipping him, leaving a crisscrossed cross on his body. He felt the pain and humiliation return, both bringing him absolute, astonishing pleasure. His penis instantly hardened.
"Was that describing you, Mr. Mulder? Do you consider yourself a pervert?" the voice asked almost gently.
"No," Mulder suddenly said aloud, "I know what I am, and I've made agreements with them all."
"Really? — Shall I continue? 2: Psychoanalysis. A tendency to put yourself in danger. Perhaps like your arrival here today?" the voice commented dryly. "Is that what you do every day, Mr. Mulder? Pursuing death and pain, embracing all suffering, and accepting it with equanimity?"
Mulder opened his mouth, and then he saw himself in many different scenarios—jumping off a train, escaping a bomb explosion, chasing after his lost sister—finding her—and being rejected by her.
He closed his mouth, nodded, and buried his face in his hands.
"3: A tendency to derive pleasure from one's own suffering—and I suppose that's what you're doing right now." The voice sneered. "Mr. Mulder, now begin to tell me honestly about your experiences, tell me what led you to me—starting from your first experience of masochism, and then I'll tell you whether I'm ready to change my mind."
Mulder stood up, swaying slightly. He sensed that the man seemed to know and understand him—this frightened him, it reminded him of…
"Phoebe," he whispered, "a former girlfriend, whom I met when I was 18. She used to tie me up… and be very cruel to me, and I found that it… caused…"
"Good, continue," the voice commanded.
"To make me jealous, she often flirted with other guys. She liked to watch me fight and get bruised and battered, and I always won—except once." He paused, staring into the air.
"What happened?"
"She went and slept with that guy! Slept with him all night—slept with him." Mulder clenched his fist. “This lesson clearly taught me that I had to be the best, the strongest, to be able to provide for her. She was a reward, a dom, and I was nothing; my existence was only to serve her.”
“You found that caused it?”
Mulder sighed. “Yes. Oh God, I didn’t want it to be this way, but I didn’t know how to deal with this insecurity, and we broke up. For a while, I dated some normal girlfriends, but I… I could never forget the feeling Phoebe gave me, and then I learned about B-DSM. At first, I only did it with women, and then one day, this woman gave me to a guy to suck his penis—it should have been the greatest humiliation, but I found myself actually enjoying it… Men are more intense, stronger, and can control so much more—maybe everything. I am a strong man, and I need to be possessed by someone stronger.” Mulder said softly, “Later, I went outside to find men.
I never considered myself gay, but I liked being dominated by men.”
“I understand,” the voice murmured thoughtfully.
“I feel…out of control,” Mulder continued. “It’s too alluring to me. I can’t control myself or my life. Something has already happened to me…or rather, I’m gambling with my life for more thrills than ever before. I’m not sure if I want to live. Every day I wake up not knowing if I’ll commit suicide. I keep thinking, I didn’t choose my life, yet it irresponsibly took shape, and of course I can irresponsibly choose how I die. I’ll use sex…with b dsm sex…others who noticed this thought left me. I’m controlled by this thought, and only for a very short time can it ease the urge—I tell myself I can’t do this, it’s not my real thought, it’s theirs.” Mulder stood up, glanced at the mirror with grief and indignation. “Thank you for the visit, even if you didn’t reciprocate my kindness,” he said, “and for letting me reveal my secret…I hope my story will please you.”
“It’s fascinating…fascinating,” the voice said in a chanting tone. “You’ve piqued my interest enough for me to reconsider.”
Mulder stopped at the doorway, his body stiffening. He whirled around, his heart pounding. "Would you accept me? Would you let me be your sub?" he asked.
"No," came the deep, calm voice.
Mulder's heart sank.
"I won't consider making you my sub, Mr. Mulder. That's not for me. And it's obvious that this relationship has only served you so far. I'll only consider making you my slave."
"What?!" Mulder strode to the mirror.
