Title: "A Day at the Beach"
Author: Angela W.
Category: MSR (Mulder/Scully married)
Rating: NC-17
Timespan/Spoilers: This is part of my "married" series, which diverged from the "real" XF timeline about midway through season seven; assume everything up through the events of "Closure" has happened but that Mulder was never abducted and the consummation of the MSR and birth of their child were different from the events depicted late season seven and beyond. In my series, this comes after "While the Cat's Away". Only spoilers are vague mention of a few minor events from "Pilot" and "Tooms".
Summary: Mulder and Scully take a trip to the beach with their daughter, then have some grown-up fun once she's asleep. Told in alternating first person POVs.
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me. They are the property of Chris Carter and 1013 Productions.
Archive: Feel free to archive anywhere.
Feedback: If it's nice or contains *constructive* criticism, feedback is valued.


I wake up and am immediately hit with a feeling of euphoria. Of course, that's not exactly uncommon nowadays; ever since Scully and I got married a little more than three years ago, I tend to wake up looking forward to what the day might bring rather than experiencing my former paranoid worrying of wondering what kind of crap was going to hit me.

But this feeling is even stronger than the day-to-day happiness that is now a regular feature of my life. With my eyes still closed, I take a moment to both savor and analyze it. Okay, I now realize it's Saturday; that automatically boosts my "feel good" quotient up a notch or two. Although my job is challenging and intriguing, my home life is the source of real joy. A day spent with my darling Dana and our adorable little girl, Melissa, is always more fun than a day at work.

Finally, I realize why I'm practically buzzing with excitement and anticipation: this is the first day of our week-long vacation! As soon as we're up and dressed and Scully has had a chance to do a little last minute packing, we'll be on our way to the summer house in Rhode Island.

We considered going somewhere more exotic -- like back to Hawaii -- but I could only wrangle a week off during the time Scully's between teaching sessions at Quantico and we didn't want to spend two full days of that time in travel, plus another couple of days dealing with jet lag. To paraphrase something I said to Scully on the day we met: "That's why they put the "B" in FBI". . .because it's a bureaucracy. Back in the days when I didn't *want* to take vacation time, they threatened to withhold my pay if I didn't take at least two weeks off every year. Now, when I made a formal request to take two weeks of my annual three weeks leave this month, they told me that they can't spare me for that amount of time and the most they'd authorize is one week.

Still, I'm not going to waste one minute of this week in regret. Not when there are so many more pleasurable ways to spend my time. I now realize that my mind isn't the only part of me that's in a very happy state. A certain portion of my anatomy is *throbbing* with excitement. Of course, that could have less to do with our vacation than with the fact that it's firmly cushioned against Scully's ass.

I start to slide my hand around to Scully's breasts, intent on playing with them a bit in order to wake her up, but instead encounter a small, plump leg. I open my eyes. Instead of one beautiful, dearly loved face on the pillow beside mine, there are two. Melissa's in bed with us. Now that I'm fully awake, I vaguely remember being roused by the sound of thunder sometime during the night, accompanied by Melissa's frightened call of "Mommy! Mommy! Up! Up!" and Scully's soothing voice as she carried her into our room.

I smile. While a brief bout of morning lovemaking had been my original plan, this isn't a bad way to wake up, either. I enjoy a chance to watch them both while they're sleeping. I always feel strongly possessive at moments like this. My wife. My daughter. Not "mine" in the sense of people I can dominate and control, but "mine" in the sense of people I would willingly die for.

Melissa chooses this moment to awaken. She pats Scully's cheek gently and gets a murmured "Mommy'll be up in a minute" in reply. Then she lifts her head to look at me and says "Daddy!" with a mixture of surprise and glee in her voice. Scully has a tendency to let Melissa sleep with her on the nights I'm out-of-town on business, so our daughter seems to think finding both her parents in this bed with her is a rare treat.

Having discovered I'm here, Melissa promptly sits up and pokes her feet at my face. Having someone shove their feet in your face is not usually regarded as an uplifting experience, but when the toes in question belong to your own sweet, recently bathed baby girl, it's wonderful. "Piggies!" Melissa demands.

I proceed to play "This little piggy" with her toes, while she giggles and claps. All this commotion wakes up Scully and the three of us indulge in a few minutes of mutual kissing and cuddling. After a bit, Scully says, "This is fun, but let's get up and get on the road so we can be at the summer house in time to go swimming before it gets dark; if you don't mind, I'll take the first shower while you get Melissa changed and fed, then I'll get her dressed and do the last minute packing while you're getting ready."

