Title:  Cosmopolitan Woman

Author: Autumn

E-Mail:  mulders_hunnie@hotmail.com

Rating:  NC-17

Summary:  Scully's not the little reserved proper woman you
think she is! Scully's POV

Category:  SRH

Spoilers:  None

Disclaimer:  If they were mine, do you honestly think I'd
just be writing about them?  Hell no!  I'd have David and
Gillian acting this out -- and it would be an X-Rated X-
Files!  Wink, wink, nudge, nudge!!  Nah, they belong to
Chris Carter and 20th Century Fox, along with 1013
Productions -- lucky pigs!!

Dedication:  This goes to Sharon and Bryan -- Still!

Feedback:  I'm not much of a humor kind of writer, myself.
I prefer the whole warm romance deal -- so since this is my
first attempt at humor, please write to me at the above
address and tell me what you think!  I'd appreciate it
greatly!

Authors' Note:  This is an NC-17 story.  If you are
offended by sexual themes and ideas, please return to the
play group area immediately.  Thank you.

Date started:  Sunday 3rd February.
Date finished:  Wednesday 6th February.


According to this months' Cosmopolitan -- it is only decent
to own a lovely pair of lacy underwear which show off more
than they hide.  Which of course, in effect, makes me feel
like utter crap.  Me, with my plain cotton 'unmentionables'
which are only unmentionable because they are ugly and more
gray than white -- and my simple bras which attract
psychopaths more than they attract sexy men.

I toss the magazine aside, and stare at the pretty -- or
rather, beautiful airbrushed model with green eyed
jealously.  I'd better hide this glossy magazine -- my
secret pleasure -- before my partner gets an indiscreet hard
on from the scantly clad woman on the cover.  If only my
breasts were big enough to make that little black dress
look as sexy as that model did.

He steps into the office, just as I ram the magazine into
my drawer next to Cosmo Hair and Vogue which lay underneath
Glamour which lay underneath my most embarrassing most
guilty pleasure of all:  Cosmo Bridal.  I mean, who the
hell was I kidding?  Looking at all the beautiful women in
their two thousand dollar dresses?  Me ... well, I'm a
working woman.  No time for indulging in wedding bliss.

"Good morning!"  What is with the exuberance?  It's a
Monday morning -- this months' Victoria's Secret catalogue
was released today, and I have no time to slip out and buy
it.  Somehow I doubt my eligible partner realizes the
dilemma in that.  And what is with that smile?  Obviously
his masturbation techniques are working a lot better than
mine.

"Good morning to yourself, partner."  Is it my imagination,
or do I sound extremely ... bored this morning?  Perhaps I
need something other than Cosmopolitan to indulge in today.
"I see the coffee maker isn't working again."  I nudge my
head towards the utterly knackered excuse for instant
coffee machine.  He merely shrugs.

"I don't mind.  I had coffee at Starbucks' this morning."
Oh lucky him.  I barely had time for eye makeup application
and he was stopping by Starbucks' for a nice Caf_ Mocha, no
doubt.  "If you like, you can go out and get some now,
whilst I start the financial reports?"  Hmm ... an
interesting idea.  Perhaps I could stop by and get that
catalogue I so desire this morning ... or perhaps not.  If I
arrive back at the office with a sexy lingerie magazine
...well, lets just say, if it were possible for men to have
multiple orgasms, my partner would have them.

"No -- it's alright.  I'm quite content with my warm water
from yesterday afternoon -- since my so lovely and adoring
partner did not have the decency to bring me some coffee
from Starbucks'."  He raised an eyebrow in confusion, and
actually managed a brief expression of guilt.  Good.  I
find some gratification in knowing I can still make him
feel almost as bad as I feel.

He chews on his delectable lower lip for a moment then
breaks into a heart warming smile.  "If I take you out to
lunch, will you forgive me?"  No, I most certainly will
not!

"A happy meal at McDonalds, Mulder, does not classify as
lunch.  Don't push your luck!"  Indignantly, I cross my
arms beneath my breasts and huff out a sigh of annoyance.
Lunch!  My partner, though, is not fazed one little bit by
my obvious anger.  He always did assume I could be won over
by his trillion watt smile.  Well, if you can name me a
woman who isn't then I'm willing to retire from the FBI and
dance naked in a strip club!

