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The Captain's Saddle
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.
Not wishing to be considered a tease, here it is, submitted (no pun intended) for
your approval. As you undoubtedly know, Paramount owns the rights to the Star Trek
characters, planets, starships, etc. Any similarity of Sara McNeil to a real person
(including the author, as much as she would wish otherwise), living or dead, is
strictly coincidental and not intended by the author. I hope you enjoy this, comments
are welcomed. However if you write to me and say "this sucks", please tell me why. On
the other hand, I am a Leo, and so welcome praise for any reason, or indeed none at
all.
This is dedicated to Thomas for many reasons above and beyond the page and a half
shag.
The Captain's Saddle
by Ruth Moore
"...and see if you can get a hold of a saddle, I may want to do some...riding while
I'm there." The message ended aburptly.
"A saddle?" Sara McNeil muttered to herself. Now where the hell was she going to find
a saddle on a colony that had no horses? The fact that her lover knew that Y Dara had
no horses didn't matter, she had heard the pause before he said the word riding. She
squirmed in her chair and realized that she was terribly aroused. Just hearing his
voice made her wet and she resisted the urge to bring a hand down to her crotch and
bring herself off. He'd told her not to come while she waited for him and though he
would have no way of knowing if she disobeyed, that was how the game was played.
During the next two weeks, Captain Sara McNeil of the StarFleet Corps of Engineers
went about her normal business. As head of the Y Dara StarShip Development Team she
was busy all the time and liked it that way. She scrambled to get the team to a point
where they could do without her for three days.
As for the saddle problem, she had solved that without much difficulty. After all, in
a place dedicated to starship design, there were large scale replicators all over the
place. McNeil had no problem using one when no one was around. Scurpulously honset,
she charged the expense to her own account.
Three days later, Sara looked in the mirror critically. Her usual reflection stared
back, an oval face with a slightly mocking expression in the gray eyes. She had long
black hair with a dramatic white streak down the left side; hair that was normally
confined to a single braid but now swirled loose around her shoulders. She opened her
robe. Medium sized breasts, a belly with a slight curve to it, slim hips, all covered
with pale skin that marked all too easily. 'Not bad,' she thought, 'given my age.'
She smiled and left the bathroom.
In the living room, she looked around, hoping everything was in order. She tried to
tell herself that everything was fine, perfect in fact. Not that the thoughts helped,
at this point nothing helped. A chime from the chronometer interrupted her nervous
pacing. She drew a deep breath and tried to order her thoughts. Removing the thin
silk robe, she folded it carefully and laid it on a chair. Naked except for a pair of
very high heeled black shoes, she bent over the back of the sofa. Wriggling slightly,
she managed to find a position that matched what he'd asked for. The minutes dragged
on as she rested there, her legs spread wide and her ass facing the door, her face on
the cushions. She was aware that her thighs were already wet with juice from her
overflowing cunt and her nipples were so hard they hurt.
Just then the door opened. Sara caught her breath and resisted the urge to turn
around and see who was there. The door closed and footsteps began to walk toward her.
The footsteps paused and there was only silence. Sara was just about to say
something...anything...to break that silence, when there was suddenly a hand on the
inside of her right thigh.
"Hmmm...Is this the way you always greet your guests? Naked, sperad open, and
dripping wet?" Sara bit her lip hearing that voice, a warm, accented baritone that
had attracted her even before she had seen the man whose voice it was.
"Only if I've been told to, sir," she replied. His hand moved up to carefully stroke
the outer lips of her cunt. She twisted, trying to bring more of herself to the
hand's attention. This proved to be a stupid mistake, the hand withdrew. She moaned
with frustration.
"Now Sara, you know better than that. I hope you haven't forgotten proper behavior."
"No sir."
"Good." The hand moved again, the lightest of caresses. She tried to remain still,
but when his fingers brushed her clitoris, she squirmed again and gasped.
"Sara, stop that!" he snapped, removing his hand. He walked around the sofa to stand
in front of her. All she could see from her awkward position was a pair of highly
polished black riding boots. Suddenly there was a hand in her hair, pulling her head
up. Her eyes moved from the boots to a pair of closely fitting velvet pants. She
smiled inwardly, for all his pretense of cool aloofness, he couldn't hide the bulge
in the front of those pants. She licked her lips and he laughed.
"Here, use that tongue on something else," he said, holding his hand in front of her
face. She could smell the familiar scent of her own arousal and opened her mouth
eagerly. She lavishly licked his fingers one by one, sucking on them as her tongue
swirled around them. All taste of herself was long gone when she gently scraped her
teeth along his index finger. She was rewarded with the faint sound of an indrawn
breath.
"Enough," he said. "Sara, you're a slut, aren't you?"
"Yessir," she agreed easily.