"Sounds good," I agree.

Since Scully is in the middle, she has to crawl over either Melissa or me to get out of bed. She choose me. Scully straddles me in preparation for swinging off the bed, but stops for a moment in mid-stride. She smiles and says, "Why do I get the feeling that 'This Little Piggy' wasn't your original choice for 'Game to Play Before Getting out of Bed' this morning?"

I grin and slip one hand -- the one opposite Melissa -- up for a quick squeeze of Scully's ass. "It's okay. I plan on making a pig of myself in a totally different sense all week long."

"Promises, promises," Scully says, scooting out of bed and heading into the bathroom.


Since Melissa, like most small children, wakes up at the crack of dawn, it's still fairly early by the time we get on the road. I'd done virtually all the packing yesterday and Mulder loaded the car when he got home from work. All we kept out was one small carry-on to toss our toothbrushes and stuff into, and Melissa's diaper bag.

I glance over at my husband behind the wheel of our car and smile slightly. Considering the "Spooky" reputation he had when we first met, and the lack of interest he showed for years in ever leaving the office, it's funny how well he's adjusted to marriage and parenthood. He still works hard and has even taken on the role of supervisor of a task force, but he's also a wonderful, loving husband and father. He's achieved a balance in his life that was missing for so many years.

"So, what's your mother doing this week? I guess this counts as her vacation, too?" he asks.

"She's actually watching Matthew and Patrick tonight," I explain, "so that Bill and Tara can go out to dinner and a movie."

"Paddick?" Melissa asks, her ears catching the name of her cousin and favorite playmate.

"Patrick's going to Grandma's house; we're going to the beach."

"Paddick Grandma's, Lissa beach," she agrees.

"Wow, your mom really takes her grandmothering seriously, doesn't she? On her week off from babysitting one grandchild, she volunteers to watch the other two!"

"Well, she's only watching them overnight, then she's going down to spend a few days with an old friend of hers -- another Navy wife, who's recently been widowed -- in Virginia Beach. Mom does like being a grandmother, though, and I think sometimes she feels that Matthew and Patrick don't get their share of her attention; after all, she sees Melissa at least three days every week, and only sees them once or twice a month, despite the fact that they don't live much further away from her than we do."

"I guess that's true, but the situations are different," Mulder points out. "You work part-time, Tara doesn't. Plus, Matthew and Patrick have another set of grandparents who, I've gathered, visit pretty frequently despite the fact that they live in Florida. Unfortunately, Melissa doesn't."

"There is that," I agree.

My husband is quiet for a long moment, then he says, "I wish we'd gotten married sooner. For a lot of reasons, but that especially. My mother would have really. . .I mean, another little girl in our family. . .it would have. . ."

"I know, Fox," I say, reaching over and squeezing his leg.

His mood lightens suddenly and he flashes me a grin. "If you're trying to distract me, Dana, you should move your hand a little higher up and do that."

"Pay attention to the road, Daddy," I say with a smile.

For once, Mulder actually obeys my instructions. We're coming into some heavy traffic and he concentrates on his driving. I concentrate on him. He certainly looks. . .nice. Long, tanned legs, bulging biceps peeking out of the sleeves of his T-shirt, which is just snug enough to accentuate the breadth of his chest, those strong, gentle, skillful hands of his gripping the wheel.

I continue my visual survey of my husband's anatomy, letting my glance wandered to that luscious mouth of his with the impossibly full lower lip. Then I move to his eyes which, instead of being fixed on the road like I expected, meet mine while dancing with amusement. "Caught you looking, Scully."

I flush a little, but less with embarrassment than with desire. "I've got every right to look, Mulder. And to touch, taste, smell and listen. . . all of which I plan on doing later tonight."

He smiles at me then says, his voice low and sexy, "Want to know a secret?"

"Sure. What?"

"I used to catch you looking before we were married, too. We'd be on some road in the middle of nowhere, going to investigate the monster of the week; I'd be driving and you'd be sleeping. Or, rather, you'd be pretending to be asleep; but sometimes I'd glance over and see that your eyes were only half-closed and that you were checking me out."

"You did not!"

"Oh, yeah. Want to know how I could tell?"

"Since you're obviously eager to explain, Mulder, go ahead."

"I'd reach over and try to wake you up. You're actually pretty easy to awaken. When you were really asleep, all I'd have to do was whisper your name or touch you gently on the cheek or tug lightly on your hair and you'd be fully awake, instantly. When you were only *pretending* to be asleep, you went through this whole fakey thing where I had to practically scream at you to get you to open your eyes. . .probably to keep me from seeing the lust-crazed gleam in them and know that you'd been indulging in yet another unprofessional sexual fantasy of your partner."

