Corroding the Empirical Man
Category: Story, sex, obsession. Not a Skinner/Kim. Sorta. Rating: Nc-17
Timeline: Could happen anytime after season 5. Disclaimer: Not mine, never were.
Beta thanks to Tali.
This is very dark and very NC-17. I'm in a mood.
I like to be on top as a matter of preference, but it doesn't matter what I like or think. This is about him and what he likes. And he likes me on the bottom.
When I'm underneath him, he can loom over me; use his sheer size and strength to grind me into the mattress. He can close his eyes and pretend I'm someone else, as he's doing now.
In the beginning, he claimed he didn't envision her beneath him, moaning his name, but I knew better. That's why I was picked in the first place. It wasn't just my face, it was also my size, my hair color.
The shape of my mouth.
The first time I caught him staring at my mouth, I thought he'd wanted my lips wrapped around his cock. Little did I know, he just wanted that shape of mouth, wrapped around it, instead. I had no idea then, just how far off the mark I really was.
In the beginning, it had all seemed so good. We indulged all his darker fantasies: sex on top of his desk, on his conference table, me on my knees under the desk fellating him. He even took a call once while I worked him. He could be such a cold bastard.
We never spoke of protection or birth control. Some part of me must have known he was taking the fantasy too far: her infertility was my infertility too.
He started to withdraw emotionally little by little until the sex became perfunctory. By then it was too late, I was hopelessly in love with him; with his power, with his body. I gave in to all his demands, no longer questioning the oddness of being fucked inside an elevator held between floors.
Neither of us was entirely satisfied by the other. It was an emotionless, empty existence.
When I thought I'd had enough, I confronted him using a suit that was identical to hers and a styling of hair with just the right flip. He'd walked in, early that morning, and saw me sitting there in my demure little FBI suit. I was called into his office, immediately.
"Take this off," he muttered, pulling at the fabric buttons.
I put my hand on his fly to find him already rock hard and he thrust roughly into my hand. I knew then that he was in full fantasy mode.
"I'm not her," I whispered.
"What?" he asked, his mouth sucking on my neck and his big hands under my skirt, cupping my backside.
"I'm not Sc-"
He shut me up with his mouth, roughly thrusting his tongue across mine. I started to resist, so he picked me up and deposited me on the rough woolen carpet.
"Wait for me," I started, when he began to tear my pantyhose off, but he didn't hear me. I was the object of his desire and he was a man possessed by that object.
My skirt was shoved up and my panties shoved down. Feeling defeated, I closed my eyes and waited for penetration.
It never came.
Instead, I felt the brush of soft lips against my inner thigh. Those lips moved up and his tongue delved in to find my clit. Pleasure, pure and bright, was suddenly burning all through me.
I looked down and came hard when I saw his bald head between my legs. He had to cover my mouth, with a hand, to keep me from screaming the place down. I knew he was only thanking me for looking like her.
Still twitching from the orgasm, I was turned over. He entered me from behind and began thrusting with short, rough strokes. When he finally came, the thing I'd always feared could happen, did.
He collapsed on top of me, still hard, still buried inside me, but thinking of her.
"Kim," I said flatly.
"My name is Kim."
He sat up, pulling out and leaving me feeling cold and wet. I heard the sounds of clothing being rearranged, the metallic rasp of his zipper.
I didn't move, didn't attempt to cover my nakedness. I curled into a fetal position.
"I said, get up."
I knew he was dismissing me, his mind already on meetings and other work he had that day. Cooperation, however, was not on my mind.
I felt him standing over me, contemplating this sudden show of defiance. Without looking, I knew his hands were on his hips.
"I'm not moving, until you say my name."
His sigh was impatient, cruel.
I turned over and looked at him. "Say it, again."
I stood and reached up to his face. He flinched, as if my touch was painful. With determination, I turned his head until he looked me in the eye.
"Say it, again."
Something hard flickered behind his eyes, making them appear sinister; empty of emotion.
I'd won the battle, but it was a hollow victory. He clammed up tight after that and didn't touch me again for a long time afterward. During that time, I played dutiful secretary to his strong and silent boss.
I also watched her come and go; sometimes with her partner in tow and sometimes not. Both men were hopeless cases. I had no doubt she knew it.
In the end, I was the one who finally caved in. I waited until the end of the day and knocked on his door.
He looked surprised when I locked the door behind me, but said nothing.
He remained silent for a moment. "You know what I want from you, don't you?"
"And you accept that?"
"Yes," I whimpered, like beaten dog. When had I become so pathetic?
"Good. Come here."
I obeyed, automatically dropping to my knees in front him and letting him fuck my shapely mouth.
I'd ruined sex in the office for him, apparently, because we started meeting in seedy motel rooms after that.
The one we're in now is as drab and anonymous as the last. I've lost track of how many. I only know that I want him and he wants her.
God help him if she ever returns the favor. God help me.
Thanks to Syn and Bugs. This week's fic at WI has turned me into a monster.
If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to philiater
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