"THE TRAINING OF P"
Part One
by Kassandra
cassandraxf@yahoo.com

Shivering, Pendrell tested the duct tape holding his wrists to no avail.
The blindfold was snug around his eyes, keeping even the faintest trace of
light from leaking through, preventing him from getting any clear idea of
his surroundings.

And he was shivering.  Not unnaturally, since he'd come back to
consciousness to find himself as bare as the day he was born.  The surface
under him felt like wood, cold and hard and slickly waxed.  And the murmur
of voices from a short distance away provided a  frightening counterpoint
to the thudding of his heart.

Footsteps made his head turn, echoed in what sounded like a large open
space.  He was yanked to his feet by his bound arms, he gasped in pain, but
was steadied with an almost indifferent touch.

"What do you want from me?" he demanded shakily.

It had been a mistake to open his mouth, a metal bar was inserted, pressing
hard against the corners of his mouth.  Pulled taut behind his head.

Panic threatened briefly, but he forced it down.  He was an FBI  agent.
Whatever was going on, he knew there would be people looking for him.
Even, said a small treacherous voice, if he were just a lab geek. 

A heavy hand slapped his buttocks, urging him forward.  Wincing behind the
blindfold, he obeyed, learning quickly that any resistance was met with
another blow. The wood beneath his feet was cool, but as he was urged
foward, he stepped onto the rough wool of a carpet. A smattering of
applause from an unseen audience made his skin prickle with humiliation.

"Gentlemen, you may start the bidding."  The cultured voice was at odds
with his expectation, it came from just over his left shoulder.

Bidding?  What the hell was going on?  If not for the gag and the
blindfold, he might have suspected some practical joke. 

"I bid $200."  The voice was female.  Indifferent with boredom.  "He's not
Mulder, Wagner.  You promised us Mulder."

"Mulder would only enjoy it."  Another woman, equally bored.  "This one's
rather sweet, really, and very well hung."

"Have him turn around, Wagner," ordered a man's voice, slight British
accent.  "Yes, he is well hung for his body type."

Pendrell's skin burned.  Jeeeeesus Christ, what the hell was this? These
people knew Mulder....goddammit, he knew he shouldn't have agreed to
analyze that goddamned chip.  This was Mulder's fault! 

"He really isn't bad," temporized another voice, this one male.  "Is he a
virgin, Wagner?"

"I would imagine," Wagner's voice made him jump, it was so close to him.
"I can check."

Panic reared its ugly head again.  He nodded frantically, hoping they'd
take him at his word.

'That pale skin would look really lovely all reddened from a flogger."  One
of the women again.

"Redheads have delicate skin."  This voice was male, and eerily familiar.
"You wouldn't want him to bruise."

The voice tugged at his memory.  Oh, Jesus Christ, it was....it couldn't
be, but it was Mulder's once partner, Alexander Krycek. 

Footsteps and he shivered, trying to back away, but Wagner's hand pushed
him forward inexorably.

"He's got lovely skin," Krycek moved closer again, he could almost feel the
heat of Krycek's body.  A fingertip touched him between his nipples, traced
slowly down his chest and belly.

Circled the base of his, oh God, his cock. 

With Wagner behind him and Krycek in front of him, he had nowhere to go.
Was forced to stand still as a knowing hand cupped his scrotum.  Rolling
each testicle gently.  To his horror, his body reacted appropriately.  His
cock thickened slightly, twitched.

"They say that redheads are very sensitive," Krycek murmured, his tone
thoughtful.  "I bid $5000, Wagner."

There was an attentive silence, but no one else bid. 

And Krycek kept fondling him.

"My, my, who would have thought," Krycek murmured, "A grower, not a shower.
 What a lovely surprise."

His skin was so hot with shame and humiliation it felt as if he were
standing in a fire.

Krycek 's fingers abandoned him abruptly and he jumped, yelped past the gag
as a nipple was tweaked.

"I'll need cash."  Wagner's voice was almost apologetic.

"Cash?"  Krycek asked.  "Don't trust me, eh Wagner?" 

"It's not you, Alex," Wagner told him jocularly.  "It's the nature of your
business.  You could be dead tomorrow, I can't take a cheque."