He laughed again, that low, slightly mocking chuckle that managed to simultaneously
arouse and infuriate her. "Well, it's been a while since I've had such an eager mouth
at my disposal." As he spoke, his free hand moved to the fastening of his pants. She
leaned forward, and he pulled her back by her hair. "Go on," he said, "tell me what
you want to do."
This was always harder to do than she thought it should be. It was easy to say "yes
sir" and "no sir", but to beg for it...that was so humiliating. Which was why he
demanded it and why she always did it in the end. Experience (wonderful experience)
had taught her that she needed this.
"Please..." she stammered. "Please...let me suck you." She gulped and when he said
nothing, she went on, the words pouring out of her easier now. "Oh please sir, let me
run my tongue all over your cock, I can get all of it in my mouth, and I'll make it
so good for you..."
He had unfastened his pants now, and she stared at his cock. Such a lovely cock, one
that fit so nicely, wherever he chose to put it. And over the years, she'd had it
just about every place a stiff cock could be put. "Please..." she moaned. The tip of
it was glistening, and she smiled to herself, he was just as aroused by this scene as
she was. He moved to kneel on the sofa and took her chin in his hand. "Please..." she
said again as she opened her mouth and closed her eyes. As it slid in between her
lips, she rolled her tongue around it, loving the taste of it. She tried to move her
head, but he had both hands in her hair now and he held her head still. So she
concentrated on what her tongue was doing, as he moved to his own rhythym. She loved
it when he fucked her face like this. God, he was so right, she was a slut. He moved
faster, he was getting close now, she could tell, as his cock nudged the back of her
throat. With a practiced ease she suppressed her gag reflex, as with one last thrust,
he came. She swallowed eagerly, bringing a hand up to catch the overflow that ran
down her chin. She knew all too well what would happen if she lost a drop. After a
pause, he untangled his hands from her hair. He brushed a finger over her mouth in an
oddly gentle gesture.
"That was all very nice, but you're going to have to be punished."
"But...why...?" she asked with geniune curiosity. Her mind raced as she tried to
think what she could possibly have forgotten.
"In my letter, did I tell you to shave?"
Oh God, she had forgotten that she'd started shaving since the last time they'd seen
each other. "Uh...no...I just thought..." she began.
"Did I tell you to shave?" he demanded again, his voice harder.
"No sir, and it was wrong of me to do so. Please punish me." Unlike asking for sex,
it was easy to ask to be punished, at least in the beginning.
She heard that maddening chuckle again as he got up off the sofa, fastening his
pants. "Oh, I will, don't worry." He moved behind her again and she tensed, expecting
to feel the sting of a bare hand on her ass. Instead, his hand slid between her legs
again. Knowingly, his fingers began to penetrate her, while he stroked her clit with
the other hand. There was one finger inside her, then two and then three. As aroused
as she was, she still tensed. He had rather large hands, surely he wasn't going to...
Fortunatly (or not, she wasn't quite sure), he seemed content to leave things the way
they were. Soon she was writhing uncontrollably, shaking with need. She tried to
conceal it, hoping for release, but his hands stilled.
"Oh sir, please," she gasped, her dignity gone. "Please let me come. Oh please..."
"The day is very young Sara," he replied, removing his hands. She groaned at the
empty feeling. "I haven't even shown you what I brought for you. And of course, you
certainly can't come until you've earned it." he slapped her ass, a stinging blow.
"Stand up."
She struggled to come to her feet, hampered by that maddening need and the high
heels. She almost lost her balance, but then recovered to stand in front of him, head
bowed, eyes down, back straight, her chest thrust out. She was a tall woman and in
the twelve and a half cm. heels, she towered over him. He reached up and cupped her
chin, raising her face. Their eyes met for the first time since he'd walked in the
door. His strong face was stern, but there was a warmth he couldn't hide in those
deep-set hazel eyes. As always, seeing that warmth made Sara relax, there was trust
here and friendship. And understanding too, she thought, remembering their last
meeting, the way he had looked as she carefully dripped hot wax along the inside of
his thighs, as he lay helpless, tied to her bed.
"Follow me."
She did so carefully, her heels tapping against the wooden floor. As they headed
toward the door, she began to get worried. It would seriously ruin the scene if she
had to remind him not to take her outside. At the same time, in a distant part of her
mind (the part that had nothing to do with StarFleet and their positions), she wished
he would. When they reached the door however, all he did was pick up a white canvas
bag. He smiled at her mockingly, he knew, damn him, that she had been worried and
why. She dropped her eyes and followed him back into the living room, where he
settled onto the sofa. She stood before him until he pointed at the floor.
Gracefully, she sank down onto her knees, positioning herself near, but not touching
his boots.
He opened the bag and pulled out...a riding crop. Sara's eyes grew wide, this was
rather a surprise. He was sometimes hesitant about inflicting pain on her, preferring
to maintain control by witholding her orgasms and using the elaborate rituals of
bondage. Once again, she remembered the last time they had been together. She'd used
a heavy belt on him and he'd been amazed at the sensations the pain had provoked.