"You should understand what I mean, Mr. Mulder. You've been in this business for many years," the voice gently rebuked. "I don't want a relationship like this, where we make love once or twice a week. I'm not interested in that, and it doesn't do you any good. If you really want to play with me, then we need more... a sustained arrangement—24 hours a day, 7 days a week."
"What about my job?" Mulder asked suspiciously.
“I have no objection to you continuing to work, as long as you do everything I say—you will live with me, I have a special slave quarters. You will have a call machine, which will be of use whenever I need you—and under any circumstances—from letting me whip you naked, to fetching things for you.”
“That might interfere with my work,” Mulder said in a low voice. He hoped his penis wouldn’t get too hard.
“You’ll have to make sure it doesn’t.” The voice sounded indifferent. “I’d rather my slaves say something interesting at the end of each day. I want my slaves to be presentable, well-dressed, polite, intelligent, well-mannered, charming, and witty… It’s not easy. My slaves must be able to serve me, do hard work, entertain me, satisfy my sexual needs, and provide ordinary care. You will be my unpaid servant, cook, and housekeeper—all roles, not just a bed partner.”
“That sounds like a tough job,” Mulder commented.
A dry laugh escaped. "There's compensation. Think it over carefully before accepting these terms. Sit down at the table, Mr. Mulder. I'll show you my terms, and then you can decide whether to accept them."
Mulder complied without a sound, his mouth dry, he was completely bewildered. He thought he knew why he'd come here the first time. He wanted to fascinate this superdom standing at the top. And in the process, he would get what he wanted, something no one else could! He
didn't like this; he would lose everything… but… but his body trembled at the thought of being completely possessed like this. He and Phoebe had a similar relationship, but neither of them had ever detailed it or put it on a list.
The door opened, and a servant entered. He placed a piece of paper in front of Mulder, and a silver pen, a bottle of ink, and a sheet of blotting paper that he had brought with him on Mulder's right, then left the room without a word.
Mulder looked at the paper, neatly printed, which read: "
Slave Contract
: The slave agrees to be completely obedient to his master in all respects. He may not refuse to obey his master's commands at any time or place; the slave also agrees that upon signing this contract, his body belongs to his master, and all his assets and property also belong to his master; the slave agrees to make his master's satisfaction to the best of his ability, and his existence is solely for the pleasure of his master; the slave understands that he will relinquish all his legitimate rights, except as permitted by his own desire and deems beneficial.
I have read and fully understand the contents of this slave contract. I agree to give everything to my master and acknowledge his ownership of my body, my heart, my soul, and my mind; I understand that I will be dominated, trained, and punished like a slave, and I promise to faithfully fulfill my master's wishes and serve him to the best of my ability;
I know I cannot revoke this slave contract."
Signature:
“Absolutely not.” Mulder put down his pen, stood up, and stormed to the mirror. “You must be mentally ill. I don’t know you. I’ve never even seen you. This is absurd.”
“Fair enough,” said the steady voice. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Mulder. Please close the door behind you.”
“Fuck you!” Mulder kicked the wall angrily. “My possessions? My heart? My soul…?” He gasped for breath.
“I don’t believe your heart or your soul is the source of your anxiety, Mr. Mulder.
What’s causing your anxiety is that your mind thinks I’m untrustworthy.”
“No, you can’t truly possess another person. That’s madness.” Mulder banged his head against the mirror, stood there in anguish for a moment, then leaned his head and forearms against the gleaming surface.
He needed this. He really needed this. It was the final stimulus—living in constant submission. He suspected the man behind the mirror knew the contract's effect on him and fully understood his original intentions—he had only wanted a thrilling game, to feign submission during sex and leave whenever he wanted.
Under the contract, he couldn't do that. Once signed, the game became real, which both terrified and excited him. His body was already heating up from the thought of these restrictions, even his penis throbbing in anticipation. Mulder
looked up, trying to see his own eyes, and also the eyes of the man behind the mirror.
"What kind of person are you?" he finally whispered. Almost unable to believe he wanted to continue, he said, "I've noticed many obligations in this contract—what are your obligations?" He pointed to the paper.
