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Entry tags:
It's finished, at last!
Title: Off-duty
Author: Angel
E-mail: valarltd@hotmail.com
URL: http://www.geocities.com/lady_aethelynde
Rating: NC-17
Summary: In the Mirror Universe, Spock has taken steps to control McCoy's teasing.
Type: PWP
Archive: header intact, and let me know where
Disclaimer: Paramount owns the characters. I just play with them when no one's looking. Making money? What ARE you smoking?
Acknowledgements: Janet who kept me on task, and poked me until I wrote and finished this thing. And for all the Vulcan vocabulary.
Warnings: Slash, Mind control, nonconsensual sex. BDSM, without consent. Genocide.
Feedback: It makes the plotbunnies breed.
Notes on Vulcan: krenath=bastard, ryak'na=worthless creature, kefeh=slave, te'kefeh=sexslave
*****
Off-duty
Angel 2003
*****
Tick.
The hands of the old-fashioned clock in the sickbay stood at 1757. Christine Chapel looked up from cleaning her hypos to glance nervously at her superior. Leonard McCoy, Chief Medical Officer of the ISS Enterprise, clutched the edges of his desk until his knuckles turned white. His breath came through clenched teeth.
Tick.
1758. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead and trickled down his neck. They pooled where a collar-like necklace lay at the base of his throat. He muttered under his breath, and Chapel caught the words, "Not tonight. Not again. Fight him."
Tick.
1759. McCoy's agitation reached the point where he could no longer stay seated. He stood up, flinging the chair backward and paced. His attention drawn by the drug cabinet, he reached toward it,
Tick.
Calm and collected, McCoy drew himself to his full height, pivoted neatly and marched out of sickbay with a brisk stride. Chapel shrugged and went back to her hypos. It was just a typical end of shift, she thought as the door slid shut behind him.
The door to First Officer Spock's quarters slid open, pulling him from meditation. He looked up to see the doctor standing in the doorway, backlit by the hall lights against the reddish gloom of Spock's quarters. The hot air was thick with incense, and McCoy stepped carefully over the gravity shelf. With no word or hesitation, he began to strip.
"Excellent, te'kefeh," Spock said. The human stood naked before him, his face a blank mask. Just as it should be. When his need had first come upon him, he had killed the contender for the hand of T'Pring, garroting him into near-unconsciouness then disemboweling him, yet she was far away and the human was here. He had taken both, the doctor for convenience, and T'Pring for an heir. He had never regretted committing kae'at k'lasa, mental rape, on the doctor. Never regretted the forced meld that allowed him control over the one annoyance in his life.
The doctor had been a thorn in Spock's side since his arrival. The rampant xenophobia he exhibited, and directed mostly at Spock, should have rendered him unfit for the Imperial Starfleet. Somehow, he had passed the screenings. From the first day, he had jibed and lied and spread rumors about the first officer. Spock's own intelligence network had been hard pressed to squelch them. Tired of the damage control, Spock had taken the human, forcing a meld on him, in an effort to stop the torrent of words. The doctor had fought the meld, and nearly won. But only nearly, and Spock had overwhelmed him. The unexpected result had been the affectless automaton kneeling before him now.
He had been aroused by the struggles and once the doctor capitulated mentally, Spock had taken his body as well. Then, knowing that the ship still needed a chief surgeon, he began setting up the programs that would allow McCoy to function during his duty shift, yet bring him back at the end of it.
That had been a year ago. Now, McCoy knelt, well-trained, a perfect te'kefeh, sex-slave. Spock called him nothing else in private. It was the one Vulcan word he had insisted McCoy learn to pronounce perfectly.
"Complete your preparations."
Silently, always silent, McCoy rose and went to the bathroom. Spock listened to the shower, and the drier and the toilet as his prize prepared himself. At last, he arrived, just as Spock experienced the first hunger signals. He ignored them with typical Vulcan discipline in order to admire his handiwork.
The doctor stood silent, naked before him, eyes fixed blankly at some point just beyond the visible. Spock had marked him with ornaments of ownership, and now he inspected these, long fingers hot and rough on the unfeeling human skin.
The collar was the first and most visible sign of their relationship. Many took it for a mere necklace, but it was the first piece of jewelry Spock had placed on his te'kefeh, and it would not come off. Slim and round, it lay like an obsidian serpent at the base of the doctor's throat, reminding him that his nights were not his own. It showed through the open v-neck of his uniform, but remained within regulations. The skin around it was irritated as if McCoy had been tugging at it again.
Betraying no sign of annoyance, Spock continued his inspection. His hands ran down the lightly haired chest to examine the nipple rings he'd set three months ago. They had healed cleanly and were aesthetically pleasing.
He tugged one, gently at first, then until the nipple distended. McCoy made no sound, but stood as emotionless and impervious as any Vulcan. Ideal.