Low laughter.  "That's fine.  I just happen to have it on me."  

Struggling to process the fact that he had just been sold to Alexander
Krycek, Pendrell missed the rest of their exchange, shivering almost
uncontrollably until Krycek touched him again.

"Come on, Pendrell."  Krycek's breath was warm on his shoulder.  On his
ear.  "I won't hurt you.  Much."

He shivered again, let himself be dragged from where ever the hell it was
he had been. 

A rough wool blanket was wrapped around him before Krycek pushed him
forward into the smell of recent rain on asphalt.  The pavement was rough
and gritty under the soles of his feet.  And he still couldn't speak,
couldn't demand to know what the bastard wanted from him.  Rumor had
painted Alex Krycek as the author of all evil, the man who had engineered
Agent Scully's abduction.

It was cold outside, despite the blanket.  Krycek led him, pulling rather
roughly on his arm.  A car door opened and he was tumbled inside, barking
his shin on the edge of the door.  Absurdly, it stung enough to bring tears
to his eyes, shaking him almost worse than anything else.  

Such a small indignity, but he had to blink rapidly to keep from
losing control.  "Damn," Krycek muttered and took a moment to rearrange the
blanket.  "I didn't want you marred."  

The blanket was warm, at least, he was grateful for it, at least until the
heater started blowing between the seats.  Gradually, the chill was leached
away and he lay still, no longer shivering.  Trying not to think about
whatever Krycek had in mind.  His flesh remembered too well. 

The car drove for a long while.  

To his amazement, he managed to doze, jerked awake when the car stopped
abruptly, the engine ticking down to coolness.

The driver's side door opened and slammed shut a moment later.  He
stiffened when the door at his head opened, braced himself and was still
surprised when the blanket was ripped away.

"Come on, Pendrell."  Krycek's hands were suddenly easy, gentle, helping
him upright in the back seat.  But they roughened again when he crossed a
threshold into warmth again.

The blanket was pulled away.  Krycek guided him ungently down a space that
felt narrow, possibly a hallway.  If only he could see, if only the
blindfold would gap just enough to give him that small comfort.

"Step up," Krycek told him and he stopped, tested his balance and put the
sole of his foot on a step.  Stairs. 

He took each step carefully.  Leaning into Krycek's hand to help balance.

More carpet at the top.  Nubbly, but not rough.

More walking and he was standing on softer carpet.  Krycek pushed him
against a wall.  Tweaked his cock unexpectedly. He gasped around the gag,
bumped his head against the wall. 

Trying to get away.

"You're really very attractive, Pendrell."

Hot breath on his skin and he pushed back hard with nowhere to go.
Shivering again.

Soft laughter and Krycek's hand cupped the back of his head.  A snick of a
sound and the bit gag fell away. 

He stretched his jaw open experimentally to ease the cramp and Krycek's
hand slipped to his chin, brutally hard, Krycek's mouth came down over his,
tongue probing ruthlessly.  He couldn't back away.  Krycek's hips ground
against him, denim against skin.  And his cock twitched again, interested
in the stimulation.

Krycek released him so abruptly that he could only gasp for air.  Felt
Krycek's weight against him, and made a muffled sort of shriek as teeth
closed gently over one of his nipples.

A bolt of something midway between pleasure and pain arced toward his
groin, he bumped his pelvis against Krycek's involuntarily.  Krycek's mouth
released him, he sagged backwards, realizing how much his arms ached.

Gasped again as teeth worried the other nipple.  Released it.

"You're very responsive," Krycek murmured and laughed softly again.  Moved
away from him.  

He could feel his cock bobbing in midair, went hot with embarrassment and
reaction.

"Time for a bath," Krycek told him silkily.

Pendrell licked his lips, swallowed hard.  "Could you undo my hands."
Humbly.

"Not yet."  

Water roared from a tap suddenly.  The smell of sandalwood tickled his
nostrils.  And then Krycek was there, suddenly, pinching his nipples.  "Be
a good boy, Pendrell," he told him, his tone amused.  Moved away from him
again.  Soundless on carpet.  

Turning his head, Pendrell tried to figure out which direction he had gone,
tried to guess in which direction the door might be.  Gauging his chances
for making a break.