"Good question." The voice sounded almost smiling.
The door opened, the servant came in again, placed another piece of paper on the table, and then quietly left.
Mulder returned to the table with a mixture of caution and curiosity, disliking his own interest in the matter. He had no intention of signing; he couldn't, but…
Master Contract:
I accept this slave as my pet and will protect him. I will provide for my slave's physical and emotional needs throughout his life, and if I choose him, he will know my love. I will use my slave's body when I desire, but such use will be limited, and my responsibility is to prevent any harm to his body or mind. I will establish a clear and unambiguous set of rules for my slave, and I will enforce them in a forceful and trustworthy manner. These rules will fully guarantee his training, and I will do my utmost—anticipating all possibilities—to control most of his behavior.
Within the scope of the aforementioned voluntary acceptance, I guarantee to raise and train my slave in a planned manner until he becomes a perfect, obedient, and humble slave, one I know he has never achieved. My aim is to reward his efforts by allocating his needs and appropriate punishments. I will do my best to provide for my slave's needs throughout his life until I die or, for other reasons, am no longer able to care for him.
I have read and fully understood the entire contents of this Master Contract. I agree to make this slave's body and all his possessions my property, and to care for him to the best of my ability. I will provide him with security and welfare, command him, train him, and punish him like a slave. I understand the inherent responsibility in this and agree not to harm him as long as he is mine. I also know that I can take back this contract at any time.
Signature:
Mulder closed his eyes and leaned his head back in the chair, then opened them again, staring at the white ceiling, but there were no answers. Some of the contents of this contract were exactly what he wanted. The master contract stipulated care, punishment, protection… the words of security used echoed in his mind. He had never felt security, love, or care; he only felt adrift, and he longed for peace—could this contract bring him that?
"I notice that you can terminate the contract whenever you want, but I cannot," he commented.
"Then you will have the opportunity to act hastily due to temptation and regret it in your leisure time," the voice replied.
"That phrase is usually used in marriage contracts, not slave contracts," Mulder scoffed.
More laughter followed…
“If you suspect there’s an imbalance in the two contracts, yes, there is, and a significant one, but…” the voice pondered, “I have no intention of finding a unwilling slave. If you want to break my contract, I will listen to your opinion and consider it seriously—though I will refuse your request. I won’t argue with you about legality—the laws of this country support citizens’ autonomy. As for the property transferred to my name, if I terminate our contract, I can return it to you according to my judgment; if you choose to leave, I may not do so, and—if you leave without my permission, then I will not accept you back. In that case, I think you’ll probably have to find a new game circle. No one in this city can play with someone else’s property without permission—and I cannot grant such permission.” “
That’s absurd! You surely know that!” Mulder slammed his fist on the table. “It’s just sex—not a daily necessity. I can’t… I won’t… allow myself to accept it.”
“Unfortunately, then you’ll never find what you’re looking for, Mr. Mulder, because that’s a fact.”
“I’m not seeking to become anyone’s slave!” Mulder asserted.
“Yes, I agree. But if you’re willing to do so, you can find out what you’re looking for,”
the voice hinted.
“Shouldn’t I be looking at why I’m selling myself?” Mulder asked. “Don’t you want to have a chance to inspect the goods—me?”
“I don’t. If you decide not to sign the contract, then I’d rather my identity remain a mystery forever.
Remember, you came to me; I have no obligations to you.”
“About the specifics, the rules, and so on?” Mulder asked desperately. He always negotiated the terms before the game, discussing with his future partner what kind of sexual pleasure they would enjoy and to what extent… He was very good at it, easily discussing topics that made others feel extremely embarrassed.
"There's nothing to discuss. It's all clearly stated in the contract," the voice replied. "If you are my slave, you belong to me. There's no need for negotiation. You must learn to trust... and obey."
"So, security isn't even a topic for discussion?" Mulder made a face.
"That's right, Mr. Mulder, it's unnecessary," the voice answered coldly.