Spock reached along the meld, feeling his own will in absolute control of the doctor's struggling mind. Inwardly, McCoy howled and seethed, mad with rage. On the outside, he was a rock. Spock clamped down hard on his mind, pressing the meld deeper until McCoy stood on the brink of personality subsumption. He quieted and Spock released him.
The elegant green hands moved lower to examine the last marker. The thick ring had only been in place a month, and was still healing. The hole was clean, and Spock slid the smooth ring carefully in a full circle, first in through the urethra and out through the bottom of the penis, and then the other way.
Showing nothing, neither pleasure not anger, Spock seated himself at the small table. "Serve me."
Silently, the surgeon's hands placed his meal before him. Silently, the doctor knelt at his feet, and waited. Silently, Spock ate.
Once finished, he ignored the naked human, and meditated for an hour. Pain began seeping along the meld from McCoy trapped in his kneeling position. It drew Spock from his meditation and sent fire singing through his veins. The doctor's pain was his best aphrodisiac.
"Come to me."
Stiffly, McCoy rose, his face betraying no sign of the discomfort in his knees. He focused on the wall, and walked to where Spock sat. A pressure of his owner's hand sent him to his knees, and he parted the robe, knowing what was expected of him.
Spock made sure his breathing did not betray the pleasure he felt as the doctor's mouth closed over his erection. Such perfect control he held. The sex-slave kneeling between his feet could do nothing other than what he was coerced into. There was no danger of being bitten.
He settled in to enjoy the evening. The slow steady rasp of a cooler human tongue along the underside and head of his erection had him quite aroused before he buried one hand in McCoy's hair and shoved him in closer. He felt the gag reflex tighten around him as the doctor choked.
It didn't matter. He held his toy steady until the gagging stopped and the flicks of the tongue resumed around the base of his cock, stroking into the thick black hair of his body. He began thrusting, slowly at first and then faster and harder until he felt McCoy starting to choke on him again. He held that speed until he climaxed, feeling the small pulsations as his toy swallowed it all, then the lingering strokes as he was licked clean.
Spock was no longer a youth and required recovery time. He pushed the te'ke'feh away, ordering "Kneel and await me." He went to the desk and turned his attention to the latest reports from his spies.
McCoy knelt, staring at the wall, trapped in his own mind. His thoughts came sluggishly, unconnected to any actions his body might take. He fugued, dreaming of freedom under the starry skies on warm beaches.
An hour later, Spock put his work aside. He stretched and lit a different incense in the large burner that dominated his quarters. This one contained aphrodisiacs and stimulants. He hovered over it, breathing deeply.
"On the bed, te'kefeh," he ordered, his dark eyes wide from the smoke.
Without a word, without even a change in his breathing despite the foul smoke that made his eyes water, McCoy knelt on the bed. Tonight would be long indeed.
"Prostrate."
His body moving into a face-down position, his mind raving with curses, McCoy waited. Hot dry skin, coarse hair, and then pain. He could not tighten, could not withdraw, but only breathed through it, accepting it, enduring it.
Spock was deliberately harsh for no reason other than that it pleased him to be so. The helplessness of the man beneath him, unable to even change his facial expression, drove his libido.
Power. It was always about power. His father had jockeyed for power on Vulcan, playing politics with a hand so ruthless that Spock was the only one of his siblings to live to full adulthood. His father's ruthlessness extended to his wife and servants, none of whom he had hesitated to kill if they stood in his way. Only his Terran mistress, Amanda, had died from his true anger; all the rest were done coldly, logically and neatly.
Now, he held power over his one tormentor. He was content to serve under the captain, for now. But having the doctor in his thrall removed his only annoyance. T'Pring was far away, but this outlet, this useless thing beneath him, served as an adequate substitute until he could return home to sire yet another son.
He felt the doctor around him, tight and slick. McCoy was no fool and had learned his preparation routines well. Spock pumped harder, enjoying the cool human body beneath him, the way the flesh gave before his onslaught.
McCoy could not breathe a sigh of relief when he felt the Vulcan above him thrust as hard and deep as he could then stay stock still for a time. The pulsing sensations at the opening burned against the abraded skin. Mentally he cheered.
"To the floor." Spock rose to wash, and dimmed the lights on the way back. He drew out a set of antique manacles and locked McCoy's wrists in them behind his back. The ankle chains were on a short chain from them, and left him arched and exposed.
Spock ran one possessive hand over the lightly haired body, and caught the lowest piercing, tugging at it just enough to bring McCoy erect. He closed a hinged ring around the base, leaving the doctor trapped and hard as he went to bed.
The cabin alarm sounded early, and Spock awoke to check on his te'kefeh. The doctor was trembling with pain, his muscles spasming. He'd been awake for a while. His penis was purple with trapped blood.
Spock released first the wrist cuffs, then the ankle chains. He watched with interest as the doctor carefully and slowly stretched. He stroked the discolored penis, and felt the pain flare in the other's mind that his face gave no sign of.