"You under estimate me, Scully."  He says, tapping his long
fingers on my pathetic looking desk and smiling at me again
-- his eyes, I have noticed, sparkle wonderfully when he
smiles!  "I was actually planning on taking you to this
lovely new Italian place downtown.  You interested?"  Was I
what?  He knows what I like -- but there had to a catch.

"Oh give me a break!"  I say, uncrossing my legs and re-
crossing them, finding a slight satisfaction when his gaze
lingers there for a moment.  "I know there is no way in
this world you'd take me to a new, no doubt expensive
Italian place unless it was for your own personal gain -- I
am not blind to you, Fox Mulder!"  His cheeks stain the
most adorable pinkish color, and I try not to smile.

"The only personal gain in this is the pleasure of your
company."  He tells me.  Oh damn him.  No wonder so many
women were swept off their feet by him.  He with his
charming charisma and amazing ability to woo his way into a
woman's' affections by using such sexual words as
'pleasure'.  "Are you up for a little pasta in mushroom
sauce?  Some delicate tasting Italian wine?  Or do I have
to invite Stephanie instead?"  Stephanie is our boss' new
secretary.  She's one of those tall leggy blonde women with
large chests and long fluttering eye lashes.  She's taken
the building by storm -- and my partner was not immune to
her figure -- it seems her lack of brains were irrelevant --
even her employers thought so.

I, like the rest of the Bureau's females, was not immune to
jealously.  I mean, don't get my wrong.  I don't care if
every Tom, Dick and Harry fell in love with her -- but if my
partner was one of the above names, I was jealous.  It
bothered me significantly, to think I spent eight years
attempting to allure him with Cosmopolitan tips and Glamour
advice, only to have big boobs Stephanie step in and snatch
him away in the single flutter of an eye lash.

"No need to ask the lovely Miss Pitche ... I would be
delighted to accompany you to the new Italian place."  It
was decided.  No way was the Bureau's new whirl wind going
to take my man.  Oh, yuck!  How grossly territorial.  'My'
man?  Since when?  I mean, perhaps that glow on his lovely
cheeks was not masturbation -- perhaps he was actually
getting some!  "Right now, I need coffee."  It was also
decided, I was going to buy that Victoria's Secret
catalogue after all!

Part Two
~*~*~*~*~*

It seemed lacy lingerie really was the suggested underwear
this season.  Almost every page in the glossy magazine
advertised lace.  From emerald green to deep passionate
red.  Sapphire blue to somber black.  Virginal, sensible
white to fun and girly pink.  The selection entitled:  Sexy
and Sheer had just about every color of the rainbow -- and
even more -- to offer.

I took a liking to a lovely bra and panties set.  A lovely
royal blue which would no doubt match my eyes.  The little
caption read:  Dazzle him with this brilliant blue.
Enlighten yourself with feeling like a Goddess.  I sure
needed to feel like a goddess -- and these sexy little
numbers were probably just the thing to do it.
"You ready to go to lunch?"  He asked me, at 12.50.  I
smiled at him, slipping the magazine into my drawer next to
my other accumulated female backups, and stood.  I was
going to invite my sexy partner to dinner tonight -- but I
wasn't going to seduce him.  Oh no.  I was going to be me.
Not the pent up reserved woman he thought was me.  But the
care-free fun loving Dana he'd never met before.

"Yes.  I'm ready."  He was kind and held my coat for me, as
I slipped into it and tightened it around my waist.  "I
wonder if it's raining."  I muttered, contemplating whether
or not to bring my umbrella.  It seemed I didn't need to
decide, since my partner hefted it into his hand and held
open the door for me.  "Can you wait a moment whilst I go
to the bathroom?"  Time for a little make-up and clothing
re-adjustment, I think.

"Sure."  He murmured as I hurried into the little basement
bathroom, wondering what exactly I could do to drastically
change my appearance.  I was in the mood for giving
Stephanie a run for her money.  Perhaps I needed a push up
bra.  Something to accentuate my tiny breasts.  Meager, in
comparison to her ample anatomy.

