R & R
by Xanthe
Skinner took a deep breath of fresh air, and smiled
to himself. This felt good! This felt damned good. He
pulled the straps of his rucksack a little tighter, and
began walking in earnest, humming softly to himself
as he went. He was clad in faded blue jeans and a
gray USMC sweatshirt, with big, tan-colored
timberlands on his feet. His glasses were tucked
neatly into his rucksack, along with provisions for
the next few days.
Every year, Skinner took himself off to one of the big
national parks, and lost himself. It was his way of
unwinding, of getting away from the stresses and
strains of his job, and remembering who he was.
Out here, with the vast beauty of nature all around
him, he rediscovered what was important about life,
took a little bit of R&R, and completely mellowed
out. Skinner covered a few miles, stopping to drink,
or to simply gaze at something that took his eye. It
felt so damned good! He could almost feel the
tension slipping from his shoulders as he walked.
As night fell, he stopped and made camp, setting
out his sleeping bag, and heating some food over
the little camping stove he'd brought with him. Then
he stretched out, kicked off his boots, rummaged in
his rucksack - and found the one item that was
indispensable on one of these trips.
"Weed," he grinned as he rolled the item in question
into a neat joint, and lit it on the stove. He lay back
against his rucksack with a contented sigh. This,
also, was a pleasure he only allowed himself once a
year. He would never keep any kind of illegal
substance in his apartment, but for one week, and
one week only, he could sit out in the dark, on his
own, and get well and truly stoned on his ass. It was
a ritual he had followed for years - ever since that
first time when he had been a 19-year-old kid who'd
seen too much, and suffered more than any kid ever
should have to. He'd been a week out of the
hospital, and had gone out walking partly to get
some time to himself, partly to test his newly healed
body, and partly so that he could smoke some dope.
The latter being a habit that he somehow knew his
Mom would have a conniption fit about if she caught
him doing it in the house. He'd come to terms with
his past during that week, as well as with the loss of
his unit, and every year he came back to reminisce,
to remind himself what he had been, and to keep
faith with that boy who had lost so much.
Skinner lay back and looked at the clear night sky. It
was inky black, covered in millions of tiny white
pinpricks of light.
"So many stars. So many potential suns, each with
any number of potential planets orbiting around it,"
he said to a non-existent audience, rotating his
finger as he made this little speech, mimicking the
action of the planets. "Now, which is the sun that
spawned those little green men Agent Mulder is
always going on about, huh?" He giggled to himself.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I meant gray men, Mulder. I DO beg
your pardon." He assumed an expression of mock-
gravity, then burst out laughing again. "Why are
they always men, Mulder? Who do they mate with?
Little purple women?" He giggled again. "Or maybe
they just do each other. Not that I've ever seen any,
uh, body parts on them in the pictures. They're all
smooth. Like Ken dolls!"
Somehow this thought made him collapse into a fit
of hysteria, and he fell off his rucksack and lay,
weak and helpless with laughter, rolling around on the grass.
"Ken dolls! Like Ken dolls!" He hollered into the dark, silent
night. A passing owl squawked at him, and flew off
hurriedly.
"No sense of humor, birds," Skinner pondered
morosely, suddenly and irrationally starving hungry
after his feast less than an hour before.
"Damn but I need chocolate. Where's the
chocolate? Hmm?" He rolled back over and
rummaged in his rucksack, found the chocolate, and
devoured it ravenously. "It's being out in the open,
fresh air," he said, tapping the side of his nose
portentously. "Makes you hungry. Okay, that was a
lie. It's the... it's the..." he took another deep
inhalation of his joint, then collapsed into another
set of giggles. "Ken doll!" he said, struck all over
again by how extremely funny that idea had been.
"Agent Mulder, did it never occur to you that the
aliens are all Ken dolls?" He parodied his own best
'Assistant Director' voice, then descended into
another fit of helpless giggles. "There, put that in
your report and smoke it," he said, taking a long
drag. So long, in fact, that he forgot to breathe, and
toppled over again. He looked up from his prone
position, still laughing weakly - straight into the
beady eyes of a giant bullfrog.