Slowly and methodically, Spock rubbed the doctor to climax. His strokes were hard, and occasionally, he twisted the organ like a wet cloth. He wiped the residue across the te'kefeh's face.
McCoy was sweating when he finished and screaming inside. On the outside, his face was the same imperturbable mask Spock had created and made him wear.
Spock dressed and left while McCoy showered. Once the Vulcan was gone, McCoy's mind was his own again, and he sank against the shower wall, hurting and humiliated. Quickly, he regained himself, finished his shower and dressed. In Sick Bay, he made sure all was in order, and his last wishes were updated.
"Dr. McCoy to Transporter Room" said the Captain over the intercom, and he met the rest of the landing party there.
Speeches, hour upon hour of them, ceremonial entrances, more speeches. McCoy was having trouble staying awake, and quietly dosed himself with a stimshot. Spock and the Captain stared straight ahead, watching with great interest. The reins of power passed smoothly from one leader to the next, and McCoy boggled. The Empire had no tradition of peaceful succession.
"And our good friends of the Terran Empire are here on our behalf," the new chancellor of Davros announced. "We welcome this chance to renew our ties to our strong ally."
Kirk and his officers bowed. McCoy knew that under the pretty words lay the ugly fact that the Empire took half of the planet's gross production, forcing them into a life of serfdom and creating a booming slave trade in the tiny beautiful Davrosian women. He kept an eye on the clock. He'd hate to zone out in the middle of the banquet. Jim didn't care what his officers did on their own time, but if it interfered with duty, he would take disciplinary steps, and McCoy had no desire to see the inside of an agony booth again.
The banquet was lavish, belying the massive poverty of the planet. No expense had been spared for the pleasure of the conquerors who came in the guise of alliance. Spock sat near his Captain, ever watchful, and keeping a close eye on his te'kefeh. The banquet would last past the usual trigger time. He pondered the problem over the first course.
McCoy ate, careful of his stomach, and covertly scanning each dish for toxins. The soup was replaced with a lovely fruit and vegetable arrangement, which was promptly demolished by the diners. The wine flowed, but he drank sparingly. There was no telling what Spock had cooked up for him.
Midway through the second main course, he felt the suggestion begin. He maintained a look of calm and talked of advances in medicine with the minister of health.
Spock pushed the plate away, feigning discomfort. "Doctor, it seems the dinner is not agreeing with me. Would you please accompany me?"
Shock and fear rolled through the upper echelon and Kirk's look was deadly.
McCoy quietly followed Spock to an empty anteroom. The mask came to the fore, and he dropped to his knees before his master.
"Rise, te'kefeh. We shall return to the banquet. You will eat, and speak, as if nothing is happening. When we are dismissed to our rooms, you will come to mine. You will tell Jim that nothing is wrong, that I merely am having difficulty digesting one of the carbohydrate molecules."
McCoy rose and went back to the banquet, only to find the hall a scene of carnage.
"Poison my first officer!" Kirk shouted, taking aim and phasering the Minister of Education. "Treachery!" He shot the servant girl who had brought the food to their table. "Kill all of you for this!" The Minister of Health crumpled over the corpse of the new chancellor.
"Captain!" Spock said, his voice cutting through the chaos. "What is going on?"
"Scanner showed poison in my wine! I thought you were sick from it too."
"I am merely incapable of digesting one of the common carbohydrates in the food. Dr. McCoy has dosed me with the proper enzyme."
"Kyle, three to beam up." They shimmered before Spock could say more.
Kirk stalked to the bridge. "Sulu, lock phasers on nearest population center. Annihilate." The helmsman took great pleasure in the order, an unpleasant smile on his scarred face. "Sulu, continue population center destruction of all cities of 100,000 inhabitants. Continue for one planetary orbit. No world poisons James Tiberius Kirk!"
In his element, Sulu continued the decimation. No one noticed that Spock and McCoy had not followed the captain to the bridge.
"You did very well, te'kefeh," Spock said softly as they stood alone in his quarters. "Strip for me."
McCoy was horrified at how pleased he was by the Vulcan's praise. The mask showed nothing of it, but held his features blank and immobile. His hands moved almost of their own will, conditioned to respond to his master, opening his clothing and removing it.
Spock looked at his toy, the worthless thing that he so enjoyed. He had done an effective job with the mental block and the bond. He could feel McCoy's pleasure at his praise, and the shame and horror that grew from it. An interesting thought occurred to him: perhaps pleasure would be a more efficient method of breaking his te'kefeh.
He removed his own clothing and lay back on the bed. "Come to me, te'kefeh. Lie atop me."
McCoy complied, lying stiff and immobile on Spock's chest. He was taken by surprise when hot lips brushed his own, soft and gentle. They came back for a more lingering kiss, and the tongue that usually plundered and brutalized slipped in to tease and arouse this time. He felt himself getting hard.
