NC-17, D/s, McCoy/Chapel, One Small Step
Title: One Small Step
Author: trek_bdsm
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: McCoy/Chapel
Warnings: d/s, mentions of consensual spanking, anal, m/m and f/f sex and (very briefly) infantilism.
Word count: 7666
Summary: Christine decides to do something about the kinky dreams she's been having. McCoy is only too happy to help.
Disclaimer: The characters belong to their respective owners and copyright holders, clearly not to me. The characters may practice elements of BDSM that do not fall under the category of "safe sex". I assume you're not stupid, but in the spirit of a vague disclaimer being nobody's friend, I'll spell it out: I practice safe, sane and consensual BDSM in my real life; the characters in my fic may not. I do not condone unsafe sex in real life in any form, and any idiot that copies verbatim anything they read off the internet deserves the embarrassing trip to the hospital that will inevitably follow.
Golden rule, folks; if you're not sure about it, don't stick it up there.
Author's Notes: I finally sat down and thrashed out the first part of the McCoy/Chapel series. This is followed chronologically by Good Girl and Just What The Doctor Ordered.
Her hands were tied above her head, roped to a metal hook that was attached to a chain from the ceiling. She sat on a wooden ladder-backed chair, her legs spread and tied with more rope at the ankle to the legs of the chair. No matter how much she wriggled and writhed, it was useless. She was trapped in the dark room, completely vulnerable to anyone who came through the door.
And she knew that someone was going to come through the door, because he always did.
Sure enough, the door opened, spilling a splash of light into the darkness of the cold room. A man’s heavy footsteps entered, then the light disappeared as the door shut with a chilling finality. She stepped up her struggles, but it was no good. She was firmly trapped.
The footsteps came near, circling around her as he admired her naked form. He let a finger trail over her aching shoulders, her clavicle, her lips. She snapped at him with her teeth, and he laughed, amused, before giving her a none-too-gentle slap across her right cheek. Her head snapped back and she let out a pained yelp.
His hands were cold as he gripped her breasts firmly, trapping her nipples between his fingers and squeezing them tightly. No amount of wriggling would make him break his grip, and he clearly enjoyed her struggle. His hands trailed up and down her ribcage, ran along the length of her splayed legs and even tangled themselves in her blonde hair, and there was nothing she could do about it.
Except get annoyingly, traitorously wet.
He laughed again when he discovered that, plunging two large fingers straight into her, stabbing her with a ferocity that just made her scream and writhe all the more. The screams turned into a wordless, high-pitched keening when he suckled her clit into his mouth and pulled her, fighting all the way, closer and closer to orgasm.
As she bucked and struggled in her chair, trying to avoid his hot mouth, an irritating buzzing noise started humming insistently in her ear. It got louder and louder as he dragged her inexorably towards the peak of her pleasure, and just as she was about to tip over the edge the noise got so unbearably loud...
...that she woke up.
Panting, sweating, oozing moisture between her thighs, Christine fumbled for the alarm on her bedside cabinet. She flopped back onto the bed, her left forearm thrown across her eyes so she was unable to see her right hand slip into her sleep shorts and quickly flick herself over the edge into orgasm. The sensations literally took her breath away, leaving her gasping for air on the dampened sheets of her bed.
This was getting ridiculous, she scolded herself, as she stripped the bed and threw the discarded linens into the laundry chute along with her sodden sleep shorts. It was the third time that week she had woken from that dream, and the third time she had masturbated herself to completion. Now she was going to go through the day unsettled and jumpy, wondering what her psyche had in store for her that evening.
It wasn’t as if she was embarrassed about sex dreams, she reasoned as the sonic shower completed its cycle and she pulled on her uniform. She had a healthy libido, she enjoyed sex and she had been without a partner for a long time. It would be worrying not to have sex dreams.
No, she thought glumly as she left her cabin for the mess hall and assembled herself a breakfast of fruit, yoghurt and crunchy brown toast, it was the content of the dreams that concerned her.
Sexuality was fluid, she knew that. And everyone had their own needs and desires, little buttons that needed to be pressed before they could get off. That was just basic psychology, no big deal. But her needs and desires, her buttons, seemed to be getting darker, more dangerous as the years went by. And that was the problem.
