r2-Vyper-p2

to a nudist magazine that was partly obscured by the numerous skin mags on Mulder's desk. Keeping his pudgy fingers firmly entwined in his captive's thick hair, Kersch used his free hand to pull the magazine off the desk. It fell open to a well used page, the small amount of text partially obscured with dried cum. It was a centerfold showing a scene which immediately fired Kersch's sadistic imagination and his anger that he was not the focus of the altered picture.

*That can soon be amended,* he thought.

"So, you're into all that back-to-nature crap, Agent Mulder?" Kersch sneered, holding the triple-length centerfold up to reveal all its artistic glory. "Grown men dancing naked around camp-fires, chanting gibberish and banging their drums before fucking each other senseless?"

Mulder's face turned as red as his partner's hair as he saw what picture Kersch was referring to.

"I am a horse's ass," he muttered, hanging his head to hide his humiliation. He had doctored the picture with old archival photos he had found of Skinner and Krycek and himself when he was searching the Hoover library for old articles to support some of his wilder theories. He had pasted face shots of his two lovers to the muscular bodies of the Tarzan-like male models posing around the bonfire. They were on their knees in dutiful worship at the base of his throne, gazing up at him in utter adulation, ready and willing to cater to his every whim. *Why couldn't it be like that in reality, why was he the one who lived only to serve his masters, no matter what they required of him* Only in the late night privacy of his deserted office did he allow himself to fantasize the situation reversed, never having the courage to demand equality in the very one-sided relationship he shared with Walter and Alex.

"Did I give you permission to speak, Agent?" Kersch barked, backhanding Mulder across the face and sending him crashing to the floor.

"No." Mulder struggled to rise to his knees, not looking at either of his captors, sending a silent plea for rescue to his lovers and his partner.

Out of the corner of one eye, Mulder saw the AD raise his hand to deliver another blow and knew what he was waiting for. "No, Sir."

The blow came anyway but somehow he managed to stay upright, his vision blurred and teary.

"Call me Master, boy and maybe you won't have to warm Jeffrey's bed tonight."

Mulder looked up to see Spender eyeing him lustfully and he almost threw up at the prospect of being fucked by the weasel who had tried to destroy his life's work.

"Yes, Master."

Spender was clearly upset that Mulder had chosen to obey his new Master rather than allow himself to be his sex-toy for the night. He brushed up against Kersch, rubbing himself on the older man's body like a bitch-in-heat.

"But you promised he would be mine for the whole night...."

Kersch swatted Spender aside like an annoying blowfly, focusing his attention on how they could get Mulder out of the building without raising unwanted attention. He walked over to where the duffel bags lay on the carpet and upended the largest one, spilling its contents.

"Gag him, Spender and put him in the bag," he ordered with a malicious gleam in his dark eyes.

Before Mulder could react, Spender shoved the dildo-gag into his mouth, securing the leather straps painfully tight. He gripped Mulder under the arms and hauled him to his feet and over to the canvas coffin. A swift kick to his shins soon had him lying on his side, his lanky legs folded up so that his chin rested on his knees. He quickly secured Mulder's ankles with duct tape and drew the sides of the bag up and over the captive. He was about to zip up the body-bag when inspiration struck and he shoved his smelly underwear and socks into the bag.

Kersch was busy jerking himself off over Mulder's I Want To Believe poster when he heard an embarrassed cough. He turned to find his agent struggling to lift the bag off the floor. Not even trying to hide his disgust, he stormed out of the office, returning minutes later with a large wheely-bin. He laid it on the floor on its side and together they managed to cram the duffel inside and lift the bin upright. They shared a satisfied smile as they heard Mulder groaning in his upside-down position.

"Come, boy. Let's take out the garbage."

Mulder tried desperately to wriggle around so that he was somewhat upright and had almost succeeded when a series of violent bumps jolted his rapidly bruising body. It took a few long seconds before he realized what was happening. At 6pm all the elevators automatically shut down, leaving the stairs as the only way of moving from floor to floor. His captors were doing little to smooth the wild ride he was experiencing and Mulder tried to concentrate on how he would exact his revenge when he got himself out of his present predicament.

After what seemed like hours, his journey resumed on level ground. He could hear the muffled sounds of cleaners and other people moving around and conversing, but there was nothing he could do alert them to his dilemma.

A few minutes later and the bin came to a halt as he heard Kersch address someone, but he couldn't decipher what was being said. However he heard Spender when the lid was lifted up and something hot landed on his upturned backside, something that quickly began to burn through the canvas of his prison. The smell was unmistakable and his worse fears were confirmed when he heard Spender say, "What are you doing here, Father?"

The stench of unfiltered Morley's quickly filled the confined space of the bin and then the sizzle of a lighted match caused Mulder to scream with all his might.

The duffel bag was on fire.

TO BE CONTINUED.....