Shit, this guy could be anyone—damn, he could even be a smoke-stained bastard. Mulder thought angrily, pacing back and forth in the room. It wasn't about who this guy was or what impact he would have on him; if that were the case, Mulder would just walk out and never come back. Even if he couldn't make it in this city anymore, so what—at least he would still be independent… but in the end, he might still end up here. He had searched for many tops, and he had exhausted them; that man had hit the nail on the head. He wanted to find something more dangerous, more exciting than this… and this… this was the greatest adventure, the most unpredictable, the most thrilling; anything could happen to him once he signed this paper. In this sexual game, he would have no control or safe buffer; everything depended on his master's mercy. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week…shit, but this man reminded him of Phoebe; he was like a tapeworm in his stomach—knowing exactly how to simultaneously terrify and excite him.
“Yes,” he whispered.
Silence.
“I said, my answer is—yes—damn it!” he roared.
“The pen is on the table,” came the reply, unacceptably devoid of emotion.
Mulder sat down at the table, picked up the pen, and closed his eyes. Scully’s face flashed before his eyes, her brow furrowed as she yelled at him, asking why he had done such a foolish thing. He also saw Skinner standing before him, yelling—asking why he had risked doing something so crazy.
He opened his eyes again, trying to banish their faces, their voices, their concern from his mind.
How could he explain this to them? He only hoped this man was a gift that could bring joy to his life, a pull back from the brink of darkness.
Mulder placed the pen on the paper, marking the end of his past life.
Chapter One Ends
Chapter Two: Five Golden Rings
Mulder paced back and forth in the room, anxiously biting his nails until they were almost exposed to the flesh.
A week had passed since he last stood here, a week in which he had done everything he was ordered to do. He had complained that a week was too short, that he couldn't properly put aside his affairs and transfer his personal property into his master's account as ordered, but his new master insisted on not extending it.
"You can use this time to think things through calmly," his master said.
His voice came through the microphone, a metallic sound echoing in the room, as if drilling into the depths of Mulder's soul. "When you return here next week, if you have done everything you were ordered to do, and you still wish to continue, then I will sign the master contract in your presence, and after that, you will have no way to back out."
Mulder leaned against the wall, trying to remain calm. "No regrets...no regrets...
" The words echoed in his mind. He desperately wanted it all to end; all this waiting was driving him mad. His master had made demands, restrained him, and was going to drag him back to his den, but at least that way, he would know whether his choice was right or wrong.
For the entire week, he had been like a cat trapped on a scorching tin roof, restless and anxious. He couldn't sit at his desk and finish two reports properly; instead, he stared blankly into the air, his mind filled with his new identity—the slave Fox Mulder, being owned...owned...even Skinner noticed his strange behavior and asked if something was wrong. For a moment, seeing the concern in his boss's dark eyes, he wished he had someone to confide in, someone who could stop him from going on like this, but he might ultimately pay the price for not being able to trust others—finally, he stood up abruptly. He rudely left, ignoring Skinner's question, and Scully, seeing him like this, didn't even dare to ask him the question, which at least pleased him.
Soon, it would all be over.
He knew he was a fool, but like the desire in his heart, he couldn't stop himself from throwing himself into this unknown territory.
He didn't have much wealth, so he didn't value money much. His father had left everything to his mother in his will, even though they were divorced, perhaps as compensation, or perhaps as punishment for his only son—he didn't know, he had never understood his father. When his mother died, he guessed he might become richer, but not yet, so he left his master only a few thousand dollars.
The price he paid didn't seem too high, if it was for…for what? Peace? Mulder He leaned back against the wall, slamming his head against it once, twice, three times, hating that it was all for his own needs and his foolish hopes—hoping to find what he wanted in it, yet he hadn't stopped hoping.
He distracted himself by imagining what his master looked like, though it didn't matter, he was still curious. He wasn't looking for love, but for someone who could save him.
"Mr. Mulder, I'm sorry to have kept you waiting." A voice suddenly came from outside, interrupting his thoughts and startling him.