Spock ran long fingers over his te'kefeh, feeling the cool skin, the light hair of the back. He liked the feel of the doctor under his hands. He should have done this some time earlier. The confusion and self-loathing from the doctor was as arousing as the hardness that pressed into his belly. He willed himself hard, and reached between them to align both cocks together.
He thrust up against the cool body above him, letting the play of skin against skin speak for him. This is how he would enjoy an equal lover, one he had chosen instead of one he had merely taken.
McCoy lay motionless in Spock's arms, letting the friction arouse him even more. He feared, if he gave any inkling of pleasure, Spock would stop. What had gotten into the pointy-eared bastard? This felt too good to be real. Any minute, he knew, Spock would shove him to the floor, twist the nipple rings until he screamed, only in his mind, of course, and then rape him.
The insistent voice over the mental link told him to relax and enjoy himself. He held him feelings deep inside: the confusion, fear and pleasure alike. It wouldn't help. Spock could read him like a book.
Spock, seeing more action was needed, rolled McCoy to their sides. "Put your arms around me, te'kefeh."
Unable to do anything but obey, one arm went under Spock's neck, and the other around his torso. Spock pulled him in close, and wrapped his hand around both cocks. Slowly, carefully, making sure McCoy's ring wasn't in the way, he stroked them.
McCoy put off fear and confusion which overlaid his pleasure in a combination that made Spock's control most precarious. He felt the first stirrings of McCoy's orgasm, and sped up the pace until it was inevitable. Then he released his own control and they climaxed together. Sticky wetness coated both of their bellies, and he pulled the te'kefeh in for another kiss.
McCoy would have trembled if he could. This was the first time an orgasm hadn't been brutally wrung from him in excruciating pain. He was afraid of Spock's gentleness, and stunned by the intensity of the pleasure.
"Clean us, te'kefeh. First with your tongue, then with a cloth. Do well."
The tone was almost unrecognizable as his terrorizer. It was indulgent and sensual. McCoy slid down and applied his tongue to their combined semen. As he licked Spock's cock clean, he noticed it had not gone soft. He ran his fingers over his own belly, and looked up at Spock while he licked them clean. The dark eyes looked approving and amused.
Using the cloth reinforced the fact that Spock was not soft. Fear continued to build in him when the Vulcan pulled him back to the bed.
"Are you clean within and without?" The question was in Vulcan, but the link brought the meaning to him.
The programming did not allow speech, so McCoy shook his head.
"Go then, and return clean and ready."
On more familiar ground, McCoy made his blank way to the shower. He stood under the water, washing everything. An internal cleansing, always humiliating but necessary, followed by liberal lubrication and he was ready to go back to bed. He walked as slowly as he could persuade the programming to allow him to.
Spock still lay on his side, large hand stroking himself. McCoy knelt by the bed and awaited further orders.
"In bed, te'kefeh."
Spock settled him on his side, and slid into him slowly and gently. The motion was steady but not rough, not the usual brutal taking.
McCoy lay still and quiet, letting his master take him. This was bearable. It felt more like a lover than the usual insanity that took place in these quarters. But he could not relax. The bearded mouth descended on his shoulder, and he braced to be bitten.
No bite came, only a slow, hot tongue, tasting him, licking away the sweat and an errant drop of water from the shower. Now he was very frightened. What pains would Spock demand for these kindnesses? What indignities would be the price of the stimulation? Although he was not a young man, McCoy found himself getting hard again.
"You may move, te'kefeh. But only a little."
Given permission, McCoy's hips had ideas of their own. They pressed back, seeking deeper penetration. He met each of Spock's thrusts, the arousal building until he wanted to gasp and beg like he would with a real lover. The long greenish fingers came around and stroked his chest.
McCoy tensed, but kept moving. But Spock did not pull, or twist the rings. He did not pull on the collar until McCoy choked in it. Spock merely stroked his nipples, bringing them erect, and slid the rings within them, a pleasurable sensation.
Spock found great pleasure in keeping his te'kefeh slightly off balance. This was more intriguing than watching the human adapt to the various brutalities. The way he tensed each time, involuntary, uncontrollable with the programming, offered a contrast to the usual complacency. Yes, he would do this more often. Not so often the ryak'na, worthless creature, grew used to it.
Spock took his pleasure from McCoy's body, until his orgasm swept him a second time. McCoy was still hard, but he no longer felt generous.
He had been lenient tonight, and the piquant combination of fear and arousal had been better than expected. He had all the time in the world to learn what worked best for his toy. All the time he needed to turn the former annoyance into something worth owning, a te'kefeh who was not a ryak'na. One day, he would return to Vulcan, and there he would make the te'kefeh's programming permanent.
"On the floor, te'kefeh." When the doctor complied, he locked one shackle around an ankle, then turned out the lights and went to bed himself.