I undid two of my buttons and pushed on the undersides of
my breasts, hoping to give them an extra, much needed lift.
After less than half a second thought, I removed my panty
hose and stuffed them into my bag, hoping Mulder would
notice and appreciate the silkiness of my legs -- bare and
craving his touch.  With a little lipstick application and
a quick hair brushing, a squirt or two of Armani scent and
I felt ready to go.

My partner was leaning against the wall, looking bored, but
sexy as hell.  "Straighten your tie,"  I ordered, casually
linking my arm with his.  "You cannot walk into an Italian
place looking like ... well, like that."  I pointed an
accusing finger at his throat, and he frowned, shaking me
off his arm and proceeding to neaten his loose tie --
pausing for a moment and fixing his shirt too.  "Much
better."  I said, when he raised a questioning eye brow,
looking for my approval.

"Always eager to please."  Is that a promise?  I sincerely
hoped so.  "Lets go."  I caught him breathing in my perfume
as we rode the elevator together.  I prayed he liked it.
Cosmo promised that any man who didn't was either dead, or
gay.  I would rather Mulder be dead than gay.  Imagine my
sheer anguish if he informed me that my alluring attempts
had all been in vain because he was more partial to Skinner
than me.  It didn't even bear thinking about.

"So, you want the pleasure of my company then?"  I asked,
sounding rather amused as we headed for the main street
together.  Mulder chuckled, the sound warming all my
senses.  Wow, what an excellent sound.  "And what is so
pleasurable about my company then, Mulder?"  I could have
sworn I felt his body tremble, ever so slightly.

"I enjoy your ... intelligence, of course."  He told me,
sounding very much like his throat was clogged with cotton
balls.  Intelligence?  Oh wonderful.  And there was me
thinking it was my sex kitten voice or my seductive skills.
Carry on dreaming I suppose.  Intelligence sucks.  I mean,
I ask you, put Stephanie and I in a room with one gorgeous
single man and I have to be the spectator of a raunchy sex
fest.  Excellent entertainment, of course.

He didn't notice my resentment of the word.  I've always
been regarded as intelligent.  I think most men believe
that underneath the scrubs is more scrubs.  That I'm a
doctor through and through.  What none of them realize,
what is always over looked, is that I am a woman in my 30s
in desperate need of a good night of steamy passion.

"Well thank you, Mulder.  Intelligence."  I found my mood
rapidly deteriorate and decided that this afternoon, after
work and before my dinner with Mulder, I was dropping by
Victoria's Secret to buy myself something sexy.

Part Three
~*~*~*~*~*~*

So much for not seducing!  Unless I'm very much mistaken,
but the look he's giving me right now is very similar to
the look a hawk gives a defenseless mouse before it
attacks.  When I open my mouth to talk, I find my powers of
speech have left me, and were replaced with a soft of semi-
groan, semi-growl kind of primitive sound.  "What ... are you
thinking about?"  I ask, and immediately, I want to bang my
head against the wall in frustration.  What are you
thinking about?  Gee Dana, excellent.

"How wonderful you'd be, naked, actually."  I felt my lungs
trying to breathe whilst my champagne choose that moment to
slide down my throat, resulting in a choke/gasp.  "I
suppose a strip tease is out of the question?"  He was
smirking whilst fiddling with his glass.  Interesting idea,
Mulder.

"Yes.  I would be.  But raunchy, passionate, burning sex
isn't."  I tried hopefully.  It was his turn to choke.
"Don't get so excited.  You keep the little man down.  I
was kidding."  He looked forlorn.  Poor Mulder.  "Maybe
another time."  I stood, lifting our plates from the table
and swaying my hips and much as possible whilst I walked
towards the kitchen.

"The little man is already awake."  He apologized, and I
turned, astonished to find that he was, indeed, sporting a
rather impressive hard on.  "I don't reckon he's going to
sleep until he sees some action.  Are you sure you want to
wait for another time?  If so, I'm going to have to leave
now, and go home, to ensure he gets some action."  I
chuckle, staring at the bulge in his pants.

"Well, I dunno.  I mean ... if you think it would help ... I
could assist him and ..."  and what?  Help him spill a load
somewhere?  My partner looked so adorably startled that I
couldn't help but chuckle.  It wasn't my intention to
seduce him tonight.  Just have a little fun.  And if
teasing him with provocative 'maybes' was the most fun I
could have this evening, then I was not going to pass up
the opportunity.

