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The Delightful Education of Julian Bashir
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
THE DELIGHTFUL EDUCATION OF JULIAN BASHIR
Julian Bashir's fingers trembled slightly as he pressed the door
chime. It was only a scant few hours ago since he had met her, when
she had come to the infirmary with a slashed hand. At first, he had
been preoccupied with healing the cut -- obtained in Quark's after,
according to her, some of the other patrons had taken exception to
the fact that she cheated better than they did -- but after finish-
ing, he had looked up to see more. They exchanged a few words, and
he learned that she was from Ishtar. That had explained several
things to him: her skill with a knife (the other man had sustained
considerably more damage) and the way her eyes held him like a cat's
held a mouse. Her gaze alone was enough to make him flush slightly.
He had turned to replace the protoplaser in the sterilization field,
and when he turned back around, she was no more than three inches
away from him. Stammering an apology, he tried to edge past her but
could not; her hands were around his slim waist, and she had
positioned her hips directly in front of his.
"Have you eaten?" she asked him, her voice low and rich. He had
managed to force a "no" past his lips, feeling more and more like a
mouse as her eyes roved over his face.
"My ship is called the Ariad. It is docked at Bay 2," she had told
him. "You are very lovely, Doctor. Be there in two hours."
And then she had left, leaving him quite warm, with a thin film of
sweat on the back of his neck. He sat down to collect himself,
feeling the slightly pleasurable ache between his thighs that always
signalled arousal. I guess it's true, he had thought, what they say
about Ishtarian women.
The intervening two hours had passed slowly, with no incident, making
it hard for him to ignore the insistent throb that reminded him of
his appointment. Finally, out of boredom and a desire to distract
himself, he asked the computer for information on Ishtar, the woman's
home planet.
When at last he looked up from the desk viewer to discover that the
rest of the two hours had passed, he wondered what would happen. I'm
not going, he told himself. I'm just not going to go. I'll get back
to my quarters, get something out of the food replicator, and just
get to sleep early. He sat back in the chair, leaning his head
against the headrest. Though he tried not to, he couldn't keep from
looking at the last image on the viewer -- that of one of the twelve
Ruling Queens of Ishtar with six of her consorts. Six of ten.
I'm just not going, he told himself again. He got up, licked his
lips nervously, smoothed his uniform, and walked out of the infir-
mary, dead set on returning to his quarters.
Now, he stood before the docking entrance to her ship, unable to
restrain his curiosity and thinking even that, perhaps, she might be
something that he needed. He remembered the way she had looked at
him after he had regenerated the skin on her palm, and how he had
felt like a rabbit looking up into the eyes of a sleek hunting bitch,
his throat tight and he barely able to speak. It'll just be a nice
dinner, he told himself, but that thought died faster than Warp 9.
He knew how she had looked at him, and he knew after reading more
about Ishtarian culture why she had looked at him as she did.
He pressed the chime again, and the door slid back to reveal darkness
lit by firelight inside. The same rich voice that had caught his
attention so completely in the infirmary told him to enter and swal-
lowing once, hard, he obeyed.
He saw nothing at first, his eyes still adjusting to the change in
lighting, but when they had, he nearly gasped in astonishment. The
rich voice came again, from nowhere, "I told you I was good at
cheating."
The ship was opulent, and everywhere he looked, he saw beautiful
things to delight his eye. Tapestries hung from the bulkheads, flame
lamps stood from the floor, lighting the deeply colored room with a
somber and quieting glow. He moved forward, feeling as if he were
walking in liquid topaz light, looking for the source of the voice.
Nervous, he said nothing.
"I'm over here," the voice said, from directly behind him. Julian
jumped and spun around -- and gasped yet again. She walked toward
him, and he felt his chest rise and fall in little pants. He swal-
lowed again.
"Are you nervous?" she asked him, raising her sharp, dark face in a
challenge. She took a step toward him, the click made by the heels
of her boots audible against the polished hardwood floors of her
vessel. She wore only them and a pair of dark fingerless gloves that
reached to above her elbows. In one hand he could just see two
velvety blue cords dangling down to reach the floor.
Any reply he made would be a lie. He tried to shake his head and
muster some bravado and failed, settling only for licking his lips
yet again. He had only guessed at her physique earlier on in the
infirmary; now he was able to see what had previously been only
hinted at.
She was tall, nearly as tall as him, and muscles stood outlined under
her smooth flesh as she moved. He was unable to take his eyes off of
her, but could only gaze. Her breasts were firm, and as she breathed
their perfect rosy nipples appeared to point at him, over and over.
Her stomach was hard-looking, with the muscular outlines that spoke
of peak physical condition. Under this were a set of very female
hips, and he could just see in the dark lighting the outlines of her
vulva, inviting and mystifying. Then came the long, fit legs,
muscled and strong looking -- what he could see that was not hidden
under the boots she wore. Only the barest hint of thigh showed; the
rest was covered in the black animal skin. No elevated heels were on
these boots; this woman's feet were planted solidly on the ground.
She was directly in front of him now, reaching up to run her fingers
over his moist lips. "I enjoy watching when you do that." Her eyes
were riveted to his face, raking over it like nails.
"I . . . I . . . thought . . . we were going to have dinner," he
managed to stammer. He felt lightheaded, and she started backing him
toward the massive bed in the far corner of the main room.
"I said nothing about dinner," she told him. "I asked only if you
had eaten." She reached out with leather-gloved hands and took one
wrist firmly. "Have you?"
"N-no. . . " He could only watch in fascination as she tied one of
the two soft blue cords firmly around his wrist, letting the ends
dangle down from his arm. He did nothing to stop her as she repeated
this with his other wrist. "What . . . " he began, but she placed
her hand very firmly against his mouth.
"No questions." He felt her reach down and take his hips again, and
with a push, he was thrust backward to land on the bed. She stepped
directly onto the bed until she stood over him with one foot on
either side of his chest. He could make out more of her moist and
tantalizing vulva, but tried only to squirm his way into a sitting
position.
She would have none of it, and placed one booted foot directly on his
chest. "You will not move until I give you leave to move," she said.
Stunned and wondering what this night would teach him, he said no-
thing, only looked up at this beautiful and dangerous woman standing
over him. As he watched, he saw the undersides of her breasts moving
rhythmically, bouncing gently as the bed cushion rocked in response
to his attempts to get away.
"I saw you in the infirmary," she told him, still standing over his
supine form. "That's when I decided I wanted to teach you." She
moved her foot from off of his chest and descended on him hard, to
land sitting with her legs straddling his ribs. He cried out in
surprise, and felt the bed roll under his back.
Taking his face in her hands, she looked directly into his wide eyes.
Her voice softened but lost none of its resonant quality. "You are
so very beautiful, Doctor, with your large eyes which you use to melt
my heart. I can't let you melt it, though." She shook her dark
head. "A teacher must be firm and disciplined with her pupils." Her
dark, sharp-featured face dipped close to his until he could feel her
breath against his trembling lips. "You, with your lovely mouth and
lips and soft voice, which you will beg with, but I can't let your
begging sway me." She took two handsful of his hair and drew his
head back hard. "Your long slender neck, which I will see bend and
arch as I will it . . . " He turned his head, trying to get it free
of her grasp, breathing hard, and a puppylike whimper escaped his
throat.
"Please, don't hurt me . . . " he said. His eyes were wide with
incipient fear. "Don't hurt me . . . " Immediately, her voice
softened, and she placed her hands on his smooth young cheeks. He
could smell the rich leather and feel it against his skin.
"Beautiful child, I would never hurt you." Her eyes became moist and
soft. "I will teach you, not hurt you." She ran her hands over his
chest and stomach. "So beautiful . . . " she said with hunger in her
voice that frightened him. No, he thought, not a rabbit. And she's
no hunting bitch. As he watched her tawny, muscled body over his,
with its cape of wild dark hair he realized what she was -- a lion-
ess. That makes me the lamb, he thought, or the cub. Maybe a ga-
zelle, after being run down and caught. His breath came faster, and
he felt his mouth go dry.
"What is your name?" he managed to choke out.
"Why do you need to know?" he was told. "You need only call me
Lady." She took one wrist and pulled it away from his chest where he
had raised it to protect himself, and he turned his head to see her
fastening the dangling ends of the cord to one of the corner posts of
the bed. He could not defend himself; before he knew what was hap-
pening, his arm was stretched out and he could not budge it. She
slapped him lightly. "Stop this ridiculous struggling." Taking his
other hand, he was soon defenseless and completely vulnerable to this
woman atop him. His heart contracted and he cried out in fear when
she rose from the bed and returned carrying a large, vicious looking
knife. She saw his face, questioning and afraid, and her own expres-
sion hardened slightly. "I am not going to hurt you," he was told.
Then, "Do you have another uniform?" Confused, he nodded. "Good."
Fascinated and unable to stop her, he watched as she straddled him
again, slid the knife under his tunic, and cut it away from his body.
He fought against the bonds she had placed him in, feeling the soft
cord cut into his wrist, but she had done her job well, and the knots
did not give a millimeter. "If you don't stop struggling, you could
get cut. You must stay completely still." He did so, and could feel
the dull edge of the knife brushing against his skin as she cut away
the uniform shirt to expose his chest, rising and falling quickly,
and his slim stomach. "My . . . " she said, and placed the knife on
the bed cushion. "I see you're this beautiful caramel color all
over, Doctor," she whispered. As her eyes devoured him, she placed
her hands on either side of his neck, drawing them down toward his
waist firmly. He felt her touch, and writhed as her nails contacted
the sensitive skin on his sides and near his waist. He could not
hold back a small sound of mixed distress and pleasure at the sensa-
tion that made his hair stand on end and lit up every nerve ending in
his body.
Her face lit up as well. "Ah!" she said in the voice of someone who
has made a great discovery. His eyes shot to her.
"No . . . "
"`No, Lady,' you mean," she instructed him, drawing her nails against
his smooth cafe-au-lait skin again. His muscles tensed under her
touch as he bucked against her.
"Stop!" His voice broke. "Please . . . "
"Please WHAT?" she demanded, not letting up but intensifying what
seemed to him to hover on a thin and exquisite border between torture
and pleasure. He cried out again. Finally:
"Please, Lady!" was wrung from his quivering mouth.
"What?" She did not stop.
"Please, Lady, stop!" Instantly, the sensation ceased, and he threw
his head back, panting, eyes closed, the muscles in his arms aching
from his struggle against the cords. His eyes jerked open again,
though, when he felt her gloved hand against his cheek again. He
looked at her, saying nothing, only trying to get his breath back.
She was regarding him with a hunger that seemed to make her previous
appetite pale to nothing. Her beautiful face closed in on him, and
she placed her mouth against his, but did not kiss him. He felt her
own breath coming more quickly, and realized that she was becoming as
badly aroused as . . .
. . . as he was. He was very badly aroused now, he suddenly saw.
He could feel himself pushing against his uniform trousers, and he
wished with all his heart that she would cut them from around his
legs as well. "I want you," he whispered to her, his lips brushing
over hers as he spoke.
"You beg . . . so beautifully . . . " she told him, and he could feel
her lips moving as well. "But . . . " and she pulled back, "I will
take you when and if I decide that you have earned it." He watched
with excitement as, after pulling off his uniform boots, she picked
up the knife again and slid it underneath the cuff of his trousers.
Slowly, slowly, he felt the edge brush against his skin as it rose
along his inner thigh, sending chills along his spine and making
goosebumps stand out all over him. When progress would have endan-
gered him, she slid the knife up along his abdomen, making him writhe
anew as he felt the edge tickling him, his skin's sensitivity now
heightened with anticipation. The same sensation met his other leg,
and as she then cut away his underclothes, he burst forth, ready and
aching horribly for her. He was completely unclothed, and completely
at her mercy.
She turned and threw the knife hard; it thudded into the wall oppo-
site them, the Starfleet doctor supine and defenseless and the Ish-
tarian woman who had made him that way. She was silent for a brief
moment, and then drove her hips down on his, plunging him deep inside
her. He gasped and shuddered at the warm wetness that clutched at
him, and moaned in horror when he felt her withdraw and get up from
the bed. "That is a taste," he was told as he moaned in frustration.
"IF you satisfy me, that is what you can win. If not, you win
nothing."
"Lady . . . " he gasped, his voice soft and pleading. She turned
back to face him, and he saw in her eyes what she saw: his bare body,
shining with the light sheen of sweat that had formed on him, long
legs stretched out along the bed with his rigid sex between them,
arms forced wide, face alive with a mix of fear and arousal. She
turned away then, and he watched as she disappeared into another
room. After an awful pause during which she was out of his sight,
she returned carrying a small silver jar. He only watched as she
resumed her position standing over top of him. This time, he could
see her sweet vulva more clearly, and he felt himself throb and
thirst to be inside her again. "What . . . what is that?" he managed
to whisper. She reached down quickly and grasped him hard, squeezing
tightly. Julian's head swam.
"*What* do you say?" she demanded softly, in a voice of great affec-
tion and patience.
He could barely think for the roaring of blood in his ears. "What is
that . . . Lady?" he choked out. She released him, and he began
breathing again, not sure of whether he would want her never to touch
him like that again, or do so over and over until he was wrung dry.
She sat on the edge of the bed and stroked at his inner thigh idly as
she told him, and he could barely concentrate on her words. "It is
called kamireh." She removed the lid slowly, then resumed stroking
his thigh. Not even addressing his body, twitching with every move-
ment of her fingers, she explained further. "It is very sweet," she
scooped out a small portion on a fingertip and smiled at him a smile
he had been waiting to see all his life, "and VERY sticky." Languid-
ly, she placed her finger in her own mouth, and sucked at it as he
watched, his large eyes riveted to her lips and how they draped
around her finger, how her cheeks pulsed as she sucked. Allowing
this tension to mount, she then scooped out another little mound of
the kamireh and held it over his anxious mouth. "Would you like
some?"
He parted his lips. "Yes, Lady . . . please." She withdrew her
finger slightly as his mouth rose for it.
"I should warn you that it has some . . . unusual qualities," she
informed him, pulling her hand back until it was directly between her
breasts.
"What . . . unusual qualities?" he asked, then added quickly, "Lady,"
at her budding expression of displeasure. She was satisfied.
"Pleasure-enhancing qualities, or rather stamina-enhancing. Are you
really sure you want some?" She shifted her position slightly, open-
ing her legs just a bit so that he could see past the leather and be-
tween her firm thighs. She saw him looking at her and her eyes be-
came hooded at the naked hunger on his face. "That's for later, if
you do your job well." Then, she held her hand over his mouth and
slowly placed her finger between his eagerly parted lips. His eyes
closed in sheer pleasure as he sucked at the intensely sweet creamy
confection. He could feel it making his blood pulse faster, and his
sex, previously beginning to surrender to frustration, bounded back
to stand at attention, thirsty and throbbing. His appetite rebounded
with it, and he heard himself moaning in response to it.
He had never wanted anything so badly.
After a few moments, the silence in the room caused him to open his
eyes. She was watching him, plainly taking great delight in witness-
ing his reaction to the kamireh. "You are VERY responsive," she said
approvingly. "Few men so young respond so well and so completely to
it. Would you like another taste?"
He had to gather his breath. "Yes, Lady, I would." A chill swept
over his naked body, and he shivered.
"Very well." She resumed squatting over him, painfully not such that
he would be able to be inside her, took another little mound of kami-
reh and, as he watched in growing excitement, placed it on her
tongue. She bent over him and his lips parted again; his heart
knocked hard enough to burst from his chest in anticipation of . . .
He felt her tongue slide between his lips, the sweet cream at the
tip, and meet his own. For a few moments, he felt nothing, was no-
thing, save the delicious sensations flowing over him like wet velvet
as he sucked at her tongue. Her breasts touched lightly against his
chest as she bent over him, and for a time they were silent, toying
with one another's warm nimble tongues and delighting in the sweet-
ness of the kamireh.
Then, he felt another burst of hot fire run through and over him, and
the hard throb that pounded at him from his sex felt as if it could
drive him through the roof. He was gasping now, and whimpering
lightly on every exhalation. Finally, he found the consciousness to
open his eyes, and saw a similar hunger in her face, felt as her
breasts pushed rhythmically at him as she panted as well; the kamireh
affected Ishtarians, too. "I must . . . " she began, then broke off
as a shudder ran through her; her felt her sex also twitch and pulse
against his naked belly. "I must . . . be careful of the kamireh, or
I will not be able to," she looked at his shining body with greed,
"restrain myself long enough to instruct you properly." For a brief
few seconds, she simply stared at him, grasped his upper arms, and
gripped them so hard that she left the imprints of her nails in his
skin. "It's a pity you Starfleet types are so dedicated, and so
easily missed, or else I might never let you off my ship." At his
expression, she patted his cheek. "Don't worry, Doctor. I have
every intention of allowing you to return to your duty, but," and she
traced her fingers along his sternum down to the hollow area between
his hips, "your duty lies with me right now." Yet again, she drove
her hips down onto his, this time lingering a little longer. He felt
her muscles contract as she squeezed at him, and felt rather than saw
her take two handsful of his hair and pull his head back until his
neck was extended completely. Fleet doctor, brilliant specialist in
multi-species medicine, he was now nothing but a mass of raw nerve
endings, knowing and caring about nothing but the satisfaction of the
woman that had swallowed him up. She was right; his duty was here
now. She clutched at him for a few more times, her own face betray-
ing her excitement and desire as she watched his body arch under
hers, and then she withdrew, oblivious to his sobs, and stood over
him on the bed.
He could restrain himself no longer. "Lady!" he begged her. "Lady,
please . . . " His voice broke as he begged. "Lady . . . " But she
simply stood over him, looking down at him stretched beneath her, his
arms tense with their tendons standing out in clear relief as he
strained against the cords, fists gripping them. "Please," he whis-
pered. She stood still for long agonizing seconds, moving only as
the bed swayed under her from Julian's twisting and arching. Then,
she squatted slowly over him, again not taking him in despite his de-
sire, and picked up the silver jar again. This time, however, he
shook his head in fear. "Please, no," he begged her. "No more,
Lady. I don't want that." His soft voice caught. "I . . . want
you . . . "
She was silent and removed the cap, and then her gloves. Taking a
little kamireh out of the jar, she placed it caressingly on the head
of his sex, and with languid strokes, covered the shaft. He watched
as she did this, thrilling to each touch of her hands, gasping as his
body reacted to them, heightened by the kamireh already. "This," he
was told, "will intensify the experience. For both of us." She re-
placed the lid of the silver jar, and grasped him firmly, hard enough
to make his eyes squeeze shut. He gritted his teeth, awaiting what-
ever would come next. When nothing happened, he looked down and saw
only her face looking straight at him. Then, with great delibera-
tion, she placed her sex directly over his and guided him into her.
He only stared and swallowed, not sure of whether or not she would
allow him to remain inside of her. Her face gave him no clues; it
was expressionless, looking into his eyes, or rather through them.
"Your eyes are," she bent down until she was on top of him, her face
even with his, "most remarkable. They are . . . like liquid . . . "
Then, she devoured his mouth, unable to control herself. She was
whispering now, as she took his face in her hands. "You will keep
your eyes on mine at all times." She paused and put her lips over
his without kissing him, all the while maintaining eye contact.
"Even when you come." Her voice was soft and delicious as she began
to squeeze at him and undulate herself against him. He shuddered and
closed his eyes, and she stopped.
Nearly sobbing, he looked at her, his face a question between her
hands. "You will keep your eyes on mine at all times," she repeated.
"Even when you come."
"Yes, Lady," he breathed, and she resumed, keeping her grip on his
head and keeping his face turned to hers. More slow clutching, more
languid movement of her hips, becoming gradually more energetic as
the kamireh took effect on her as well. She watched as he tried to
control his reactions, keeping his eyes locked with hers. At one
point, he bit his lip to keep from crying out. Her face tightened in
distress. "No!" she told him. "You may use your voice." He nodded
slowly in response, his nods gradually taking up the cadence of her
muscles gripping him, her hips grinding into his. Quietly at first,
but growing in volume, he moaned with each breath. Every part of his
body, every action, became synchronized with the woman to whom he had
somehow come to owe his bodily allegiance. He watched her head bob
as the kamireh took her, saw her wild hair drag over her wet body,
felt her spasm as the hot throbbing laid its grasp on her, saw her
sweat-filmed breasts move in little up-and-down circles as her body
became synchronized as well with the wave that had taken them both
over. Together, they moved, together they moaned, together they
breathed -- all the while with their eyes locked.
He was tightening, becoming very tight, so tight . . . "Lady," he
moaned quietly. He could feel himself nearing the peak as she re-
leased his head and slowly dragged her nails down his chest and sto-
mach until her hands were at her own hips. He was beyond gasping,
felt only the first shuddering surge of energy; she saw it as well,
and her hands flew back to his cheeks to hold his head rock steady.
She bent again to him, focusing her eyes directly on his. "Even when
you come," she reminded him, her voice a ghostly hiss. He could not
respond, but only react as she clutched and thrust, finally feeling
the tightness build to the point where he felt that he could not
stand it any longer, to the point where he felt that the horrible
ache would remain with him all his life if he . . .
Then suddenly, with consuming thunder, he felt the first wave break
over his slick body. Though she kept her hands around his head, he
managed to break her iron grasp and his eyes rolled back. His voice,
inarticulate and wondering, gave way to such sensations that he never
imagined a human body could sustain without losing consciousness.
Over and over, he felt himself bucking wildly underneath the weight
of the woman who owned him; over and over, his hips thrust upwards,
driving himself so deeply into her that he felt he never wanted to
come out. Oceans of cold water poured over Julian Bashir, drowning
him in icy fire. The cords, wet with his sweat, cut against him,
rubbing the skin from his wrists, but the hot electricity of the raw
skin on his arms only added to the intensity of what was breaking
over him with the power of a tsunami. All the nerves in his body
were nothing but hot wires, coursing with voltage that threatened to
burn out his mind. The sensory burnout sustained itself until he
felt he could take no more; incoherent from pleasure, he could only
be buffeted about by the storm raging around and through him. Mi-
nutes, hours . . . he did not count time. When he at last knew him-
self again, the flame lamps were nearly dark, and his Lady was in a
state similar to his own -- asleep on top of him, covered in her own
sweat and his, exhausted.
His eyes took some time to adjust to the light level, and he wondered
how long he had been unaware of his surroundings. A trickle of their
mingled sweat that had once seemed so hot drew a sensuous icy line
down his side, and he caught his breath. Turning his head took every
ounce of energy he had, and he saw that his arms were still tied in
the cords -- cords that had become frayed and strained through his
thrashing.
Every muscle in his body was sore. His stomach, his legs, his arms
especially. His abdomen and thighs were stiff and refused to respond
to his orders -- particularly with the prone form of his Lady asleep
on top of them. Still feeling the exhaustion, he sighed and dropped
back to sleep.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
When he woke, he was alone in the bed and completely unaware of how
much time had passed. In a panic, he tried to sit up, and found that
he was yet bound. Sounds issued at him from the next room, and he
called, "Lady?" The sounds stopped, but there was nothing further.
"Lady, are you there?" She appeared in the room, with no boots and
no gloves, but dripping wet, her muscular body glistening with water.
"You are awake," she observed.
"Yes, Lady." His voice was gentle and quiet. "May I get up?"
"Of course." She reached to the knife, still stuck in the wall op-
posite the bed, and with two quick flicks of it over his head, he
felt the cords fall away. Stiffly, he moved his arms back down to
his chest, trying to rub at them and finding that his hands were rub-
bery and weak.
"I was in my spa," she told him, helping him sit upright. His head
swam and lights danced in his vision. "Would you like to join me?"
Sheepishly, he replied, "Lady, I don't think I'm ready . . . " but
she shook her head at him.