*end*
Author: Angel
E-mail: valarltd@hotmail.com
URL: http://www.geocities.com/lady_aethelynde
Rating: NC-17
Summary: In the Mirror Universe, Spock has taken steps to control McCoy's teasing.
Type: PWP
Archive: header intact, and let me know where
Disclaimer: Paramount owns the characters. I just play with them when no one's looking. Making money? What ARE you smoking?
Acknowledgements: Janet who kept me on task, and poked me until I wrote and finished this thing. And for all the Vulcan vocabulary.
Warnings: Slash, Mind control, nonconsensual sex. BDSM, without consent. Genocide.
Feedback: It makes the plotbunnies breed.
Notes on Vulcan: krenath=bastard, ryak'na=worthless creature, kefeh=slave, te'kefeh=sexslave
*****
Off-duty
Angel 2003
*****
Tick.
The hands of the old-fashioned clock in the sickbay stood at 1757. Christine Chapel looked up from cleaning her hypos to glance nervously at her superior. Leonard McCoy, Chief Medical Officer of the ISS Enterprise, clutched the edges of his desk until his knuckles turned white. His breath came through clenched teeth.
Tick.
1758. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead and trickled down his neck. They pooled where a collar-like necklace lay at the base of his throat. He muttered under his breath, and Chapel caught the words, "Not tonight. Not again. Fight him."
Tick.
1759. McCoy's agitation reached the point where he could no longer stay seated. He stood up, flinging the chair backward and paced. His attention drawn by the drug cabinet, he reached toward it,
Tick.
Calm and collected, McCoy drew himself to his full height, pivoted neatly and marched out of sickbay with a brisk stride. Chapel shrugged and went back to her hypos. It was just a typical end of shift, she thought as the door slid shut behind him.
The door to First Officer Spock's quarters slid open, pulling him from meditation. He looked up to see the doctor standing in the doorway, backlit by the hall lights against the reddish gloom of Spock's quarters. The hot air was thick with incense, and McCoy stepped carefully over the gravity shelf. With no word or hesitation, he began to strip.
"Excellent, te'kefeh," Spock said. The human stood naked before him, his face a blank mask. Just as it should be. When his need had first come upon him, he had killed the contender for the hand of T'Pring, garroting him into near-unconsciouness then disemboweling him, yet she was far away and the human was here. He had taken both, the doctor for convenience, and T'Pring for an heir. He had never regretted committing kae'at k'lasa, mental rape, on the doctor. Never regretted the forced meld that allowed him control over the one annoyance in his life.
The doctor had been a thorn in Spock's side since his arrival. The rampant xenophobia he exhibited, and directed mostly at Spock, should have rendered him unfit for the Imperial Starfleet. Somehow, he had passed the screenings. From the first day, he had jibed and lied and spread rumors about the first officer. Spock's own intelligence network had been hard pressed to squelch them. Tired of the damage control, Spock had taken the human, forcing a meld on him, in an effort to stop the torrent of words. The doctor had fought the meld, and nearly won. But only nearly, and Spock had overwhelmed him. The unexpected result had been the affectless automaton kneeling before him now.
He had been aroused by the struggles and once the doctor capitulated mentally, Spock had taken his body as well. Then, knowing that the ship still needed a chief surgeon, he began setting up the programs that would allow McCoy to function during his duty shift, yet bring him back at the end of it.
That had been a year ago. Now, McCoy knelt, well-trained, a perfect te'kefeh, sex-slave. Spock called him nothing else in private. It was the one Vulcan word he had insisted McCoy learn to pronounce perfectly.
"Complete your preparations."
Silently, always silent, McCoy rose and went to the bathroom. Spock listened to the shower, and the drier and the toilet as his prize prepared himself. At last, he arrived, just as Spock experienced the first hunger signals. He ignored them with typical Vulcan discipline in order to admire his handiwork.
The doctor stood silent, naked before him, eyes fixed blankly at some point just beyond the visible. Spock had marked him with ornaments of ownership, and now he inspected these, long fingers hot and rough on the unfeeling human skin.
The collar was the first and most visible sign of their relationship. Many took it for a mere necklace, but it was the first piece of jewelry Spock had placed on his te'kefeh, and it would not come off. Slim and round, it lay like an obsidian serpent at the base of the doctor's throat, reminding him that his nights were not his own. It showed through the open v-neck of his uniform, but remained within regulations. The skin around it was irritated as if McCoy had been tugging at it again.
Betraying no sign of annoyance, Spock continued his inspection. His hands ran down the lightly haired chest to examine the nipple rings he'd set three months ago. They had healed cleanly and were aesthetically pleasing.
He tugged one, gently at first, then until the nipple distended. McCoy made no sound, but stood as emotionless and impervious as any Vulcan. Ideal.
