by torch 1997

Disclaimer: The devil made me do it, okay? Paramount owns 'em, I force 'em to do nasty things with each other. Yes, I know there is no romance code up there; that's deliberate. It's short, read it anyway. Emily gave me the idea, and the real reason I wrote this was because Taffy called me perverted, on a mailing list. This is to show her what I can do when I really get going. Do not archive this story without permission.

Rough and ready

"You've been bad." That smooth, even voice made heat gather inside him, always, no matter what it said. And these particular words... "Very bad." He nodded silently. "You need to be punished." He started to nod again, only to have his chin gripped by a strong hand, his face turned until he looked at his lover. "You need to be punished," the smooth voice repeated, and the subtle change in emphasis turned up the heat inside.

"Yes," he whispered, knowing an answer was required. "Yes, master. I need to be punished."

"Take your clothes off."

He moved to obey, undressing slowly, aware that he was being watched all the time. That constant regard made him feel at once ashamed, and exposed, and terribly excited, and the very fact that he was so clearly excited fed his embarrassment and started the whole delicious, humiliating cycle of emotions over again. Only words so far, words and one single, impersonal touch, and he was already so hard it was damn near painful.

Naked, he stood where he was and waited for the next order. The silence stretched out until he thought he couldn't bear it any longer, and drew breath to say something, anything. "What—"

"I did not give you permission to speak. Come here." He stepped closer. "Undress me." That was a request — no, a demand — that did not have to be repeated. Reverently he uncovered strong shoulders, smooth back, muscular legs, and stole quiet, awed glances at his lover's erection. Every bone in his body wanted to dissolve at the thought of being taken, possessed.

His lover sat down on the bed, then reached out and took hold of his wrist and pulled him close. "Across my lap," a calm, casual command. He moved with it, letting those wonderful hands position him, relishing his passivity only to have it taken away. "Spread your legs. Wider." The first soft whimper escaped him as he obeyed.

"Please," he whispered breathlessly, not sure what exactly he was asking for, and he felt his lover move and reach for something. It was held in front of him for a moment, just long enough for him to see that it was weirdly ridged and gleaming with oil, and then he felt pressure against his anus as the dildo was worked into him, slowly and methodically. "Oh, please..."

It filled him, pain giving way to a hot buzzing pleasure. He wanted to be fucked with it, long and hard, but knew begging wouldn't help. His lover shifted again, reaching out for the next object and holding it in front of him. He recognized this, and pressed his lips against the strap, burying his moan in the taste of leather. One hand closed around the back of his neck, and then the strap came down on his ass and a searing flash of sensation went through him and he was completely lost to the moment, existing heartbeat to heartbeat, all thought ripped away by sheer need.

Every blow made the dildo move inside him, setting off small shocks of pleasure that blended perfectly with the sharp pleasures of pain. He moaned out loud, knowing it was allowed, spreading his legs wider and pushing his ass up to meet the strap. So good, oh yes, so good, more, please, more.

"You are mine," his lover said, tightening the grip on his neck. "You belong to me. Your ass belongs to me. Your moans belong to me. And your orgasm belongs to me. Do you understand? You're going to come for me. Now."

And the next blow was even harder, and it tore him apart; he screamed, and spent himself helplessly over his lover's thighs, coming so hard he felt there would be nothing left of him afterwards.

His lover gave him a few moments to recover, before letting go of him, letting him slide to the floor. He caught his breath and sat back on his heels, looking up, aware that there was satisfaction and adoration on his face but unable to keep it from showing. The look he got in return was impossible to read. "Clean me up," his lover said calmly.

So he moved forward to kneel between his lover's legs and started to lick them, cleaning away every trace of his own come, moving closer and closer but not daring to actually touch his lover's erection until he was given permission. When it came, it wasn't in words; a hand held his head again, guided his mouth until he closed his lips around the thick, hot shaft. He licked at the head, trailed his tongue around it over and over, a taste he could never get enough of. Then he slowly started to draw it all into his mouth, down his throat, taking it all in and feeling a thrill of renewed desire.

Easing up again, he went back to sucking the head, playing with it, until his lover grew tired of the teasing and pushed in deeper. He opened his mouth wider, relaxed his throat muscles, accepting the hard flesh. His lover was fucking his mouth and he was hard again, moaning his submission around the cock that was possessing him. He knew he couldn't touch himself, but he carefully rocked back a little on his heels, manipulating the dildo that still filled him, tiny thrusts, and he imagined that that was his lover's cock, too, he was being fucked so totally and completely by this man, he couldn't think of anything else.

Yes, I belong to you, he wanted to say, you own me, I'm yours. But his lover already knew. The cock in his mouth quivered, and his lover drew back a little and came, filling his mouth with that wonderful taste and that drove him over the edge yet again and he came too, on the floor, sobbing with ecstasy. Lost, but not so lost that he did not remember to lick his lover's cock clean very carefully before he sat back and waited.

"Very good," his lover said finally. "Turn around." The dildo was pulled from him with efficient swiftness and he stifled another moan as an aftershock rippled through him. "Get dressed." He found his clothes and pulled them on as fast as he could; his hands were shaking, he was limp with the aftermath of pleasure. When he looked proper again, he turned back to face his lover. "Now thank me."

"Thank you, master," he said, and then, because he was feeling daring, "thank you, Tuvok." This was the end of their session, and he knew he had to leave, so he walked towards the door, resisting the impulse to fling himself at his lover's feet and beg that they start all over again. He did not have the right to make any such demands. All he could do was wait.

The sound of his lover's voice stopped him just as he was leaving. "And Neelix?" He turned his head. "Wear the leather harness next time."

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