"It's only a nice warm soak. You could probably use it." She helped
him to his feet and guided him into the next room, where a lavish spa
greeted him. Steam hovered on the surface, swirling gently like fine
mist over a lake. The spa itself appeared to be set into a lush
green lawn and was ringed with fragrant jasmine, and rolling fertile
hills stretched toward the horizon as far as he could see, some dot-
ted with trees in autumn colors. A fresh cool breeze caressed his
tired face and washed the scent of the improbably flowering jasmine
over his bare skin. "A holosuite, Lady?"
"Yes. Expensive, but as I told you, I cheat quite well." She
climbed into the water, and made a motion to him to follow. He did
so, lowering himself gratefully into the steaming spa. Slowly, he
felt the stiffness disappear from his muscles, to be replaced with a
weak lassitude.
"How long have I been here, Lady?" he asked.
"Only a few short hours," she told him. "Six hours. You are due
back on duty in six more." Purring with pleasure at the gentle
breeze that tugged her hair and his, she told him. "It is a slow
time now. I will be finished instructing you by then."
His eyes widened. "There is more?"
She laughed at his question. "Of course there is more. You didn't
think I could teach you everything in one lesson, did you?" She
stretched like a contented lioness. "As it is, I must leave tomorrow
and hence can teach you only a little of what I would like to." She
opened her eyes. "I can arrange to be back at this station in some
time, you know."
He looked back at her, the warm water lapping at his shoulders and
around his chest. "I don't know if . . . " He swallowed. She
reached over and patted one shoulder.
"The first lesson is most involved, as it is then that I must teach
you proper submission and willingness to learn. Subsequent ones
become more and more . . . leisurely. There are only a few small
things further that I can teach you in the time we have at any rate,
and they should leave you considerably less . . . "
"Exhausted?" he finished.
"Precisely. After all, you will have to go directly on duty from
here."
He swallowed again, wondering what would be required of him, and
settled for remaining quiet and lowering himself into the blood-warm
water until only his face was above the waterline. Nearly an hour
passed with them like that, silent, simply content in each other's
company and enjoying the sensation of the water rippling against
their skin. At one point, he felt a light tickling on his face and
opened his eyes. He saw her hand over him, her face smiling at his,
as she sprinkled a handful of the tiny jasmine flowers over him. He
could only return her smile, and closed his eyes again.
More time passed. "Lady?" he said finally.
"Mmm?"
He hesitated. "Lady, Quartermaster only gives us a certain number of
uniforms in a given period of time. I can't have another one des-
troyed."
She laughed at this. "Don't worry, you won't need your uniform, Doc-
tor." She sat up. "That reminds me." She rose from the water. "I
have something for you." Julian watched as her sinuous shining body
moved to one of the trees lining the glade in which the spa was set.
He saw her pick something up but could not make out what it was.
When she returned, she bent down next to him and held the object out.
Dark blue, soft, and shimmering, it lay in her hands. It was a col-
lar. Attached to it was a long beautiful silver chain that glittered
in the holo-sunlight, and dangling from the end of the chain were two
more binding cords like those that had cut his flesh in the first
lesson.
Julian sat up at this, and looked up at her. "This is . . . ?" he
began, but she cut him off with a finger against his lips.
"This is yours," she told him, "the only thing that will be recog-
nized as yours as long as you are on this ship." He felt the soft
kid leather wrap around his neck, and heard the tiny click of the
fastening. The chain and binding cords lay on the ground behind his
head. He fingered the collar, mark of his bodily duty to his Lady
and watched her as she lowered herself into the water again. "It is
your mark of allegiance to me. By undergoing the initiatory lesson,
you've proved your worth to receive the collar." He was silent at
this. "It's actually a nice fit; I had to use a smaller one than
usual for you." She leaned forward and touched his face. "You have
such a lovely slim neck, you know." Her hand dragged down his wet
chest, disappearing under the water that covered him. Again, his
nerve endings awakened to her.
He knew then that he would have stayed, no matter what, and endured
even more exhaustion than previous, all for her and what she could
teach him. He moved his hand under the warm water, taking hers in
it, and said, "Lady, I'm yours," and felt it with all his heart.
She looked directly into his dark eyes. "I knew you would be," she
whispered to him, and kissed him, the first and only kiss they had
shared while he was free, and the last. He returned it, gently, and
felt his own sincerity and dedication to her filling him like wine.
Then, she pulled away from him, one hand firmly on his chest to keep
him from following. He held her eyes with his own, gazing up at her.
"Enough informality," she said softly. "This could compromise your
disciplining if it continues." Julian was crestfallen but under-
stood.
"Yes, Lady," he said, and could not keep the disappointment out of
his voice. He shivered as he felt her fingers brush against his skin
one last time and withdraw.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
CONTINUING EDUCATION
Julian looked at the other man, attired nearly identically to his
Lady, with more than a little trepidation, still holding his Lady's
hand, the hand that held the chain to his collar. He wore nothing
else, as was required by his training.
"This is Rala, my friend, Doctor. He will be helping me during your
next lesson." Julian swallowed.
"How?" His voice wavered slightly, betraying his uncertainty. He
felt his Lady's arm around his waist, protective and caring, as she
stood behind him.
"He will help teach you the next lesson, how to give yourself freely."
His head turned; his eyes sought hers. "I trust Rala," and she took
the other man's hand in hers, kissing the palm, "implicitly."
"I only wish to merit your trust, Lady," Rala replied, his own voice
rich and deep. He was slightly shorter than Julian, level with his
Lady, and his hair was the color of ruddy sand, his skin fair. Large
eyes were set over a straight nose and sensuously full lips. He was
well-built, with the waist and chest of a South Seas pearl diver,
narrow and strong. Between creamy hips was his own sex, slightly
erect, surrounded by tow-colored curls. A perfect round peach was
his buttocks, right down to the coat of gentle fuzz. His long legs
looked strong, at least what Julian could see of them that was not
also covered in his dark tan boots, a contrast to his Lady's jet
ones.
Julian looked up then to see that the other man was examining him as
closely as he was being examined; he felt blood go to his face and
heat rose from his blushing cheeks. His hand tightened on his
Lady's.
"You have never tasted a man?" Rala asked him softly. Julian only
shook his head.
"I . . . I've never . . . wanted to before . . . " he stammered. His
Lady came up behind him then, and he felt her against him, felt
himself drawing strength from her nearness, her warmth.
"Doctor," she said, "would I ever lead you into something that would
harm you?" Again, his eyes sought hers.
"No, Lady," he replied, with perfect trust, complete sincerity. His
eyes went back to Rala, silent and watching. His Lady's hand rose to
his warm face, and her lips closed on his. She felt the thin sweat
on his upper lip as she kissed him, and wiped it away with her thumb.
Then, she turned and nodded to the other man.
Rala walked forward, placing one gentle hand on Julian's bare waist.
His dark stomach tensed and his eyes widened with apprehension. Rala
drew nearer, and Julian's Lady stood close behind him, against him,
until he could feel her breathing. "I'm right here, Doctor," was all
she said, all she needed to say. Rala said only:
"I will never hurt you, Doctor" -- and kissed him.
Julian closed his eyes, shivering, and felt his breathing rate
increase. Rala's lips moved against his, and he would have whimpered
had he not felt the calming presence of his Lady behind him, stroking
his stomach lightly. He could smell the other man's maleness, feel
an arm slide around his back and hold him against a hard chest.
Warmth enveloped him from all sides. Gentle but firm bodies were
against him. Caressing hands seemed to cover every inch of his skin.
Almost without realizing it, he found himself returning the man's
kiss, felt his own lips move against Rala's, felt his own hand rise
to take sand-colored curls in his fingers. The gently pressing
bodies against his moved closer and embraced one another around him,
and he felt as though he were losing himself. Deliciously, he felt
himself pulse and awaken, felt himself pressing against the other
man's body, becoming firm against his firmness, and with a wondering
jolt, he understood that he was being held against a body like his
own.
Rala's tongue traced out his delicate lips, and his own did the same.
Hesitantly at first, they began toying with each other's tongues.
The room seemed filled with the soft sounds of their mouths against
each other, their playful tongues exploring one another's mouths.
Julian moaned softly, a light feathery sound. Then, Rala pulled
away, and Julian felt the warmth against his chest fade. His heart
was pounding.
His Lady put both arms around him then, against his slim chest. "I
would never expose you to anyone not gentle, dear Doctor," was all
she said. He lay his head back against her shoulder as the other man
regarded him, hearing only the deafening quiet that seemed to settle
on the room.
Then, the light vanished, and he could not see. His head flew
upright and he gasped. A gentle hand laid itself against his
stomach, and he could not tell whose it was. Moments later, he
became aware of the blindfold that had been placed on him, soft and
entirely blocking his vision. His muscles were rigid and stood
outlined in the candlelight. Reflexively, he reached for his Lady's
hand. "Lady . . . " he said, but before he could continue, he felt
only a soft mouth against his, and the scent of a man rose up to his
nostrils. Rala.
Without thinking, he returned the kiss, and felt the mouth trace
itself down to his neck. He gasped, and felt his head fall back.
Another kiss awoke his lips -- his Lady -- and he felt a tongue push
its way between them as another tongue drew whirls against his toffee
skin. Then, that was elsewhere also against his neck, and joined by
the other mouth and tongue, the other gentle lips. Softly, he felt
the mouths, the fingers, meander over the surface of his body,
wandering and kissing and fondling until he could no longer tell them
apart. His knees buckled with the pleasure, and two sets of firm,
gentle hands caught him and lowered him softly to the floor.
All traces of hesitation vanished; each mouth, each tongue was
another to enjoy, another to please. All over him, hands wandered,
and he felt overloaded with touch. An electrifying sensation of warm
wetness embraced his now rigid sex, and while it was not the gateway
of his Lady, he had no idea who it belonged to, and did not care.
All he could think of was drowning in the tender pleasing mouths all
over him and pleasing them when they arrived at his.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It had been a long day, too long once he had seen the arrival
schedules for the station. It had been an achingly long five months,
and the minute the date had turned, he had begun searching through
the schedules every day; the terminal in his quarters as well as that
in the infirmary had been set to search for her ship's name ever
since she had left. At first, he could not keep himself from
checking them constantly, but as the long weeks had dragged on, he
had stopped doing it for the most part. Today, the terminal in his
quarters had beeped at him, as it had done hundreds of times since
she had departed last, and he had walked over to it, wondering whose
prescription was up to be renewed, or what offloading of medical
supplies had to be signed for.
And it had blinked quietly up at him, showing only one line:
Ariad. 15:40 hours. Bay 1.
His hands had trembled then, as he stared at the screen. A keystroke
would have cleared it and left it in memory to be accessed later, but
he couldn't touch the keypad, had to keep it glowing quietly up at
him, making her arrival seem more real. He closed his eyes, and
brought two shivering hands to his face.
What did he remember of what she had taught him? What would she say?
What would *he* say upon seeing her? Would she still want him? And,
if she did, what . . . what would she teach him now? He rubbed at
one fist with his palm, and a flood of memories ran over him, washing
at his feet. The unity. The electric warmth and acceptance. The
gentle discipline. He shook once, and his back tingled with the
awakened memories of the spots of candlewax against his skin, the
tingling of her blows.
The ungentle discipline.
A glance at his schedule confirmed that it would be a busy day -- two
prenatals, six physicals, and seven returned test results from the
lab. At least he wouldn't be left by himself, like he had been the
last time, wondering what was going to happen. He smoothed his
uniform nervously, and licked his lips. His face felt cool, and his
hand went to his upper lip; he was sweating.
She's here, he told himself, almost not believing it. She's almost
here. He would never be able to eat anything for breakfast; his
stomach was in knots.
What if she has forgotten me? he asked himself, the question that
threatened to paralyze him. He had to confront it, had to ask it of
himself or he would be unable to function the entire day. He
wouldn't do that to his patients. What if all that I read, all that
I researched means . . . nothing? He ran through the files he had
accessed on Ishtarian women and their training in his mind, all that
he had read compulsively after her departure. All that he had
studied against the day she returned. Might I never put it to use?
What if she has found someone else? What if one of her pupils after
me was . . . more than I was? Better? All the unspoken fears ran
through him, gibbering, and threatened to overwhelm him. With a hard
snap of flesh on plastic, he struck the keypad, bringing up the day's
medical schedule.
The first prenatal was in the morning, he saw. One of the Bajoran
civilians on the station. Her fetus was of a different blood type
than she was, as common in Bajorans as humans, and she needed some
special monitoring; one of the station midwives and he had conferred
the night before about the case. No cause for concern, but seeing it
steadied his nerves. Something medical. A chord had been struck in
him, and the knowledge of what he would have to do, the actions he
would take, passed before him like a mantra, calming him.
And, he would see what happened after that. He was off duty at 18:45
hours. Perhaps he could call her ship . . . ask after her as she
approached. Still nervous, he walked briskly out of his quarters on
the way to the infirmary.
By lunch he was ravenous, and had downed enough food to march an army
on. It threatened to make its presence known again after he had
eaten it, though, and he had beaten a hasty exit from the replimat.
After returning to the infirmary, his nerves had steadied again, and
he took the opportunity to lose himself in the work offered by the
returning test results. By the time 15:40 hours had arrived, he was
standing over a vat of bubbling viscous material that would have made
anyone but a medical researcher queasy and poking at a tricorder.
His combadge chittered at him. Absentmindedly, he struck at it,
leaving a streak of the medical stew on his smock as he did so.
"Bashir." His greetings sometimes degenerated when he was
distracted.
Kira was on the other end. "Doctor. There's a shipowner just
docking who'd like a word with you."
And he had almost dropped the tricorder he was holding right into the
vat. "What?" It's her, he repeated to himself, over and over, it's
her, it's her. He gripped the sides of the vat, closing his eyes.
"The ship is called the Ariad. Should I pipe it down to you?"
"Yes!" He steadied his hands, and put down the tricorder. Seconds
passed like centuries --
"Doctor!" It was her voice, her beautiful voice. Still clutching
the sides of the vat, he raised his eyes to the ceiling and sighed in
relief.
"Yes!" he replied.
He could almost hear her smile across the circuit. Then, "My
beautiful doctor," she said to him in a voice filled with affection,
with caring, and his heart convulsed with the same dedication he had
felt the last time he had seen her. She hadn't forgotten him. She
still wanted him! "It's been a little longer than five months. I
hope this hasn't been . . . inconvenient for you."
His mind's eye spun back to the last time he saw her, framed in the
entranceway to her craft as he stood with his collar in his hands.
He saw her face, could see her lips moving now, speaking the words he
was hearing. "No . . . no." He swallowed. "I saw . . . the docking
schedules today. I -- I saw your ship on it and . . . " He trailed
off at this point. The vat of goo was nearly forgotten; once his
shaking hands placed the stasis field around it, it was completely
so. He couldn't trust himself to concentrate while even hearing her
voice. "I get off duty at 18:45 tonight."
Quiet. He could hear muted voices on the other end. Then, "19:00 it
is, then, Doctor. Unless . . . " Another pause. "Is this
satisfactory? You have nothing else planned?"
"No! I mean . . . yes! I mean . . . " He stopped himself before he
lost all coherency. A gulp of air steadied him. "That will be
fine!"
"Do you still have the collar?"
He could feel the smile dawning on his lips and was glad he was
alone; he felt himself go scarlet to his hairline. Impishly, he
replied, "Of course, Lady." The smile widened.
He heard her smile in her voice as well. "19:00 then, Doctor." She
chuckled. "My lovely doctor . . . Until then."
"Yes, Lady, " he replied, and the communication ceased. Some small
part of him wondered if Kira had eavesdropped, and the larger part of
him did not care if she had.
If he had thought the previous part of the day passed slowly, that
was nothing compared to the crawl it had slowed to now. Desperately,
he wished for some patients, some interaction. The silent goop in
front of him offered no conversation, no opportunity for distraction.
Again and again, he found himself making the same measurement several
times, checking and rechecking figures he would normally be able to
hold in his head with no effort. Finally, he called the computer
and asked it to pipe in some music. His first choice was doumbec,
but the throbbing rhythms only made things worse. Finally, he was
forced to choose the spare ornamentation of Bach, and hummed it
softly to himself as he worked.
In the middle of the Partita No. 3, the quiet alarm broke in, its
gentle beep sounding like a klaxon to him. He looked up at the
chrono on the wall over the entrance. 18:45.
In minutes, the smock was thrown off and he was out the door, on his
way to his quarters. The collar was in a drawer; he had not worn it
since the last lesson. He remembered seeing it there each time he
opened this drawer, picking it up, holding it -- but never wearing
it. He couldn't bring himself to put it on.
He entered his quarters, opened the drawer. The collar lay there,
the chain slightly tarnished, the soft kid leather slightly stiff.
With trembling fingers, he picked it up.
A faint scent of jasmine still clung to it -- or was he imagining
that? His eyes went to the chrono near his bed. 18:48. He
considered just heading straight for Bay 1, but caught a reflection
of himself in the mirror over his dresser that stopped him. Smiling
slightly, he ran his hand over his uniform.
No. His lips curled wryly as he remembered. He fingered the
synthetic fabric, black and brilliant royal blue. Quartermaster
would want to know why he needed two more uniforms after less than
six months, and he certainly couldn't explain that. Quickly, he
removed the uniform, and realized while pulling the tunic over his
head that it would also not do to appear at his Lady's ship still
carrying whiffs of medical sludge on him. Stilling his shaking
hands, he dashed into the shower, unable while there to keep from
running his hands over his bare skin as the steam surrounded him,
imagining them as hers. He might have lingered over the
anticipation, the wanting, but wanted nothing so much as to see her
again, hear her voice, feel her on and around him. Anticipation be
damned -- he wanted his Lady, wanted to be near her, see her eyes on
him, feel her hands, her mouth, her body . . . and please her with
his own.
He jumped out of the shower, dried himself, and pulled on a crisp
white shirt, blue trousers, and his uniform boots. The chrono
blinked at him. 18:56.
He turned. His hand went to the collar, picked it up once more. He
looked down at it in his fingers, and as he considered her parting
comment about how it might fit her, he was unaware that his eyes had
begun to glitter with something that was not surrender. Standing at
the mirror, he slowly raised it up and held it against his neck,
wrapping it around his skin, still moist from the heat of the shower.
He did not fasten it there. His eyes closed, and he felt the subtle
throbbing, the insistence at his thighs.
18:57.
His reflection gazed back at him, holding the collar again as a
talisman against his chest. He swallowed, turned, and exited, the
door closing over him. With only a little trembling in his legs, he
walked to the docking ring, to Bay 1.
His fingers still trembled at the chime. Seeing them took him back
to the night, centuries ago, when he had last done this, last awaited
entrance to her ship -- ignorant and completely unaware of what was
to come. Briefly, he considered that he was now more knowledgeable,
more urbane, but as he stood there, not pressing the chime, he
realized that that was not the case -- nowhere near it. He still was
uncertain, and knew nothing of what was to come. He knew only that
she was on the other side of this airlock, and that he belonged on
that side, with her -- with his Lady. But, he thought, we will see
how the collar fits her as well. His mouth curled upward in a dark
little smile of which he was unaware.
He might give her a few surprises.
Julian pressed the chime once. In breathless anticipation, he
watched the bay door roll away, and saw the entranceway to her ship
part before him, welcoming him into its dim, ruddy depths. In one
corner, he could just see one of the standing flame lamps.
As if sleepwalking, he moved, his body seemingly taking him forward
of its own volition. Lightheaded, he moved out of the airlock, into
a place beyond normal space, normal time, into the protective circle
of his Lady's ship and his Lady's presence. The entrance slid closed
behind him, cutting him off completely from the station. The same
voice that had commanded him so beautifully during the past time of
surrender and desire floated at him from nowhere.
"My beautiful doctor . . . " and trailed off.
"Lady . . . " he murmured, looking around himself.
Then, "Put on your collar."
He did so, and felt the leather around his neck again, stiff but
still a good fit. For long moments, he simply stood there, aching to
see her, wondering when she would come to him.
Again, then, the voice from behind him. "That's better." He spun.
She was directly behind him, and held the chain to his collar in her
hands. "In your bonds, I can greet you properly." He only stood,
feeling himself fall forward, into her eyes, her welcoming smile.
Her hands reached out to him. "My lovely pupil."
She still wanted him.
He bent one knee before her, a knight, and the only thing he could
utter was, "Lady . . . " She was before him, warm and accepting,
clothed only in her hair, longer than it had been when he had seen
her last. It was a satiny black cape, brushing the tops of her
thighs. Aside from that most beautiful of cloaks, she wore nothing
else.
She chuckled again, low and velvety. Standing before him, she
touched his hair softly as a mother's kiss. She did not kneel, but
only looked at him, memories also taking her for the time. Her
fingers toyed with his dark waves of hair, her hands ran over his
slender shoulders, the crisp whiteness of his shirt shining like new
snow against his deep skin. She traced his jawline, his neck, his
brow -- as lost in thought as was he. Moving closer, she took his
head in her hands and drew it close, holding it against her hips. He
turned his head and laid it there, feeling her fingers in his hair,
caressing him. Her own ebon curls tickled at his cheek, and he
kissed them. Raising his arms, he embraced her, feeling her strong
thighs under his hands. "Lady . . . " he whispered again, drinking
in the sensation of acceptance that washed over him in a cool tide.
He raised his eyes to her face, smiling down at him, and tugged
firmly and steadily on the chain she was holding, his chain.
Now is as good a time as any, he told himself. Do it.
She saw that his expression had altered slightly, impishness and
something darker shining at her out of his eyes. She stood still,
and felt his hands grip her own forearms, and pull her downward. At
first, she resisted, but then felt herself drop until she was eye
level with him or perhaps a little lower, as he was taller than she.
"I've waited . . . " he began, "I've waited . . . " but he could not
continue. His hands wreathed her face, pulling it toward his own.
She placed her hand on his chest again, but he overruled her with his
own hands, kissing her deep and strong, pressing himself into her.
He ran his tongue over her tense lips hungrily, hearing her wordless
protest, and parted those lips -- probing deeply into her warm mouth.
Toying with her tongue, he let himself be submerged in the soft
sounds, the scent of her, the feel of her hair under his hand, her
tense body against his, even through the clothing.
His eager boldness grew. One hand slid down her back to her own
buttocks, pressing them to him, pressing his hips to hers; he could
hear rough sounds of friction, his clothing against her jet hair.
Her hands were around his upper arms, gripping them like steel, and
he waited. Waited for her to relax into him, as the files on
Ishtarian training he had perused during her absence had advised.
For long minutes, they were like that, tasting each other, he gently
moving his hips against hers until he felt himself again pushing to
be released from his clothing; he knew she could feel his occasional
pulsing. Time passed. He tightened his grip on her buttocks,
feeling the soft skin give under his hands, and felt her own grip on
his arms slacken just a hair. Now, he told himself. He pulled away
then, ending the kiss, and could feel her body leaning into his,
watching her face closely.
It was there, just as he had hoped -- surprise, desire, a hint of
frustration -- as she caught her breath. He could see all of what
she felt running over her face, through her eyes. He smiled at her,
the impish little smile he had worn in the airlock. "Lady . . . I'm
ready for my next lesson."
Her chest was rising and falling quickly, and she raised one hand to
her neck. For a moment, she did not reply. Then, she smiled, and a
new realization shone from her tilted eyes -- a gauntlet had been
thrown. "Yes," she said simply, her voice breathier than she would
have wanted. "You may indeed be."
His eyes ran over her face, and he pitched his voice sensuously low.
"I am." He pushed himself into her more closely, pressing her
backwards, digging his fingers into her soft skin.