Spock reached along the meld, feeling his own will in absolute control of the doctor's struggling mind. Inwardly, McCoy howled and seethed, mad with rage. On the outside, he was a rock. Spock clamped down hard on his mind, pressing the meld deeper until McCoy stood on the brink of personality subsumption. He quieted and Spock released him.
The elegant green hands moved lower to examine the last marker. The thick ring had only been in place a month, and was still healing. The hole was clean, and Spock slid the smooth ring carefully in a full circle, first in through the urethra and out through the bottom of the penis, and then the other way.
Showing nothing, neither pleasure not anger, Spock seated himself at the small table. "Serve me."
Silently, the surgeon's hands placed his meal before him. Silently, the doctor knelt at his feet, and waited. Silently, Spock ate.
Once finished, he ignored the naked human, and meditated for an hour. Pain began seeping along the meld from McCoy trapped in his kneeling position. It drew Spock from his meditation and sent fire singing through his veins. The doctor's pain was his best aphrodisiac.
"Come to me."
Stiffly, McCoy rose, his face betraying no sign of the discomfort in his knees. He focused on the wall, and walked to where Spock sat. A pressure of his owner's hand sent him to his knees, and he parted the robe, knowing what was expected of him.
Spock made sure his breathing did not betray the pleasure he felt as the doctor's mouth closed over his erection. Such perfect control he held. The sex-slave kneeling between his feet could do nothing other than what he was coerced into. There was no danger of being bitten.
He settled in to enjoy the evening. The slow steady rasp of a cooler human tongue along the underside and head of his erection had him quite aroused before he buried one hand in McCoy's hair and shoved him in closer. He felt the gag reflex tighten around him as the doctor choked.
It didn't matter. He held his toy steady until the gagging stopped and the flicks of the tongue resumed around the base of his cock, stroking into the thick black hair of his body. He began thrusting, slowly at first and then faster and harder until he felt McCoy starting to choke on him again. He held that speed until he climaxed, feeling the small pulsations as his toy swallowed it all, then the lingering strokes as he was licked clean.
Spock was no longer a youth and required recovery time. He pushed the te'ke'feh away, ordering "Kneel and await me." He went to the desk and turned his attention to the latest reports from his spies.
McCoy knelt, staring at the wall, trapped in his own mind. His thoughts came sluggishly, unconnected to any actions his body might take. He fugued, dreaming of freedom under the starry skies on warm beaches.
An hour later, Spock put his work aside. He stretched and lit a different incense in the large burner that dominated his quarters. This one contained aphrodisiacs and stimulants. He hovered over it, breathing deeply.
"On the bed, te'kefeh," he ordered, his dark eyes wide from the smoke.
Without a word, without even a change in his breathing despite the foul smoke that made his eyes water, McCoy knelt on the bed. Tonight would be long indeed.
"Prostrate."
His body moving into a face-down position, his mind raving with curses, McCoy waited. Hot dry skin, coarse hair, and then pain. He could not tighten, could not withdraw, but only breathed through it, accepting it, enduring it.
Spock was deliberately harsh for no reason other than that it pleased him to be so. The helplessness of the man beneath him, unable to even change his facial expression, drove his libido.
Power. It was always about power. His father had jockeyed for power on Vulcan, playing politics with a hand so ruthless that Spock was the only one of his siblings to live to full adulthood. His father's ruthlessness extended to his wife and servants, none of whom he had hesitated to kill if they stood in his way. Only his Terran mistress, Amanda, had died from his true anger; all the rest were done coldly, logically and neatly.
Now, he held power over his one tormentor. He was content to serve under the captain, for now. But having the doctor in his thrall removed his only annoyance. T'Pring was far away, but this outlet, this useless thing beneath him, served as an adequate substitute until he could return home to sire yet another son.
He felt the doctor around him, tight and slick. McCoy was no fool and had learned his preparation routines well. Spock pumped harder, enjoying the cool human body beneath him, the way the flesh gave before his onslaught.
McCoy could not breathe a sigh of relief when he felt the Vulcan above him thrust as hard and deep as he could then stay stock still for a time. The pulsing sensations at the opening burned against the abraded skin. Mentally he cheered.
"To the floor." Spock rose to wash, and dimmed the lights on the way back. He drew out a set of antique manacles and locked McCoy's wrists in them behind his back. The ankle chains were on a short chain from them, and left him arched and exposed.
Spock ran one possessive hand over the lightly haired body, and caught the lowest piercing, tugging at it just enough to bring McCoy erect. He closed a hinged ring around the base, leaving the doctor trapped and hard as he went to bed.
The cabin alarm sounded early, and Spock awoke to check on his te'kefeh. The doctor was trembling with pain, his muscles spasming. He'd been awake for a while. His penis was purple with trapped blood.
Spock released first the wrist cuffs, then the ankle chains. He watched with interest as the doctor carefully and slowly stretched. He stroked the discolored penis, and felt the pain flare in the other's mind that his face gave no sign of.