It niggled at her all day as she went about her duties in Sickbay; drawing up the next week’s duty roster, keeping an eye on patient charts, attending to the myriad cuts and scrapes that came through the doors. She’d always had a type, that was obvious; older, authoritative men. Men with some kind of power, or that demanded some kind of respect through their physical or mental prowess. She always thought of herself as equal in power in the politics of her relationships, but she’d be lying (and had been lying) to herself if she thought that equality was what she craved when she was actually having sex.
Christine liked it when she was on the bottom, she liked it when her lover would stretch out over her and pin her wrists to the bed while he rocked in and out of her. She loved it when she was positioned on all fours, when her lover’s urgency would force her head and shoulders to the floor, displaying her most vulnerable parts for him to see.
She had been tempted so many times to ask her lovers for what she really craved - restraints that kept her locked to the headboard, bars that prevented her from closing her legs. She liked gentle touches and reverent kisses as much as the next woman, but there were times when a fire burned in her belly and she wanted fierce hands grabbing roughly at her breasts, heavy slaps falling on her ass and teeth marks decorating her shoulders and thighs.
But she hadn’t asked, stopped by their confusion at her subtle hints to treat her more roughly. She was to be loved, and cherished, and that meant treating their little angel as if she was made of gossamer and spun sugar.
She knew she was made of stronger stuff than that.
But how do you ask someone you love and trust to hurt you?
She sighed aloud again as she checked and rechecked the readings from the biobeds; the age-old dilemma of a timid masochist.
From the corner of the room, half hidden under a pile of PADDS, McCoy watched her as she glumly ran through the standard diagnostics on the biobeds.
She was unhappy, any fool could see that. Oh, she hid it well; she gave each patient a big smile and cheered them out of their misery. She was part of medical’s softball squad and always joined in the team bonding sessions in one of the rec rooms as they mourned their inevitable defeat in inter-departmental matches. Whenever they ate meals together (and they did that a lot, their similar age and low tolerance for bullshit drawing them together socially and professionally) she was bright, interesting company.
But she had no inner fire, no spark to lift the colour of her rich brown eyes, so striking under that cascade of golden hair. She was clearly missing something in her life, and his instincts, so strong and dependable, were screaming at him to pay attention.
He would bet all the credits in his newly-recovering bank account that his beautiful head nurse was an untrained, maybe even unrealised sub, casting about looking for the elusive something that would make her feel whole, make her feel right.
It would fit; he knew she hadn’t dated much while stationed on the Enterprise, not since her long-distance thing with Korby had gone belly-up, but her partners were uniformly slightly older, physically impressive men, or men with humble rank but impressive academic qualifications.
Not to brag, but he was confident that he could fit that particular bill quite nicely.
But those relationships were always short-lived and when department scuttlebutt would whisper that she was single again, he would release a breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding.
What a joy it would be to help this beautiful, intelligent woman discover a side to herself that she hadn’t known existed. He couldn’t help but speculate about her figure; most of the time she hid it under the passion-killing trouser variant of the female uniform, but he had seen her once, briefly, as she hauled herself out of the swimming pool. He remembered shapely breasts and hips, an old-fashioned hour-glass figure with killer legs that went right up to her eyebrows.
What he wouldn’t give to map that uncharted territory, finding the spots that would make her squirm with pleasure, pushing at the places that would make her gasp with just enough pain to make her beg for more. He’d hold her, hurt her, cherish her, punish her, care for her and in exchange she would let him.
McCoy was an unashamedly sexually dominant man, through and through, with a sadistic streak that had worked hard to tame, but he knew exactly who held the real power in his relationships. Without her consent, he had no power over her at all; his pleasure depended absolutely on her willing submission. Anything less than that was rape, and anyone who did that deserved nothing better than a slow, painful death.
In his humble opinion, anyway.
Any dom who knew anything knew that their subs held the true power in the relationship, and they were worshipped accordingly. Any dom that thought different was a danger to everybody concerned.
He had shied away from pursuing a relationship that went beyond their somewhat confusing clutter of friend-colleague-boss; it never seemed to be the right time to push at the boundaries they had set themselves. She was no quick affaire, to be loved and amicably lost. She deserved more than that, more than perhaps he had been truly ready to give. Old wounds, and all that jazz.
But he was ready now, and it seemed that maybe she was too. They were due at a pleasure-planet for some much-needed shore leave in a week or two. Perhaps away from the familiar confines of the ship she may be more amenable to shifting their relationship away from that of friends towards that of lovers.