Slowly, her eyes began to smoulder, and he saw then the challenge in
them, the arousal and the strength. She looked through him, and her
gaze nearly melted him on the spot. Steam rose from her, or seemed
to. "We will see." Her eyes narrowed, and she smiled at him, the
smile of new respect. "You have been reading during my absence,
Doctor," she remarked, appraising him.
He blinked, unsure of how to respond to this. She had seen what he
was trying to do quickly.
Leaning closer to him, and grasping his own buttocks firmly, she
whispered, "I spent years studying to be what I am." His eyes darted
down to her lips at his face, caressing his clean cheek. "I couldn't
fail to recognize the technique." Her tongue darted out, tracing out
his sharp cheekbone. She pulled back. "You are what I imagined
you'd be, Doctor. One of my most dedicated pupils." Her sibilant
voice was soft and gentle. "Remove your clothing." She released his
chain, and he felt it fall against his thigh; he jumped slightly.
This commanding tone was not what he had expected -- but then, again,
he was forced to admit that he still did not know what to expect.
"What will you teach me?" he asked.
"Remove your clothing, Doctor." She stood, and he followed after
watching her body rise before his eyes. "I will return shortly."
And she left the room, leaving him there wondering what to do. Voices
floated out of the other room, his Lady's and another's -- the new
voice low and quiet. He strained to make sense of what they said,
but could determine nothing.
After waiting for several seconds, he pulled his shirttails out of
his trousers and hesitantly tugged the shirt off over his head. Cool
air struck his slim chest. His previous boldness had begun to
dissipate, and he began to wonder what she had planned, and what form
any reprisals would take. She would take up his challenge, he was
sure of it, and he hoped he could bear whatever she put to him. A
slight tug, and his hands moved down his hips; he felt the fabric of
his trousers sliding along his skin as they fell to the floor. He
was again as he once was -- unclothed and uncertain, in his collar,
on her ship and at her mercy.
Gathering himself, he promised that it would not be so . . . one-
sided this time, but it was easier to be bold and promise her a new
pupil in his mind three months ago, he safe and clothed and sitting
in his quarters, than it was now. His certainty vanished like snow
on hot ground when she entered again with her assistant . . .
. . . and he was now enduring the overload of sensation that this
newest lesson -- or the beginnings of one -- had brought. Writhing
blindly, the floor cold and hard against his back, he felt his spine
curve as the moist warmth enveloped him further. His wrists were
seized and held, not confined but merely held, a reminder of his
bound status. A nimble tongue traced out the outlines of the head of
his sex, and he felt every movement of it, each slow, deliberate
millimeter's worth. Pulses ran shuddering through him from there,
and the soft mouth took him in completely, and pulled back, took him
in yet again, and pulled away again, seeming to know exactly what he
wanted. The other mouth was against his neck, almost unbearably
sensitized, and the firm and gentle hands seemed everywhere else.
His wrists were pinned against his sides; he badly wanted to bring
his hands to the head of the unknown person pleasing him so
wonderfully and could not. Expressions of gratitude were confined to
his soft voice, wordless, growing stronger as the overload continued.
He turned his head, felt smooth thick hair against his cheek, and
understood with a shock of pleasure that Rala was the one pleasing
him, taking him in, teasing and delighting him. The realization
coursed through him like hot fire, making him throb even harder, the
tension and horrible ache tripling. In his mind's eye, he could see
himself, abandoned and twisting, on the floor with his Lady's mouth
on his, and Rala at his hips -- his body arching, even his
expression. It was etched on his eyes as if in glass.
He could hear himself moaning.
Voices sang in his mind, and he felt the mouth at him retreat
completely. His teeth clenched in frustration, but he recalled the
final lesson of his last time with his Lady -- patience. Limber
fingers stroked at him, keeping him aroused while other fingers, both
mouths, concentrated on the rest of his body, awakening every nerve,
every square centimeter of skin. Gradually, strong hands began
kneading him, relaxing him, one set working at his thighs, another at
his shoulders; he felt a wet warmth at his stomach and knew his Lady
to be straddling him, her firm hands working the muscles in his
chest. Slowly, the tension and mad wanting he felt began to ebb into
a melting feeling. Soft lips kissed at his genitals, and he started
at them and at the warm tongue that traced out the textures of his
inner thighs, also being kneaded by firm, strong fingers.
The moist warmth at his stomach departed, and he was just barely
conscious of being lifted from the floor and held against a strong
hard chest. Rala again, his strong arms supporting Julian, taking
him to something he knew not what. His own arms now free, he wrapped
them around Rala's chest, holding himself more closely to his Lady's
assistant, his mouth and body sweet and shockingly different,
shockingly the same. He felt also his Lady's hand at him, keeping
him aroused and rigid, while he buried his face in Rala's warm flesh,
pulling himself up to run his eager tongue over the other man's neck.
He felt Rala's head turn to face him and his hand ran over the other
man's cheek and neck. Again, the sweet mouth was on his, gently
devouring, the moist probing tongue against his lips. Hungrily, he
lifted himself in Rala's arms further, pushing the man's face against
his while their mouths pressed together.
A voice was at his ear, and he gasped, turning his head blindly.
"Doctor," it whispered, the sensuous voice of his Lady, "you learn
quickly, my beauty." Another gentle kiss against his cheekbone,
another soft set of lips to toy with. He felt his body against
something soft as he was laid on his back on the bed that he had been
seeing for so long in his dreams. The blindfold was removed, and he
opened his eyes to Rala beside him, releasing him from his arms. Of
its own volition, his hand moved to touch the other man's pert sex,
close by his head and so like his own. A smile crept over his face
as he gazed at this, delighted in some part of himself he could not
name, amazed at this so like his own body. Out of the corner of his
eye, Julian could see his Lady smiling on them both; now, though, he
had eyes only for Rala. An unspoken current of understanding,
mutuality, flowed between them. "Like me," he murmured. Rala
nodded, and as he gently touched Julian as well, replied with a
tender smile, "Like me, as well, Doctor." The smile grew into
impishness, and Julian returned it.
He turned his head to see his Lady, watching them both with a
delighted expression on her face. "My pupils," she said, low and
rich. "You must spend some time alone as well." She sat back
against the headboard; Julian could close his eyes and still feel it
against his chest like icy fire the time she had disciplined him.
"But for now, Doctor, we must begin the lesson." He sat up, and she
took the chain of his collar on her hands, not bothering to bind his
wrists to it. "Your hands may remain free this time, Doctor," and
she shared a look with Rala that he could not decipher.
"What is this lesson to be?" he asked as she placed her hands on him,
pulling him toward her until he was facing her; Rala was behind him,
and warmth began like a little fire in his chest and spread out at
the feel of her hands on his hips and Rala's at his waist.
She shook her head as she faced the men. "You will see." He cocked
his head at her.
"I will see?"
"Yes." Her hands rose from his hips to run over him and her eyes
became lost for a moment. "I had forgotten. Oh, I had forgotten
. . . " she said quietly, almost to herself, as she felt his skin
under her fingers, saw his slender body before her, a slim and
graceful caramel sculpture -- hard chest, beautiful tense stomach,
his hips and thighs only slightly lighter in color than the rest of
him and giving the impression of buttery cream, his long graceful
arms and legs, and . . . Her lips were at his neck, his willow slim
neck, long and sensuous, and she nearly moaned as she inhaled his
scent and found herself carried back months ago to the last time she
had buried her face in him.
She pulled him to her more closely, and he felt Rala tilting his hips
forward with his hands. He, too, was drinking in the scent of her,
letting it touch his memories and arouse them. Her skin was against
his, and he could feel her moving underneath him. He felt as well,
with an electric thrill of anticipation, Rala behind and against him,
gently rubbing himself against the soft skin there. His hands
tightened in his Lady's hair, and his eyes closed as he fell forward
into the want. Strong man's hands ran lightly over his outer thighs,
caressing every curve, and Julian again felt himself pulsing and felt
the thirst begin. He wanted to say something, to express this, but
could not -- could not think of who to tell, which one's sensations
against him and all over him were the more delicious. In the end, he
simply sighed, softly and lightly, and just let the pleasure and
anticipation wash over him and take him.
Rala's soft undulations were growing more forceful. Julian matched
them, feeling the two bodies against his, the two warm bodies.
Opening his eyes, he saw his Lady silently reach to her bedside and
take two little jars; one he recognized, one he had never seen. With
no further preamble, she took his hips firmly and guided him with
infinite slowness into her. The faintest of liquid sounds
accompanied her movement, and he could only gasp when she stopped
short, allowing only the head of his rigid sex into her. He watched
her silently, questions in his dark eyes, but the inquiring
expression on his face was wiped away utterly as she gripped at the
head, massaging it with herself, squeezing at it over and over. He
pushed himself forward against her hands, but was unable to overcome
both sets of arms that had immobilized him. He could only stare as
she clutched, and as Rala leaned into him, pressing his chest against
Julian's back, rocking back and forth.
Then, the two sets of hands resumed their motion, and he felt himself
entering her completely, seeming like hours; he could feel each slow
millimeter's liquid progress until his hips were at hers and he was
again inside his beautiful Lady, taken in by her.
Rala reached past him with negligent grace, taking the second of the
little jars behind Julian's back. Julian tried to follow it with his
eyes, but was prevented from doing so by his Lady's grasping his head
and turning it to her own. He then saw only her mouth approaching
his, felt only his tongue parting her lips and hers doing the same.
Soft sounds danced around them as they toyed with each other, almost
but not quite masking the soft sounds Julian could hear behind
himself. He felt a firm hand in the small of his back pushing him
forward and making him arch his spine; he flowed forward into his
Lady with it, and started when he felt Rala's limber fingers at him,
gently painting him with something cool and moist. His own hands
tightened around his Lady's arms and his eyes were wide.
"What . . . " he asked, but did not continue. She placed a finger at
his lips and picked up the other jar, the one he knew.
"I can feel you softening, Doctor." Rala stopped then, but at a nod
from her, continued. Julian's eyes were alive with uncertainty and
just a little fear, his body tense as wire, and she kissed him
gently, caressing his cheek and jaw. In her hands, his face moved,
his head lifted, and he bit his lower lip only for a moment until she
smoothed it with her fingers, as he felt Rala's fingers softly
probing, preparing. His Lady's fingers wandered down his neck from
his face, lazy and delicate. She could see Rala over Julian's
shoulder, see his arms moving as he finished preparing himself and
the doctor. In his eyes, she saw something like what she herself had
felt when she had first seen him, centuries ago. Amazement at his
beauty. Desire. Gentleness. Rala smiled at her past Julian, who
shivered once, and nodded -- he was ready.
She opened the jar and took out something he had not seen before -- a
tiny silver spoon. Taking a mound of the kamireh in it, she held it
before him, watching as, with his eyes, those eyes, on her he took it
between his lips and pulled back slowly, taking the sweet cream in
his mouth. He swallowed and closed his eyes, awaiting the surge of
fire.
It was strong, powerful, more than what he had remembered.
Immediately, he became firm, and felt himself stretching the moist
skin of his Lady. She heard him moan, and saw the expression of the
other man behind him as he too witnessed Julian's reaction. Hunger
awoke in Rala's eyes, and she held out another little dollop of
kamireh for him too, taking a small taste for herself as well.
Then, barely aware, Julian saw her pick up a smouldering censer. He
was only slightly conscious of her holding it, waving it, under his
nose, but felt his reaction to it, whatever it was. As the hot
thirst from the kamireh swelled in him, another part of him became
detached, serene, and a wonderful sense of flowing filled him as
well and made him even more aware of the fiery glow, made it more
intense as like a relaxed reed he bent against swiftly flowing water.
Lightly panting, he flowed into two sets of arms, and felt an
astonishing sensation of acceptance himself as Rala began to enter
him with utmost tenderness. A wave seemed to break over him, and his
eyes opened wide in amazement. A thin line of sweat was drawn down
his back, and he could feel himself pushing back, withdrawing from
his Lady's wet embrace into another, different embrace, one in which
he was accepting. It was his turn to leave nail impressions in his
Lady's skin.
"As gently as you wish, Doctor," Rala whispered to him from behind
one shoulder, and Julian nearly melted at the sound of his voice. He
felt the strong hands at his hips, pulling him back slowly, slowly,
and he felt himself filling with delicious ease. He released his
Lady's arms, felt himself pulling out of her, felt himself being
filled and stimulated in a way he had never experienced before.
Depths in him were slowly being touched and awakened, and he felt
his upper body rise to lean back against Rala's supporting chest.
His eyes were closed, his lashes fluttering, as Rala pressed his
buttocks against his hips at last, and his head fell back against a
fair shoulder. He was panting lightly, with hot sweat breaking all
over him, making him shine. Rala embraced him around his chest,
running strong hands over him, supporting his slender body as it was
taken by training. Very gently, so as not to remove him completely
from his Lady, Rala rhythmically rocked his hips a fraction of an
inch back and forth, back and forth, lifting Julian in his strong
arms mere millimeters. A gasp met his actions, followed by the most
delicious moan Rala had ever heard. His arms tightened across
Julian's bare chest, and he gazed at his Lady past one smooth
shoulder. He is beautiful, he said silently to her. She smiled, her
own eyes barely able to tear themselves from Julian's shining body,
stretched and oblivious before her.
I know, she replied silently. Her hand reached to Julian, and she
touched his stomach, dabbling the sweat there softly. Then, she
began to massage the head of his sex, still inside her, as Rala also
rocked back and forth. Their combined actions were met only with
wordless, though not silent, astonishment. His moans were nearly
cries. If he thought his nervous system was overloaded before,
months ago, it was nothing compared to what was crackling and
crashing over and through him now. Every movement of Rala's, every
rocking motion, every push or pull, was mirrored inside him, and he
had never felt anything remotely comparable. Rala moved, he felt it
in him; as the other man undulated his hips so slightly, Julian could
feel himself do the same, inside, and he had never known that was
possible. He felt submerged in a thick soup of cloying vapor, felt
as if he no longer had conscious control over his body, had no idea
what was happening outside his own skin so amazing and intense were
the things bursting and burning inside. Like an icy and prickling
spark of voltage, he felt as well the clutches and grasping of his
Lady as she took the head of his thirsty sex and massaged it in her.
It was barely inside her, and the slightest backward movement would
remove it completely. He felt balanced on the head of a pin, as if
he were teetering, barely supported, and relished the feeling of
exquisite instability it created in him.
The rhythm of Rala in him was matched by a rhythmic sensation inside
as he was touched in depths that had never before been stimulated.
His head tossed from side to side, and he only retained the barest
awareness of strong hands running over him, running all over him,
over his chest and stomach and waist, over his thighs. Panting and
lips slightly parted, he turned his head to nestle in Rala's warm and
moist neck and felt a warmth between his lips, a wet probing. Dimly,
he understood that Rala had placed his tongue in his mouth, but he
could not manage to return the kiss. He could only moan, strongly.
His hand reached to Rala's head, gripped his hair as he moaned.
Then, he felt the hands at his hips go away to be replaced by another
set and he began to feel himself pulled forward. As the astonishing
sensations behind him began to draw back, those before swelled and
washed over him. Limply, gracefully, he released Rala's sandy curls,
his nerveless fingers dragging along damp fair skin. He could again
feel himself entering his beautiful Lady, stretching her gently as
she pulled his hips to hers, feel the wavelike contractions of her
muscles as she squeezed at him, seeming to pull him more deeply into
her. Then, he was against her, and Rala only barely inside him,
still moving gently and rhythmically.
Oblivious, he could only lean against her, feeling her at his chest,
feeling her soft breasts at him, her lips on him, her beautiful voice
in his ear, telling him something he could not make out. The scent
of her hair overwhelmed him, the tickling of it at his face was like
an icy skittering, and he grasped her arms firmly as his voice became
more urgent, more pleading, more abandoned than before. He felt only
overload and could not have told how much longer he could withstand
what he was feeling without losing consciousness. Like an upwelling
of coherency, he suddenly made out some of her words, graven on his
mind with utter clarity:
"You can withstand much more, Doctor. You are strong."
Beyond gasping, beyond pleading, he only felt his body melt further
into hers. She held his dark head, with his hair curling into wet
ringlets wreathing his face and the back of his neck, and embraced
him firmly, whispering soft assurances that were lost to him. Then,
with agonizing acuity, he felt her hands pull away from him, and his
hips were once again grasped by Rala and pulled slowly and inexorably
back. He slid out of his Lady with a liquid sense of emergence, and
again felt the fullness of holding another man inside himself.
Again, the sensation shook him, consumed him; he felt as Rala rocked
his hips with more force and further than he had before, pulling
Julian's body up as masculine arms wrapped around his chest to
support him, yet allowing him to remain just barely inside his Lady.
Rala rocked himself backwards, sliding forward and tilting his hips
until gravity pushed Julian down on him more firmly; he was nearly
melted himself by the other man's moans and gasping. Under his
hands, he could feel the slim chest rising and falling, the sweat
running over the dark skin, darker by far than his own. He embraced
Julian with all his strength, burying his own face in the warm skin
at his neck, fondling it with his tongue, tasting the salty sweat.
Rings of damp hair brushed his own face, and he felt Julian tighten
around him in response to what he knew he was feeling, to what Rala
himself had felt many times, what he had given others, men and women,
many times.
Steadying himself against what he too was feeling, he leaned back and
braced his arms and, with care so that Julian would yet remain in his
Lady, Rala flexed his strong legs, jounced his hips, and tossed the
other man's body very slightly upward. Were it not for his Lady's
grip on the chain of his collar, Julian would have fallen back and
away, oblivious. As it was, she had to reach forward and grasp his
slim upper arms to keep him from toppling. Rala tossed him again at
a nod from her, and his own eyes closed as he felt the other man
clutch and tighten at him, as he felt his round buttocks drive down
onto him. Julian's astonishment was beyond moaning; he could only
inhale slowly, shudderingly. His Lady ran one hand over his chest
and neck, caressing his skin, drinking in the sight of him stretched
and shining, being buffeted by the pleasure she and Rala were giving
him. He began to undulate his hips himself, bucking softly against
Rala, growing stronger and stronger, and his gasps took on the same
cadence. Acutely, he felt slim fingers at his sex, still tenuously
held and gripped by his Lady, felt her coat the shaft with something,
knew it to be kamireh though he could not think the word. For a
brief few moments, he took control of himself, just long enough to
throw his upper body forward and against her, still pressing himself
over and over into Rala. Without waiting for her hands to guide him,
he pushed himself into her, exhaling with a soft cry as he did so;
her words had flown from his conscious mind, but their flavor
remained. He knew that he was unable to stand any more, and wanted
his hot and nearly panicked thirst slaked.
Rala's hands dragged down his back as he felt Julian withdraw from
him and caressed his sides, making the other man moan and buck even
more. He withdrew from his Lady then, and pressed himself against
Rala once more, tight and urgent. Then forward, to his Lady, who
could feel him becoming more and more wild, could see Rala over his
shoulder, eyes closed, becoming wild as well, grasping Julian's
slender waist with a grip of iron, his own body taut and shining.
While Julian was still forward, hot and hard against her, she reached
past him and pulled Rala to herself as well, drawing him against the
other man until Julian lay against her chest and Rala against him.
Their hips were together, each inside the other, Julian's thrusting
back and forth, back and forth, pressing hard to overcome the
closeness, the constraint. She could see the muscles along his sides
tightening as he pushed himself back against Rala with hungry
strength, felt his arms around her pulling himself against her body
and driving into her wildly.
And he continued, over and over, growing in strength. Pushing to the
man, clasping the woman to himself. Being drawn back and accepting
the body of Rala prone against him and lightly moaning, and losing
himself in the warmth and wetness of his beautiful Lady, whose eyes
were closed and lips parted. Julian pushed his tongue between them
and felt hers toy with it, felt Rala's against his flushed skin, his
exquisitely sensitive neck. Against, between, her lips he moaned
strongly, a quivering cry that grew in volume as he felt the soft
tongue of Rala against skin so sensitized he felt that the slightest
further stimulation would send him plummeting down to a warm bubbling
waterfall of sensation.
His hips bucked back and forth, wildly. He felt his Lady's breath at
his neck as she whispered one outrageous word at him: "Patience."
Seconds passed as his overloaded brain, preoccupied with touch and
taste and scent, understood her. His hands raised to her head, and
he took her hair in his fists; he felt Rala's hands gripping his arms
like steel as he pushed himself against him. His eyes did not open,
and only a bare few words could he manage.
"No . . . patience . . . " he said through clenched teeth, then
plunging his tongue more deeply into her mouth and pressing himself
into her with all his strength, crushing his lips against hers. His
hand was at the nape of her neck; her head was immobilized. His
breath came in short powerful bursts as he drove himself inside her
stretched gateway, drove himself against the man behind him. Every
muscle in his body was tense as he lay against her, hot and covered
in his own sweat and hers and Rala's as the other man's weight on him
pressed him down.
All of his skin was touched, covered, and the heat from the other
bodies surrounded him in a cloying fog. The tight embrace was a
total one, like nothing he had ever felt. His hips pounded back and
forth, stretching his Lady, stretching himself. The peak was nearing
for him, and he could feel the tightening, the awful tightness,
beginning to grip him. He heard two wordless cries, one Rala's and
one his own. A third joined them -- his Lady. He felt Rala tensing
and driving harder, further, touching him even more deeply and the
wildness pushed him closer to the peak.
Then, Rala threw himself against him, crying out and clutching
Julian tightly. His back curled and his hips drove so deeply into
Julian that he thought he would hold Rala in him forever. Over and
over, the powerful muscles of the man behind him hammered into him,
driving his own hips even more deeply into his Lady, their bodies
jarred by the mad thrashing. Once, twice, the hammering kept going,
and Julian felt himself finally tighten to the breaking point, adding
his astonished voice to Rala's, as his Lady added her own voice to
both.
He knelt on the bed this time, sitting on his heels and facing the
bronze headboard between the sturdy wooden posts at the corners. His
Lady was reaching past him to lock the chain of his collar to a ring
at the center of the headboard; he wondered whether it had been
placed there for that purpose. "Give me your hands," he was told.
He complied silently, for she had instructed him that he was to make
no sound whatsoever during this lesson. That order alone was enough
to unsettle him, and he wondered with some trepidation what she would
teach. He asked no questions, though -- he was not to do so.
His wrists were once again bound, this time to the end of the chain
at the headboard so that they hung in front of him, mimicking the
curve of the hanging chain itself. Wordlessly, he awaited her ac-
tions. He was unprepared for her to get up without a sound and walk
out. Turning his head, he saw her disappear into the next room, and
she did not return for some time. He waited nervously, wondering
what she was doing, until he saw her return with a tray of food. The
aroma tantalized him, and he remembered that he had not eaten before
coming there. His stomach awoke, and he stared at the tray with ob-
vious hunger, hunger that his Lady saw.
"Would you like some?" she asked, taking a small piece of meat from
the tray, a piece which dripped with juices, and putting it with very
deliberate movements into her mouth. He started to say yes, but re-
membered her injunction against talking and only nodded, his eyes
riveted to the tray. "Very well." She walked toward him and sat on
the edge of the bed to his left, placing the tray next to her. On
it, he saw all sorts of delicious things, each cut into pieces.
There were meats of all textures, crisp-looking vegetables of every
color under any sun, and pieces of fruit that glistened with sweet-
ness, as well as a number of delicacies which he had never seen be-
fore. Saying nothing, his Lady picked up a piece of tender meat and
held it to his eager mouth. Saying nothing, he opened his lips and
took it, feeling the rich juices of the flesh coat his throat. With
a feeling of great satisfaction and great awakening of hunger, he
swallowed, closing his eyes in pleasure. When he opened them, he saw
that she had taken another piece and held it out for him. He took it
from her again, languidly sucking the meat's juices from her fingers.