Christ, who the hell was he kidding, his hands were bound and he was
blindfolded.  Right, he told himself bitterly, but Mulder could probably do
it.

On the other hand, Mulder would break an ankle doing it, his clumsiness was
well known, an old joke in the halls of the Hoover.

At least, if *he* could find or make a chance, he'd come out unscathed.

But, unhappily, he had to gauge the odds as astronomically high.  At least
for now.

Krycek was humming when he returned, Pendrell's head turned, tracking the
sound.

"Turn around," Krycek ordered him.

"Why?"  He was pleased his voice didn't tremble.

Warm breath against his face and Krycek's hand pressed against his chest.
"Don't tempt me to hurt you, Pendrell."  Tone still silky.  "You know the
old saying, don't you?  Accept the inevitable and try to enjoy it."

He really, really didn't want to know what that meant.  In an excess of
adrenalin, he tried to headbutt Krycek, to make his escape, but he missed
and hit Krycek's shoulder with the bridge of his nose, Krycek grabbed him
and bent him over what felt like the sink, pressing him against what felt
like cold marble.  

Chilling more than his skin.

"Don't piss me off, Brian," Krycek breathed.  "I promise you, you will
regret it."

He regretted it already.  

One hand spread his buttocks brutally.  He yelped when something
penetrated, something cold and slippery.  

"That's it," Krycek told him, sounding satisfied.

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, this wasn't happening.  He squirmed fruitlessly,
feeling the nozzle slip deeper.  "Don't," he moaned, "Jesus Christ, Krycek,
what did I ever do to you?"  Warmth flooded in, his gut cramped, he
involuntarily tightened on the nozzle.  

"You are a virgin," Krycek muttered, sounding pleased.

More water.  At least he hoped it was water.   It was warm and it  filled
him, kept filling him.   He whimpered.  "Don't, I can't--"

"Yes, you can."  Krycek's tongue stroked the small of his back.  "Believe
me, Brian, you don't want me to punish you."  A nip on his left buttock,
almost painfully hard.  "I can be very inventive when it's time for
punishment.'  

He'd been afraid of that.  

The nozzle was finally withdrawn.  Something thicker replaced it, something
almost painfully thick, plugging him up.  Panic threatened again.  "What,
Jesus, please, I can't--"

"Hold it."  Brutal tone and Krycek slapped his ass, hard. 

He jumped.  Whimpered as he felt a trickle of water run down his inner
thigh.  

The roar of water stopped.  And Krycek was humming again.  Still bent over
the sink, Pendrell concentrated on his sphincter.  Vaguely, he could
remember reading that men could experience the equivalent of multiple
orgasms by strengthening the PC muscle.

He concentrated on tightening his own.  Counted backward from one hundred.
And nearly wept with relief when Krycek removed the plug and let him crouch
over the toilet to void the water.  And other things.

He felt nearly dizzy with rage and shame.  Didn't trust himself to speak,
afraid Krycek really was as inventive as he claimed.  Then, cruelly, he was
forced back over the sink, filled again.  Plugged again.

"Krycek, you bastard!"  It escaped him, he couldn't call it back and
leather smacked hard across his buttocks, leaving him breathless for a
moment.

"Nice fair skin," Krycek said happily.  "Takes a mark nicely.  Don't take
it so hard, Brian, that one won't even leave a bruise."

Krycek made him wait longer this time.  He bit his lip to keep from
pleading.  Eyes closed even behind the blindfold.  Hating Krycek with
everything in him.

And then, relief.  He was shaky after, Krycek had to steady him, help him
into the tub.  The water was nearly too hot.  Nearly.  And it made him more
lightheaded.

He stayed stubbornly silent, determined not to raise Krycek's temper,
determined not to beg.  Or threaten.

He was an FBI agent.  Someone would notice he was missing.  Maybe even
Mulder, Mulder had said he'd check on the lab results before going home.

And the lab was the last place he remembered.

Soapy hands, smooth over his skin.  In spite of his resistance, it felt
good.  Almost comforting.  He fought treacherous relaxation, but the water
was hot and he was suddenly exhausted again.