Mulder jumped up, knowing his master had arrived. How could he forget how deep and alluring that voice was, how exciting it had been?
"Will you apologize to all your slaves?" Mulder raised an eyebrow sarcastically.
Laughter came from outside, "You're not yet, but the deal will be done when I sign my part on the contract, until then..."
"I want it done quickly," Mulder interrupted him. His nerves were on edge, his mind a cacophony of thoughts.
"I don't think this whole time has changed your mind?" his master asked.
"No." Mulder took a deep breath. "It's as if you entered my mind, discovered something I didn't even know myself, made a promise I couldn't refuse, and then dragged it out for a week, leaving me hovering around this place for the entire week."
He said accusingly, his voice sounding pained.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know this deal was so good." The voice was soft, almost sympathetic. "Are the documents ready?"
"Yes." Mulder placed his briefcase on the table, opened it, and took out a document. "Here, it's all my property. You can take the money now and tell me this whole thing was a scam." Mulder was a little nervous, almost hoping that what he said would happen.
“Don’t be silly,” the voice accused. “You
arranged this meeting through James Eckhart and J. M. Lucas, both highly reputable high-ranking players. Do you doubt their integrity?”
“Perhaps they wanted to teach that threatening sub a lesson,” Mulder retorted sarcastically.
“There are other ways,” the voice reminded him, “and you won’t be doing this for long.”
The door opened, and Mulder held his breath, but only a servant entered, took the documents from him, and left.
“Your personal property?” his master asked.
“In my car,” Mulder shrugged.
“Your apartment lease?”
"Transferred to the company you gave me, is it your company?" Mulder asked curiously, wanting to know what the man did for a living.
The man ignored him. "The keys?"
"Here." Mulder gripped the keys tightly, then took a deep breath, placed them on the table, and stepped aside.
"Looks neat enough... Go back to the table."
Under his authoritarian command, Mulder felt his body heat up; he gripped himself tightly and shook his head—he needed to get used to this tone.
The servant placed a large white envelope on the table with a single word written on it: fox...
Mulder couldn't resist making a face.
"Is there a problem?" his master asked.
"My name," Mulder shrugged, "I don't like it."
"That's an insult. I've decided that will be your slave's name," his master told him in a cheerful tone.
"What?" Mulder turned and glared angrily at the mirror.
“A slave must have a slave name given to him by his master, and yours will be Fox…” his master said in an irrefutable tone.
Mulder decided to try again, no matter what. “Why Fox? That’s my real name!” he protested.
“I’ve already decided,” the voice replied. “I’ve checked these documents. Open the envelope.”
Mulder stood there, trembling, hating his disadvantageous position, but finding it also caused… Finally, he reached out and opened the envelope, turning it over. Five gold rings of different sizes rolled onto the table.
The largest was a pure gold collar, thin and light, with his name engraved in beautiful lettering and a tiny, delicate fox carving.
“It’s thin enough to wear under a shirt. I want you to wear it all the time, day and night,” his master said softly.
Mulder swallowed, running his fingers over the smooth, cool metal. “It’s beautiful,” he murmured, his throat feeling tight.
The choker had been meticulously crafted, and even before he wore it, he knew it would suit him perfectly. His slender fingers moved to the other four rings. One was medium-sized, but the other three were quite small; two were the same size, and one was slightly larger but thicker.
"If you're thinking it looks like a wedding ring, you're right, because it is," his master chuckled. "Like the choker, you'll always wear it, and if I see you not wearing these symbols of my ownership, you'll be punished."
"I understand, Master," Mulder replied, looking down at the mirror, thinking, you can't help but see how beautiful they are. The brand-new wedding ring was a simple, lustrous piece of solid gold, engraved with his name, f-o-x, which he felt had never looked so beautiful. "Thank you, Master," he whispered.
"Society has its ways of recognizing commitments, and it's important not to let anyone think you're entitled to them.
You are not," the voice said firmly.
"I am not, Master," Mulder bowed again.