Over and over she held out some tasty morsel for him, and over and
over he wished he had the power to thank her for doing so.
The melon, however, she saved for last. Holding his gaze with hers,
she picked up a royal blue piece and ran it sensuously down his back,
leaving a sticky trail of sweetness from the back of his neck to the
base of his spine. He inhaled sharply at the delight of the cool
glistening melon running down him, and even more so as she traced up
the sweet trail with her tongue. With a small smile, she popped the
piece into her mouth. Then, picking up another, she teasingly traced
two slow circles around her rosy nipples, enjoying the anticipation
in his eyes as he watched. With an expression of triumph, she held
her breasts together and nestled the little morsel of blue heaven
between them. This she offered to him, who took the piece between
his lips and marvelled at its sweetness, licking every drop of nectar
from her when he was finished. Again, he wanted to tell her how de-
licious this was, but could not.
"Your expression tells me that you are enjoying this," she remarked.
The tray was deposited on the floor next to the bed, and she placed
herself behind him, her hands on his shoulders, her knees around him.
He felt her breath on his neck as she came close, and shivered once,
all over, at the thrill of anticipation that ran through him. He had
no idea what she had planned.
She waited, doing and saying nothing, merely sitting there with her
hands on his shoulders and her mouth against his neck. For many long
minutes, they sat like that, he unsure and nervous with anticipation,
she silent and knowing, enjoying the gentle curve of his back and how
his skin was lit by the faded flame lamps, their glowing topaz light
pouring over him like melted butter. He felt as her slow hands ran
down his sides, her fingers flickering over his skin, making his sto-
mach muscles twitch. She was content to do this, experiencing his
body under her hands, tracing his spine with her fingertips, tracing
the curve of his neck and shoulders, the smooth clean shaven skin on
one cheek, the line of his brow, teasing her fingers through his
hair. Julian sat quietly, wordlessly, simply listening to her
breathing and his own, and feeling her hands brushing and sliding all
over him, gentle as birds' wings, making him gradually aware of the
entire surface of his body. With a jolt of excitement, he felt her
fingers brush over his genitals, but they lingered there only for a
moment. "Patience," she said lovingly, for she had seen his start,
felt it as she pressed herself softly into him, heard the soft clat-
ter of the chain against the headboard. He turned his head, wanting
to apologize, but could not. "I know," she told him softly.
Then, almost unnoticeably at first but with more conviction, he began
to feel her nails also sliding over him, just as before, all over.
Again, he started and writhed, inhaling sharply, but became quite
still when he felt the collar tugged back firmly. "Not a sound," she
told him. "I want complete silence." Then, she resumed, and Julian
fought for all he was worth not to gasp or cry out as he felt her
nails exciting his skin, in his most sensitive places -- his sides,
the hollow between his hips, his waist, his inner thighs, his neck.
He could not suppress his body's reaction totally, though, and she
felt him buck against her at her every movement, though he was fight-
ing not to. "Yes," she whispered into his ear as he battled to re-
main still and quiet, "it's hard, isn't it?" He nodded, and could
not help a light whimper from low in his throat; she did not seem to
mind. "It will get easier, I promise you."
And this continued. Slowly, slowly, he began to control his body and
his involuntary reactions, only biting his lower lip -- until she saw
this, and placed her hand on his mouth. "No." He parted his teeth,
and she smoothed the reddened skin. "Gently, gently. Relax." He
tried to still his panting, aware of the sound of it. "Relax." He
felt the nearly unbearable sensation of her skittering nails lessen
somewhat, but they did not stop entirely. "Do you have control of
yourself?" she asked him. He nodded completely silently, and she
resumed. This time, although he was still fighting hard, she saw
that he was fighting himself better, managing to remain for the most
part completely still and silent -- except for his light panting.
She could feel his chest rise sharply with each pass of her hand over
the insides of his hips, but even his reflexive bucking had lessened
until it was merely a tightening of his back, a slight rhythmic
pressure as she felt his round buttocks seat more firmly between her
thighs. "You're doing very well," she told him approvingly and
kissed the back of his neck. "You learn very quickly, and try very
hard." She rose at this point until she was standing on her knees
and, with one finger under his chin, tilted his head back until he
was looking directly up at her. The kiss they shared then was as
deep and complete a kiss as Julian Bashir had ever experienced; she
was as far into his mind as she was between his lips.
Then, it was over, and she was once again looking down at him. He
saw in her eyes a glimmer of wonder, and until she spoke, he truly
thought it was only the wonder in his eyes reflected back from hers.
"How I wish," she said in a voice so soft he had to strain to hear
it, "that I could keep you always." Her fingers were on his brow,
and he gently shook his head back and forth like a cat under its
keeper's hand. "How I wish . . . Goddess . . . what a consort you
would make." She bent down to his upturned face and brushed her lips
against his, not kissing. As they caressed one another's mouths, she
reached down to his genitals, taking them gently in her hand, and
felt him inhale. Opening her eyes, she saw that his entire face was
a pleading question. "Yes," she replied. "Soon." Then, she resumed
kissing him for a time -- she kneeling superior to him holding him in
her hand, he kneeling before her with his head upturned. He felt
fluttering fingers as she traced out the lines of his throat and
sighed in pleasure as he felt her other hand caress and excite him.
Thus, all the more vivid was the jolt he received when she raked her
nails down his back hard enough to raise welts. His head flew up-
right and he started to twist away from her before remembering that
she still gripped him firmly enough to keep him still. An expression
of shock and surprise flew out of his mouth before he could shut his
lips around it. Belatedly, he realized the breach he had committed
-- his voice and the clattering of the chain dropping into the si-
lence like a stone -- and his eyes shot to her face. He did his best
to quiet his panicky breathing and still his body, yet trembling in
surprise and shock.
She felt his trembling, could feel it through her own body, close as
she was to him, could feel his shaking on her own bare skin, but did
not let it show on her face; she was impassive. Before he knew what
was happening, she had clamped her left hand over his mouth and drawn
his head back hard until it was against her shoulder and he stared up
at the ceiling. For a time, she merely held him that way, silently,
and waited for his breathing to slow and the film of cold sweat on
him to dry. His eyes looked up at her from over her hand, filled
with apprehension; her other hand still held him. Nothing moved, and
not a single thing stirred. Only his breathing, slowly regulating,
disturbed the quiet.
Then, painfully, she shook her head. Her disappointment nearly
crushed him. "I thought you were relaxed sufficiently to begin, Doc-
tor," she said sadly, her lips against his ear. "I see I was wrong."
He started again at this, and tried to shake his head. This time he
was able to suppress the beseeching noise that he almost made, but
wished he had not. "I was trying to teach you . . . " She shook her
head again, released her hold on him, and relaxed her hand over his
lips. Frantically, he turned his head and pressed them into her
throat, not saying a word, silently begging her to continue teaching
him. His hands were fists, his arms taut against the cords that held
them. The hanging chain alone was slack and relaxed, swinging slowly
as she watched and as she felt his breath against the skin of her
neck. "I should not offer you another chance," she told him, and
felt as he pressed his mouth into her neck harder, fondling the skin
there with his tongue, pleading wordlessly. Firmly, she pushed him
away, ignoring the straining in his body to remain close to her.
"You are here to learn, Doctor," she stated. "You are beautiful, but
I cannot allow you any more breaches in discipline." Her expression
appeared to soften as she looked into his large eyes. "If you were
any less beautiful, I would already have put you out and ended the
lesson." At her words, his face became anguished and he bit back
each word, wanting to throw himself at her and beg her not to stop,
wanting to feel her warm skin against his, her lips on him, even her
nails, the raw touch of which was delight compared to the empty
coldness he felt.
"My time away from my home world has eroded my ethics," she finally
remarked, almost conversationally, and she stroked his face. She
said nothing for several seconds, then whispered to him as if she
were afraid the walls would hear her, "I find that I cannot put you
out. It appears that I am the one in chains, Doctor." The glimmer
of joy in his eyes pleased her, deep within herself. "But, I must
insure that discipline be maintained. If you remain, you must be
punished for this breach." Again, she felt his lips against her neck
in silent gratitude -- silence not counting his eager breathing, the
soft liquid sounds of his lips and tongue against her skin.
She stood, and walked out into the other room again, leaving him to
wonder what form his punishment would take, leaving him to tremble in
mixed joy and fear at being allowed to remain in her care at a price.
The flame lamps went out, leaving him in complete darkness. He
looked around himself wildly, the metallic noises from his chain
dropping into the stygian darkness like tiny bits of broken glass.
A glimmer of flickering yellow light ran over the bronze headboard,
ruddying it and him, and making his kneeling shadow jump and cavort
over the walls with a freedom which he did not now possess. He
turned his head, and saw his Lady return, and his heart leapt. He
tried to move toward her, but the collar restrained him and he felt
it tug him back into his place. He could see only the barest portion
of her -- her face and hair, her hands, the upper crescents of flesh
of her breasts -- from the long red taper she held, lit and
flickering like something alive. She was wearing her boots again,
and her gloves, and he could hear the cool tapping of her heels
against the wood floor as she came wordlessly to the bed, to where he
was waiting, apprehensive and unsure of what was to come.
"You will be silent, Doctor," she told him, placing the taper down
aside the bed, and he saw her take something out of the thigh of her
boot.
It was a gag. He swallowed at the sight of it.
"I would not wish to use this, but evidently, it is needed," she told
him. "It will be tight but not uncomfortably so." She knelt behind
him once again, and he felt the band of cloth go around his mouth --
saw it only by the jumping dark shapes on the wall where a shadow
woman reached around the neck of a defenseless shadow man and fasten-
ed the cloth over his lips. The ends were tied firmly, and he was
silenced. Again, Julian swallowed and felt himself begin to sweat.
He shook once, all over.
She saw it. "This will be slightly painful, but may not be unplea-
sant." He turned his head at her words, and saw her pick up the ta-
per and kneel again behind him. "Lean forward," he was told. He did
not, but tried instead to twist away from her, looking with fear at
the flaming candle. From over the gag, she saw his eyes, lit by the
candle flame, watching her -- awaiting her actions.
"Lean forward," she repeated, taking a handful of his dark hair and
pushing his head toward the headboard. He could not resist, and was
gradually pushed until his bound hands pressed against his brow. He
was shaking.
A sparkling spot of heat awoke the nerves on the skin of his lower
back; he jumped and inhaled sharply at it, but before he could react
to it, the heat was gone.
Another little stab of heat sprang to life on his left shoulderblade.
He tried again to squirm away from it, but his Lady held him fast by
his hair, and he could not move.
Another -- this time on the back of his neck. It was quickly follow-
ed by yet another in the middle of his back. As the bed undulated in
reaction to his starts, little hotspots began tickling and alighting
all over him, dancing like fingertips all over his supple, trembling
body. He was inching his way closer to hug the headboard, but then
felt a finger inserted into the band of cloth around his lips, and
his head was pulled back roughly until it rested in the crook between
her shoulder and neck. The little fingertips danced all over him
once more -- punctuating the skin on his jumping chest, running down
his neck, tracing lines along his tense belly and thighs, running all
over him, running their heat all over his skin. He felt an unbear-
able line of liquid heat trickling down his shoulder, and bucked and
squirmed in his Lady's arms. She pulled his head back ever more
firmly, and he felt a line of heat drawn down his neck, from chin to
sternum. It continued down his chest and over his belly, and he
twisted in panic, not wanting it to go further. He gasped as he felt
it gently touch his tightly curled ebony hair, and then it was else-
where, drawing hot thick lines against his hips and waist.
Then, the pressure on his neck was gone, and the presence of his Lady
was gone with it. She was gone, vanished, into the mysterious other
room after having placed the burning taper at the bedside. He looked
down at himself as he tried to catch his breath and saw spots and
trickles of the scarlet wax all over his body, but could think only
of the return of his Lady.
She did so, peeling one glove off with slow and deliberate movements.
Before he knew what was happening, she leapt onto the bed with him
and pushed him flat into the headboard, the engraved and hammered
metal cold as ice against his bare skin. He did not have time to
react before he felt a stinging crack against his buttocks, one that
pushed him even harder into the hard metal. A gasp and sound of
shock squeezed itself past his gag, closely followed by another as
the same harsh sting radiated from his buttocks and ran up his spine.
It was joined by another, and another, and soon he was gasping and
moaning -- trying desperately to quell the moans -- in time with his
Lady's punishment. With a jolt, he realized that he was beginning to
grow hard and stiff, realized that he wanted her to swallow him yet
again, even while she drove her hand over and over into his soft
skin, even while the crimson wax now solidified on him cracked and
splintered with his gyrations. It went on, seemingly forever, until
he felt raw and the once icy headboard seemed like fire against his
chest. The pounding had taken on a rhythm of its own, until his
entire being resonated with her every stinging blow, until every
movement he made -- even the beating of his heart -- had become
synchronized with her punishment.
And then it was over, and she was gone from behind him yet again,
leaving him to slump against the headboard, exhausted and trying to
catch his breath. After a time, her voice came from a far corner of
the room. "Have you learned?" With effort, he turned his spinning
head to look in the direction of her voice.
In a regal-looking plush chair, high backed and covered in the ubi-
quitous dark leather, she was seated with her long black-encased legs
crossed, regarding him like an ephemeral judge in the dim halflight.
For several moments he could not muster any reply at all, could only
imagine what she saw when she looked at him like that; again he was
the cub or the gazelle, shivering and defenseless, and she the pre-
dator. He looked down at himself again -- his skin in the dim can-
dlelight the same color as the metal headboard -- and saw the broken
traces of wax all over his body. Closing his eyes, he took a deep
breath and nodded, still feeling the tingling aftereffects of her
blows.
"You have?" she asked, idly running her index finger up and down her
sternum. Julian tried to read some emotion, some hopeful sign, in
her face and failed. "I hope you have. There is little time left
for us now until you must return to duty, Doctor, and I can't afford
to waste any more trying to teach you to hold your tongue."
He lowered his eyes, wanting to convince her that he could be trusted
to keep silent and learn.
She bounced one leg forward a few times, considering his kneeling
form. "I think," she said as she unfolded herself and got up, "that
we will retain the gag. Just to be on the safe side." At the sight
of her walking toward him, Julian felt his heart leap. For the thou-
sandth time, he cursed the bonds that held his wrists fast to the
bed, wanting to take her and hold her, plunge himself into her as
deeply as he could -- soul to soul. He was not to be put out; she
would continue!
She saw his happiness, and it stopped her for a few moments. His
Lady only looked down at him as he gazed up at her; she could read
the joy in his face, and it appeared to touch her. The ungloved hand
raised and patted his cheek over the gag, and her expression became
infinitely tender. "None have been so eager before . . . " she told
him quietly, her voice gentle. She stroked his hair. "Perhaps I was
too harsh with you. None have ever wanted to please me so much."
She smiled at him, and her other hand moved to the gag. He felt it
loosen slightly, and it dropped to his chin. "Only for a few mo-
ments, dear Doctor." His beautiful Lady leaned forward then, saying,
"I wish I could keep you," and kissed him as tenderly as he had ever
been kissed. He tasted her sweetness and wanted very badly to match
it with his own.
The kiss deepened, and he lay himself mentally bare to her as she
probed into him, threatening to touch the secret sensitive places in
his mind and soul, the places he had barely dared to recognize him-
self. She was everywhere, all things to him, and he fervently wished
she could take him into herself -- physically and mentally -- for-
ever. Then contact with her lessened, and the gag slid back into
place over his lips. Without a word, he understood. The lesson must
continue, and he would not breach protocol this time; he would die
before disappointing her again.
She stepped back from him and stood silently, appearing to consider
something. "Maybe we need a . . . brief rest." Her hands were on
her hips, and she looked down at him with great affection -- watching
his eyes over the gag and the way they caught the spare candlelight.
Light and shadow flickered over him, coating him in a neon
butterscotch glow that jumped like a live thing, skittering all over
his bare skin -- illuminating first the nestling space between his
beautiful neck and shoulder, then the gentle S-curve of his back,
then the taut and graceful arms and legs, folded under him as he
knelt. She watched as it ran itself through his dark hair, casting
fiery highlights in its depths, sketching out the waves and the
tight, damp curls that ringed his face and neck. For a moment, she
almost loosed the gag completely, so badly did she desire to see his
fine, delicate lips in the halflight of the candle, but she restrain-
ed herself, knowing that the gag must remain, and that her own train-
ing as an Ishtarian teacher would be too severely compromised were
she to follow this impulse.
She chuckled to herself, low in her throat. "You would make me cast
aside my training, Doctor, all for your beauty and my own desire."
She placed one flat palm against his hard, healthy belly and sighed.
He made no reply to this, with voice nor eyes but only remained
looking at her, awaiting her. "I must finish instructing you in
relaxation and control first. After that," and she toyed with the
tightly curled jet hair between his hips, "I will be able to instruct
you only in one more technique, one in which every man should be
well-versed." An enigmatic smile. "After all, when the time comes
for you to please your next partner, you may not have access to
kamireh."
Next partner? With a shock, he realized what she meant. His head
whirled at the thought. How could he have, or want, a next partner?
He looked at her, lit by the flickering flame, and shook his head.
You are my partner, my owner, he told her silently. You possess me
now -- and always. His deep eyes were transparent and honest, and
she read everything she had to in them, and was dismayed by it.
"No," she whispered gently. "You must take others, my beautiful
Doctor. You must." Her statement was met only by slow shaking of
his dark head. She saw his slim chest rise in a sigh, and saw the
devotion and fear at her departure shining out of his eyes. "You
cannot remain here, and I cannot have you wait only for me. I am
your teacher, not . . . " and her expression softened. "I am sorry,"
she told him. "I cannot take your fealty." His fists tightened. "I
cannot," she repeated urgently. Her hand went to him then, alighting
on his sharp smooth cheeks like a feathery fan. "Doctor," she said
with great intensity, "how could I keep you from others? How could I
live knowing that you were not my consort but would take no other?"
Her fingers fluttered down to his jaw. "There will be others,
Doctor. And I cannot live knowing that I have taken you from them."
He tugged fiercely at his bonds, desperately wanting to tear the gag
from around his mouth and give voice to what he was feeling, take her
and disappear in her, inside her moist enveloping flesh -- thrust
himself into her as deeply as he could and never come out, never
leave the deepest embrace he had ever known. He leaned his head back
and moaned, agonized at his inability to tell her this.
And her eyes dropped at this moment, as she regarded the devotion she
had inspired. For a brief time, she leaned forward and forgot
herself. Julian saw the opportunity and took it. Throwing up his
left arm, he brought it down over her shoulder and caught her at
last, feeling his tortured muscles cry out as he pulled her tightly
to him, so tightly. Her back was to the headboard, and she was
between his arms, her own wrapped around him as they pressed their
bodies together, feeling flesh against warm flesh, moistened by
excitement. Her hands ran over him, all over him, and she could feel
the outlines of the tense slender muscles and tendons over his back
and shoulders as he clutched her, feel as well the spots and curls of
wax all over his skin. Her face was against his neck, and she felt
as well the tickling damp curls of his hair, moist with his sweat,
running over her cheeks. Wordlessly, she moved her right leg around
his hips. Wordlessly, she embraced him thus. "You are yet in your
bonds, Doctor," she said, almost to herself. "I do not break
training. You are yet in your bonds." And she pulled her head back,
to see his eyes, his large amazing eyes, shining clear and intense
with all he was feeling -- dedication, arousal, smoldering desire.
And he plunged himself into her.
She only inhaled at this, her own very dark eyes wide. Fiercely, she
tightened her legs, embracing him in the leather and her own body as
she felt him in her, deeply. Against her own skin, she felt his
stomach tensing and relaxing, pulsing as his hips drove into her,
thrusting. Her hands flew to his head once more, her fingers
tightening in his hair. He felt her tugging urgently at the knot at
the nape of his neck, then felt only her mouth on his, her tongue
between his lips, thrusting as deeply into him as he was into her.
Her hands were around his neck, around the collar, pressing him into
her as she devoured him madly. The chain from his collar cut into
her shoulder; she barely felt it such were the hot fiery sensations
exploding all over her. Her lips which Julian's own tongue had
parted, the skin of her breasts and stomach as she felt the slick
wetness of his taut body against hers, his round lovely buttocks soft
between her thighs, and the folds of her flesh, wet and sensitive and
embracing, that took him in, feeling his every movement, his every
frantic thrust as he lost himself in her.
She felt icy metal at her own back and his fists at her neck and
realized that she had been backed into the headboard, pressed into it
as Julian pressed into her. At first, she tried to push him away,
her hands at his driving hips, but then told herself -- He is yet in
his bonds. He is yet bound. Her head fell back, and his mouth was
at her neck, then her shoulder. I am not breaking training, his or
mine. He is bound. His hands grasped her hair firmly, tightly; she
could not move her head. He is yet bound, she told herself again.
He is still in his bonds. She felt the pounding as he drove himself
into her, wildly. Opening her eyes, she saw him -- eyes closed, jaw
clenched, his body shining and taut as wire, unreasoning, unthinking,
and realized the horror she was allowing to occur, the damage she was
doing to him. Firmly, she placed her hands against his hips to hold
them away from her, hold them still, but such was his energy that he
easily overpowered her with his wild thrusting. "Doctor," she whis-
pered but he did not hear. The only response was a sound low in his
throat as he buried his face in her damp hair, a sound halfway be-
tween moan and howl.
His thrusting continued, and she realized that she had to stop him
now, before his training was ruined forever, before his wild im-
patience to unite with her overrode his tenuous training in control.
"Doctor!" she cried, and this time got a wordless inarticulate reply.
She finally grasped his pounding hips with a grip of iron that took
all her strength, stilling them completely. For the first time since
the initiatory lesson, she felt him seriously struggling against her,
pushing with all his might to overcome her hands and drive into her
harder and further. His eyes were wild and unreasoning as he looked
at her; were he coherent they might have been incredulous. As it
was, he could only stare at her, fighting her hands, tightening his
embrace around her, trying with everything he had to be inside her
again. After a time, he found his voice.
"Lady . . . " It was urgent, its inherent softness obliterated by
his mad desire. "Please, Lady, no . . . " The words came faster,
tumbling out. "Please . . . please let me be inside you again . . ."
Panic began to surface. "Please!" he cried and began fighting her
strong hands again, pushing his hips forward as his body strained to
be close to hers. "Lady, please . . . " he begged. She shook her
head.
"Not like this." Her voice was a whisper, edged with her own frus-
tration and desire, and anger at herself.
"But Lady, why?" was all he could ask, all he could plead. His fists
became ironlike rocks.
"Doctor, I can't!" she hissed. "I already nearly destroyed your
training with my stupidity. I've nearly thrown away all my own
training because of my own shortsighted desire for you." She paused
to get her own breath back, fighting her own wanting, wanting that
she hadn't felt since she had completed her training as teacher. "I
can't let that happen!" His skin was slick and wet; one more thrust
would wrench his hips out of her hands, and he would be in her again.
She tightened her grip on him until her nails dug into his soft skin.
"Doctor, I have my vows to think of . . . "
"I want you," he whispered back to her, his eyes roving over her
face, his mouth closing on hers until she felt his breath. "I just
want you . . . "
"You are here to learn control," she replied. "This," she nearly
waved to indicate both of them until she remembered that she dare not
move her hands, "is not control . . . "
"But Lady," and his voice dropped until she felt she would melt from
its sensuous intensity, "I don't want control right now . . . " He
ran his mouth over her neck, so lightly and exquisitely that her hair
began to stand on end. She felt his tongue at her throat, at her
pulse, and shivered. "I want you . . . "
"You'll have me, and I you," she told him. "But slowly, slowly."