He was looking at her now; she realized that in a very subtle way he was asking if
this was too much. She had to reassure him that it wasn't. Leaning forward, she
kissed the hands that held the crop and then the crop itself. As she breathed in, she
smelled the leather, closing her eyes at the reaction the scent produced.
"Where's the saddle?" he asked and one would have had to know him well to hear the
faint hint of relief in his voice.
Sara sprang to her feet and led him into the bedroom. The saddle was balanced on the
foot board of the sturdy wooden bed. He shook his head, muttering to himself, "this
will never do." She tensed. He looked at her. "Rope," he snapped. Sara relaxed, that
was easy. She minced over to the large black case in the dresser and returned with a
coil of rope. He quickly lashed the saddle tightly to the foot board. She watched
him, enjoying the way his competent hands made short work of the task. When he was
finished, he looked at her and ordered, "Restraints."
"Yes sir," she said, making another trip to the case. She returned, dropping to her
knees and handing him the silver restraints. After he had taken them she brought her
wrists together and held them up. He looked down at her, eyebrow raised. "Please,"
she said quietly, "I know I did something that I shouldn't have done. Please punish
me sir."
He snapped the restraints onto her wrists and then pulled her up by them. She
struggled for her balance as he grabbed a handful of her long hair, pulling her mouth
toward his. He kissed her, biting her full lower lip and invading her mouth with an
insistant tongue. His hand left her hair and traveled to her breasts. He began to
tease her nipples with firm fingers, slowly increasing the pressure. She began to
squirm and moaned into his mouth. But just as she could feel that wave rushing toward
her, he stopped. She cried out in frustration as he flung her over the saddle. "You
will count each blow and thank me," he ordered, and she began to feel that familiar
tension. It wouldn't be *that* bad, would it?
As Sara bent over the saddle, testing the restraints on her wrists, she thought,
'Just you wait 'til it's my turn to be in charge.' Then a line of fire cut across her
thighs; a fire that drove all coherent thought from her brain. "One sir. Thank you,
sir," she gasped. It wasn't that bad. He had a nice touch. More fire, slightly higher
up this time. "Two sir. Thank you sir." The fire moved up and caught her on that
terribly sensitive place where her thighs met her ass. "Ahh..." she cried out. "Three
sir. Thank you sir."
By the time Sara cried "Twelve...sir. Thank...you...sir", she was incapable of
remaining still. Twisting on the saddle, she couldn't tell if she was trying to evade
the blows or catch even more of the leather crop on her flaming skin. The next one
came and she managed the count. 'Dilithium,' she thought, gritting her teeth. 'All I
have to do is say dilithium and he'll stop. "Fourteen...thank...you." Her world
narrowed down to the numbers and the feeling of the crop on her flesh. Between the
blows she could hear her own harsh breathing echoed by his, they were breathing in
unison. The suddenly, it happened, the pain disappeared, or rather it didn't
disappear, it transumted into a different kind of fire. She screamed, a very
different cry from the ones she'd been making, as the wave crashed over her. She
could vaguely hear herself babbling, "oh...God...yes...please...", but the words made
no sense.
As she began to come down, she realized that she was being lifted off the saddle. He
carried her to the bed and dropped her on her back. There was more fire as her ass
and thighs hit the bed, but it didn't matter.
"Spread your legs," he snapped. "Wider." She looked at him as she obeyed, His face
was red and as he climbed between her legs, she could see that he was shaking. She
looked down just before his cock moved out of her point of view, he was rock hard. he
still had his clotehs on, but that didn't matter. He was in her now, one hard thrust
that made her see stars. She looped her wrists in their restraints over his neck as
he began to pound her into the mattress, each thrust sending an echoing burst of fire
from her ass and thighs. She wrapped her legs around him, her calves sliding against
his boots. The wave suddenly burst over her again, a wave of fire, and she screamed.
And then he cried out, "God...yes!" and she opened her eyes to watch his face as he
came. His eyes were screwed tightly closed and his head was flung back. A few more
driving thrusts and he sank down on her.
She slid her legs back and forth over the boots and a moment later, his hand moved in
between their bodies. She felt a finger move along her clitoris and he murmured in
her ear, "Come one more time. I want to see your face." he propped himself up on his
arms, his softening cock sliding out of her. His fingers (oh those clever fingers)
moved harder on her clit, pinching her slightly. It was more than enough, she
screamed again and thrashed under him. When she was quiet, he slid out from under her
arms, pulling the quilt over them. Holding his hand to her mouth, he said, as she
licked his fingers languidly, "You forgot to say 'twenty sir. Thank you sir."
"Thank you sir," she mumbled around his fingers. She snuggled up against him and
whispered, "Just wait 'til later, Jean-Luc. Just wait."
He chuckled delightedly and whispered back, "Yes sir. About that saddle, sir..."
The End
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