"What's this?" He held up the medium-sized ring, raising an eyebrow in a playful tone.
"You don't need me to tell you what it is," his master scoffed.
"So I have to wear it all the time?" Mulder asked.
"Yes, unless I remove it myself, or you allow me to," his master replied.
Mulder touched the penis ring. "I've never seen pure gold before."
He shook his head; the penis ring also had his name engraved in beautiful lettering.
"And these?" Mulder toyed with the smallest ring.
"I like my slaves to be adorned," his master said, his tone as smooth as honey, "Do you have any piercings anywhere on your body?"
Mulder swallowed hard—nipple rings! "No, master."
He felt his penis harden further inside his trousers.
“We’ll have it remade soon,” his master chuckled softly. “If I think it suits you, I might consider other ways to adorn you, perhaps branding.”
“Branding?” Mulder responded weakly.
“If it pleases me, yes. These rings are my ownership marks,”
his master told him in a caressing tone.
Mulder nodded, unsure how to explain the wedding ring to Scully.
“I’ll put the wedding ring and necklace on you in a moment, and no one but me can remove them,” his master told him firmly. “If you remove them, I will punish you severely. The day I remove those marks will be the day you are free to leave my service, do you understand?”
“Yes, master,” Mulder bowed his head in awe.
“Okay. I’ll put the penis ring on you when we get back to your new home. Are you sure you’ve thought this through seriously, Fox? This is your last chance. You can still back out now. I won’t tell anyone. You’re free to leave. If you still want to continue, then everything you have belongs to me—body and soul. You can’t regret it later.”
“I understand. I want… I want to belong to you, Master,” Mulder said, touching the collar and the little fox statue on it.
A deep sigh came through the microphone, echoing around the room.
Mulder looked up in alarm.
“Alright,” his master said in a very low voice, “lie down on the floor, Fox, and close your eyes. I’ll be right there. You can kiss my feet so I can put the collar on you.”
Mulder did as he was told. He was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, so it was easy for his master to put the collar on him. He was already this man's possession, about to accept the mark of ownership… His whole body trembled with this need, this longing.
He buried his face in the carpet, closed his eyes, and tried to spread his body as wide as possible, presenting himself. When the door opened, Mulder used all his willpower to control himself from looking up. He felt his stomach clench and churn; he bit his lower lip tightly to keep it from trembling. His penis throbbed violently, throbbing slightly. Was this better than any game, better or worse? He didn't know, but there was no doubt it was more exciting.
Footsteps stopped in front of him. He held his breath. A boot gently pushed against his elbow, pulling him forward until his lips pressed against the shiny shoe.
He slowly opened his eyes and saw a pair of black knee-high boots, then slowly looked up—two long, long legs encased in black mole-skin trousers, a wide black leather belt with a gleaming silver buckle, slender hips, an elegant waist… His gaze lingered for a long time on the part of the trousers that seemed to be about to bulge, before continuing to look upwards—a smooth black silk shirt, a broad chest, a thick neck, a strong jaw, a handsome face with well-defined features, a pair of glasses, and behind the glasses a pair of dark, unfathomable eyes…
“Oh, fuck,” Mulder slammed his head against the floor, feeling paralyzed. Images of the past flashed before his eyes. “You framed me,” he said hoarsely.
Skinner didn’t move. “No, you came to me,”
he replied.
“Eckhart and Lucas contacted you. They told you what I was doing, and you wanted to see how far I could go… Is it all over? Oh, fuck, what’s going on? An FBI agent signing a slave contract with an unknown person? How could
you be so stupid…” “Calm down and listen to me. Whoever I am, you have to accept your fate. This is your situation,” Skinner said. He used his boot to lift Mulder’s chin, forcing him to look into his stern, dark eyes.
"I know, I'm an idiot. You caught me, what can I say? Don't ask me why I did this, you know why, I told you why..." Mulder wept desperately, his heart pounding faster and faster, as if it were about to burst. How could this happen? He couldn't even cover it up? Just when he thought he had finally found someone to pull him back from the brink, he found himself plunging into a dark abyss.