"Hello!" he blinked.
His vision cleared and the bullfrog morphed into a
tall, slim man, wearing a neat, olive green and
brown uniform, with a shiny brown belt, and equally
shiny brown shoes, a hat perched on his head.
"Ken? Is that you?" he mumbled.
"No, sir. It isn't," a distinctly un-amused voice
replied. Skinner blinked again, and looked at the
man more closely. "I'm going to have to ask you
exactly what it is that you're smoking, sir," the voice
continued.
"Wha...?" Skinner tried to process this question,
and failed. "The aliens are Ken dolls!" he proclaimed
in a hushed tone, trying to make the bullfrog man
understand.
"Maybe that's so, sir, but I'd say it was more likely
that you're smoking an illegal substance in a
national park - and that's a serious offense, sir," the
bullfrog said in a dangerous tone.
Skinner giggled. "Who cares?" he said. "S'all lonely
out here. Nobody to see."
"Well, that's not strictly true, sir, as I'm here and I've
seen you. And as this is my park, I'm afraid that I'm
going to have to report you."
"What?" Skinner sat up, the seriousness of this turn
of events suddenly sinking in, sobering him up.
"You're not a frog. You're a park ranger!" He
accused.
"That's right, sir. Thank you for noticing about the
frog part," the ranger said, removing his hat and
scratching his head for a moment, before replacing
the hat again. "I don't think I've ever been mistaken
for a frog before," he mused. "And I don't think I
need to examine this, sir, do I?" He pointed at the
joint Skinner was holding between his fingers. "If
you're seeing frogs then it's fairly plain what's in
this."
"Would it make a difference if I said that I didn't
inhale?" Skinner asked hopefully.
"No, sir. It wouldn't," the ranger replied firmly. "I
think I'm going to have to ask you to come along
with me, sir."
"Hey, no need to get all 'fficial about it," Skinner
moaned. "Look, there's some left. S'only my first
day. Brought enough for 5 days hikin'. Why don't we
share?" He offered hopefully, holding the joint up.
This was definitely the wrong thing to say. The
ranger's expression became stern, and his whole
body stiffened.
"Are you trying to bribe me, sir?" he asked.
"Nooooo. Not bribe as such..." Skinner wheedled.
"Just... a gift. Between friends. S'you and me. We
can be friends, can't we?"
"I can't rightly say as we can, sir," the ranger replied.
"I don't take kindly to folk messing up my park like
this. From a big city are you?"
"DC." Skinner nodded helpfully.
"Thought so. Coming out here, trashing my park,
leaving your filth behind. I don't like it, son."
Son? Skinner squinted up at the ranger. It might
have been dark, but he was pretty damn sure that
the ranger wasn't exactly an oldtimer. He was easily
younger than Skinner was. He was a tall man, with
a hard, muscled body underneath that uniform.
Skinner had a feeling that it wouldn't be a good idea
to run - the other man looked as if he could outpace
him within nanoseconds.
"I think you'd better come with me," the ranger said
firmly, picking up Skinner's rucksack and throwing it
into his jeep.
"What? Look..." Skinner got to his feet shakily. "I'm
sorry," he said contritely. "Please, let me just move
on. I'll leave... I'll go back home to DC..."
"I'm sorry, sir. I think we both know that it's too late
for that. You broke the rules, and I'm here to see
that you pay," the ranger said, slapping his hand
onto Skinner's shoulder and propelling the Assistant
Director into the jeep.
"But I... I'm..." Skinner gabbled, suddenly realizing
what dangerous ground he was on.
"Yes, sir?" The ranger started the engine, and
began driving them away.
"I have a very important job," Skinner muttered.
"This could ruin me."
"You should have thought of that before, sir," the
ranger said, with a disapproving look.
Damn the man! What the hell made him Skinner's
judge?
"Oh come on!" Skinner said vehemently. "I only do
this once a year. It's kind of a... ritual. I was in 'Nam.