"Cruel woman."  He muttered, swallowing a mouthful of his
champagne.  I remembered watching him swallowing wine this
afternoon at the little Italian place.  I'd been so aroused
by that alone, that I could hardly manage to lift my own
glass, without the entire contents of delicious red wine
spilling all over me.  It seems I was having that effect on
him now.

"Indeed."  I agreed, sundering towards him with a definite
edge of determination.  It was hard to convince even myself
that I didn't have a seduction in mind -- when I paused to
look at my outfit.  Good God!  When did I acquire such a
suggestive skirt?  It was without a doubt, at least five
inches above my knees, and had little inch slits at either
side which, I found, made it a lot easier to move around it
-- as it was the tightest little number I've ever worn.

My blouse fits very ... snugly around my new-bra-clad
breasts.  I think the push up Victoria's Secret bra I
indulged in this afternoon had the desired effect:  I've
caught him ogling them several times tonight.  I'm
undoubtedly proud of myself.  "Shall we finish our wine in
the living room?"  I asked.  He scraped the chair back and
tried, not very successfully, to arrange his pants in a way
which made his ... problem, a little less noticeable.

"It's cold tonight."  He observed, sinking into the
cushions of my sofa and giving me the most gorgeous of
upward curves.  I love when he smiles.  "Would you like me
to make a fire?"  He asked, placing his glass on the coffee
table and standing again.  I feel so incredibly out of
place in my own home.  So awkward.  Where should I stand?
What should I do?  I know I am supposed to speak right now.
But for some annoying reason, my brain hasn't processed
what words I am supposed to say.

Mulder takes my glass from me and clasps my smaller hands
in his.  "You are freezing."  There is no joking in his
voice anymore.  No more jesting and banter.  "I'll light a
fire and you can go change into something more comfortable
... or warmer."  Does a blanket consisting of Mulder's arms
still count as getting changed into something warmer?  Oh I
so sincerely hope so.

"Sure.  Give me a moment."  I take a step towards my
bedroom, smiling inwardly when I catch his eyes sliding
over my legs.  Shall I get laid tonight -- that is the
question.  To be, or not to be?  Holy mother of God!  I'm
reciting Shakespeare!  Something I wrong with me!  I'm
suddenly so very terrified that I shall begin to spurt
sonnets!  Can you imagine that?  On the brink of the best
orgasm of my life, only to gasp out, not words such as
'yes, yes oh please God yes.'  But rather:  'How do I love
thee?  Let me count the ways!'  Oh dear ... something must be
done.  Perhaps I little too much champagne on my part
tonight.

I have the most undesirable range of nightwear, I have just
realized.  I mean, when you're not doing anything more than
snoozing late on Saturday or snuggling on the sofa reading
a book and caressing a mug of coffee, then my nightwear is
just fine.  But for a night of unleashed passions -- or
hopefully unleashed passions, my pajamas are disgustingly
plain.

God bless my romantic at heart mother.  As I rummage
through my drawers, I find a lovely silk night gown she
bought my last Christmas.  It's white and hangs to my
ankles.  I am thankful for the thicker than spaghetti
strips, otherwise my carefully chosen bra would have to go.
'Thank you mother.'  I think to myself, as I slip out of my
rather uncomfortable skirt, unbutton my blouse and revel in
the sheer sexiness of my one and only night gown.

Wrapping myself in a warm cotton dressing robe -- to hide my
surprise until a more appropriate time, I hurry back to my
dinner companion and hopefully bed companion.  Mulder was
right.  It is cold, and I so very much wouldn't mind having
someone to warm my bed.  I think his lovely long lanky body
would be just wonderful.

"Just lit the fire!"  He tells me, dusting off his hands
and turning to study my attire.  I detect a glimmer of
disappointment when she sees my dressing robe.  Oh Mulder,
Mulder -- this is only the introduction -- just you wait
until the main event.  I find myself smirking
conspiratorially.  It's so much fun teasing him, I
discover.  "Do you want to sit with my, at the fire?"  He
asks, settling himself on the rug and looping his arms over
his knees.