"Yes, I know why," Skinner shrugged.
Mulder lay there, Skinner's foot pressing on his sensitive areas, rendering him immobile. He felt like a piece of jelly turned upside down.
"You went to all this trouble to expose me just to tell me I was doing something stupid?"
Mulder looked up at his boss through his long, dark eyelashes. Skinner didn't answer.
“These five gold rings are exquisite.” He glanced at them regretfully. “Of course, I think there might be some deception directed at the calling bird, the French hen, the diving turtle, or the quail and the pear tree, but I suspect it’s more about one guy, because his new master wanted to do it, huh?”
A smile played on Skinner’s razor-sharp lips as he bent down, grabbed Mulder by the hair with a large hand, and pulled him up.
Mulder swallowed, feeling as if he were being sucked into those dark eyes.
“Fox, what makes you think this isn’t true?” Skinner asked him.
“Are you kidding? Oh… ah…” Mulder cried out, feeling as if his hair had been ripped out by the roots. “Which thing are you referring to? That you’re my boss?
That we work together? I think it must have been pre-arranged… right?”
“Wrong,” Skinner said with a smile.
Mulder stared at his smile, somewhat mesmerized. It was the first time he'd ever seen his boss smile, if this was his boss at all. The clothes, the smile—it made him seem like a completely different person. His teeth were straight and white… If he were to taste me with those… Mulder began to waver. “I’m sorry, I’m just too shocked,” he whispered.
“I suppose so. I tried not to hurt you, like I said last week—I’ve been trying to avoid you as much as possible, but you’ve gotten closer and closer. You’re an excellent investigator, after all, and it’s only a matter of time before you discover me. In the end, I thought it might be easier to try and dissuade you without revealing my identity.”
“Really? You really are him?!” Mulder asked in shock, feeling as if he were about to faint.
“Oh, yes,” Skinner gently shook him. “Calm down,” he said.
“Then why is this?” Mulder gestured wildly, pointing to the room, the ring, and the contract on the table. “This handwriting? A complete ownership transaction? A contract?
What do you want my money for? Are you trying to teach me a lesson?”
“No,” Skinner looked down at him, “I’ve heard your story, and I’ve carefully evaluated it. I’m willing to make you my slave. The deal is still in effect. You are mine. It’s signed and sealed.” Skinner held up the slave contract Mulder had signed last week. “I told you you could revoke it if you wanted, but you insisted on continuing. Now it’s too late.” Skinner released Mulder’s hair, strode to the table, picked up the master contract, waved his hand, signed it, and then returned to where Mulder was lying, throwing it over Mulder’s head.
Mulder watched the paper fall to his nose, looking at it, remembering why he wanted it, then looked up at Skinner, his boss, his master, whose large hand held the beautiful gold necklace.
"Kneel," Skinner commanded.
"I think… I might change my mind," Mulder muttered, trying to obey, hoping his muscles would obey him.
"Why? Because it's me? I'll still provide everything I've always provided," Skinner said firmly.
"But we can't… I want to know what my job is?"
"You will be my slave at work, at home, and everywhere, under my command, obeying my orders, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, just like before,"
Skinner told him.
"But how..." Mulder's face flushed. He fantasized about Skinner's massive member near his naked body, while others penetrated him, unable to resist, devouring him... He almost groaned involuntarily.
"Sex?" Skinner grinned knowingly. "I told you you're mine, boy. I can use you whenever I want, wherever I like, often or occasionally... You," his fingers traced Mulder's forehead, nose, slowly downwards, finally stopping at Mulder's lips, "belong to me, body, heart, mind, and soul."
He put his finger in Mulder's mouth, and Mulder involuntarily sucked on it. Skinner laughed. "It's all up to me." He said, pulling his finger out.
Mulder finally knelt down, his head bowed, countless thoughts flashing through his mind, but ultimately nothing changed. He still wanted it this way; the deeper he went, the more he wanted it. Skinner was depicting what he had always dreamed of. The ship had already set sail, and he couldn't leave until the journey was over. He had a premonition that it would be a very long journey, all the way to the end.