Never even knew what drugs were until I went out
there. It was like candy - so many types, so easily
bought, sometimes we needed them just to get
through... Coming out here feels like keeping faith
with my unit you know? They didn't make it..." he
trailed off, bowing his head.
"Well, that sounds like a mighty interesting story, sir,
but it doesn't change anything."
The ranger pulled up outside a wooden hut, and got
out. He ushered Skinner into the cabin, and turned
the light on. Skinner glanced around. It was just a
small place. A few chairs, a table, a rug.
"Now, let's get down to business." The ranger pulled
out his cellphone, and beckoned Skinner over.
"Your name, sir, and address."
"Look," Skinner said, panicking. "We really don't
need to do this, do we? I mean surely there must be
another way..."
"Well..." the ranger glanced at him, then shook his
head. "I'm sorry, sir. There isn't. Now, if you'd like to
give me your name..."
"You were about to say something else!" Skinner
suddenly felt very clear-headed. There was no way
he was giving this man his name. He was as good
as out of a job if he did.
The ranger stood up, came over to him, and looked
him in the eye. He was the same height as Skinner,
not as broad, but athletic, and confident, and he had
a clear, hard expression on his face. He was not a
man who accepted bullshit, Skinner thought. Not a
man to push.
"All right, listen to me. Sometimes I catch kids out
here, doing what you were doing tonight. They're
too young to know better, and I don't want them
saddled with a record for the rest of their lives, so I
give them a choice." He paused, put his head on
one side, and gazed at the Assistant Director with a
speculative expression on his face. Skinner nodded
at him to continue, intent on finding out if there was
any way his job could be saved. "There's the adult
punishment - being reported to the police, maybe a
prosecution, certainly a few questions, or there's the
kid's punishment." The ranger paused again.
"Which is?" Skinner held his breath.
"Well, there's only one way of keeping kids on the
straight and narrow in my book - a bit of hard
discipline. It always worked wonders for me," the
ranger told him with a slight smirk.
"Discipline? I don't follow..." Skinner frowned.
"A taste of belt across butt," the ranger said. "I don't
go easy on them, and I wouldn't go easy on you
either, sir, if you opted for this method of dealing
with your transgression."
"What?" Skinner rubbed a weary hand over his
befuddled eyes.
"Spanking, sir. A whipping. It's the only thing that
works in my opinion. Maybe you wouldn't be a
repeat offender if someone had taken a belt to your
backside when you were a kid. Still, it's never to late
to learn, in my book. So, what's it to be? The adult
punishment, sir, or the kid's one?"
"Your belt?" Skinner gazed at the ranger's shiny
brown belt in trepidation.
"That's right. Your decision, sir. I'll leave it entirely
up to you," the ranger shrugged.
"You won't report me?" Skinner asked, his stomach
crawling at the very thought of bending over and
getting a strapping. He had a sudden, vivid
recollection of the inside of his father's woodshed,
and being upended over a pair of strong knees -
more times than he cared to recall. He'd never
exactly been a naughty kid, but boy, had he been
stubborn! That particular character trait had earned
him several close encounters with his father's
paddle.
"No. If you take your punishment, which will be
hard, mind you, then I won't report you." The ranger
pulled himself up to his full height and gave Skinner
a cool look, his eyes glittering. "So, what's it to be?"
Skinner stood there, his whole life flashing in front of
him. "I really think I'm too old to be spanked..." he
muttered, running a hand over his stubbled chin and
wishing that he wasn't dressed so casually. In his
work suit, he'd have felt less like a criminal and
more like an Assistant Director, someone with
gravitas and authority.
"If you can't do the time, don't do the crime,"
the ranger informed him, shaking his head
ruefully, as if he genuinely regretted the
need for this conversation.
Skinner saw the newspaper headlines in his mind's
eye, visualized an awkward, embarrassing meeting
with the Director, and Kim's expression as he
packed up the contents of his desk, his shame
common knowledge throughout the bureau. All his
agents lined the corridor, as he walked along, his
head bowed, carrying the remains of his career out
the door in a box...