She inhaled. "Please, Doctor. This is not as it should be."
"It should be . . . I should be . . . inside you, Lady." If she had
thought his eyes burned before, it was as nothing compared to the
fire in them now. "Forever."
Her heart convulsed. "Would you leave the Fleet, your position?" He
was silent at this. "Would you give up all that you have now for
something you do not understand? You do not know what a consort is,
or does. You do not know life on Ishtar, among my people. You
barely know daily life on my ship, Doctor!" Her voice nearly broke.
"I cannot accept your fealty. Please do not ask me again!" There
was silence, and then --
"Must it be as consort?" he asked, and his defenselessness almost
paralyzed her. He lowered his eyes, and his lashes looked long
enough to brush his cheeks.
Her head shook once. "It must, with my vows. Teachers such as
myself may not bind themselves to a man unless it be as consort."
She closed her eyes. "And to be consort, you must leave the Fleet."
He said nothing, only bowed his head, nestling it against her
shoulder. "I will be back, Doctor, my beautiful pupil." She lifted
one hand to clasp his dark head to herself. "I will return to this
station, I promise."
"How long?" he asked, after a painful silence.
"What with the independence on Bajor, the market for traders such as
myself has grown. Normally, I would only pass by here once in a
lifetime. Now, it may be as soon as four or five months."
Five months . . . ! It wasn't until she stroked his hair and toyed
with its waves, making a comforting shushing sound, that he realized
he had spoken aloud, and with all the despair he felt.
"Until then," she said gently, "we have the time we have, Doctor.
Two more hours." She kissed his head softly. "Let us make the most
of them."
"I know . . . I know that I said this before," he began, "but, Lady,
I'm yours." His gentle lips caressed her cheek. "Yours."
"Then," she smiled, "let us resume the lesson . . . my lovely pupil."
Again, they kissed deeply, and the room was silent but for the sounds
of their mouths against one another. The scent of their desire hung
heavily in the fading candlelight as the taper finally burnt to its
socket, leaving them in darkness together for long moments, a dark-
ness they shared in a simple comforting embrace, saying and doing
nothing, but merely sharing the closeness of warm bodies, each feel-
ing the other's rhythmic breathing. Then, "Lamps on low," she said
finally, managing to make it sound sensuous. Immediately, the flame
lamps rose from their slumber, casting shadows on the walls and turn-
ing Julian's dark rich hair into a jet cap ringed by a halo of gold.
His face was in shadow, but his features were still highlighted by
shadows on shadows, sharp and smooth and beautiful. His Lady caught
her breath in amazement. One hand rose to his cheek, and he leaned
into the caress. His eyes were in shadow; all that she could see was
the devotion that shone from them, from out of their velvet depths.
He turned his head, placing his lips against her wrist until he could
feel her pulse, rapid even for one of her race. They drew together,
led by the tether that had sprung up between them, until they met in
warmth and lost themselves, each in the other.
Her hands moved at his hips, hands that had recently left nail marks
in his skin. They now slid gently over him, languidly sliding over
the soft skin, feeling the curves and textures of his body. They
wandered to his waist, his slender waist, then to his back and shoul-
ders, now dry and velvetly. She felt the muscles there moving under
the skin as he lifted his arms -- still bound -- around her and drew
her even more tightly against him. Her mouth once again found his
pulse, and her tongue traced it out to behind his jaw. Against her,
he shivered. His hips moved forward, and she whispered only one word
to him: "Patience." She felt him nod.
Again, he entered her -- slowly, gently, with easy grace. Their
bodies met, and Julian understood her desire, her wish to keep this
as it was. The frantic grasping he had nearly given in to was as
nothing compared to the electric unity he felt now -- in each instant
of this togetherness, there was something to delight in, nothing to
rush through. In each movement of hers and his, there was a new
sensation -- every part of her was a part to take individually, in
his mouth, his fingers, with his tongue, and experience. He felt her
doing the same thing to him, taking each part of him, the entire
surface of his body, and devoting long slow minutes to it. As she
moved, he was acutely aware of his body against hers, her legs around
him, her breasts pushed against his bare chest, their gentle softness
and the strength of the muscles underneath. Gently, he began to
thrust back and forth, back and forth. He could feel the excitement
build in him, and he forced himself to retain the slow, easy rhythm.
Patience, she had said. He looked into her eyes, large and tip-tilt-
ed and no color he had ever seen before, and had no problem maintain-
ing the languid tempo. All of her was something to be treasured, and
he would die rather than rush any part of it. He would die rather
than keep this time with his Lady from lasting one minute longer than
it might. It would not be forever, but he would make it seem so, and
with the discipline and control she had taught him.
Again, her nails went down his back, but this time he did not start.
Only a softly voiced sigh broke between his lips, trembling against
hers. His spine arched, pushing his body yet harder into her own,
and his head fell back as far as the collar would allow. With elec-
tric sensitivity, he felt her arm around his waist, holding him to
herself, and her other hand against his chest as she watched his
supple body curve away from hers in the liquid lamplight. Lazily,
she leaned with him, drawing whirls and spirals with her tongue
against his chest. He was beginning to shine once again, the hot
thin sweat of wanting, and as she looked down at herself -- at her
own breasts rising and falling, at her hard stomach, at her hips
joined to his -- she saw that she was as well. Her eyes remained at
their paired hips, and she could just see the barest edge of him
entering and pulling away slowly between her muscular thighs, could
just hear the faintest liquid sounds of friction between their skins.
She looked up then, into his deep eyes, to see him watching her as
she watched. His arousal flared, and he pressed himself against her
even more firmly, all the while maintaining the same slow rhythm, the
same lazy pace. All the time in the universe . . . for the next
two hours.
She buried her fingers in the dark waves of his hair and pulled his
face against hers, softly thrusting her tongue between his delicate
lips. Gradually, she began to mimic his rhythm inside her until they
were swallowing one another in time, in slow time. With a jolt, she
realized that this was the first time she had ever followed any man's
lead, the first time she had not directed action. The thought was
rapidly chased away, however, by the dizzying sensations she was
drowning in. Maiden, Mother, and Crone, she thought hazily, what a
consort he would make.
He pulled away from her suddenly, stilling their undulations. His
eyes were closed. "Lady . . . " he trailed off, his gentle voice
holding onto the word.
"Control," she whispered back to him, fondling his jaw lovingly as
she saw his jet lashes fluttering. They were both silent for long
agonizing moments. Then, "Are you ready?" she asked him. He nodded.
"Yes . . . " he replied with sensuous sibilance. And he resumed, for
a brief time -- only a scant few minutes. He pulled away from her
more urgently this time, his jaw clenched.
Through trembling lips, he breathed, "Lady . . . I don't think . . ."
His eyes were wide, filled with despair and pleading. She caressed
his soft skin, his beautiful buttocks, with her gentle hands.
"Doctor," she replied, her voice feathery and light, filled with
understanding, "this is only your second lesson." She leaned forward
and kissed his cheek. "You have done far more . . . progressed
further than I would have imagined possible for a novice." He only
swallowed at her words.
"But, I . . . " He broke off and a chill took him, making his slick
body stand out with goosebumps.
Her mouth moved against his skin. "You have pleased me, Doctor."
She paused. "More than any other pupil, or any other man." She took
his hips then, and pushed them against her own, rocking back and
forth as she thrust for him. "I give you this." Her rocking became
more and more forceful, her strong arms taking over for him, giving
him what he meant to have, what he deserved.
He shuddered under her hands, and gasped. Overcoming her own rhythm,
his body pressed into hers as the wave broke over him. Like iron,
she felt him slamming into her, saw him as he lost control finally --
as he must -- heard his wonder and peaking pleasure expressed in his
beautiful voice. Again, his head was thrown back -- this time by a
force beyond him, and his spine whipped, throwing him into her over
and over. She clasped him to her fiercely, feeling his taut, slim
body shuddering with the seizures that had taken him, crashing into
her with a strength which he did not normally possess. She felt him
driving into her as deeply as anyone had ever been, filling her as
she took him in, stretching her sacred gateway deliciously. With
sudden passion, she clutched at him, her arms tightening around his
back and she wished that he need never leave. Doctor, she thought
silently, how I wish you could remain in me . . . for all time.
Nearly weeping, she buried her face in the warm skin at his neck,
moistened with his excitement, and clasped his body to hers even
harder.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Here." She handed him his other uniform. "I took the liberty of
retrieving it from your quarters while you were sleeping."
He took it without a word. They had spent the last three quarters of
an hour in the warm spa, his head nestled against her chest, her arms
cradling him while the water lapped at them both and the synthesized
breezes carried the jasmine past their intertwined bodies.
Conversation had been sporadic. He had tried so hard to convince
himself that it would last forever, and had failed. And now, here
she was, handing him his Starfleet uniform, about to leave on a
voyage that would take her away from him for months, take her away.
Closing his eyes, he recalled the bloodwarm water, the feel of her
wet skin under his cheek as he lay against her, the feel of her body
against his as she held him.
As he pulled on his uniform, his eyes found the bed, rumpled from his
past lesson. From the headboard, his collar still hung, limp and
empty. Without a word, his Lady walked to the bed, her body covered
for the first time since he had originally seen her in the infirmary
-- years ago. Without a word, she unlocked the ring that held the
collar to the headboard, walked toward Julian Bashir, and silently
held it out to him. He took it as well.
"This should remain on board my vessel," she told him. "Custom."
She took his hands in hers. "But sometimes customs are meant to be
broken." She paused, regarding him. "It belongs with you. When I
return . . . bring it with you. Perhaps," she smiled wryly, "we may
determine next time how it fits me."
His eyes shot to her face, the wing brows raised in a question.
"There are, after all, other lessons to be taught, dear Doctor." Her
hands ran over his smooth cheeks. "Dear beautiful Doctor."
He attached his rank button to the collar of his uniform shirt and
only looked at her. Suddenly, on an impulse, he knelt before her,
and his eyes -- those eyes that had touched her so deeply, been late-
ly so filled with excitement, with fire -- gazed up at her. He took
her hands. "Lady," he said, his voice filled with such measureless
devotion, and he could not continue. His gaze dropped.
Her hand touched his dark head gently. "I understand," she said to
him, and, after a moment's indecision, she knelt in front of him,
faced him as an equal. He moved to kiss her, but she put her hand
against his chest, against his uniformed chest, and stopped him.
"Not without your bonds, Doctor," she said sadly.
"I understand," he echoed, dropping his arm from around her waist.
He held the collar against himself like a talisman, clutching it.
Together, they rose.
"You're due in the infirmary in ten minutes," she told him.
"Yes."
"And I'm due to depart in ten minutes as well." She regarded the
docking plan on the viewer near the entrance to her ship. "There is
a Vulcan ship due to dock in this very place then, and I must be gone
for them to do so." She took him in her arms, then -- and again he
felt the closeness, the unity, he had felt while his body had been
against hers, inside hers, touching completely and not through awful
clothing. They did not kiss.
After long minutes, they released one another. "I . . . " he began,
but trailed off.
"I know."
His hands tightened around the collar, still damp with his sweat.
His legs felt like lead as he walked toward the docking entrance, his
Lady behind him.
"Five months," she said to him. "It will pass."
"Like five centuries." She shook her head.
"No. Your life will continue, Doctor. You will find things with
which to occupy your time. Dangers, adventures, the things you came
here for." She shrugged. "I . . . I will find opportunities, worlds
for trading," a sly smile, "and gambling halls for cheating." This
brought the smile she longed to see to his lips. "And when I return
here, I will find you, and you me. And the lessons will resume."
"Lady," he whispered, his voice colored with urgency as the bay door
rolled back, presenting the lonely and silent corridor to him. "I'm
yours."
"I know," she replied and touched his face, his brow. She turned
then, and walked back into her ship. The entrance slid open, and she
turned back to see him standing in the airlock bay entrace, framed by
the door, holding the collar in his hands.
"Five months," she repeated.
"Five months." And the entrance closed over her, cutting her off
from him with a pain that was nearly concrete in its intensity. He
stepped back from the airlock as the door rolled back into place with
formidable solidity. He heard the faint clicks of the safeties
loosing, then the rumble of her engines. As he watched, the Ariad
shot away from the docking ring, its aft end glowing with the power
of her warp drive. He would have stood there longer, watching until
her glowing ship, her presence, was gone from the sky, but his duty
to the station, his job, was once more present in his mind. Checking
a chrono set into the wall, he saw that he had two minutes until he
was due in the infirmary.
His fists tightened on the collar again, and he looked down at it in
his hands. Still shimmering blue and silver, it was yet damp. His
eyes closed in memory, and he swallowed. One last glance out the
port was all he allowed himself, and he turned away. His steps
echoed in the silent corridor.
Five months . . .
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The holosuite program was not what it was before. There was no
jasmine, no rolling hills or soft breezes, only black sky studded
with stars, and presenting a huge and awe-inspiring ringed planet to
the observer. It was in crescent phase, its rings edge-on, like a
tightly drawn iridescent bow with an arrow of silver. Julian looked
down at his feet; the rock under them was also iridescent, and each
thing, himself included, cast two complementary shadows, one from the
distant cold sun and one from the shining jewel overhead, far
brighter than the star that illuminated it.
Ten feet before him was another bubbling hot pool, a must, he
realized when he again awoke stiff and sore, after any lesson. As he
lowered himself past the mist into the water, he looked overhead. He
missed the jasmine, he concluded, but here the view was better.
He had awoken in slightly better shape than the time before, as his
hands had not been bound, but his muscles were still tired and stiff.
There had been no sign of his Lady; only Rala was with him, curled up
and sleeping beside him. For a long time, he had simply lain there,
watching the other man sleep, watching his chest rise and fall,
fleeting expressions dawning and passing over his face as he dreamed.
His sandy hair was still stuck to his brow in some places, though the
ringlets it made were not as distinctive as on his own head; Rala's
hair was already quite curly. He was on his side, one hand under his
cheek, one arm thrown forward, his legs drawn up.
His hand ran lightly over the other man's sandy hair so as not to
awaken him from slumber, and again he felt the first amazement swell
in him. He shook his head, and as if in sympathy Rala's moved in
sleep, back and forth under Julian's hand.
Another man, he thought to himself. Like me. He closed his eyes and
thought back to the tight heavy embrace the three of them had shared,
how it had nearly overwhelmed him until he relaxed into it and
allowed it to do so. Until he welcomed being overwhelmed. His
Lady's velvety hard body beneath his, accepting as he vanished inside
her. Rala's behind him, again like his, as he accepted. As he gave
the embrace, opened himself and allowed someone inside instead of
being the one accepted.
Again, he shook his head, and realized that he had lain there for
nearly a half an hour, just watching the other man in sleep and
thinking quietly to himself. His body had grown even more stiff and
uncomfortable. Yawning, he rose and wandered into the holosuite,
hoping that the spa was still in memory as he knew his muscles would
seize up without it.
It was; in fact, it was up and running, as if his Lady had
anticipated it before she had gone to wherever she was -- probably
Quark's, he mused. A wry smile curved his lips; she had better not
get or give another knife wound while he was here! He stood admiring
the program for some time and unfastened the collar at his neck; the
chain made light chittering noises as it fell against the stone.
And now, he was relaxed against the side of the warm pool, his head
leaned back, his body gradually softening and relaxing as the
bubbling melted into him. He inhaled and dropped his head below the
water line, feeling the water over his face and hearing the rushing
in his ears. Normally, his spare body did not float easily; swimming
did not come naturally to him. Here, though . . . he mused idly that
there was probably a sufficient concentration of mineral salts in the
water to render him buoyant as he felt himself rise. Opening his
mouth, he could taste it was so.
Allowing himself to go completely limp, he simply laid back on the
water and let it cradle him, his arms and legs drifting slowly
downward and his face and upper chest well clear of the water. It
filled his ears, though, and he was surrounded by the subdued
rumblings of the bubbling spa. He felt himself beginning to drop off
again, and allowed his mind to drift into a state somewhere between
wakefulness and sleep, lazily dozing. Several times, his eyes
drifted open and the view of the immensity overhead intruded itself
upon him. He simply let himself drift, occasionally bumping into the
sides of the pool and pondering the magnificence he saw.
The entrance to the holosuite slid open, and he righted himself in
the water; it was Rala, looking as sleepy as he probably had when he
had first entered. Without knowing why, he reached to the edge and
drew himself there, to where the rock surrounding the pool could
cover him, whether out of modesty or uncertainty he could not have
said. He wouldn't have imagined that modesty would be possible for
him after what had happened, but admitted to himself that this was
still quite new to him. "Hello," he said, quiet and low.
Rala rubbed his eyes. "Hello, Doctor." He yawned and stretched.
Julian swallowed, still nervous without the calming presence of his
Lady, and watched the other man's body, watched his muscles outlined
under his fair skin as he stretched. He felt himself shiver, despite
the warm water. "Do you mind if I join you?"
Julian shook his head, and swallowed again. "Go ahead. You probably
need it as much as I do." He was nervous and could feel the watery
feeling in his joints, cursing it and asking himself why. He had
held this man inside his own body; why was he shivering? He could
not tear his eyes from Rala as the other man stepped into the pool
opposite him and lowered himself into the water. He smiled at
Julian, who smiled back and lowered his eyes. Heat rose to his
cheeks, and he hoped that it was lost in the flushing brought by the
warmth of the water. "How are you feeling?" he asked still looking
down through the water.
"A little sore but not too bad." Rala stretched again. "It makes a
big difference when you are not bound."
"Yes, it does."
"And you?"
He shook his head. "Just a little tired." His eyes rose to Rala's
face again, then dropped demurely. Rala chuckled and appeared to
read his mind.
"Thanks to your Lady," he replied. When Julian didn't reply, though,
he nodded. "And," he added softly, "thanks to me." He was rewarded
with a blush that he could just make out through skin already flushed
by warmth. "You are still . . . " he trailed off.
Julian's voice was soft, barely there. "I guess I am," he replied.
"Uncomfortable?" Rala asked. The other man's eyes rose to his.
"No . . . " His gaze was earnest. "Just . . . uncertain." His slim
shoulders rose in the undulating water in another shrug. "It's not
what I'm used to," he amended. Rala's smile became very gentle.
"But . . . " he prodded. He watched the doctor prepare his words,
eyes yet cast down with such astonishing long lashes, his dark hair
glistening over deep wet skin, and felt the same amazement he had
felt during the lesson. Doctor, he told Julian in his mind, you are
so very beautiful.
The other man's eyes rose then, and he saw the expression on Rala's
face, the way he was looking at him. After a moment, he returned the
gaze, held it firm. "But," he finished, "I have been . . . curious,
I guess."
Rala's smile became quite boyish at this. "Curious? How?"
Julian smiled back. "There were two people next door to my room in
the Academy; they went into epidemiology. Well, one did. The other
ended up in high energy physics. And they were married."
"And they were . . . " Rala prodded again. Julian's gaze did not
drop this time; he only looked back at Rala as if to say, I wish
you'd stop doing that.
"They were both men. There were also three women and two men in a
group marriage on the hospital staff there." Rala lowered himself
even further into the water as he listened. "I wondered . . . but
the opportunity never came up." Another languid shrug. "I've just
been attracted to women."
"As you should be; they are beautiful people," Rala responded. "But,
it is a pity you have restricted yourself thus far."
"I . . . hadn't thought of it as a restriction," Julian replied.
"Until now."
Rala did not speak immediately, only digested this. Then, "Doctor,
have I just been complimented?"
Julian mimed Rala's own impish grin. "I suppose you have." The grin
widened, and he felt himself relaxing in the other man's presence.
"It's just that I . . . " He trailed off, and laughed at himself.
"This is just all very new for me, Rala." His arm rose out of the
bubbles and he made a motion indicating himself.
Rala's eyes softened. "There is, Doctor, a first time for every-
thing." It was his turn to shrug. "This was yours." Julian gazed
silently at Rala for long moments.
"What of yours?"
"My what?"
"Your first time."
Rala chuckled again, and Julian felt himself shiver at the sound, low
and rich and delicious, despite the warmth. "Doctor, Ishtarian
culture is rather different from yours. There is never any question
of preference between the sexes; we enjoy complete freedom. As such,
I cannot clearly recall my `first time'."
"You are Ishtarian?" he asked in amazement.
"Yes," Rala replied easily, still smiling. "You did not think that
only women were from Ishtar, did you?"
Julian felt a blaze of something he could not place. "Then, are
you . . . her consort?" He held his arms in front of him, a guard
against what Rala would say. He did not like the thought of
jealousy.
"No, Doctor, I am not. I am a pupil, such as yourself."
"No, not such as me," said Julian. "I could never . . . teach
another person."
Rala considered this, and shook his head very deliberately. "I think
you could. And," he indicated the outer room with his head, "she
does as well. This is not the only lesson for you this time, Doctor.
There are many things to learn, many things she wishes to teach you."
An inquiring expression met his. "Did she tell you that?"
"Yes, she did." Rala leaned forward then, toward Julian, who watched
as one fair arm lifted out of the water, one fair hand laid itself
against his cheek. "She also told me that you were beautiful, and
she was right." Warm, wet fingers caressed his jaw, his neck, and
ran slowly over his chest, beneath the bubbling water. "You are a
very beautiful young man, Doctor."
Julian did not know what to say to this. He lowered his eyes again,
following Rala's hand, still caressing him. Then, it was gone, and
Rala leaned back against the side of the spa, opposite him again.
Julian looked up at him, felt the distance separating them acutely.
Unable to think of a thing to say, he simply laid back and rested his
head against the side of the spa, letting the bubbling permeate him.
For several minutes, he remained that way, with thoughts unspoken
running through his mind. He felt a shift against him, saw through
closed lids the light from the ringed planet overheard change, and
opened his eyes to see Rala bending over him, one hand cupping his
jaw, silhouetted against the glorious view. Rala's face dipped
closer, and they kissed as the warm water caressed them both, and as
the sightless planet looked down on them, ignored and forgotten as
they enjoyed each other, as Julian felt warmth and gentle scruff at
his chin, as Rala felt the other man's soft lips, fresh and taut with
sweetness as summer grapes, give gently under his tongue.
Rala pulled back, and felt a tugging inside him at the expression of
the man beneath him, at the dark eyes, aroused and wondering. Julian
sat up against Rala, his own hands reaching to the other man's neck.
And he dunked him.
Rala's head vanished, and the last thing Julian saw was a very
surprised expression, and two wide cornflower blue eyes. He released
him quickly, and Rala came up laughing as a grinning Julian watched.
"I was waiting for that," he said, laughing and wiping the water out
of his eyes. "I was waiting for the opportunity to do" -- and
quickly, he reached for Julian, and returned the favor. Julian came
up sputtering and laughing as well, and reached back for Rala.
Within a matter of seconds, the little spa was furious with activity
as they wrestled, laughing and dunking and grasping at each other in
a tangle of fair and dark arms and legs and bodies, splashing plenty
of water out of the pool until the spa was forced to compensate.
Laughter and gasping punctuated the playful roughhousing as one or
the other of them would break the surface and hook an arm or a leg
around part of the other, throwing him off balance. Julian had just
gotten his arm around Rala's thigh and pulled it out from under him,
throwing the other man lightly onto his back and slapping the water
in front of him for the splash. Rala threw his arms up to guard
against the water and disappeared under the surface to wrap his arms
around Julian's waist in a rugby grip and tug him under as well.
Panting and still smiling, they floated to the surface, still in that
position. They were yet laughing lightly, looking at one another and
smiling like little boys, Julian on his back and Rala at his side,
his arms around the other man's slender waist. They bumped up
against the side of the spa, and Julian reached behind his head and
tugged himself close to the edge, resting himself against it, still
getting his breath back, still smiling.