Mulder clenched his trembling hands behind his back, adopting a submissive posture. "Yes," he said calmly, "you're right, I'm yours."
He looked up into Skinner's calm eyes.
The tall man nodded, then opened the collar's clasp and gently slid it near Mulder's throat. Mulder felt the cold metal caressing him, gradually warming it with his burning body heat. It felt so familiar, as if it had always been there, as if it belonged there. Skinner kept looking into his eyes, slowly adjusting the collar with his large hands, then suddenly snapped it shut! It was done; this signified that a relationship of ownership, obedience, and understanding had penetrated deep into their souls.
"Your hand," Skinner commanded. Mulder extended his left hand, which Skinner grasped, caressing Mulder's ring finger with his thumb before firmly slipping the wedding ring onto his finger.
"This is so cheesy..." Mulder muttered. Skinner placed a finger to his lips, silencing him.
Their transaction was complete, the contract sealed. Mulder leaned limply against Skinner, his hand still clasped in Skinner's large one. Skinner's dark eyes met Mulder's light brown ones, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.
Skinner burst into laughter, ending this brief moment. "Rise, slave," he commanded.
"Yes, Master." Mulder stood up quickly, as if all the blood in his body had rushed to his head. For a moment, he was confused, unable to recall what had just happened.
Skinner walked cheerfully to the door, called the servant in, and handed him two contracts. "Take a look at this, act as a witness, then make a copy and put it in the safe. Bring these back to me."
The servant nodded in agreement and quickly went to do as he was told.
Mulder understood why the servant was in such a hurry. In his work, Skinner had always been respected, sometimes even feared. However, this Skinner, as a trainer, left an even deeper impression. He was completely immersed in the role, his body exuding a fierce yet elegant aura, like a beautiful black panther with taut muscles running. Mulder was surprised he hadn't realized before that this was the man he had always admired, the kind of person who could make him kneel, the kind of master he could truly obey.
Skinner turned to him and said, "Put away the other rings, keep them safe, and absolutely do not lose them. Next, drive your car to Vivatrower. There's a parking permit with your name on it here," Skinner handed Mulder a piece of paper, "Wait for me there."
"Yes, sir." Mulder immediately packed his briefcase and left the room.
Mulder glanced at the things on the back seat of the car. These were all his possessions in the world: his computer, a pair of suitcases full of his clothes, several boxes of books. Even if he had millions of years, he would never have imagined that he and everything he owned would become Skinner's.
Driving slowly through the city, he was still not fully recovered from the shock of the incident, his body trembling slightly. He wondered what kind of master Skinner would be? Kind? Cruel? Stern? Loving? What did he want? Would he receive more than he could give?
Mulder stopped the car, considering whether to turn around near the Alexander sign and return to his safe apartment and his past life… but then he remembered it was too late. He couldn't, even if he wanted to. Skinner already had the keys and the lease; he could even sublet it now.
Mulder rested his head on the steering wheel, a mixture of control and fear welling up inside him.
He thought of the man's virtues—the gleaming boots, the handsome black clothes, the broad chest, the muscular arms, and the absolute power within that tall body, power he would use to conquer him.
Skinner now had the right to whip him, to fuck him, whatever he wanted to do to him, however he wanted to do it.
Murder glanced desperately at the city lights flashing in the night, placed his hand on his neck, feeling the ring, gently but relentlessly tightening around his body. It would be there forever, a reminder of who he was, what he was, and to whom he belonged.
As he lowered his hand, the gold ring on his finger suddenly flashed in the darkness. He was startled. "How could this be, Murder, how could you think of this… that you would want to run away from this, from what you've been pursuing?" he asked himself, then he laughed loudly. "No choice," he muttered, shaking his head. "You have no more choice. You no longer belong to yourself; you belong to him."
Murder started the car again, continuing his unknown journey.

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