"I'll take the spanking," he said quickly.
"Very well, sir." The ranger nodded, satisfied that
justice was being done. If you'd like to remove your
pants, and underwear, and..."
"What?" Skinner gasped.
"Nothing drives the message home like the sting of
belt leather on bare skin," the ranger informed him
bluntly, a stern look on his face.
"You want me to get undressed?" Skinner narrowed
his eyes.
"Bare-assed - or we forget the whole thing," the
ranger said. "Even apart from the pain, I find that a
healthy dose of humiliation works wonders."
"Damn!" Skinner clenched his fists, and considered
making a run for it. The ranger raised his eyebrow.
"All right, damnit!" Skinner roared.
"I'd take care how you address me, sir," the ranger
said quietly. "I don't take kindly to being cussed - a
bad mouth breeds a bad attitude."
"Really?" Skinner said from between gritted teeth.
"Really. You're keeping me waiting," the ranger said
ominously.
"Okay, Okay," Skinner tried, visibly, to calm down.
"Bare-assed?" He questioned.
The ranger nodded, a curious expression in his
eyes, almost like... anticipation? Skinner snorted. He
wouldn't be surprised if the other man was getting
off on this.
"How do I know you're really a park ranger?" He
asked, suspiciously. "Could I see some ID?" He
rocked back on his heels, a skeptical expression on
his face. God help the ranger if he was some kind of
pervert. Skinner wouldn't show him any mercy.
"Certainly, sir." The ranger reached into his pocket,
and pulled out the ID.
Skinner took it, eagerly, but all hope faded as he
examined it.
"You're better looking in the photograph than in real
life," he snapped, angry that the ID seemed to be
genuine.
"Being photogenic is a cross I have to bear, sir," the
ranger replied smoothly. "Pants down."
Skinner stood there for a moment, glaring at the
ranger. The other man slowly crossed his arms over
his chest, and leaned back against the wall, an
implacable smile on his face.
"I'll add another one for each second you keep me
waiting," the ranger warned ominously.
Skinner did his best not to explode. Instead he
undid his pants, and pushed them down to his
knees with short, angry, jerking motions. His boxers
followed suit.
"Over here."
The ranger put a hand on Skinner's shoulder and
made him hobble over to the other side of the room.
Skinner flushed bright crimson in humiliation. He
watched in dismay as the ranger pulled a heavy
wooden chair into the center of the cabin.
"Bend over," the ranger ordered, pushing his
unwilling captive over the back of the chair. "Or
would you prefer to do this outside, where all your
yells could carry across the park?" The ranger
asked.
"Here will do just fine," Skinner snapped from
between gritted teeth. The ranger grinned, and
stood in front of the chair. He undid the long, shiny
brown belt, whipped it out from his trousers with a
swish that made Skinner's stomach lurch in dread,
doubled it over, and thwapped it against his hand a
couple of times.
"How..." Skinner began with a croak, as the ranger
disappeared out of his line of vision.
"Yes, sir?" The ranger's hand came to rest on the
small of Skinner's back.
"How many?" Skinner asked.
"As many as it takes, sir. I won't stop until this fine
ass here is red hot, and you're screaming your head
off, so if you're the strong, silent type, we could be
here all night," the ranger told him, with a grin in his
voice.
Skinner clenched his fists into useless balls of
frustration, then let out a startled yelp as the first
blow hit home across his upturned, unprotected
bottom.
"Shit!" he yelped, unprepared for just how painful
the whipping would be.
"That's just the first," the ranger told him implacably.
"We have a long way to go yet. You might find it
helps to hold onto the chair legs."
"Damn you, I'll..."
Skinner started to get up, only to find himself
pushed back down again, and a pair of handcuffs
snapped around one of his wrists, fastening him to
the chair.
"Fuck it!" Skinner roared.
The ranger snapped another cuff around his other
wrist.