He nodded to himself, decision made. He’d begin to lay the groundwork, drop subtle hints, start to show little flashes of distinctly dom-like behaviour and see how she reacted.
His instincts had never let him down before. He saw no reason why they should now.
Alright, so something was clearly up with Len, but she was damned if she could figure out what it was. She felt his eyes on her constantly at work, as if he was assessing her or judging her in some way, but he was always friendly and polite when they spoke. Well, she amended, as friendly and polite as he ever was, which was considerably more so with her than just about anybody else.
She’d made her feelings about rude and grumpy doctors quite clear during their first week of service; he’d paid attention.
But it seemed to her that she just couldn’t seem to shake him off this week. It was normal for them to eat together two or three times a week, but it seemed that whenever she was hungry enough to venture into the mess, he was already in the queue, or at a secluded table with a spare seat just for her. He’d taken to ordering a portion of whatever dessert was on the menu, although he didn’t eat it himself. He’d slip it over to her side of the table with a stern injunction to consume more calories. She’d eat it too, which was completely unlike her; her body was one of those that merely had to look at a slice of chocolate cake to gain weight, so she was usually very strict about what she ate. She damn well enjoyed those desserts, though whether it was the skill of the chef or the approving look in McCoy’s eyes as she cleared her plate that made her feel happy was not always clear.
He was in the gym when she turned up for her session on the treadmills, and she had nothing to do but watch as he effortlessly lifted weights and toned up his already impressive body. He was there when she joined the crowd in one of the rec rooms for movie night, and she had to spend an hour and half sitting close enough to him to feel the heat radiating from his body after he beckoned her over to a space right next to him. It was always slightly too small, so she was forced to curl her body into his.
Truth be told, she wouldn’t have moved for all the gold pressed latinum on Ferengar.
He had started to use cologne that she had never noticed before, and whenever she caught a smell of it she had to resist the urge to lean in closely and breathe deeply. The smell did something to her, it scrambled up her brain.
This was her boss. This was a bad idea. Never mind that he was tall, dark and handsome, just as she liked. Never mind that his legs were long, his thighs firm, his shoulders broad and his hands so large yet so delicate. Never mind that his barked orders had all of sickbay jumping to attention and scurrying to do his bidding, her included.
On top of all that, she liked him. She respected him. She counted him as a friend, and she knew the sentiment was returned.
She couldn’t risk all of that on the slim chance that he was interested in her, or that he would be willing to play along with her fantasies, she thought bitterly. That made her feel incredibly depressed.
Something had to be done, she concluded. She couldn’t go on like this, driven mad by nightly excursions into the erotically depraved sections of her brain. In the last week she’d had variations on the dream four more times, only now, because she was so busy wondering why she seemed to trip over her boss wherever she went on the ship, the faceless man had morphed into him.
She, Christine Chapel, was having sex dreams about her boss.
This was not a situation that could continue.
In a few days they were due to dock at a pleasure planet, the home of a friendly and hedonistic culture. While the planet offered all sorts of pastimes - their definition of pleasure was indeed a broad one - they were famous for their sex clubs, specialising in all sorts of acts.
Maybe it was time she faced her own demons, took them in hand and reclaimed her brain as her own.
He was annoyed with himself. He had been building up to asking Christine to spend some time with him down on the planet, but she had switched her shifts at the last possible second and disappeared from the ship. He had hoped that his last-minute proposal would catch her off-guard and lead her to agree to the pleasant hike and picnic he had planned up in the mountains on the eastern continent.
He hadn’t expected her to slip away like this. He laughed to himself. It never paid to underestimate her; he should have known that by now. Pinning Christine down was hard, although he’d love to give it a go.
Well, since his (mostly) innocent and harmless date had gone out of the window, he may as well enjoy himself in other ways. The sex clubs here were notorious for their strict ideas about consent and hygiene, two factors that were important to him. He’d seen enough dead-eyed girls in dubious dives across the galaxy to want to spend his time and his credits in anything less than the best.
He’d go and check out the scene, and find someone willing to play for a while. He’d built up a lot of tension over the past week or two, and it would be good to release it into something other than his right hand. If he couldn’t have her, he’d have to make do with the next best thing.
What the hell was she thinking? She wasn’t ready for this. My God, was that man wearing a leash?
She’d been so determined that she was going to go through with her plan that she’d switched shifts, just to make herself get off the ship and go. She’d put on her best dress, smoothed some of the ridiculously expensive shimmering body lotion she’d treated herself too on Oridia Prime into her skin and beamed down to the centre of the notorious sex district to find herself the sort of club she’d spent the last week and half reading about.