Shit! Busted, after all these years.

"Want to know another secret?" he inquires still keeping his voice low and quickly glancing at the rearview mirror to make sure Melissa is absorbed in playing with the toys attached to her car seat.

"Might as well," I say with a shrug. The man's a licensed psychologist and a professional behavioral profiler, for God's sake. Whatever made me think he wouldn't pick up on the subtle clues that proved I was attracted to him?

"The reason I always had you enter doorways ahead of me wasn't strictly due to politeness. . .I also did it because I liked looking at your ass. And sometimes when I did wake you up -- whether you were honestly asleep or just pretending to be -- it was because having you sleep beside me, even in the strictly literal sense of the words, was giving me such a hard-on that I couldn't concentrate on my driving."

I grin at him. "Gee, Mulder, and I thought it was the idea of extra-terrestrial life that kept you so excited all those years."


By mid-afternoon, we're at the summer house. We stopped at a grocery store a few miles back and did a little shopping, but we only got the basics; we were both too anxious to get here.

It's funny, sometimes Scully and I concentrate so much on our myriad differences that we almost forget we do have some things in common; our mutual love of the seashore, for instance. For me, the attraction is specific: it's to this particular stretch of sand and water where I spent so much of my childhood. For Dana, it's a more generalized feeling, born out of her childhood as a Navy brat. For both of us, the beach brings back pleasant memories of the weeks we spent in Hawaii shortly after we were married on a combination business trip/honeymoon.

As soon as we've unloaded the luggage, Dana disappears upstairs to get herself and Melissa changed into their bathing suits, while I put away the groceries. A few minutes later, they come back down. Melissa's wearing the same suit she's worn all summer but Dana, instead of wearing her usual navy blue number, has on the emerald green bikini she only wears when we're swimming in secluded spots. I let out a wolf whistle.

Scully laughs and says, "I wouldn't wear this in public, but I figure the beach is deserted enough for it to be okay."

"You look great!" I say, letting my eyes rove over her. I don't even try to hide my interest and excitement. She already knows what I have in mind for later tonight. "I'll just run up and change, then we can head down to the beach."

Watching Melissa at the beach is an absolute delight. We brought her here for a few days last summer but, of course, she doesn't remember that. She keeps walking to the very edge of the water, letting the water barely tickle her feet, then running back to the dry sand.

Finally, I scoop her up in my arms and say, "Come on, Melissa, let's go out deep." So she, Scully and I go out to where the water is about up to my waist and play for a while. When Melissa seems to be getting bored of this activity, I hand her back to Mommy and say, "Do you mind taking her back to the land? I'd like to go ahead and swim for a while as long as I'm out here."

Scully nods and takes her in. Then, when I'm done swimming, I volunteer to watch her so Scully can get go out deep. She returns in a few minutes to ask what it is we're doing. Melissa and I are industriously digging and packing sand. Okay, to be honest, I'm the one industriously digging and packing. Our daughter is putting sand into a bucket and dumping it out on my head.

"Are you building a sandcastle?"

"Sandcastles are mundane," I reply. "Melissa and I are building a sand spaceship. You can help."

"I thought you'd given up on that," Scully says, rolling her eyes.

"I gave up devoting my whole *life* to it," I reply. "I've still got an interest. You know that."

Scully rolls her eyes again, but begins to mold the sand. Melissa gets tired of pouring sand on my head and sits in the middle of the space ship, alternately patting the damp sand and digging little holes.

"You know, Dana, I think this sand spaceship is kind of a metaphor for our entire relationship."

"How so, Fox?"

"You obviously think the idea is crazy, but you're helping me with it anyway. Wasn't that pretty much what you always did when we worked on the X-Files together?"

"I didn't think *all* your ideas were crazy," she protests.

"Want to know what freaked me out the most the first year we worked together?"

"Eugene Tooms?" she asks.

"Only indirectly. When you lied to Skinner, told him you'd been with me at the Tooms alleged I attacked him. You'd always been the consummate professional. Yet there you were risking your career, for a partner you probably thought was nuts."

"You were my *partner*, Mulder! I figured I had to stick up for you."

"God knows you did, Scully. Always. Know what else I thought was cute?"


"The way you'd take a sandwich or a donut I'd already bitten into and eat it. Or the way you'd grab a beer right out of my hand and take a sip. It was completely non-sexual but, at the same time it was. . .intimate."