"That should keep you still," the ranger grinned at
him, then he patted his head. "There's no way
you're going to escape this punishment, so I'd just
accept it if I were you."
"Damn it, take these off!"
Skinner struggled fruitlessly for several seconds.
The ranger watched him, with an amused
expression on his face, tapping the belt menacingly
against his hand the whole time.
"I don't think so," he said. "Now, be polite or I'll wash
out your mouth with soap."
Skinner's struggles subsided, as he finally gave in to
the inevitable. He tensed up as the ranger
disappeared behind him, and then he felt that hand
descend on his back again. It was, in some weird
way almost comforting. He took a deep breath, and
then a second thwack of the belt against his naked
butt made him growl in pain.
"Let's heat things up, shall we," the ranger said
pleasantly, applying three more swats. "Tell me why
you're on the receiving end of my belt."
"Because I was smoking dope in a national park,"
Skinner gasped, as the belt continued its inexorable
rise and fall.
"That's right. And...?" The ranger prompted.
"Because I mouthed off at you..." Skinner moaned,
his backside engulfed in what felt like a wave of
flame.
"Very good. I really don't like being cussed. And?"
The ranger applied the belt to the top of Skinner's
thighs, and the big man let out a bellow.
"Because I tried to escape? Because I was slow in
taking my pants down? Oh, fuck!" Skinner
whimpered.
The belt cracked against his butt again, and he felt
his usual tough guy mask begin to crack.
"That's right. You're getting a good ass warming
which is exactly what you deserve. Maybe you'll
think twice about breaking the law in future," the
ranger said in a strict tone, whacking the belt down
across Skinner's butt again, and again until Skinner
started to make little keening noises in the back of
his throat.
"All right," the ranger stopped. "I can see that it's
going to take a while to make you fully remorseful,
so I'm going to give you some time to reflect on your
behavior. When I come back, I expect you to be
more contrite." And so saying, he gave Skinner a
hearty slap on his butt with his hand, and then left
the room.
"Wait!" Skinner yelled shakily after his tormentor.
There was no reply. He was bound, butt up, over a
chair, in a hut, in the middle of nowhere, with a
bright red, painful ass. It was too humiliating to bear,
but he had no choice. Bear it he had to. Skinner's
face was as flushed as his ass, as he considered
his position. Shit, if his subordinates could see him
now... It was too goddamn awful to even think about.
"Please. Come back!" he called. There was no
reply.
Long, agonizing minutes passed, and all Skinner
was aware of was his butt, hanging in the air,
smarting and red. He started to worry that the
ranger would never come back, when there was a
sound behind him, and he felt a hand rub over his
red bottom. He gave a yelp of surprise.
"Well, son, hot though this butt is, I don't think it's
done yet," the ranger informed him, in that serious,
intense voice. "I think we have some ways to go
before you're really sorry for what you did tonight."
"Please..." Skinner muttered weakly.
"I'm sorry, but I think we need a bit of positive
reinforcement. Now, you don't like the humiliation of
being spanked bare-assed like a kid, so I think you'll
like what I've got planned next even less," the
ranger told him firmly.
He came around in front of Skinner, and undid the
cuffs, then he helped the big man to stand. No
sooner had Skinner done so, than the ranger
grabbed hold of his wrist, pulled him over to the
couch, sat down upon it, and dragged his captive
over his knee.
"No! Wait!" Skinner struggled, but the combination
of being still spaced out, sore-assed, and having his
jeans around his ankles, effectively hobbling him,
made it impossible for him to resist. The ranger,
while slighter, was a strong man. He pulled Skinner
onto his lap, adjusted his position and then
caressed the painful, red buttocks making Skinner
holler even more.
"This was a good start - but it clearly needs painting
a brighter hue of red," the ranger said, raining down
several sharp smacks with his hand in quick
succession.
"Shit... please..." Skinner wriggled, but the ranger
pinned his arm behind his back, and continued
peppering his captive's butt with a volley of stinging
slaps. Skinner held onto the hard thighs beneath
him for dear life, as his backside paid for his crimes.