Slowly and methodically, Spock rubbed the doctor to climax. His strokes were hard, and occasionally, he twisted the organ like a wet cloth. He wiped the residue across the te'kefeh's face.
McCoy was sweating when he finished and screaming inside. On the outside, his face was the same imperturbable mask Spock had created and made him wear.
Spock dressed and left while McCoy showered. Once the Vulcan was gone, McCoy's mind was his own again, and he sank against the shower wall, hurting and humiliated. Quickly, he regained himself, finished his shower and dressed. In Sick Bay, he made sure all was in order, and his last wishes were updated.
"Dr. McCoy to Transporter Room" said the Captain over the intercom, and he met the rest of the landing party there.
Speeches, hour upon hour of them, ceremonial entrances, more speeches. McCoy was having trouble staying awake, and quietly dosed himself with a stimshot. Spock and the Captain stared straight ahead, watching with great interest. The reins of power passed smoothly from one leader to the next, and McCoy boggled. The Empire had no tradition of peaceful succession.
"And our good friends of the Terran Empire are here on our behalf," the new chancellor of Davros announced. "We welcome this chance to renew our ties to our strong ally."
Kirk and his officers bowed. McCoy knew that under the pretty words lay the ugly fact that the Empire took half of the planet's gross production, forcing them into a life of serfdom and creating a booming slave trade in the tiny beautiful Davrosian women. He kept an eye on the clock. He'd hate to zone out in the middle of the banquet. Jim didn't care what his officers did on their own time, but if it interfered with duty, he would take disciplinary steps, and McCoy had no desire to see the inside of an agony booth again.
The banquet was lavish, belying the massive poverty of the planet. No expense had been spared for the pleasure of the conquerors who came in the guise of alliance. Spock sat near his Captain, ever watchful, and keeping a close eye on his te'kefeh. The banquet would last past the usual trigger time. He pondered the problem over the first course.
McCoy ate, careful of his stomach, and covertly scanning each dish for toxins. The soup was replaced with a lovely fruit and vegetable arrangement, which was promptly demolished by the diners. The wine flowed, but he drank sparingly. There was no telling what Spock had cooked up for him.
Midway through the second main course, he felt the suggestion begin. He maintained a look of calm and talked of advances in medicine with the minister of health.
Spock pushed the plate away, feigning discomfort. "Doctor, it seems the dinner is not agreeing with me. Would you please accompany me?"
Shock and fear rolled through the upper echelon and Kirk's look was deadly.
McCoy quietly followed Spock to an empty anteroom. The mask came to the fore, and he dropped to his knees before his master.
"Rise, te'kefeh. We shall return to the banquet. You will eat, and speak, as if nothing is happening. When we are dismissed to our rooms, you will come to mine. You will tell Jim that nothing is wrong, that I merely am having difficulty digesting one of the carbohydrate molecules."
McCoy rose and went back to the banquet, only to find the hall a scene of carnage.
"Poison my first officer!" Kirk shouted, taking aim and phasering the Minister of Education. "Treachery!" He shot the servant girl who had brought the food to their table. "Kill all of you for this!" The Minister of Health crumpled over the corpse of the new chancellor.
"Captain!" Spock said, his voice cutting through the chaos. "What is going on?"
"Scanner showed poison in my wine! I thought you were sick from it too."
"I am merely incapable of digesting one of the common carbohydrates in the food. Dr. McCoy has dosed me with the proper enzyme."
"Kyle, three to beam up." They shimmered before Spock could say more.
Kirk stalked to the bridge. "Sulu, lock phasers on nearest population center. Annihilate." The helmsman took great pleasure in the order, an unpleasant smile on his scarred face. "Sulu, continue population center destruction of all cities of 100,000 inhabitants. Continue for one planetary orbit. No world poisons James Tiberius Kirk!"
In his element, Sulu continued the decimation. No one noticed that Spock and McCoy had not followed the captain to the bridge.
"You did very well, te'kefeh," Spock said softly as they stood alone in his quarters. "Strip for me."
McCoy was horrified at how pleased he was by the Vulcan's praise. The mask showed nothing of it, but held his features blank and immobile. His hands moved almost of their own will, conditioned to respond to his master, opening his clothing and removing it.
Spock looked at his toy, the worthless thing that he so enjoyed. He had done an effective job with the mental block and the bond. He could feel McCoy's pleasure at his praise, and the shame and horror that grew from it. An interesting thought occurred to him: perhaps pleasure would be a more efficient method of breaking his te'kefeh.
He removed his own clothing and lay back on the bed. "Come to me, te'kefeh. Lie atop me."
McCoy complied, lying stiff and immobile on Spock's chest. He was taken by surprise when hot lips brushed his own, soft and gentle. They came back for a more lingering kiss, and the tongue that usually plundered and brutalized slipped in to tease and arouse this time. He felt himself getting hard.