Rala was doing the same, one hand yet on Julian's chest and the other
propping himself up against the shallow bottom of the spa; the bottom
sloped up toward the edges of the water, and was deepest at the
center. For a long time, they just laid there, the smiles lingering
on their faces, catching their breath, a few chuckles still surfacing
in their throats.
Julian could still feel the smile curving his lips, and inhaled
deeply once, and again, to get his wind back. He blinked a few times
to clear the water from his eyes and just laid back, gazing up at
Rala who was lying beside him, propped up on an elbow and looking
back at him. His smile had changed from one of playfulness to one of
wonder, and he was unaware of it as he reached his hand out to touch
Rala's chest, strong and broad, far broader than his own slim chest.
His hand wandered up to the other man's neck, caressed the skin
there, wrapped around it. Slowly, he pulled Rala's face closer to
his, aware that his breathing rate had increased again, and that he
was warmer than could be explained by their rough and tumble play.
With his dark eyes on Rala's light ones, their lips touched, lightly.
Once, twice, three times they kissed gently, their mouths moving
against each other's. Julian pulled back; so did Rala. Each saw the
same expression in the other's eyes, the same desire shining there.
Julian felt himself falling into the blue of Rala's eyes, and Rala
felt himself becoming lost in the oak brown of Julian's own large
eyes.
Their mouths met again, more hungrily, and the kiss deepened. They
drew close, into a tight and wanting embrace, pressing their bodies
together. As the sounds of the bubbling spa gave way to the
delicious and erotic sounds of their mouths, their lips and tongues,
against one another, as the mineral heavy scent of the water gave way
to the scent of the other man, as the warmth of the spa faded behind
the warmth of the skin against his, Julian again felt the same
electrifying jolt that he had felt initially, realizing that he held
a man in his arms, that it was a man he was pleasing, that was
pleasing him. He lost himself in the sizzle as it ran through him,
until there was nothing he knew but the feel of Rala's warm skin
against his.
The embrace tightened, became deeper. Passion engulfed them.
Julian's hands wandered down from Rala's neck to his back, his waist,
running over the man's round buttocks. Pressing himself against
Rala, he ran his hands over creamy hips, feeling himself against the
man's sex, feeling himself becoming rigid against it, feeling Rala
doing the same. He moaned lightly against Rala's mouth, still unable
to believe what was happening. Long fingers twined tightly in Rala's
sandy curls, and his training in control and patience fled completely
as he devoured the other man's mouth. He wanted to give Rala what he
had been given, touch him as deeply as he had been touched, though
his gibbering mind was not aware of it. Only his body was active,
and coherent thought was not part of his motivation as he wrapped
himself around Rala's firm body, spooning against his back, as he
reached around to take the other man gently in his hand . . .
"Wait, Doctor." It was Rala, eyes closed, lips parted in eagerness.
"Beautiful Doctor . . . " He, too, was barely able to speak as he
leaned over the edge of the spa, his upper body supported against the
luminescent stone.
"Wait?" All his wanting came through his voice; Julian did not want
to wait. "Rala, I want to be in you now . . . " His chest pressed
against the other man's shining back, and his tongue ran over his
skin; heat from the moist flesh wreathed his face, mingling with the
steam of the spa. His hands, moving surely, clasped at the other
man, tugging gently and caressing, feeling him grow firm between his
palms.
"Yes, and I want you in me as well . . . " The other man reached out
and produced seemingly from nowhere another of the ubiquitous little
jars; Julian knew what would be inside. Nimbly, Rala turned until he
was facing Julian, and the mad arousal in fair eyes matched that in
dark ones. He opened the jar, losing the lid in the bubbling water.
"This . . . " he began, but then lost his thoughts as he saw the
beautiful face at his, the burning feline eyes. Julian pressed
himself forward into Rala, enjoying the way his body bent gently back
against the stone, feeling Rala's firmness pressing into his own as
his hips jutted forward. Then, Rala disappeared, lowering himself
until his face was level with Julian's own hips. He took out a
little ball of the sweet white cream and, as Julian gasped in
astonishment, began to apply it to the waiting sex before his mouth
with his tongue. Fighting the mad urge to thrust himself more deeply
between Rala's lips, Julian simply allowed the other man to finish,
gripping the stone ledge in front of him until his knuckles paled,
keeping his body rigid against the voices that sang at him to drive
himself into the other man's throat.
The sensation ceased, and Rala was once again at his face, amazed at
the beauty and lithe sensuality of the Starfleet officer before him.
"Control," Julian said simply, as a mantra. Rala kissed him gently.
"That is for lessons, Doctor." Their hard masculine chests pressed
together. "I am not a teacher, but a peer." For a moment, the
wanting had him in its grasp as well, and he allowed his eyes to run
over and around the dark slim body. He turned around and presented
himself prone against the shimmering rocks, his back and fair
buttocks shining from sweat and warm water. His choirboy face peered
demurely over one shoulder. "You may be . . . wild . . . with me."
Julian's eyes drank in the sight of the strong body lying before him,
the lovely round peach presented to him, and he could barely recall
his own name. His universe had narrowed to naught but himself, and
Rala. Slowly, his hands roved over the other man, caressing the
perfect buttocks, wondering at what he was about to do. Gently, as
if in a dream, he pressed himself against them, feeling the tight
entrance, feeling it relax slightly against the pressure. With
hypersensitive awareness, he felt himself sliding inside, felt as the
head of his sex was swallowed up, felt as Rala tightened around him,
tighter than anything he had ever experienced before. Lights danced
before his eyes, and he was unaware of his voice, his expression of
astonishment. With tender delicacy, he continued, pushing firmly
until he had disappeared completely inside the other man. He felt as
Rala grasped at him, tightening further, and he fell forward against
the wet skin shining in front of him.
Rala had begun to push himself against Julian, his soft buttocks
rising to the other man's hips, and in response Julian began to
undulate himself against Rala's body, feeling the waves of tension
and release against his sex. Rala's moans nearly dissolved him into
a pool of nothing but mad want, but taking control of himself, he
lifted his upper body until it was nearly straight, and began to rock
his hips with more force, pressing where he knew it would be most
sensitive. Rala gasped.
"I . . . " His fair head flew backwards, lips parted, and his words
were lost in delighted moans. "You said you had never . . . how did
you . . . ?" He could say nothing further, but only clutch at the
stone sill underneath him, and buck against Julian as the other man
found his most sensitive places.
Julian continued rocking himself against the beautiful prone body,
and found it within himself to speak. "Rala," he managed to say,
"I'm not a doctor for nothing, you know." The other man laughed.
"Oh, yes . . . "
And the rest of his words were swallowed up in passion as Julian gave
himself to the wildness that Rala had spoken of. He wanted it to
last, wanted so badly for it to last for hours, for days, but knew
his own limitations. He knew that this was so new, so thrillingly
erotic, that the barest of releases on his part would send him well
past the point of no return. Julian tried to tell Rala this, tried
to apologize for his eagerness, but could not squeeze the words past
his open lips. All he felt was the clutching, the smooth skin
beneath his hands, the bubbling warm water all around his legs, all
he heard the delighted low moans of his partner, all he knew the
sensations flowing over and through him.
His eyes opened fractionally, tilted feline slits, and he smiled
tenderly as he saw Rala's body writhe; he recalled how it felt to
hold someone inside him, and wanted to give that to Rala, wanted to
repay him a thousand times over. Rala's upper body rose until the
other man was propped up on his hands, and Julian leaned forward,
nuzzling his neck. He had just taken a few strands of damp curly
hair between his lips, tugging gently, when the holosuite entrance
slid open yet again, to reveal his Lady, her sinuous body uncovered,
her expression tender. Both men paused, facing the entrance, Rala
smiling slightly when he saw who it was, Julian peeking demurely over
one fair wet shoulder.
She stood in the entrance for a few moments. "I wondered where you
two had gotten to," she said with great affection. She entered the
`suite, walking over to one pillar of shimmering stone. The two men
said nothing, but she could hear Rala suppress a chuckle, see just
out the corner of her eye as Julian jabbed him in the ribs, wearing
another of the impish grins he seemed to have found since he arrived.
Draped over the pillar was a wrap that seemed to be made of liquid
light and flickered in her hands as she picked it up. "I thought I
left this here," she remarked, and she tossed it over her shoulders
with grace. In the spa, Julian rocked himself just a fraction of an
inch against Rala, making the other man writhe. Rala turned to look
at him, and could only laugh at his delighted grin and dancing brows.
"So," she said to the two of them, grinning like a sprite as she
paused at the entrance. "What have you two been up to since I've
been gone?"
At first Rala only lowered his eyes, but then he lifted them to peer
incredulously over his shoulder as Julian replied brightly, "Oh,
nothing!" Dark eyes twinkled mischievously until Rala squeezed at
him hard, making his eyes close and his hands grip at well-muscled
upper arms.
"Ah," she replied. "Well," she added, tying the sash at her waist,
"I suppose I'll leave and let you two get back to . . . nothing."
Her gaze lingered gently for a few moments on the elfin and smiling
Julian, and then she was gone. Silence hung in the air of the little
`suite for several moments, broken only by the everpresent bubbling
of the water, and then it was dissipated by delighted laughter.
"Nothing?" Rala echoed and stuck out his tongue.
Julian nipped gently at it with his teeth. "Oh, shut up and enjoy
yourself." Another firm rock of his hips, and both men once again
began to dissolve in one another's arousal.
Their Lady stopped for a moment in the outer room, and shook her head
in amused satisfaction as she heard her pupils' laughter through the
thick door.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
For the thousandth time, Julian bit down on his lips, stopping the
irrepressible whistling that had begun to grate on even his nerves.
That, the finger tapping, the bounce under his heels . . . he felt as
if he were completely energized and had felt so ever since reporting
in. And he knew exactly why.
His appointments had gone well all morning long, and a glance up at
the wall chrono told him that lunchtime was nearing. Taking a small
breather in the time between appointments, he let his eyes wander
around the infirmary, the lights reflecting back at him in sparkles
and slashes against metal, ceramic, and glass. Idly, he leaned his
elbows against the chest-high counter behind him, crossed his feet at
the ankles, knit his hands over his chest, and felt a grin surface.
His fingers had begun to tap arrhythmically at his sternum when a
tinny beep behind him signalled that the incubator had finished with
the bacterial sample he had placed there fifteen minutes earlier.
Spinning in place, he removed it with a flourish, and waltzed across
the room to the analyzer, humming tunelessly to himself. The damned
thing had always annoyed him before, as it was located at knee level
and required him to crouch down to place or remove anything inside,
but its position gave him an excuse for another flourish when, after
placing the bacterial sample inside, he stood, turned around, and
closed the access panel with a crisp bang via a light and airy
dancer's kick.
"Well, you seem to be in a good mood today." He spun at the voice,
and saw a brightly smiling Dax entering the infirmary. She stopped
and regarded him with one brow raised.
"Really?" he replied, grinning back at her, eyes sparkling. "I
hadn't noticed."
Dax walked further into the room. "You've been like this all day,
Julian." She leaned herself against the examining table, and crossed
her arms over her chest, giving him the Trill version of a
significant look. "Anything special?"
He stood still for a moment, then returned her impudent expression to
her, raising one brow. Tapping his hands against the sides of his
thighs, he replied, "Jadzia, I have no idea what you're talking
about."
"Ah." She nodded, then moved off the table. "Well then, are those
samples I asked you to break down finished yet?"
"Not quite. I just placed the last one in the analyzer now; it
should be done in . . . " He was interrupted by yet another tinny
beep. "Oh, right about now, I should think." Together, they walked
to the display panel for the device. "There you go," he told her.
"Do you have a tricorder ready to take this?"
"Right here," Dax replied, taking the one she held in her hands up
and plugging it into the wall socket at the front of the analyzer,
and looked back at Julian. "You're still doing it."
"Doing what?" he said, infuriatingly vague.
"Grinning like that," she told him, one of her own little grins
threatening to widen further.
"Like what?" he asked, and she got the distinct feeling that he knew
exactly what she was talking about.
"Oh, nothing." Pulling the tricorder out of the wall, she exited the
infirmary, but not before saying breezily, "Cheer up, too. You've
been in such an awful mood today, you know." The door shushed open
and closed over her parting smile, leaving a grinning Julian behind.
He looked at the wall chrono and saw that lunchtime had indeed
arrived. Finally! Tossing his smock onto a lab table, he exited
in the general direction of Quark's after leaving the computer
instructions on where to reach him in case of an emergency.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The replimat was fairly busy with the shift changes all over the
station, but with the variety and number of different people on the
station, it was never really completely quiet. The array of faces
and languages had once fazed him slightly, but no longer. Now the
kaleidoscope of variety was simply taken for granted.
Today, though . . . he took special pleasure in the walk. Colors
seemed sharper to him, smells more enticing. Each person's unique
face demanded attention and interest. The sussuration of speech --
vocalized, clicked, whistled -- sounded like a linguistic dagwood to
his ears. Nice day, he remarked, watching out the port as the
wormhole writhed into existence, admitting a ship, in or out he could
not say. Even that sight, which he freely admitted was one of the
more spectacular he had ever seen, appeared to be more vivid, more
immediate, today than since the first time he had witnessed it. The
stately whirlpool spun in place for a few moments, revealing the
throbbing interior glowing with strange light, and then flashed into
a point and disappeared, as it had countless times since he had
arrived on the station.
He looked back from the window with a jerk, suddenly aware that he had
spent quite a few minutes simply staring out the port and watching
the stars. That's ten minutes less time you'll have for lunch, he
told himself sternly, but he didn't really care. With the same light
step he had used all day, he continued to the replimat, sat down, and
ordered his meal. As he brought the first mouthful to his lips, he
realized that his sight, his hearing, were not the only senses to
have been sharpened for some reason. The curry had never tasted so
marvelous to him, and he had never been nearly sent into a reverie of
philosophical contemplation by the hot and cool contrasts of mint tea
before. He thought back to his appointment schedule and pondered
whether he could get away with taking an extra quarter hour for
lunch; he didn't want to rush the experience. Chastened by his
desire to put off his duty but unhappy at having to rush, he began to
eat just a little faster.
There. Ten minutes left. I can stop by Quark's, get something to
wash this down with -- the mint tea was the only decent beverage the
replimat was capable of producing -- and get back in plenty of time.
After entering his account number into the table, he wiped his lips,
rose, and exited the replimat.
Quark's was also relatively busy at the time; he always got the
overflow from the lunch crowds, and then there were the barflies who
never seemed to leave the place as well. He had just asked the
Ferengi behind the bar for an apple synthale (Quark was not in
evidence) when his eye fell upon one of the corner tables. His Lady
sat there, quietly drinking a starduster, and going over what
appeared to be cargo manifests. The bartender handed him his synth,
and where previously he would have been uncertain about approaching
her away from the ship, he walked over and smiled to her. She smiled
back and he felt a tug at his spirit.
"Doctor," she said, pleasure in her voice as she put down the little
handheld display she had been tapping at. Her smile was genuine,
with only a little hint of scandal. "Please," she added, gesturing
to the seat next to her in the booth, "have a seat." Her eyes
watched him as he sat. "How are you feeling?" she asked him, leaning
back. He smiled at her, slowly and slyly.
"Well, I'm not tired, if that's what you mean," he said, matching her
light tone. "I got plenty of rest while I was on the Ariad."
She sat silently for a few moments, then spoke. "Actually, that's
not what I meant," she said. "I mean how are you feeling." Her
expression was penetrating but tender. Julian nearly blushed.
"Oh," he said lowly. He did not answer for a few moments, but his
Lady could see fleeting expression dawning on his face and flying to
make room for others. Finally, he smiled openly, and shook his head.
He looked up into her eyes. "I feel wonderful," he told her,
shrugging. Unable to think of anything else to say, he sipped at his
synth.
She nodded. "Yes." She took a small sip at her starduster, and he
watched as she licked at the moisture left on her lips when she put
the glass down; he was unaware that she had watched him similarly.
"I was hoping you would. So does Rala."
Julian looked into his drink. "Where is he?"
"Off somewhere," she told him. "Sightseeing, I suppose." She patted
him on the arm. "Your experience meant a great deal to him, as
well." At first, Julian did not respond. Then:
"I didn't know that was really possible," he said. "It wasn't
something I had . . . considered for myself before." He looked up at
her, leaning back against the booth, clad in the most clothing he had
ever seen her wear since the first time he had encountered her.
Unbidden, his eyes imagined the contours of her body beneath her
clothing. "I had thought . . . " His voice trailed off, ending on
the merest breath of air. Softly, tenderly, he felt her hand against
his thigh, caressing.
"Had though what?" she prompted, concerned. He squirmed just a
little, uncertain of how to continue. Finally, he simply spoke.
"I was afraid it would get in the way of . . . of what I felt for
you," he told her, honest and entreating. His face was so open, she
saw, so sincere. His uncertainty, his fear at losing her shone out
of his eyes as if they were lit from inside. The synth, forgotten,
sparkled under his chin.
His beautiful Lady did not respond at first, touched and surprised at
his response. By now, she reminded herself, no depth or magnitude of
devotion from this young man should surprise you. "Doctor . . . "
she said. "Doctor, I should not be surprised to hear you say that."
"Surprised?" He was not following her.
Her sharp face was tilted down, her eyes narrowed just a little.
"Every time I encounter you, you show me greater depths of caring and
devotion." Her starduster was also forgotten, and she turned herself
in her seat to face him more directly. How I wish we were back on
the ship, she told herself . . . back to where I could touch you
openly, wih no fear of being seen to make you shy from me . . . She
could not keep her hand from wandering languidly up his thigh,
brushing him just briefly. "I wish I could touch you now," she said
finally. His face betrayed his inner jolt of emotion at her words.
"Your pleasure in Rala and what he has opened you to could never keep
you from enjoying anything else, Doctor," she said simply. "No one
pleasure can block another. Often, it can deepen all others, all
other sensual pleasures, making them far more rich and textured. At
least . . . that is what I have found, starting during my training
and continuing up the present day." She chuckled. "You may find
that my next lesson for you will be the richer for what he has shown
you. For what you have shown each other."
He was beginning to fall forward, and the feel of her hand on his hip
had begun to excite him. Warmth and tingling radiated from where she
had touched him, and he saw that if he didn't get up and leave now,
he would be in a . . . less than collected state upon returning to
the infirmary. Jumping slightly, he saw that he was due back in less
than a minute. "Lady . . . " he said.
"You must go." She removed her hand, paining him.
"For now. I will be back at the Ariad" -- back with you, where I
should be -- "later tonight."
"Good." She took another sip from the starduster and watched him as
he rose, her keen eye aware of the barest signs of his arousal that
no one else would see. She could say nothing else, and her only
thought as she watched him exit the bar and return to duty was sorrow
at his departure, his devotion to his duty.
Damn it, she thought. Never another Starfleet officer. Never again.
Shocked, she raised her hands to her eyes and felt a hint of moisture
at their corners. What a consort he would make.
Unsettled and unhappy, she picked up the padd and resumed her perusal
of the cargo manifests.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Two patients brought in from an accident during routine maintenance
and one false labor from the Bajoran woman he had seen the previous
day -- nothing too demanding. The Bajoran woman had had a history of
uncertain births, so he had been well prepared for such an emergency.
The most complex part of the repairs to the accident victims had been
the transporter-based removal of the bone chips in the woman's left
leg, which had been shattered like ice under a falling girder that
the safety fields had failed to catch. Had they been left in her
system, they could easily have blocked an artery in her heart or even
her brain, leaving her dead. The bone itself had been matched and
stabilized, and the patient dozed under the restraining field as the
regenerators placed over her leg worked to heal the break. The
diagnostics showed her system clear of any bone chips or fragments;
she was out of danger. An eventful day, but not really a demanding
one.
He rubbed his hand over his chin, and felt it scratching against his
palm. His beard repressor had evidently worn off some time ago; he
automatically walked to the little cabinet near his desk where he
kept personal items against the time he might have to sleep in the
infirmary; the student habits of medical school and very late nights
as an intern died hard. However, as his hand signalled the drawer,
he caught a reflection of himself in the door of the trans-autoclave
where the instruments were kept. His own face shone back at him,
through a shadow wreathing his jaw, and it seemed darker to him. The
reflection-Julian's brow knit slightly. He had no other patients
today, and it was only twenty minutes until his shift ended. He
could afford to look a little less than . . . professional for a few
minutes until his shift ended. And then . . . we will see. The
other Julian seemed to agree,and the deep eyes over the shadowy veil
of darkness on his cheeks narrowed in anticipation.
She will definitely get a few surprises, he thought. That was how he
could pass the time! He sat at the desk and called up a few of the
files on Ishtarian training that were not proprietary that he had
archived on his account and spent the ensuing twenty minutes brushing
up, getting himself in the proper frame of mind for what he would do.
His eyes glazed slightly as he envisioned her strong supple body
beneath his hands, what he would do to it, and what he would ask of
it . . . Unknown to him, his eyes had narrowed, their natural tilt
accentuated until they appeared nearly feline. His delicate lips
curved slightly.
The alarm sounded again, signalling the end of his shift as it had
the night previous. Without another thought or look back, he stood,
snapped off the viewer on the desk, and strode rapidly out of the
infirmary on the way to his quarters.
Fifteen minutes later, he again stood at the entrance to his Lady's
ship, his hand on the chime with far more confidence than previous.
With deliberation, he pressed it once. In response, the door slid
open silently, revealing the interior, dark again, but lit with one
lone candle in the center of a small table standing beyond the bed.
The ports, which he had not realized were there, were completely
transparent, and the effect was that the entire far wall of the ship
was completely open to the stars. Her ship was on the far side of
the station, facing away from the planet below, and toward the
wormhole. Glittering cold lights from a million stars sparkled back
at him, ignorant of his existence but aware of his pleasure in
observing them. Moving further into the room, as if in a trance, he
found himself being drawn toward the ports. There were plenty of
them on the station, and he had been outside in the runabouts many
times, but never had he seen such a large expanse of stars at one
time, like a solid wall of them before him; EVAs were not typical
training for medical staff. As he moved closer to the port, placing
his hands against it, he felt as is he were dangling over the edge of
a precipice that called to him like a siren. Rapture of the deeps,
he told himself, aware of the phenomenon that had been known and
spoken of for most of human history.
He did not turn or jump as he felt warm strong hands at his back,
which slid quietly up against his shoulders. "The ports can be
dialed to opacity if the sight disturbs you," she said, unwilling to
break the cathedrallike silence with more than the vaguest whisper.
For a moment, he did not respond.
"No," he finally said back, his soft voice complementing the silvery
stars. "No . . . " For what felt like a few brief centuries, they
both stood, simply looking at what was presented to them. Julian
felt his Lady's warmth behind him, against him, and in the darkness
he smiled. He leaned back just a little into her body, and felt as
she held him, nuzzling his neck just a little. The melting started
again, the bodymelting he felt upon being with her at any time, and
his arousal appeared to delight the stars that watched them. With
the tolerant love of a great matriarch, they seemed to smile down
upon the doctor and the trader, blessing their desire and their play,
ringing like little sparkling silver bells in approval.
Still they watched the stars, and felt the other's breathing until
their chests were rising in spontaneous synchronization. Two voices
were stilled, two minds calmed, as they watched the stars quiver with
a consciousness they could taste. They waited until they both felt
the energy, the vibrance, as they began to resonate in tune with one
another. His beautiful Lady reached up past his shoulder to place
her fingers against his slender neck, running gently down from his
chin to his collarbones, feeling the warmth, the texture, the living
pulse. Finally, Julian was able to turn his eyes from the stars, to
see them in his Lady's eyes as she gazed at him. Caught by her eyes,
whose color he could still not fathom, he took her face in his hands
and moved closer to it. With difficulty, she placed her hands on his
chest.