"I'm sorry..." he mumbled into the other man's
pants, his whole body quivering.
"You know, I think you are," the ranger laughed,
continuing to spank Skinner's upturned butt with all
his might. "And that's the way I intend you to stay,"
he said, landing another 6 smacks to the taut,
shaking buttocks displayed in all their glory in front
of him. Skinner moaned, and buried his face in the
ranger's pants, drawing deep, ragged, sobbing
breaths. Finally, the onslaught stopped, and he lay,
exhausted, over the other man's lap. The ranger
stroked his back soothingly while Skinner hiccuped,
the warmth in his backside heating up his entire
body, every nerve-ending making its presence felt.
"Now, do you think you've learned your lesson?" the
ranger asked in a firm but gentle tone.
"Yes, sir. I promise I have," Skinner said quickly.
"Good."
The ranger helped him to stand, and gave him a
hand adjusting his clothing. Skinner was glad there
wasn't a mirror in the cabin. He had no wish to see
his tear-stained red face right now. "All right then I'll
give you a lift back to your camp." The ranger held
the door open, and Skinner shuffled slowly back out
to the jeep. He eased himself onto the seat, with a
wince, and a tiny whimper of discomfort, that earned
him a grin from his tormentor.
"Nice to know my belt hasn't lost its sting!" he said.
"No, sir." Skinner bowed his head, and fastened his
seatbelt meekly. "It stings all right," he muttered
under his breath.
They drove back to the camp in silence, then the
ranger liberated Skinner's rucksack from the back of
the jeep, and solicitously helped the big man to lie
face down on his bedroll.
"So, do you have any more of that dope?" He
asked, rummaging around in Skinner's rucksack.
"If I say 'yes' will you spank me again?" Skinner
asked cautiously.
"Oh, you'd like that big guy!" The ranger slapped his
butt affectionately and Skinner yelped audibly. "Nah,
I just wanted to light up, kick back, and get high..."
The ranger said, locating the remaining supply of
pot and doing just that. "So," the ranger hunkered
down beside Skinner and offered him a puff of the
joint, "the aliens are like Ken dolls huh?" He raised
an amused eyebrow. "You're gonna have to explain
that one to me, Walt!"
"And maybe you'd like to explain to me where you
got that park ranger ID?" Skinner riposted, pulling
the other man down, and kissing him soundly on the
lips.
"Unofficial channels?" the ranger suggested, with a
lopsided grin. "Count yourself lucky that I don't give
you another spanking for the 'not as good looking as in
your photo' jibe, big guy. That did NOT go down well
with your lord and master y'know! And as for the
bullfrog comment...!"
"I never know where the hell you're going to turn up
next, Mulder," Skinner smiled tiredly, feeling
completely and utterly high, from the magical
combination of dope and endorphins to say nothing
of the presence of his handsome lover, all dressed
up and stern in that sexy uniform.
Trust Mulder to know exactly what he needed and
how to deliver it. He should have known that his
lover wouldn't allow him to disappear for a week on
his own. Mulder had very definite ideas on that
subject, being of the opinion that Skinner had a
tendency to lapse into morose self-recrimination
when left to his own devices for too long. Skinner
had to admit that his lover was probably right.
"Wherever I find my sub misbehaving, that's where
I'll be!" Mulder grinned wickedly. "If I have to watch
you every hour of every day, bad boy."
He stripped Skinner quickly and efficiently, removing
his jeans and exposing the big man's hot flesh to
the cool night air. Skinner shivered deliciously,
anticipating what was coming next.
"Wise-ass," Skinner croaked weakly, as his dom
took him in his arms, and expertly brought his cock,
which had been half-erect and leaking steadily
throughout the entire scene, to full erection with
his hand.
"Yup. And one thing's for sure, hot butt," Mulder
said.
"What's that?" Skinner gasped.
Mulder applied his tongue to the other man's heated
bottom, and licked the flaming flesh with relish. "We
won't be needing a fire to keep us warm tonight,"
Mulder grinned.
THE END