He is so desirable, I find.  His boyish features flicking
in the fire light, are so adorable.  His eyes sparkle the
loveliest shade of hazel.  I notice a  little speckle of
gold and ribbons of green running through.  I realize how
much I want him -- then a wave of disappointment and
realization washes over me.  I'm intelligent, I remember.
That is why he got such pleasure in my company.  Nothing to
do with sexual attraction.  But ... why the previous hard on?

"You have suddenly become quiet."  He tells me as I settle
next to him and reach for my neglected champagne glass.
"What is going on inside that wonderfully genius mind of
yours, then?"  Why does this statement bother me so much?
I withdraw into my own little world of insecurities, and
hug my knees to my chest.

"Screw intelligence."  I tell him, sharply turning my gaze
to the swirling tongues of fire.  "I'm so bored with being
associated with intelligence.  As though there's nothing
but brains beneath the exterior.  How bloody frustrating!"
I stare now, at my painted toe nails, congratulating myself
on the wonderful color I used.  A sort of ivory color which
will no doubt match the brilliant, unused white of my night
gown.

He chuckles, and I find myself utterly offended.
"Intelligent and sexy as hell."  He tells me, and I'm
caught off guard.  "Oh come on Scully!  Every male with
even a little libido is caught up in you.  Your sexy little
shoes and tight fitting blouses.  Your figure hugging
skirts and pouting lips.  You really are blind.  And
obviously stupid!  Perhaps I should take back the
intelligence comment!"  My cheeks are strained the deepest
of red, and I realize how much I hate being a red head.

"I'm going to kiss you now."  He added, leaning across and
taking my face into his hands.  What do I do?  I'm being to
panic.  It's been so long since a man showed any interest
in me -- or at least any interest that I was aware of.  I
didn't have time to really comprehend anything.  His lips
descended on mine, crushing my mouth against his.  Sweet
intoxication.  He tastes of champagne laced with his own
special taste.  Oh delicious.  "You taste ... so good."  He
tells me, matching my thoughts.

My hands dance over the corded muscles of his back, hoping
he intends on taking our steamy kiss a step further.  His
tongue is tangling with mine in the most wonderful of ways.
His fingers are tangled in my hair whilst he nibbles on my
lips.  "Oh Christ."  I mutter, feeling a rush of wetness
soak my brand new panties.  "Mulder ..."  I speak urgently,
pulling away from him.  "You damn well better be willing to
take this further!"  He chuckles.

"How much further?"  He asks, cupping my right breast in
his hand and squeezing.  I gasp.  It's been far too long
since a man touched me in such a passion induced manner.
His thumb and forefinger seek out my nipple and pinch at it
teasingly.

"About fifteen feet, further.  To my bedroom."  I inform
him, arching my hips out to him.  He released my hyper-
sensitive breast and smiles seductively at me, shaking his
head.  "No?"  I ask, suddenly disappointed.  No?  What does
he mean no?  Who does he think he is, touching me and
teasing me and then telling me --

"No."  He says, resting his hands on my hips.  "If I'm
going to make love to you, Dana, then it's going to be
here.  By the fire."  I had no idea he'd be one for fire
light romance.  I had always imagined him as a bondage kind
of man -- it seems I was wrong.

Part Four (NC-17)
~*~*~*~*~*~*

My heart is drumming in my chest, as my gorgeous partner
reaches down and unties the belt which keeps hidden my
silky desirable.  My breath hitches in my throat as I
wonder, will he like it?  Or will he be only mildly
impressed?  Good Lord!

"I am surprised at you, Scully."  He tells me, running his
palm over my flat stomach.  "As lovely as silk is on you, I
am more eager to see what lies underneath."  I'm wriggling
against him, taking his hands in mine and laying them over
my breasts.  I'm surprised myself, actually.  Surprised to
find that my nipples are aching with need as he circles
them with his thumbs.  "I most definitely intend on
worshiping your body tonight -- Dana."

I smile weakly at him, feeling my womb contact in
anticipation for what I hope will be mind blowing sex.
"How long has it been since you last got laid?"  He asks
me, dipping his head and sucking my erect nipples right
through my night gown and bra.