"Doctor, I cannot," she told him, her body so close to his that he
could feel her heart beating.
"Yes," he told her, placing one hand against the back of her neck.
"You can." Firmly, gently, with unyielding tenderness, he kissed
her, unbound and unbonded. It was only the second time that his Lady
had kissed a man out of bond, and he felt her body stiffen against
his; she did not push him away.
After a time, he moved his hands down her back, pressing his hips
into hers, toying with her moist lips, feeling his shadow rough
against her skin. Boldly, he began to probe her mouth with his
tongue; it seemed so warm, so open to him, and after a time, her
tongue rose to meet his. The silence that had risen up out of the
stars that watched their play was broken, or simply caressed, by her
sighs. She sounded like an angel.
Her body had begun to move against his as well, and she writhed
against him. He felt her fingers twining in his hair, pulling his
face against hers more firmly, tasting him more deeply. That, her
hips between his hands, her body against his, her lips and tongue
under his, the scent of her, the soft sounds of her mouth . . . he
felt himself beginning to lose his individuality, drowning in the
sensations again as they stood by the ports, by the stars. With
effort, he pulled away from her; he did not want to destroy her
training completely, or even a little, but she had said that she may
wear the collar this time. Perhaps she would wear it on her heart
and not just her neck.
"I'm not trying to hurt you," he said, softly, looking at her evenly.
"I know this is against your vows."
She seemed to be gathering herself, breathing more quickly than
usual, pressing herself into him. She did not reply right away, but
only closed her eyes as she felt herself on him, feeling her lips
pulled to his skin, to his beautiful long neck. His warmth was
intoxicating, and she nestled her face there for a brief time,
letting it fill her like a sweet liquor.
"Doctor, I don't know what my vows are anymore," she said simply. "I
haven't wondered this since I was invested . . . " Shaken, she stood
away from him, her raised hand between them, halting him from putting
his arms around her and comforting her. "Please do not . . . " she
said on a breath. Words jammed on their way out of her mouth, and
Julian could only watch as his normally calm Lady had to gather her
thoughts. "Doctor . . . " she said at last, "I must teach you the
next lesson."
"I know," he replied softly. He brought his hand to her face, and
she did not shake it off, though the touch seemed to distress her.
"I'm ready to learn."
"I know, she echoed. "But . . . but I may not be ready to teach."
Confused, Julian only looked back at her. She walked away from him
then, stood with her back to him, the starlight coating her in her
plain drape of gossamer grey; she needed no ornament. "I must teach
you," she repeated, and Julian got the distinct feeling that she was
speaking more to herself than to him. "I have sworn it, and it is my
duty for a pupil so skilled as you." She turned to face him. "I
must begin as your teacher . . . but I do not know if I can remain
that way." Alone in the middle of the wide room, she looked back at
him, his reed-slender body outlined by the stars -- a dark shade,
only the eyes reflecting back light. He walked toward her; she could
not see his face against the port.
"I don't understand," he said to her.
She knit her hands and composed herself. "Doctor, I have been here
for several hours, ever since seeing you on the station, thinking to
myself. I have spoken to no one of what I've thought, not you, not
Rala." A breath, the vaguest whisper. "I have contemplated my vows,
thought back to what I told you when we last met, the time before."
Without conscious volition, her hand rose to move gently over his
chest as he came close. "I can only join with a consort, or a man in
bond. It is against our way, the way of teachers, to do otherwise."
"But," he said, and pain was in his voice, regret as well, "I am not
your consort." She saw his thoughts flickering over his face, saw as
the memories of their last time, pressed close and warm, ran through
his mind. "I cannot be your consort," he continued, his voice
softening almost to the point where it vanished. He closed his eyes,
and she saw him swallow.
"I do not know if I can remain only a teacher to you," she said.
Only. Would she ever have called a teacher "only" anything until
now? "I do not know if I will be able to keep from calling you
consort, even if it cannot be legitimated." She could not restrain
herself from placing her body close against his, feeling him against
her skin. "I may not be able to -- remain true to what I am."
Julian placed his arms around her, holding her close. I don't know
if I can keep from calling you beloved, he thought silently, though
he did not say it. Her hair was at his face, the fragrance in it
rising to suffuse him in a warm vapor. He felt the silkiness under
his lips, felt as it caught against his face, his rough chin.
"Lady," he said at last, "I don't know if I can . . . see you leave
again." Her head jerked upright. "I had to tell you."
"You will have to," she said. "And I will have to see you stay
behind." A rueful chuckle, with great sadness behind it. "It's too
early for us to get so maudlin," she said. "We have another lesson
yet to learn ahead of us." Stepping away from him yet again, she
smiled at him. He dipped his face close to her and brushed his lips
against hers.
"And what will I learn now?" he asked.
"I'm not sure. I'm not sure what I can teach you now," she said
quietly. "I don't know if I can remain as teacher for the entire
lesson; I can't tell you what you will finally learn." She nuzzled
his cheek with hers. "It may be that I will learn -- learn that I
judged too well when I first saw you, that I took too much of a
chance in teaching you." Her voice had nearly disappeared. "I may
learn that I am not the teacher I thought I was." Julian looked back
at her, horrified.
"No . . . "
"It may be," she said firmly. "I do not yet know." Her face became
wondering, something he had never seen. "You are unlike any pupil or
man I have ever encountered. Young, unlettered, impulsive . . . kind
and loving, caring and with depth that even you cannot guess at." He
simply stared back at her, unwilling to accept what she was saying.
I am a doctor, he thought -- the first thing that came to mind
whenever he contemplated his life, his purpose. That is all. A good
doctor, an . . . egotistical one . . . Someone who hasn't had half
of what he says he's had, or wants. Someone who speaks before
thinking, and does precious little of one, too much of the other. He
shook his head, chastened. "Lady . . . I don't think I am what you
seem to think."
"I think you are," she replied simply, and walked to the bed. She
turned and sat on it, watching him. "I want to show you," she said.
"Show me?" He was confused. "How can you show me . . . "
"What you do not know yourself?" She smiled. "I know it is there,
and I have seen it in others, though never before as clearly . . .
as purely. Come here," she told him, her hand on the bed next to
where she sat. "I will show you what you have inside yourself."
Like a sleepwalker, he moved to where his Lady was sitting. He felt
an impulse to kneel before her, but controlled it. He sat next to
her. He looked into her gaze, placing his hand on hers. "What will
you show?"
"Something you need to know about yourself. Something you suspect is
there, something I know is there . . . what is drawing me to you."
She rose. "Wait here." Following these pregnant words, she
disappeared from the room. Julian sat, awaiting her return, but she
did not do so. His heart began to beat more strongly, and he
wondered why she was taking so long. Idly, his eyes began to roam
the room -- over the bed, the tapestries serene with the voices of
ages speaking silently from them, over the few other articles of
furniture, the flame lamps, which had lit them last time . . . His
eyes fell on something at the foot of the bed. Black, matte . . . he
reached toward it and found a pair of the boots, the same ones she
and Rala had always worn, in black suede this time instead of
leather. They were like butter beneath his fingertips, smooth and
swallowing what light fell on them. He unrolled them; they looked to
be nearly the right length and size . . .
. . . for him. He looked more closely at the animal skin, and ran
his fingers over the top cuff of the left boot; embossed on the suede
he saw a tiny Starfleet emblem, the little trefoil glowing up at him,
the only shiny thing on the boots catching the starlight. Without
realizing it, he smiled thinly. Their size appeared to be no
coincidence. By himself, he laughed. Why not? It was a matter of
moments for him to pull off his boots and undo his uniform, tugging
it past his hips. One quick pull and his shirt was off as well,
tousling his hair. He removed his underclothes also, folded them
into a neat pile, and placed them all on the table upon which sat the
flickering candle.
He turned to the port then, to see the stars, to stand before them,
and the blue candylike glow coated him from head to heel. Placing a
hand against the glass again, he watched them twinkling at him for a
few moments, then turned away and picked up the boots.
The cool suede felt wonderful sliding over his skin. He had been
concerned that they would be too tight around his calves and thighs,
but his fears were unfounded. They were . . . snug, almost more like
suede tights. Tugging firmly, he brought them up to his upper
thighs, feeling the loose upper cuff of skin caressing him as he
moved his leg. The little emblem flickered back at him as he moved,
and quickly, its twin joined it on his right leg. He tightened the
laces along the back, and stood. The suede kissed his skin,
languidly, and massaged his legs as he walked. He felt the upper
cuff tickling at him as well, and the dangling laces tapped against
his thighs. Like his Lady's, and like Rala's, there were no heels on
these boots, but only supple soles that did not impede his movements
at all.
Grinning, he considered that they were more comfortable than his
uniform boots. Pity I can't wear them on duty, he said, and actually
chuckled out loud at himself. He walked back to the bed and resumed
his place on it. As he suspected, his Lady returned not long after.
He turned to see her entering from the other room, and watched as she
watched him. She appeared to slow her pace for a few moments, then
resumed.
Oh . . . she had to catch her breath at him -- slim, feline, with his
eyes glittering at her over his darkened cheeks. His angular body
was supplely turned toward her like a dancer, and his legs looked
impossibly longer, coated in the buttery soft animal skin. One was
underneath him, one stretched out before. The starlight was on him as
well, outlining his fine slender shoulders, his graceful arms, pooled
like quicksilver at his collarbones and neck. His entire back was
coated with the bluish-silver glow . . . She lowered her eyes,
taking control of herself, and began to play her part.
Julian watched her as she dropped her eyes; her entire demeanor had
changed. She simply stood before him, her hands clasped before her,
her gaze on the floor. Clutched in her hands was the wine-colored
collar she had shown him before he left, the one she had promised she
might wear, if he so chose . . . Her eyes did not come up to meet
his. She remained where she was, silent and waiting.
Julian got up and walked toward her, curious. "Lady . . . ?" he
asked. Her eyes met his at last then, but almost timidly. She was
not the woman who had left the room so recently. Julian smiled,
understanding, as again her eyes fastened themselves to the floor.
With deliberation, he held out his hands and looked at her
expectantly, an amused expression on his sharp face. She was still
for a moment, then took a deep breath and placed the collar in his
hands. He took it from her, regarded it for a few moments, then
tossed it at the bed; it clattered loudly against the wall and slid
down behind the headboard, disappearing.
"I don't think we'll need that," he told her easily, his voice
resonant and sensuous. Courtly and smiling, he held out a hand to
her; she placed hers in it, and he led her slowly to the edge of the
bed. "I need not bind you here," he told her, running one finger up
her neck to her chin, tilting her beautiful face to his. "You will
wear your bindings here," he said, tapping her chest over her heart,
"the softest bindings you will ever know." She closed her eyes at
his words, and sighed. He dropped his face then, to her chest,
kissing the place over her heart lightly, lingering there to drink
her scent, to nuzzle her breast with his shadowed cheeks. Dropping
to one knee, he wrapped his arms around her hips, embracing her with
passion. Her strong thighs, muscular yet not without softness, gave
under his fingers as he ran his hands over the velvet skin. Her
round buttocks as well filled his hands as his rough chin brushed
against her tight black curls. Slowly, lazily, he took locks of the
ebon ringlets between his lips and tugged very gently, nuzzling. The
faintest scent of her rose to his face, and he felt himself begin to
throb, to thirst. Revelling in it, he told himself strictly that he
would slake the thirst, in time. Her hands were at him, running so
lightly over his skin, his shoulders, his neck, toying with his hair.
She tried to kneel to face him, but he gripped her legs too strongly,
compelling her to remain standing. "No . . . " he whispered, and
stood, his body merest inches from hers. With infinite care, he
embraced her and laid her gently onto the bed, taking care not to
catch her hair, which draped over her body, her only clothing. For a
time, he simply looked at her, as the silvery starlight poured over
her, turning her forearms, her legs, the points of her hips, to
liquid metal. His fingertips roved over her as he knelt once again
next to the bed; belying the metallic sheen, her flesh was warm,
pliant, delicious. Shimmering flashes of it caught in her hair, and
as he brushed his fingers through it, it shivered and danced like
water. Dazzled, he wondered where to start. He could kiss and
fondle, taste and adore, every part of her at once.
She lay back, watching him, watching his eyes, feeling his cool slow
hands on her, and felt like fleeing. Badly, she wanted to run, to
dash away from here, from what it meant confronting. Unseen, her
fists clenched. My vows . . . she told herself again, appalled at
the lack of conviction in her thoughts. Closing her eyes, she felt
nothing save his gentle touch roaming tenderly over her body, his
palms brushing over her, his lips at her skin again; she gasped
slightly. My vows . . . Throwing her head back, she opened her eyes
at last and looked at the stars against which the headboard of the
bed was placed. They watched her back, and whether they were
accusing or approving she could not say. Perhaps, she thought as she
felt his lips travelling with agonizing slowness over her breasts and
neck, moving toward her own, they simply did not care.
Suddenly, his lips were on hers, the subtle warmth of his face at
hers, the scent of him evanescing from his skin. Startled, she
turned her face toward his, shadowed against the stars and by the
darkness on his cheeks and chin, and caught her breath as his lips
descended toward hers. Again, her fists clenched as she felt herself
dissolving into the kiss, into the warmth and darkness.
She opened her mouth just a fraction, sighing against him, and fought
to keep control over herself, to keep playing the part she must to
teach him what he needed to learn. From wanting to run and hide, she
had gone to fighting a passionate desire to fall into him, to clutch
him to her, to lose herself in him, never coming out . . . to keep
him forever, no matter their duty. With a will of absolute iron, she
compelled herself to stay in her designated role. He is pupil, I am
teacher; he is not my consort. Her tongue rose against his, and ran
over his lips. She felt him take it, gently sucking at the tip,
toying with it.
"Lady . . . " he breathed, and she heard the devotion in his voice as
well, the wanting. His hands then came up around her face from where
they had been caressing her and she felt them at her cheeks as they
kissed, their passion growing. They began to devour one another; she
too took his face in her hands and pulled him to her. Firmly,
though, and with care, he grasped her wrists and pulled her hands
from him. She looked as his breathtaking eyes pinned her where she
was.
"No," he told her with such gentleness that she nearly melted. He
placed her hands back down near her sides, pressing them there.
"Relax, my Lady," he said. "Relax" -- as he began to toy with her
again, with her face, her neck, with her ears, and she began to move
beneath him. She tried but could not suppress the sounds of passion
stirred from her throat, she felt him smile against her as they rose
to his ears. Her arms strained against his grasp, but not by much,
and after a time, they stopped altogether and she simply gave herself
to him and the passion he roused in her. Play the part, she told
herself, play the part . . .
He sat atop her now, still devouring her skin, moving down toward her
breasts, toward the tender skin there and at her stomach, her hips,
still gripping her wrists. Julian felt her gasp and start when he
took her breast, firm and athletic, into his mouth, again teasing and
playing with the baby-soft nipple. He felt it grow firm in his
mouth, and the knowledge of her arousal multiplied his own. Running
his tongue over her gently, slowly, he began to draw lazy shapes on
her skin, his chin rough on her skin, leaving a cool trail of
moisture behind. Beneath him, against his chest, she shivered and
her stomach tensed; he felt her hips rock just barely forward, and
her hands tightened into rocks. For what seemed like hours, for what
may have been, he teased and delighted her this way, feeling himself
grow firm and pressing into his body, pressing into hers as well.
Finally, he began to trail his eager mouth further down to her hips,
to kiss and fondle everything in between, to grasp her thighs in
strong hands and part them ever so slowly. He cast a glance at her;
her head was back, her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling
rapidly. Again, the bluish glow of the stars lay over her like a
thin sheen.
He returned his gaze to her gateway -- beautiful, fragrant, ringed in
tight and soft black curls. Julian kissed each curl in turn and ran
his lips over them all, beginning to drown in the softness and scent.
Tenderly, he kissed these lips as well, running his tongue over the
niche between them and her thighs, making her gasp yet again in
pleasure and want. Teasing her yet further, he toyed with her lips
for several long languid minutes and felt as his own sex urgently
pressed into him, pulsing in time, jolting him with its insistence.
Steady . . . he told himself against the voice that told him to rise
and plunge himself into her; he was shocked at how much easier it was
to resist this time. The knowledge of her impending delight, and
his, and how both would be the greater for the wait, made it nearly
trivial, until he took a pure strong pleasure in forcing himself to
resist, feeling his body sing to him with sensation. Finally, he
parted her lips with his own, searching for the place that the
Ishtarian mythology called the temple jewel, the place of holy life,
where life began. Yes . . . there. He took it between his lips,
tasting its sweetness, its moist delicious softness, and felt her
hips rock against his mouth as the sensation ran itself through the
body of his Lady. Moaning, she tried to break his grasp on her
wrists, but he increased his strength and held them firm as she
fought to free her hands. He flicked his tongue over the jewel,
quickly, distracting her until she no longer tried to free herself
but instead was simply forced to lie back, allow herself to be
buffeted by the stimulation.
Then, suddenly, he pulled away from her, leaving her gasping and
moaning beneath him. He looked to the little table and saw . . .
yes! It was there; she had known he would need it and left it out.
He rose from the bed, leaving her there.
It, too, was turned into shimmering light by the stars, but the glow
only added to its already silvery sheen. He removed the lid, taking
out a small dollop onto his finger, and walked back to the bed where
his Lady lay, watching him. Her face was . . . as he looked, he saw
a flicker of emotion, deep and strong, that shook him slightly.
Could she be . . . he wondered, then stopped himself. He must trust
her as well as himself, trust that she will tell him what he needed
to know, about the training, about her own feelings, about himself.
He returned to the bed and resumed his position at her. Smiling, he
took the little ball of sweet cream on his tongue and bent down to
where she was open, wet and wanting. Her hips rocked yet again, but
this time she did not give him cause to hold her wrists, as she felt
his tongue probing inside her, coating her with the cream. He felt
the powerful surge of appetite in himself, and heard his Lady's voice
as she did as well. The thirst gripped him, and he began lapping at
her even more strongly, burying himself in her sweetness, devouring
her as she bucked against him. For a brief few moments, he lost
himself in her, then pulled back, remembering that it must last, that
he must not rush, no matter how badly he had to resist. Again, he
concentrated on the resistance, on the hunger; it was harder this
time to find pleasure in it, but it was there, deeper than it had
been before and more rewarding.
Julian opened his eyes at her gateway, panting, trying to take
control over himself. A teacher he was not. He moaned, light and
delicate, and laid his cheek against her curls, regaining his wind,
and his control. He had nearly given himself to it, nearly lost
himself. "Lady . . . " he breathed. "I am not . . . I don't have
what I thought I had."
Her voice was far softer, more pliant-sounding, than anything he had
ever heard from her. "You have . . . more than you think," she
breathed, her hand rising from her side to caress his hair. You have
enough to make me question myself in ways I never thought possible,
she finished, though she did not say it. After a time, after he had
regained himself, he rose above her; she watched his slim body
stretch before her eyes. He turned then, and picked up the little
jar of kamireh.
"Lady," he said, "I'll need your help for this part." A trick of the
light? she thought, or was he actually smiling like that, that smirk?
She shook her head then, and watched as he opened the jar and scooped
out another little ball of the white cream. He leaned toward her,
his hand going to her mouth, and again she caught her breath. "Will
you help me?" he asked. She nodded. "Good." She felt her lips
parted gently, and her tongue rose to his fingers. "Here," he said,
placing the ball of kamireh on her tongue. She held it, between her
lips, and he rose before her, moving slowly up her body until his
wanting sex, pulsing in firmness, was against her cheek. Her eyes
went to his face, looking down on her with the dollop of cream on her
tongue. He said nothing, and she knew what he wanted from her.
Doctor . . . her mind was a wisp, a mere veil over a warm sea of want
at his actions. Doctor, you are more pupil than anyone I have ever
taught, she told him with silence, with her eyes as the cream began
to melt from the heat of her mouth, entering her system and making
her mad. Turning her head slightly, she took him into her mouth
then, feeling him slide into her without effort, slowly. He did not
push, did not thrust but merely . . . entered, with careful
gentleness. With her tongue, she coated him all over, down the
length of his shaft, and heard him moan, low and quiet.
With a loud clap, he laid his hands on the edge of the headboard,
gripping it convulsively as she excited him further, as she felt the
hot surge of hunger build in her from the kamireh. She saw his head
fall back, saw his body arch, and felt his hips rise against her
mouth. The wanting was in him, and his voice gave it life. He was
atop her, but she had him in her grasp, in her control. The solidity
of her position relaxed her just a little, the part she played less
likely to make her feel that frightening falling. You are playing a
part, she told herself again, you must not live it . . . She toyed
further with him, drinking in the intoxicatingly musky male scent,
feeling his tight curls tickling her nose. Relaxing, she took him in
more deeply, as deeply as she could or as she needed to, massaging
him against her throat. His voice grew more insistent, more
plaintive. Suddenly, she felt him withdraw from her until he was
inches from her lips, shaking before her, his body tense as piano
wire, his hands still clutching the headboard in an absolutely iron
grasp. Whimpering lightly, he knelt there, his knees on either side
of her shoulders, still as a statue but for his subtle shaking and
the quivering of his shining sex. She moved forward just a little,
licking the starlight from the head, and felt him jerk away from her
again.
"No . . . " he breathed, almost begged. She brought her hands up to
his waist, and his eyes jerked open. "No," he repeated more firmly,
taking her wrists and placing her arms at her sides once more. He
took several gulps of air, steadying himself, then resumed his
earlier position, kneeling with his hips just below hers. He could
just barely make out the dizzying folds of her gateway, beckoning
him. Clenching his jaw, he parted her thighs again and, sliding his
knees under hers, he entered her, slowly and carefully. She moaned
to him, and pushed her hips further against his, and he saw her eyes
widen as he drew himself back, keeping only the head within her.
You, he thought, you would take me only so far at first. I will give
you only so much at first as well. He placed one hand against her
hips, stilling them. "Wait," he told her, watching her breasts rise
and fall as she breathed. Then, "I'll enter you, but you must do
something for me first." Her response was on a wisp.
"Yes . . . "
He placed his hand, his sure hand, over her jewel, caressing and
tickling at it with his fingertips. Her body writhed. Now, it was
time for this, he thought. Not from any Ishtarian manual, perhaps
totally unfamiliar to her . . . "I will continue for ten counts," he
informed her, barely able to keep from plunging into her as he felt
her twitch in response to his caresses. He swallowed. "During that
time, if you move or make a sound, I withdraw." She moaned at this,
unbelieving, and incredulous eyes met his. Indeed, she had not heard
of this before. Then, as he continued, her head simply fell back
limply, and she moaned again in abandonment. "If you withstand until
I count ten," he said, leaning against her, "I enter you completely."
A pregnant pause; he placed his lips against her sensitized skin.
"Do you agree?" Silence, then the barest of nods. "Let's begin."
He pressed into her wet jewel, flicking it lightly, just a few times.
"One." Just a few more flicks, and he watched his Lady's face, saw
her tensing muscles as she fought to hold herself back. He pressed
slightly harder and felt her suppress a jolt. "Two." Twitches
against him, around the head of his sex, nearly made him lose
concentration, but he let himself fall into the rhythm of his
partner, and found it again. The slightest of quivering was all she
betrayed, making the starlight on her skin shimmer like water.
"Three," and he moved his fingers more lightly, more lazily. "Four."
He looked down and could see the milky cream running in pulses from
her.
"Five." As he watched, she bit her lip, and swallowed what would
have been a strong and delicious moan as he felt her legs jerk just
slightly. He had found a very sensitive place.