She smiles and replies, "I know. That's why I did it."


We finally finish our sand spaceship and step back to admire it. Melissa does a little dance in the middle of it. Then she walks over to me and holds up her arms.

"You ready to go in and get cleaned up, then have some dinner?" I ask as I pick her up. My question is directed equally to my husband and child.

"Sure," Mulder replies. "I'll shower off real quick, then start dinner while you and Melissa are cleaning up."

I do a little unpacking while Mulder is in the shower. My mother had come by yesterday for a brief visit and had tucked a small package into Melissa's suitcase, telling me it was a surprise for the trip. I open it and find out it's bath paints. . . tubes of liquid soaps that come in different colors and that you can squirt onto the tile or your body to make designs.

As soon as my husband vacates the bathroom, Melissa and I go in. It seems silly for the two of us to take separate baths, so I just climb into the tub with my sandy young daughter. You would have thought she'd had enough of water play at the beach, but apparently she's entranced by the idea of Mommy actually being in the bathtub with her rather than alongside it and every time I suggest we get out and dry off she answers me with "no" and points to the bath paints and says "more". I suppose I should exert some parental authority, but we're on vacation and there's really no hurry for us to get out of the tub, so we just continue to play.

Eventually, Daddy comes up to see what we're doing. I explain about the bath paints and Mulder gets this. . .look. . .in his eyes. All he says, however, is "Come on, Melissa. Daddy'll get you dressed and then you can come help me finish dinner while Mommy puts her clothes on." He grabs a fluffy towel and swoops her right out of the tub in one smooth move.

The steaks Mulder grilled for dinner are delicious. He is, as he'll be the first one to admit, not much of a cook, but he's really excelled this time. We ate potato salad we'd picked up from the in-store deli with it, so I didn't have to do anything. Mulder even poured the wine and put milk in Melissa's sippy cup.

After dinner, we go out to the hammock to watch the stars come out. There's a full moon and a slight breeze off the ocean, making it just cool enough for the three of us to enjoy snuggling up together. Mulder had just gone ahead and put Melissa in her pajamas after the bath, so I figure she can fall asleep whenever she gets tired without any extra input from me.

"That?" Melissa asks, pointing to a blinking light near us.

"That's a firefly, sweetheart," Mulder answers. "Little bugs with lights on them. When your Aunt Samantha and I were kids, we used to catch them in a jar. Maybe next year, when you're a little bigger, I can help you catch some."

I smile softly and snuggle closer to Mulder. I think this is the first time I've ever head him mention his sister without a trace of sadness or regret in his voice.

After a few minutes, Melissa begins to pull at Mulder's shirt and says "off".

Mulder complies and strips off his shirt so that she can cuddle against his bare chest, the way she always does as he rocks her to sleep. However, he can't resist a mumbled mock-complaint, "You women are all the same. Never satisfied unless I'm half-naked."

"Who says I'd be satisfied with you only *half* naked?" I reply with a smile and a wink. I let my eyes rove over him as he sings softly to Melissa and let my desire flood through me. I'd thought I'd reached the depths of longing for Mulder years ago, when I watched him fight for the truth or encountered him nearly naked and half-asleep in some podunk motel room. But since Melissa's birth I've discovered one incontrivable fact: there is nothing -- I mean absolutely *nothing* -- that turns me on like watching the tender, uncomplicated love he has for our daughter.

Melissa falls asleep quickly, undoubtedly worn out by her busy day. Once he's sure she's asleep, Mulder slides gracefully out of the hammock while clutching her with one arm. He stands up and extends his other hand to me and we tiptoe into the house, hand-in-hand, to lay Melissa in the portable crib we set up in Samantha's old room.

"Sweet dreams, angel," I whisper, brushing a kiss against her dark curls.

Once we're out in the hallway, I turn to Mulder and ask, "Bed? Or did you want to make use of the hammock or some other interesting location?"

Mulder fidgets for a moment and looks almost embarrassed. It the same look he used to have on his face, years ago, when I caught him looking at one of those magazines that weren't his. . .or when I caught him looking at me as if he were envisioning the two of us starring in one of those videos that weren't his. Why, I wonder? We're married, for heaven's sake! I'm perfectly okay with the idea that he wants to make love with me. It's what I want, too.

Finally, Mulder clears his throat and says in an unusually husky voice, "I'll want us to adjourn to the bedroom eventually. But first I wondered if. . .if it would be okay with you if *we* played with those body paints?'