Krycek's hands glided over his shoulders, over his chest, pinching his
nipples until they were hard points.  Over his belly and down between his
legs.  Stroking him back to life.  A soapy finger slid inside him, he
gasped, unable to stay silent at that.  Bit his lip again as the pressure
of invasion melted into something akin to pleasure.  Akin to heat.

"Really pretty cock," Krycek commented and poured water over it.  "Lovely,
Brian.  I never would have guessed it." 

Something warm touched the swelling head.  He gasped again when he realized
it was Krycek's tongue, when it flicked the underside at just the right spot.

Nearly moaned when Krycek's mouth closed over him, concentrating on the
tip, sucking him mercilessly until his hips bucked without volition,
without the conscious decision to do so.

Krycek withdrew, soft laughter and a hand spanked his erect penis lightly,
making him yelp.  More startlement than pain.  "God, you were worth every
goddamned cent, Brian."

He still couldn't figure out why Krycek would want him.  Figured that
Krycek had wanted Mulder all along, but had to follow his original agenda.

He wondered if Krycek had fucked Mulder.

And blanked his mind out in horror when he realized that he was imagining
what Krycek might look like naked.

"Let's get you up."  Equable tone.  Calm and without care.  

He was docile this time, too aware of the shaft that bobbed against his
lower belly.  Too aware of that spank.

"You sent for me, sir?"

A languid voice, another British accent.  "Yes, Robbie," Krycek said,
sounding....sounding happy.  "I've bathed him already, cleaned him up
inside and out, but you know the rest of the drill."

"Yes, sir.  Would you like his hair clipped as well?"

"Just short, not shaved."

Pendrell blinked behind the blindfold.....they were going to cut his hair?
Krycek was obviously completely deranged.  Stop in the middle of.....of
whatever he was doing to send him off to get his hair done?

A warm mouth brushed his own.  "I'll see you soon, Brian."  Seductive,
almost lover like.  "And then I'll begin your training.  You're going to
enjoy this nearly as much as I do."

He hoped not.  But he couldn't be sure, not the way his body was behaving.
He was just going to have to pretend that it didn't matter.  That his body
was nuts.  That was it.  Standard physiological reactions, it would happen
to anyone. 

Even Mulder.

The alleged Bureau cocksman who never, it appeared, actually had sex with
anyone.

It only took him ten minutes alone with Robbie to figure out Krycek was
more seriously deranged than he'd imagined.


"Ah, nice and smooth."  Krycek's hand ran up Pendrell's admittedly smooth
arm.

Robbie had completely depilated him.  Oiled him.  Clipped his hair to a
haircut better suited to a Marine Corps recruit.

Pride kept him silent as Krycek smoothed oil over his belly.  Over his
genitals.

Robbie's hands were busy behind his head.  The blindfold fell away.  He
blinked in the sudden light, eyes tearing.  Turned his head one way, and
then the other, taking in the details of the room.  Memorizing them.  

His hands, now fastened together in front, nice sheepskin lined leather
cuffs, were starting to burn, the sensation of blood feeding oxygen starved
flesh.  

Krycek was wearing only a loose silk robe, untied, his half-erect cock
clearly visible.  He grinned boyishly at Pendrell.  "Lovely."

Pendrell squirmed.  Thought better of it.  The plug inside him shifted with
each movement, and he was already half hard from Robbie's attentions in the
bathroom.  

They were in what looked like a sitting room.  Luxurious surroundings.
Through an open door, he saw a bedroom, equally well appointed.  Shivered
again, despite the warmth of the room.

Robbie had outfitted him.  Brass cock ring.  A leather strap to lift and
separate his balls.  A black, studded collar around his neck, complete with
chain, which Krycek now held with one hand, while sipping champage from a
flute held in his other.

And Krycek was getting harder by the minute.  "Really lovely."

He swallowed hard, looked over Krycek's shoulder.  Saw the.....Jesus, it
looked like an antique doctor's chair, the kind of curiosity found in the
Smithsonian.  Except that the chair was upholstered in something soft,
something nubbled.  Something that rubbed exotically against his buttocks
when Krycek led him to it, forced him to sit down.

His hands were drawn up above his head, the chain between the cuffs
fastened to something out of his range of vision.  His legs were lifted and
separated, his feet placed in something alarmingly reminiscent of stirrups
and cuffed in place.

And the chair was tilted back.