"T...too long."  I tell him, and he grins at me.  I wonder
the same thing about him -- but the truth is, I am deeply
afraid to ask.  What if ...?  As if he can read my mind, he
reassures me by stroking my hair.  "I want you to kiss me,
again."  I demand, trailing my fingers through his
wonderfully soft hair, then over his jaw.  I love how the
bristles of his short beard prickle my hand.

He dips his head and does as I ask.  I try to find humor in
the moment.  Something laughable.  That's what I have tried
to do in every situation since sometime in 1996, when it
was revealed about my cancer.  It was easier to try to be
sarcastic about everything.  But now ... as his lips skitter
across mine in a tease, I find absolutely nothing to giggle
about.  Nothing.

I wonder, as my fingers dance along the corded muscles of
his back, if anyone witnessing this moment, would find
humor in it.  Some of my thoughts and feelings since this
morning should have caused humor, I realize.  They should
have been laughable.  My embarrassment at my secret Cosmo
Bridal and my obvious jealously of the brain dead woman in
the bull pen.  My concerns about push up bras and silky
legs.  All fairly crazy.  But this -- this indescribable
emotion, running through me is not laughable.  Not funny in
the slightest.

"Are you going to make love to me, or not?"  I ask him
impatiently, my lips still pressed against his.  He
chuckles, and I feel the rumble rise in his chest.  It
delights me, hearing him laugh.  It's a rare occurrence.
But I no longer care, as he slides the straps of my night
gown down my shoulders, and kisses the soft skin he
uncovers.  I notice, with a smile, that he definitely
appreciates my brand new underwear.

The fire against my skin is scorching -- and I love it.  His
lips, moist, and his tongue, hot, touching my clavicle are
fierier than any flames.  But the most intense heat of all,
is the burning pool of moisture which has gathered between
my thighs.

It seems he noticed me desperate need too.  For his long,
definitely agile fingers found my core -- even through my
brand new panties, which were, might I add, ruined.  Well,
ruined might be a slight exaggeration.  Nothing a little
washing powder and some fabric softener wouldn't cure.  But
right now, they were fit for nowhere, other than my laundry
basket.

"You're so wet!"  He told me, flicking my extremely
sensitive clitoris with his thumb, causing me to jerk
upwards.  He isn't one for stating the obvious, I've
noticed.  Part of me wants to make a 'no kidding!' goofy
face at him.  But right now, I am far too turned on to do
anything other than growl at him with his kind of animal
sound.  Had I not been so aroused, I would probably have
been embarrassed ... no ... mortified to hear the
incomprehensible sounds which came from my throat at that
moment:  "Mummf."  And "Uhhmuh"  I felt like a Neanderthal
at that moment.  A Neanderthal, can you believe it?.  Oh my
God -- how embarrassing!

"Yes ..."  I tell him, as he inserts one of his fingers
inside me and sort of ... sends sparks of intense hear
throughout my body.  He's smiling at me, and I just know
he's satisfied with himself.  "God that feels ... so good!"
The smile is replaced with a grin, and I want to hit him.
I really do.  And if there weren't now two of his fingers
inside my womb, I would have.  But the pleasure he, and his
digits are causing me is too much -- and I'm left with
nothing more than my need to come -- rather than my need to
knock him into unconscious oblivion.

"More?"  He asks me, and I lift my hips in reply.  More?
What kind of a God awful rhetorical question is that?  As
he thrusts his fingers into me once more, his thumb kind of
grinds against my clit, and I fall off the cliff of desire
into a whirl-pool of pleasure -- or in more understandable,
less romantic terms:  I have my long needed orgasm and lie
wriggling on the rug like a complete ass hole, in a haze
thinking 'what is going on'.

His lips bring me back to his world.  "How was it?"  He
asks, and I know he wants his ego boosted.  Damn him!  He
knows fine rightly that the orgasm he just created in my
cervix was the most intense I've ever had in my life -- and
now he wants me to degrade myself enough to tell him so?  I
don't answer.  Instead, I reach for his belt, unbuckle it,
and squeeze his straining ... anatomy, smiling to himself.

Big boy.

I want to laugh.  It sounds so cheap to use the words 'big
boy' to describe the man you are about to 'make love' to.
Is it making love?  I wonder.  Should it be considered so,
when we haven't even exchanged the words which should being
a love making relationship?  Do Mulder and I need to say
those words at all?