I smile as comprehension dawns. "Sure, Fox. You want us to paint on each other?"

"Well, I want to paint on you. You can do me, too, if you want. But maybe we should alternate nights."

"Okay," I agree. "Tonight you can be the artist and I'll be the canvas. Tomorrow we can switch places."


"What do you want me to do?" Scully asks as we enter the bathroom. I'm instantly hard simply from hearing those words. In all my previous sexual relationships, I was always the younger or less experienced partner. The fact that I so often get to play the role of "teacher" with her during our lovemaking sessions is a turn-on in itself, quite aside from our actual activities.

"Take off your clothes," I say. I grab a couple of fluffy beach towels out of the cabinet; leaving one folded, for me to sit on, I spread the other one on the tile floor. Then I get the body paints and a damp washcloth.

I turn to see that Scully is now naked. "Lay down," I say, gesturing to the towel on the floor. "On your stomach."

"Aren't you going to get naked, too?" she asks.

"Sure," I reply with a shrug. All I'm wearing is shorts, anyway, and they're beginning to get uncomfortable. Besides, it *is* customary for both spouses to be naked while indulging in sex play. I strip off my shorts and let my erection bob free. Scully smiles when she sees it.

"What are you going to paint, anyway?" she asks.

"You'll see," I reply. "It's a surprise."

I squeeze a drizzle of tinted soap onto her back and she and she arches suddenly. Guess it must be cold. "Stay still," I growl.

"Yes, Mulder," she replies. My cock throbs at the note of surrender in her voice.

The scene I'm painting is supposed to be a sunset over the sea; vivid reds and oranges above, tranquil blues and greens below. But it's turning out to be pretty abstract, both because I have to follow the contours of Scully's body and because I'm not that talented of an artist. The fact that I'm horny as hell and spend more time delicately stroking my wife's soft skin than actually applying the paint may have something to do with it, too.

I've applied the soap-paint all over her back; even had her stretch her arms above her head so that I could reach the outer curves of her breasts. The scene is as good as I'm going to be able to make it, but I don't want to quit just yet. I'm having too much fun.

"Fox, would it be okay if I lean up on my elbows?" she asks. "Even with the towel between me and the tile, it's getting a bit uncomfortable lying flat on the floor."

"Yeah, that's fine," I murmur. "I'm done with the upper part of your back, anyway."

I scoot down lower. Scully's ass is a work of art unto itself and applying paint to it seems a bit like gilding a lily. But I want to anyway. I'm getting uncomfortable sitting with my legs crossed, so I lift her up her hips and stretch out my legs, settling back down with her bottom across my thighs.

"What are you doing?" she asks, turning her head to glance at me over her shoulder. With her elbows up, her breasts are swinging freely a few inches above the ground and I can see that her nipples are hard and peaked. I can also feel a growing patch of wetness on my thighs, just below where her auburn curls are rubbing against me. This is one *extremely* aroused woman, I realize. Good. Even years ago, my fantasies about the two of us were never centered solely around my own pleasure. A major portion of them always included turning the usually calm and rational Dr. Scully into my passion-crazed lover; it's nice to know I've succeeded.

"Signing my work," I reply with a smirk. "No peeking." I'm doing something I used to do as a kid but haven't done -- haven't even thought of -- in at least 30 years. Sometimes, when I'd draw a picture, instead of writing my name on it, I'd draw a little fox down in one corner. . .to show that it was done by Fox. So now I'm drawing a fox on Scully's ass with the tip of my finger.


I let out a breathy little moan as Mulder's fingertips trace patterns on my bottom. He's driving me crazy. I'm so turned on it's not even funny. This whole situation. . .letting Mulder take charge, lying face down across his lap. . .flirts at the very edges of being kinky. And what surprises me is that instead of being uncomfortable with it, I'm aroused. Completely, totally, helplessly aroused.

He is, too, of course. I saw his swollen cock a a few minutes ago, can feel it bumping softly against my hip now and again as he changes his position slightly. But he's in charge tonight and I'll let him decide when we're going to move onto the main event.

"There. I'm done. Reach over and push the door shut; there's a mirror on the back and you can see what I painted on you."

I roll onto my side and look over my shoulder. The swirling colors on my back are definitely of an impressionistic nature but I *think* I can tell what they're supposed to represent. "Is it supposed to be a sunset over the ocean?" I guess.

"Exactly right," he agrees.

"What's that on my bottom?" I ask. It seems to be some sort of animal.

"A fox."

"Oh. Is that how you sign your name when you do body art?"