"Six." Yes, this place and this movement was what she thirsted for,
what she wanted. Again, her stomach muscles grew tense, pulsed, and
she gasped like a drowning diver. He concentrated his fingertips on
this place, pressing just slightly harder, and his Lady had never
looked so abandoned before. His heart was soft; he could never do
anything other than enter her, no matter what she did. But she did
not need to know that.
"Seven." He continued, just a touch more slowly. There was no need
to raise her so close to the peak that he would have to bring her
over into the fall; that would be unconscionable.
"Eight." He began to move his fingers in a lazier fashion, bursts of
movement followed by even stillness, a stillness during which she
would clutch involuntarily at him, her breath coming sharply at each
of the clutches.
"Nine." He wanted to tell her something sweet, something kind and
loving, but kept from doing so; he could not break the flow of what
he was doing. With several sharp flicks, one, two, three, he brought
her even higher. She could not help herself -- her back arched
slowly.
"Ten," he finished, feeling her tense finally, and was shocked to
hear her moans. They seemed as if . . . he looked closely at her
face. In the darkness, he could not see her well enough to tell
normally, but with the ports open and the stars looking in at them,
their light was just enough for him to make out the glittering at her
eyes. "Lady . . . " he said, astonished.
"Ju -- Doctor," she replied, and her voice caught. She gasped
deeply, unable to keep her body still. Still supine, not fighting
his hands, she simply gazed back at him. "Doctor . . . you who
cannot be my consort . . . "
Immediately he was against her, his chest pressing into hers, his
face at her face. He had slipped out of her but did not realize it.
His hands wreathed her features, and he watched in helplessness as
she wept quietly. "No," he breathed, his cheek against hers, his
lips fondling her skin. Nuzzling against her, he kissed her neck
tenderly. "Lady, no . . . " He could barely stand her tears.
Gently, he placed his hands on her wrists, bringing her fingers to
his face; she held it then, her hands at his jaw, still weeping
quietly in the darkness.
"Doctor . . . " They kissed then, the abandonment and passion, the
wildness of their timeless desire for each other finally surfacing in
both. "I cannot . . . " she began, but could not continue. Julian
Bashir stilled the failing lips of his Lady with his own, devouring
so hungrily, so lovingly. "I must play a part, but I cannot . . .
you would have me live the part." His gentle lips were at her cheek.
"Live the part of the taken lover, the initiate." Between gossamer
sobs, she spoke. "I must show you how to take an unlettered lover,
and I must play that part, I must play that to you . . . and now
. . . " His eyes too began to grow moist and shining. "I am no
longer playing the unlettered lover, I *am* the unlettered lover."
Her moist eyes ran over his face in amazement. "I cannot finish as
teacher, and yet . . . I must finish. I must have you, and I must
have you take me."
He closed his eyes, and kissed her with more depth than he had ever
felt before, more so than at any time previous. "Then take me, let
me take you -- as consort." Her lips quivered at his.
"I cannot," she replied simply. "Ju . . . " Her voice trailed off.
He knew what she had nearly done, the nature of the precipice upon
which she teetered. No teacher could speak the name of a lover not a
consort, and most especially not that of a pupil. He had learned
that much during his perusals of the Ishtarian lessons during the
last five months.
The nearness of her breach, how close she had come before catching
herself, frightened her. She gazed up at him in the darkness, and
her eyes became warm and soft as she saw him over her, saw his
concern and even his love.
"Lady," he told her, "I never wanted you to be hurt."
"I chose you," she said, "that day, so long ago . . . I chose you.
Perhaps I chose too well." She kissed him so softly that he nearly
wept at her touch. "You did not wish to harm me; I know that. You
could never have foreseen . . . "
"Lady, take me as consort. No one need know . . . " His eyes burned
brightly and his chest rose quickly against hers. "I've felt it,
too. I've felt it with you . . . the feeling like I'm being
awakened, like I'm in a dream that's not really a dream, that's a
reality more real than anything in my waking world . . . " His voice
trailed off; the words were so hard to find. His kisses trailed down
to her neck, powerful and strong. "Lady, you've shown me parts of
myself I didn't know I had." He stopped entirely, afraid of sounding
too prosaic, too maudlin. She was looking back at him, silently.
"But you must stay here," she said. "And I must go."
"Yes." Another kiss.
She gasped and caught her breath, quelling her tears with iron will.
"You cannot have only me," she told him. "You must take others."
"I will, I promise."
"You are the best pupil I have ever known; for you to refuse to take
others would be . . . unthinkable." He swallowed.
"I will, Lady," he said weakly. "I promise." Starlight on tears
drew a trail of quicksilver on his sharp cheek.
"You will find other parts of yourself, new ones with each person,
new ways of feeling caring, trust, love, lust . . . and you will grow
deeper with each person, woman and man."
"I will," he said with a kiss she could barely feel. "Old sailors
kept lovers in every port. I can be here for you."
"And I must return, trade or no." Her eyes burned into him, and her
hands caressed him with care and love. The candle on the table
behind them burnt down to the end at last, leaving them awash only
in the glow of the stars. "I will return, Doctor." Their mouths
touched, and through their kiss, they became one being of passion and
love. "My love. Julian, my love."
Her thighs embraced him, slowly, and with liquid grace, he lowered
himself onto and into her, feeling her envelop him, feeling her fluid
embrace. He slid into her very slowly, and saw as she reacted,
closing her eyes in pleasure and satisfaction, finally able to say
what she had felt, to give voice to what he had felt as well -- the
unity, the trust, even the love.
When he had entered her fully, pressed against her, he kissed the tip
of her nose; she opened her eyes. "You have used my name, Lady, but
I still don't know yours." He felt her hips moving against him then,
and felt her hands running along his slim back, wrapping around his
waist. His Lady smiled.
"Come here," she said. He leaned down close to her until he felt her
breath stirring his hair, and she told him what he wished to know.
On the softest breath, he whispered it back to her, his voice filled
with love.
"It is done . . . Julian," she said. "No pupil knows my name, not
you, not Rala, no other. You do; you are my consort." Her lips
brushed his. "My beautiful consort away from me."
"But you will return," he stated.
"Of course." Her smile was a smile he had waited his entire life to
see. "I must return; I am bound here, to you." It took him a few
moments to realize that she was not speaking metaphorically; she was
indeed bound to this place, and to him. It took him the merest
sliver of time to realize how fully he was bound as well.
"Lady," he said as he began to thrust lazily, caressing her entire
body with his, feeling her skin moving on his, her body beneath his,
"do you believe in a soul? A spirit?"
Surprised by his question, she took a moment to reply. "I believe in
a spirit," she said. "A liquid spirit . . . " Her voice halted as
she felt him touching her, deeply. " . . . which is poured into a
great cauldron upon each death. The cauldron is mixed, and new
spirits are dipped from it." She smiled coyly, and sighed like
melody. "We may have been dipped from similar spirit," she told him.
Julian smiled. "We may have been," he responded, then began to
thrust more strongly, yet retaining his easy pace, synchronizing
their appetites. The bond deepened, beyond what he thought was
possible. Closing his large eyes, he laid himself full against her,
and closed down his mind until all he knew was the warm pliance of
her flesh on his, the curves and textures beneath him as his body fit
into hers, against hers. Her warm body seemed to glow against him,
and he concentrated until he could hear even the soft sounds of his
gentle thrusting, and the scent of both their bodies echoed in his
spirit. He wanted to sing, or to dance with his soul. How could he
not? How could he feel this, all over him, all five senses and his
heart and mind, and not want to? The music of her spirit called to
him, and he moved himself against her; indeed, he told himself, I am
already dancing.
It seemed hours, and could never be long enough. There could never
be enough time to explore all of him that I must, nor to find all of
myself in him. His weight was on her, and yet she seemed to float
with him, in a choir of emotion, of taste and scent and sound. My
consort, she thought. My consort. She felt her eyes growing moist
again, and did not stop to dry them. She did not need to; Julian saw
them and, with his fine lips, took the wetness from her into himself.
She kissed him, and could taste the salt of her own tears on his
lips. Joyfully, she smiled at his love, then laughed aloud. He
heard her, and his own smile then dawned and grew until they were
both laughing in their love for each other. Amazing! she thought,
and laughed again. She threw her arms around him tightly, and felt
as she embraced him with herself. The energy between them grew,
flourished, until they shared it with each other, one person loving
itself. Outside the ship, the stars as well shimmered with their own
laughter.
He felt himself pushed upright until he was sitting on his heels, his
Lady atop him, and together they rocked to a gently rolling music
that she hummed, punctuated by occasional gasps as she held him
inside her more tightly, two bodies together warm and soft. Her
hands were on him, caressing, fondling, toying over the curves and
dips, the landscape of his slender, lovely body. His arms were
around her, his face nuzzling with such tenderness, his graceful body
bending into hers. He was so smooth, so soft; she had never felt
anything like him, never seen anything alike. The soft suede of the
boots kissed her inner thighs as she moved herself on him, and could
not compare to his tender skin.
They were approaching the peak, the delicious peak; both the doctor
and his Lady. Their bodies, their minds felt the teasing tightness,
the mad feeling of desperate want, and did not fight it but drowned
themselves in it until at last, they plummeted over the precipice
into a warm waterfall of moist joy. Julian felt his Lady's hands
clasping at his waist, her thighs tensing around his body, as if he
no longer inhabited himself, and felt her cries in his own mind,
music he could gladly hear for the rest of his life. His Lady could
feel him swelling, bursting, inside her, and felt his spasms against
her stomach, felt/saw/heard/tasted a glorious starburst of emotion
and sensation that made her gasp in amazement. The energy grew past
them both until when it finally abated, neither could tell where the
other stopped and they began. In the darkness, together, they slept
peacefully, each filled with the other. Starlight coated their
oblivious bodies as they slept, in a tangle of arms and legs and
hearts and minds. From time to time, each would drift lazily into
wakefulness, open sleepy eyes, and see the astonishing multitudes
of stars. Eyes would then close, and the stars would vanish,
replaced by dreams to which even they could not compare.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Copyright 1993© by the author. This may not be reproduced in whole or
part in any form without express permission of the author, who may be
reached through [email protected].
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.bondage
Path: netcom.com!cortese
From: [email protected] (Janis Maria C. C. Cortese)
Subject: Continuing Education, ptIV
Message-ID: <[email protected]>
Organization: Netcom Online Communications Services (408-241-9760 login: guest)
Date: Fri, 8 Apr 1994 06:21:57 GMT
Lines: 344
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
He awoke at last to a touch on his brow. Shifting his position, he
felt that a coverlet had been laid gently over his bare skin. His
eyes opened slowly, and he saw a smiling impish face before his.
"Rala . . . " he whispered.
"Yes." The other man leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on the
tip of Julian's nose. "You have been asleep for a long time."
Julian's eyes widened then.
"Am I -- "
"Late for duty? No, you are not." Limber fingers ran delicately
over his cheeks and neck, toying with his rumpled hair.
"Where is . . . my Lady?" he asked.
"She has been called elsewhere," Rala told him softly, seeming to
know why he asked. "She wanted me to be here with you when you
awoke." He brushed the backs of his fingers against Julian's cheeks,
and both men could hear the rough scratching. Rala smiled
beautifully. "A choirboy in shadow," he remarked and was rewarded
with yet another blush beneath deep cafe au lait skin.
One dark hand came out from under the warm coverlet, taking Rala's.
Julian brought it to his lips, and kissed the palm. "Will she be
back soon?" he asked. Does Rala know?
"I would imagine so. She did not wish to leave." The misty blue
eyes seemed to look straight through him. "Come." He held out his
hands to the Fleet doctor, indicating that he should rise. "We will
break our fast in the spa; she will know where we are when she
returns." Uncertain, still shaking from his epiphany, Julian rose
slowly, his head spinning partly from his rising, partly from
something else. Rala's peaches and cream body stood before him; he
wanted so badly to want him, to feel desire, but so wrung out was he
that he could feel nothing more tempestuous than caring and
tenderness. Rala seemed to sense his emotional exhaustion and simply
stood before him smiling, then stepped back as Julian rose and placed
his hands in his. "You seem tired," he said, brushing his fingertips
over the other man's slender chest. That chest rose under his
fingers in a beautiful sigh.
"I suppose I am." He said nothing else, though, and Rala did not
pry. For the better part of an hour, they sat in the warm bubbling
water, back in the jasmine field with the birds serenading one
another overhead. Delicious light foods were there, fruits and other
things appropriate to fast-breaking. They ate in easy silence at
first, then could not resist play as they fed one another and finally
spent the rest of their time in lazy love. Julian's Lady entered not
minutes after they had drifted apart in the water, and removed her
clothing wordlessly, lowering her body into the water with her pupils
-- her pupil, and her silent consort. Both men drifted to her and
kissed her lovingly, and yet one's eyes spoke more loudly, more
impassioned.
"I have something for you, Doctor," she told him. "I will give it to
you later." Again, time passed in friendly silence, with Rala's head
cradled in Julian's lap, and Julian's against the moist breast of his
Lady. Three bodies dozed together, quiet and sated in innocent
animal togetherness.
Time passed, however, and Julian could not put that out of his mind.
I must go soon, he found himself thinking. She must go. We cannot
be to each other what we must . . . Tears, lost in the bubbling
water, traced fragile tracks down his cheeks that were only a bit
warmer than those traced by his sweat. He pressed himself more
tightly against the body of his Lady while Rala dozed in his lap.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
He tried to put his uniform on with slightly more cheer than a
condemned man, but failed to do so. Rala saw this, and came up
behind him, touching him so tenderly. Julian turned to face the
other man, and again felt the electrifying newness of what he had
learned from him. His body began to react to Rala's nearness again,
and had he not been so preoccupied with his leaving, and the leaving
of his bonded love and Rala, he might have found pleasure in it. As
it was, he could only drop his gaze as he stood so close to the other
man's unclothed body, like pink marble. One hand lifted of its own
accord to fondle the fair chest, and drifted down to Rala's waist and
hips, to his pert sex in strawberry curls.
"Like me . . . " he murmured once again, and his eyes rose to Rala's
then; the other man caught his breath. Drawn together, separated by
no propriety, the men kissed, their lips brushing over each other's
so delicately that Julian felt the hairs at his neck stand on end.
They embraced, and for a brief few moments, Julian let himself be
supported by Rala, falling into the other man's strong arms. His
eyes were tightly closed. "Rala . . . " Strong hands rubbed his
back, pressing away some tension.
"I will always remember what we did for one another, Doctor," the
other man breathed quietly.
"What you gave me . . . " Julian began, but could not continue. "Oh,
Rala . . . " He held his lover's back more tightly.
"Doctor, I've shown you something that has always existed; it's
always been there for you." He nestled his face against Julian's
elegant long neck. "I just opened a door for you. It's up to you to
step outside."
"And will you be outside, waiting for me when I do?" Julian pulled
away from Rala, his eyes shining but his cheeks dry.
"When I can be." Again, they kissed, with measureless devotion and
tenderness. "But Doctor, there's more than just me on the other side
of that door."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"When will you be here next?" was the only think he could think to
say to her. When will you take me inside you again?
"I do not know," she said, her sorrow at his departure, at her own,
so evident in her eyes that Julian wanted to cry. They touched.
"But I will return." Her eyes gazed straight into his. "I swear
it." He could not stand to see her before him and not take her in
his arms. She stiffened, still shaken by her bond to him. "Julian,"
was all she said. He said her name on a breath, and held her more
tightly. She pulled away from him then.
"Here is what I have promised you." She walked to where a little
device was sitting on the bed, pin straight and neatly made after
their shattering play. Picking it up -- he could not make out what
it was -- she turned and came back to him. "Hold out your hand," he
was told. He did so.
She placed the mouth of the little device between his thumb and
forefinger, on his palm. It gripped the little flap of skin gently,
and he felt a sensation of warmth, and a light stinging. Taking back
his hand, he massaged it firmly. "What was that?" he asked.
"Look." He did so, and saw a tiny shape there, so tiny that it would
have been mistaken for a smudge had he not looked more closely.
Peering at his hand, he could just make out three little shapes --
circles, they were. One white, one red, and one black . . . she had
explained to him the significance of the colors, and the circles, and
he had understood, or thought he had. And yet . . . "It is
permanent," she told him. With an undercurrent of urgency, she took
the hand in hers and brought it to her lips, kissing the little
emblem fervently. "You are marked." Her lips moved against his
palm. "You are mine."
"Lady . . . " he said, but she raised a finger to his lips.
"No. You need never call me that again. At least . . . " and she
smiled deprecatingly, "not when we are alone." He did not reply to
this though, only took her face in his hands and brought it to his
own. She gasped as they kissed, he without bonds, for the first time
in the light of day.
"Julian, I . . . " she began. "Oh, my consort . . . " Her arms
embraced him tightly.
"My love," he replied.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
His fist clenched as he recalled the pain of their parting, and he
nearly crushed the glass he had been holding in his hand. It had
been three weeks since she had left, and each passing day had gotten
better, but only barely. His head jerked upright, and he realized
that, despite the noise and lights of the bar, he had fallen into
reverie for the fourth time since coming there. He had sat alone,
and his empty expression had forbade all from disturbing him.
For the first few days, he had felt only the glow of what he had
learned, both about his Lady and about himself. He had been
delighted to see the bodies of the people in Quark's -- men and women
-- as beautiful, and had had a number of sessions of light flirting,
though nothing beyond that. He still couldn't bring himself to do
anything so soon . . .
Sighing, he supposed that sooner than he thought, he would be able
to enjoy a liason with any of the beautiful people who entered and
expressed a desire to do so, but for now . . . the pain of his
Lady, of his bonded love's departure was still uppermost in his mind.
He swirled the apple synth in his glass, watching the little vortex
spin down in the center, seeing the glittering lights all throughout
the interior of the bar sparkling and turning into spun candy in it.
The sounds of the people, ecstatic victory huzzahs and moans of
fickle bad luck, spun into the drink as well, and he sipped it. His
love had told him of how wonderful sights and tastes and scents would
be for him; he had spent several long moments at a Promenade vendor
caressing a bolt of midnight blue velvety material just that morning.
The sensation of it slipping between his fingers had nearly
intoxicated him. That morning, he had almost been late for duty, and
had to gulp his gahwa after falling into the sharp cinnamon taste.
Even music seemed deeper to him, and he wondered about learning an
instrument. In a quiet moment, his love had told him that his hands
were those of a musician, with his long nimble fingers and supple
wrists, and while he had never had an ambition toward music before,
he wondered at it now. Doumbec, he thought. Or Spanish guitar.
Perhaps sitar? He had sat up late that night, listening to playbacks
of Ventachakalam and Segovia and Yodh and wishing that he could make
such music.
Cookbook tapes had begun to spring up in his quarters, almost
littering the place. He had tripped over one while getting out of
the sonic shower and since then they had been arranged a little more
neatly on his desk instead of being strewn all over the floor and
bed. Atop these tapes were others on massage, and shyatsu. The base
methods were certainly familiar to him as a doctor, but not as a
devoted practitioner; he was unacquainted with the subtler spiritual
nuances of each.
"Julian? Are you all right?"
Again, he had fallen into reverie; his head whipped around, and he
saw Dax standing in front of his table. "What?"
She looked down at him with some concern. "I asked you if you were
all right," she repeated. "You've been a little . . . down lately."
Down, he thought. That's not the half of it. "I'm okay," he said.
She took the seat opposite him.
"You don't sound okay. You were practically walking on the ceiling
that day, and then you just about shut down." She leaned forward.
"What's wrong?"
An outright lie was beyond him, especially where Dax was concerned.
She was so beautiful, and he had gradually grown horrified to learn
that he had begun regarding her as a big sister of sorts as his time
on the station grew. "Nothing I want to talk about," he said.
"Sure?"
"Yes." He smiled a thin little smile then. "Sorry for the past few
weeks, though. I guess I've been a little . . . out of sorts." A
silent nod. "I'll get over it." He smiled again, to reassure her,
and his eyes dropped back to his drink. The smile disappeared.
Dax reached across the table and patted his hand. Normally, the
mothering gesture from her would have annoyed him, but this time he
only took comfort in her offered friendship. "If you want to talk,"
was all she said. He smiled at her again, a little more genuinely
this time.
"I know." She rose then, and was gone from his field of view.
Another long string of minutes passed as he watched the synth descend
the glass, and heard the cacophony of the bar whirling around him.
He had just fallen into another reverie when yet another voice
disturbed him.
"Friend?" Julian turned and looked up to see a slim caitian standing
before his table. She looked down at him quizzically. At his
silence, she smiled. "You pretty human," she said conversationally,
"but seem not so happy." She gestured to the seat opposite him.
"Sit?" He nodded finally, with a tired but honest smile.
She sat fluidly. "You less than happy," she told him again.
He stared at his empty glass. "Yes," he told her. "Less than
happy."
"Why?" The expression on her angular face was quite genuine, and he
saw that she was very slender and tall for one of her kind. Her mane
was tawny, almost butterscotch, and her claws had been cut back and
decorated -- a merchant marine of her people; he recognized the
pattern.
"I've lost someone very . .. important to me," he said slowly, unsure
of how he could explain this to her.
"Lost someone? " she queried. "To life after life?" He recognized
the caitian metaphor.
"No," he told her. "She hasn't died, just gone away." He sighed.
"They've both gone away."
"Two people lost?" She leaned forward, and he saw that her eyes were
exactly the same shade as her mane; her skin was barely lighter. She
looked as if he had been carved out of amber.
"Yes, two lost." He swallowed.
"Pretty human, you love both?" Caitians were known for being rather
direct, but the question still startled him.
He nodded, and his eyes were drawn down to the little mark of his love
and his bond. For the thousandth time, he fingered it and clenched
his fist. "Yes, I love both."
She sat back, her fluid spine settling into the booth easily. "You
play?" she asked him gently. He did not reply. "You feel better
after." She gestured to him. "You pretty human. I take care you,
and we not play if you not want play."
Her eyes were on him, and her smile was very open and sweet, even
with her curved canines glistening at him over her lips. The offer
was so direct and so honest, he found himself no longer wanting to be
so painfully alone in the bar. The thought of her getting up and
going elsewhere, and leaving him to melancholy, suddenly seemed very
unattractive to him. "I don't know if I'll want to play," he told
her.
"I know," she replied. "But you sweet pretty face. I no want pretty
face be so sad." Her hand brushed his cheek. "We not play if you
not want play." Despite himself, Julian smiled. "You treat my
shipsister," he was told. With sudden acuity, he recalled the
caitian woman who had been rushed into the infirmary with plasma
burns over her back; her deep auburn fur had been singed off in
places, but she had responded well to treatment, despite being
badly frightened. "She like you, say you nice to her. I nice to
you."
Julian's smile grew, finally, and he felt as if the albatross had
finally begun to find its wings again. He was still unsure of
playing, as she put it, but felt hungry for some closeness and
warmth. "I'm Julian," he said, holding out his hand. She took it,
taking care not to scratch him.
"My mother-father make Serengeshtal," she told him.
"Serengeshtal," he repeated, and she smiled at how close he had come
to pronouncing it correctly. She nodded, copying the human gesture,
and stood up.
"Come, pretty nice Julian. Play not, or maybe play. I make close to
you. You feel better."
I feel better, he echoed silently to himself. Again, he smiled and
laughed just a little, standing. The caitian woman, Serengeshtal,
grinned back at him, her canines making her grin seem larger. She
clapped her hands once, the caitian expression of suppressed
laughter, then held out one to him. He placed his in the palm,
taking care to avoid her claws, then saw that she had sheathed them.
"I no scratch," she said, then her grin took on a hint of wickedness.
"Unless you like scratch."
He laughed again, even lighter this time and with no hint of wryness.
"We'll see, Serengeshtal." They exited Quark's, hand in hand.
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