"I want to be inside you."  He says, and I realize that
he's been doing all the talking.  Damn, that orgasm must
have been good!  I nod, removing his pants and sliding his
rather sexy Armani boxers down his legs with them.  Then I
push him unto his back and sit on my heels for a moment,
admiring the full, unbelievably large length which is soon
going to be embedded inside my much smaller body.  I know
he's wondering if I am impressed by his size.

Of course, I am.  I always knew he was large.  I'm not
stupid.  Jeans don't hide much -- and he's a tall man.  I
know also, what they say about tall men.  "Scully!"  He
complains impatiently, sticking out his lower lips,
reminding me of a four year old child.  "Come on here!
You're gonna kill m-"  He stops short when I grasp him,
tightening my fist around him and squeezing.  "Uhhh ..."  Oh
joy!  It's his turn to be incomprehensible!  Well it's
about time I rendered that man speechless.

"I'm impressed, Mulder."  I tell him, and his lips curve
upwards -- he's trying to smile, but his pleasure doesn't
allow it.  My thumb glides over the head, spreading the
little pearly drop of precum.  "I didn't think I turned you
on so much, Mulder."  I really have become a seducer
tonight.  Mulder, he's moaning and groaning and begging me
to let him put himself inside me.

Who am I to spoil the party?  I straddle him, the head of
his penis rubbing against my still sensitive clit.  "Do
it!"  He complains, and I let him slide into me.  Inch my
agonizing inch.  He's so big and it stretches me to limits
in which I've never been stretched before -- Oh holy Jesus!
I made that sound like man walking on the moon!  "Gone
where no man has gone before"  I am so astounded by how
unlike myself I am tonight.

I begin rocking on him, feeling myself adjust to his size.
It feels wonderful.  He feels wonderful.  Better than I
would ever have imagined.  I'm still dressed.  My bra, my
silky night gown, and even my dressing robe has endured my
previous orgasm.  It hangs half way down my arms.  "I wish
to God you would let me see you naked,"  He says, as if
reading my mind.  "But it seems you are damn determined not
to let me."  I chuckle at him.  I'd give anything to be
naked right now, too.

Shucking out of my dressing robe, I grin.  I am still
rocking against him, enjoying the shooting sensations of
pleasure, which are running through my womb at unimaginable
speeds.  My hands grasp the hem of my silk gown and drag it
over my warm body, tossing it in the general opposite
direction of the crackling fire.  Now, I wear only the blue
bra, my skin, and his skin, glowing in the fire light.

"You're beautiful."  He tells me, and I delight in the
feeling that someone finds me attractive.  His hands land
on my hips, and I clench my muscles around him, wincing in
pleasure.  "Don't stop!"  He insists, and I rise up, until
only his head is still inside me, then I sink down, and the
sensation of him driving inside me is do strong, my orgasm
explodes, and I scream.

Oh my God!  I'm a screamer!  Who knew?!  Definitely not me!
I've never screamed during sex before.  Never.  Not any
kind of sex.  Not foreplay.  Not oral.  Not penetrative.
Yet here I am, screaming my lungs out, as if some man is
raping me, rather than causing the pleasure the man beneath
me is causing.

Then he goes rigid.  His whole body stiffens, and white hot
semen explodes inside me.  It's divine.  Mulder thrashing
his head from left to right in undeniable pleasure.  "God!
I love you so much!"  He tells me, crushing me against the
hard wall of his chest.

We smell of sex and sweat, as we lie there.  Me, pressed
against him, my lips skimming his shoulder in a gentle
reminder that I am still there, and that I enjoyed our
sexual encounter as much as he.

"I love you too."  I tell him, feeling his smile against my
hair and I smile too.  Perhaps Cosmo Bridal isn't so out of
the question after all, I think.

END

Yay! I'm all finished!  Today is ... 6th February 2002, 16.41.
It's taken me something like three days to finish this.
But give me a break!  It's not my fault!  I've been so busy
this while back :::growls::: that there is hardly any time
for writing fan fiction!  But there is more to come!
Please, please, please, send me feedback and let me know
what you think!  This is, after all, my first attempt at a
kind of humor thing.  Thank you.

Good morning, and incase I don't see ya, good afternoon,
good evening and good night!

:::waves:::