"I suppose; considering this is the first time I've every body painted anybody and that's what I did."

"Do you want to wash me off now and then we can go to bed?" This has been a lot of fun, but I really want to be fucked by that big cock of his. Now.

"Not yet," he replies. "Come back over here and lie down again like you were a minute ago; your bottom across my lap and the upper part of your body propped up on your elbows."

I comply and look up at him with a smile. I notice that he's using the damp washcloth to diligently remove all traces of the soap from his fingers. "What are we doing?"

"I want to see if I can bring you to climax like this. You usually come hard when you're face down; when you're on top or when I enter you from behind. I'm going to use my fingers from behind and you can rub up against my thighs in front. I think you'll like it."

*Like* it? I think I might come just from hearing this technique described, much less having in it actually done to me. "Okay," I answer in a whispery voice.

"Spread your legs a little bit more," he says. Then he begins to trace the now soap-free fingers of one hand up the backs and insides of my thighs, while the other hand fondles my breasts. He leans down over my shoulder and captures my mouth in a kiss while sliding one long finger inside me. I immediately buck up against him. It feels wonderful but, at the same time, it's not enough.

When we slowly break off our kiss I murmur, "More, please."


"Can you use more than one finger?"

He complies, letting a second finger join the first and being a bit more vigorous with my breasts. He's not being rough --- he never is -- but now he's squeezing and pinching the nipples while, at the same time, pumping into me with two fingers. I rock back and forth across his lap, rubbing my clit against his thighs. I'm so horny, yet I can't quite. . .


Scully's close. I can feel it. I've got three fingers in her now and she's so wet that that they're gliding in and out effortlessly. Yet I can't seem to bring her all the way over the edge.

After watching her face and body for a few moments-- the sight of her painted back rippling while she arches and moans is quite erotic -- I think I've figure out what the problem is. Every time she thrusts herself back against my hand, she lifts up a bit, losing contact with my legs. She probably needs stimulation from both angles to come.

I quit playing with her breasts and place the hand that's not busy stroking her on her bottom, holding her down. Now when she wiggles up against my fingers, I exert just enough pressure to keep her from arching away from thighs. That does it. She clamps down with her internal muscles so hard and quickly that it's like my fingers are caught in a vise grip. And she screams. Not even my name, just a wordless sound of pure pleasure.

I wait until she's stopped throbbing, then slowly slide my fingers out of her. She's got her head pillowed on her folded arms, her eyes are closed and there's an expression of bliss on her face. Her legs are still parted and every now and again another small trickle of moisture drips onto my thighs.

"Wow, Fox!" she says when she finally opens her eyes. "That was incredible!"

"Glad you liked it," I reply.

"Looks like we have some unfinished business to take care of," she says, reaching out to lazily caress my cock. "What position do you want me in?"

I damn near come right then, from the combination of her touch and the implied submission of her words. When I think of all the long years when the idea of a naked, sated Scully lying spread-eagled across my lap awaiting sexual instructions was a scene from one of my *wilder* fantasies. . .

"Stand up, then lean down and grasp the edge of the tub," I say.

She does as I've asked, the position thrusting her ass up into the air. "Move your feet so they're a little further apart," I add and she complies.

I need to get into her before I embarrass myself. I grasp her hips and slide in with one smooth thrust, then groan. By turning my head slightly, I can see the two of us in the mirror on the door.

I actually last longer then I would have thought possible, given how completely aroused I was from our foreplay and her orgasm. Guess there are some advantages to growing older, after all.

What surprises me is that, just as I began to gush into her, I feel her spasm around my cock. When I'm finally capable of coherent speech is say, "Didn't know you were going for a double-play, Dana. I could have tried to hold off."

"That second one took me by surprise," she answers.

"Come on, let's get in the tub and wash off." I turn on the water and tumble us both in. The soap-paint is now smeared all along my chest and belly, as well as her back and bottom. We rinse each other off then just lay there in the lukewarm water, both of us too relaxed to contemplate moving.

Finally, Scully twists in my arms and scooches up my body so that our faces are level with each other. She kisses me gently, opening her lips just slightly and allowing the tiniest flicker of her tongue into my mouth.

"Come on, handsome. We need to get out and get into bed. We can't sleep in the tub."

I nod and we stand up, dry off, then stumble down the hall into bed. Just as I'm drifting off to sleep I hear Scully murmur, "Remember, tomorrow night I get to be the painter and you get to be the paintee".

I can hardly wait.


Author's e-mail addy: tapw63@yahoo.com