Spock ran long fingers over his te'kefeh, feeling the cool skin, the light hair of the back. He liked the feel of the doctor under his hands. He should have done this some time earlier. The confusion and self-loathing from the doctor was as arousing as the hardness that pressed into his belly. He willed himself hard, and reached between them to align both cocks together.
He thrust up against the cool body above him, letting the play of skin against skin speak for him. This is how he would enjoy an equal lover, one he had chosen instead of one he had merely taken.
McCoy lay motionless in Spock's arms, letting the friction arouse him even more. He feared, if he gave any inkling of pleasure, Spock would stop. What had gotten into the pointy-eared bastard? This felt too good to be real. Any minute, he knew, Spock would shove him to the floor, twist the nipple rings until he screamed, only in his mind, of course, and then rape him.
The insistent voice over the mental link told him to relax and enjoy himself. He held him feelings deep inside: the confusion, fear and pleasure alike. It wouldn't help. Spock could read him like a book.
Spock, seeing more action was needed, rolled McCoy to their sides. "Put your arms around me, te'kefeh."
Unable to do anything but obey, one arm went under Spock's neck, and the other around his torso. Spock pulled him in close, and wrapped his hand around both cocks. Slowly, carefully, making sure McCoy's ring wasn't in the way, he stroked them.
McCoy put off fear and confusion which overlaid his pleasure in a combination that made Spock's control most precarious. He felt the first stirrings of McCoy's orgasm, and sped up the pace until it was inevitable. Then he released his own control and they climaxed together. Sticky wetness coated both of their bellies, and he pulled the te'kefeh in for another kiss.
McCoy would have trembled if he could. This was the first time an orgasm hadn't been brutally wrung from him in excruciating pain. He was afraid of Spock's gentleness, and stunned by the intensity of the pleasure.
"Clean us, te'kefeh. First with your tongue, then with a cloth. Do well."
The tone was almost unrecognizable as his terrorizer. It was indulgent and sensual. McCoy slid down and applied his tongue to their combined semen. As he licked Spock's cock clean, he noticed it had not gone soft. He ran his fingers over his own belly, and looked up at Spock while he licked them clean. The dark eyes looked approving and amused.
Using the cloth reinforced the fact that Spock was not soft. Fear continued to build in him when the Vulcan pulled him back to the bed.
"Are you clean within and without?" The question was in Vulcan, but the link brought the meaning to him.
The programming did not allow speech, so McCoy shook his head.
"Go then, and return clean and ready."
On more familiar ground, McCoy made his blank way to the shower. He stood under the water, washing everything. An internal cleansing, always humiliating but necessary, followed by liberal lubrication and he was ready to go back to bed. He walked as slowly as he could persuade the programming to allow him to.
Spock still lay on his side, large hand stroking himself. McCoy knelt by the bed and awaited further orders.
"In bed, te'kefeh."
Spock settled him on his side, and slid into him slowly and gently. The motion was steady but not rough, not the usual brutal taking.
McCoy lay still and quiet, letting his master take him. This was bearable. It felt more like a lover than the usual insanity that took place in these quarters. But he could not relax. The bearded mouth descended on his shoulder, and he braced to be bitten.
No bite came, only a slow, hot tongue, tasting him, licking away the sweat and an errant drop of water from the shower. Now he was very frightened. What pains would Spock demand for these kindnesses? What indignities would be the price of the stimulation? Although he was not a young man, McCoy found himself getting hard again.
"You may move, te'kefeh. But only a little."
Given permission, McCoy's hips had ideas of their own. They pressed back, seeking deeper penetration. He met each of Spock's thrusts, the arousal building until he wanted to gasp and beg like he would with a real lover. The long greenish fingers came around and stroked his chest.
McCoy tensed, but kept moving. But Spock did not pull, or twist the rings. He did not pull on the collar until McCoy choked in it. Spock merely stroked his nipples, bringing them erect, and slid the rings within them, a pleasurable sensation.
Spock found great pleasure in keeping his te'kefeh slightly off balance. This was more intriguing than watching the human adapt to the various brutalities. The way he tensed each time, involuntary, uncontrollable with the programming, offered a contrast to the usual complacency. Yes, he would do this more often. Not so often the ryak'na, worthless creature, grew used to it.
Spock took his pleasure from McCoy's body, until his orgasm swept him a second time. McCoy was still hard, but he no longer felt generous.
He had been lenient tonight, and the piquant combination of fear and arousal had been better than expected. He had all the time in the world to learn what worked best for his toy. All the time he needed to turn the former annoyance into something worth owning, a te'kefeh who was not a ryak'na. One day, he would return to Vulcan, and there he would make the te'kefeh's programming permanent.
"On the floor, te'kefeh." When the doctor complied, he locked one shackle around an ankle, then turned out the lights and went to bed himself.
*end*