Somehow, he'd gone from shivering to being too warm.  Almost hot.  A little
dizzy.

"I used just a gram," Robbie was telling Krycek.

"A gram of what?" he demanded desperately, thinking of drugs, of drug
allergies.

Krycek took another sip of champagne.  "As always, Robbie, a superb job.
Thank you.  When the others arrive, send them up."

Others?  His mind blanked out for a moment, he came back to himself to arch
his hips as Krycek twisted the plug knowingingly.  

"Nothing to worry about, Brian, just a little hash oil."  Serene smile.
"To help you relax."

Relax?  Relax?  But he moaned as Krycek worked the plug, pushed into it,
feeling heat spread from inside him, spread slowly to envelop his groin,
his belly.  "Ooooh, Jeeeesus."

"Not exactly."  Krycek laughed again, poured a bit of champagne into the
hollow of his collarbone, bent to lick him as the champagne ran down his
chest, ran down to the base of his cock, now bare and smooth as he'd ever
been as a boy.

Warm lips, suckling at the root, just the root, and he pushed up into it,
not wanting to, but unable to resist.  "Oh, God, please."

The plug twisted again.  "Please what, Brian?"

He wasn't going to ask.  He couldn't ask.  So Krycek moved back to his
nipples.  Suckled them each in turn.  Until he was writhing in his bonds,
helpless to control his own flesh.

Making sounds that sounded an awful lot like wordless pleas.

Until Krycek withdrew the plug. Stepped between Pendrell's outstretched
legs and guided himself to press against Pendrell's anus.

Stretching it.

Hot and hard and oh, God, it was killing him, lube or not, it was tearing
him to pieces and filling him and suddenly, he screamed, screamed again as
Krycek sank all the way in.  

He could feel Krycek's balls against his ass.

Panting, he stared at the ceiling.  The hash oil had been absorbed by his
gut, he told himself distantly.  He was stoned, that was all.  People had
done stranger things when stoned.

Hadn't they?

"Oh, God," he moaned.  "Please, please, please."

Krycek leaned over him, the silk billowing loosely, tickling Pendrell's
inner thighs.  "Please what, Brian?"  

He turned his head from side to side, frantic.  Refusing to ask.  Until
Krycek began the backthrust, that lovely hurtful thickness pulling out,
inch by inch.  "Oh, Christ, please fuck me!"

Krycek slammed in again.

He shrieked, pushing his ass into it, relishing the pain, melting in the
pleasure.

Again and again and again, and oh, God, he was going to die, Krycek was
going to kill him, if he didn't come soon, his heart was going to
explode.....

Someone was making frantic sounds.  A part of him recognized himself, felt
shame at his need.  At his acquiescence to Krycek's depravity.

But hell, it hurt so good.  He pushed his ass up again and again and again
and felt orgasm strike like a lightning bolt, frying synapses and
obliterating any capacity for rational thought that still remained.

They were right, he thought distantly, screaming again.  And again.  And
again.  Something hot and slippery hit him on the underside of his chin.
They were right.  Tightening the PC muscle could make you feel like you
were having multiple orgasms, never mind you were male.

It was such a fascinating tidbit that he tucked it in back of his conscious
mind, intending to go back and examine it later.

Krycek was thrusting harder, faster, cried out in a guttural
tongue--Russian, supplied the back of his mind helpfully--and collapsed on
top of him.

Somehow, he was able to drag air into his lungs.  Every nerve tingled.  He
felt impossibly stretched.  Full.  And slippery.

And Krycek licked his chest, cleaning up some of the mess.  

He nearly fainted.  Felt his ass tighten unbearably.  Krycek moaned, bit
his nipple gently and pulled out.

Gave him a smoldering look and padded back, back toward the bedroom.

The bathroom must be in there, he thought dimly and closed his eyes, still
breathing hard.

Started when something warm and damp touched his skin, started more when
something thicker than the plug slid into him.

Krycek tweaked his softening cock.  "You'll have to do better than that,
Brian, we've got guests coming to see you."  A wicked grin.  "And coming
and coming and coming."

With a smothered moan, Pendrell fainted.

~~~~~~~~~
continued in Part Two

Please send all comments to: cassandraxf@yahoo.com