She knew how they operated - she’d made sure that her research was thorough. People gathered in the club’s bar, where they circulated until they found someone they wanted to spend some time with. Mandatory blood toxin scans were in operation before the management of the club let you move beyond the doors to the private rooms, or the observation galleries.
It was as safe as they could make it, given the activities that went on in those private rooms.
She hadn’t expected the atmosphere of the bar though, the feeling of assessment and lewd interest that sent prickles of excitement and terror straight down her spine. Men, and more than a few women, of many different species, looked her up and down thoughtfully, clearly mentally stripping her of her black shift dress and delicate kitten heels as soon as she entered the busy room.
She swallowed nervously and made a beeline for the bar, grateful to have her back to the teeming crowd. The bartender shot her a sympathetic look.
“First time?” he asked, pulling bottles out from under the bar.
“Is it that obvious?” she said bravely, tucking a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear.
“I’m afraid so,” said the barman, shooting her a winning smile. “But the good news is that, as a virgin, the first drink is on the house.”
Christine let a small laugh slip out.
“It’s been a few years since I was one of those,” she replied ruefully.
“Ah, but here, you’re brand new, which makes you a virgin. That’s why the sharks are circling.”
He looked meaningfully over her shoulder towards the crowd of people that were edging slowly closer to her. He finished mixing a colourful drink in a long glass, and passed it across the bar to her.
“It’s synthehol,” he explained as she took a cautious sip. “Newbies don’t get the good stuff on their first time out. House rules.”
“That makes sense,” Christine said, wishing for a bit of Dutch courage all the same. “It tastes wonderful, thank you.”
“You’re welcome. You just relax and have a good time. If you’re not happy with any of your admirers, just wave the glass in the air as if you want a refill. I’ll get security over to you before you can blink.”
Christine looked at some of the mountainous men stationed discreetly at intervals around the room. She began to relax slightly.
“I appreciate it,” she said. “Thank you again.”
“All part of the service,” the bartender said with a wink. “And if you don’t find the person you’re looking for, you could always walk back this way and we could see what happens.”
Christine smiled, and picked up her drink.
“You never know, I might just do that,” she said as she walked away into the crowded room, feeling slightly more confident than she had before.
Too skinny. Too vapid. Too short. Too timid.
None of the people here tonight were right, goddamnit.
He’d spent an hour and a half sitting in a booth in the corner of the room, assessing every woman who came across his line of sight. He’d beckoned to a few, calling them over to his quieter area, but none of them had been what he was looking for. Who he was looking for.
None of them were Christine Chapel, basically.
The buzz had increased in intensity a while back, indicating that some hot new plaything had stepped into the room, but he hadn’t paid much attention. The bar was crowded, and he was near the back. Now he sat alone, nursing his damned synthehol. He knew why the barman refused to serve him the real stuff - he couldn’t agree with the policy more, it was why he picked the place - but as it looked like he was destined to head back to the ship alone, he could have used a bourbon kicker to end the night.
He was giving the room one last sweep when his attention was called to the side of the room. He breathed a little bit harder. She was tall, blonde and showed off a killer body in the demure sort of dress you’d find at a society luncheon back home. In a room full of duralex, chains and full nudity her outfit set her apart from the crowd by the nature of its normality. He couldn’t see her face from this angle, but from the back the resemblance was staggering.
He took another sip of his drink, watching her make conversation with some tall, dark dom that was taking every opportunity to display the muscles under a shirt that looked like it was painted on. Closer inspection revealed that it was. The idiot must have said something amusing because the woman threw her head back and laughed, and damn if that throaty chuckle didn’t hit him like a slap to the face.
Christine?
He must have said it aloud, and loudly too, because her head snapped around and she zeroed in on him immediately. Her face was a picture of amazement and embarrassment, and a delightful pink blush crept along her cheeks. He’d never seen her blush before, and his dick started to throb with the sight of it. She bit her lip in that endearing way she did when she was working out a puzzle, and he continued to stare levelly at her.
Part of him wanted to go right over there, grab her by the arm and drag her back to his table, away from the musclebound moron and the stares of the other doms in the club. He didn’t though, because the behemoths they hired as security guards would flatten him if he laid a finger on her in here. Also, and perhaps more importantly, Christine would have no compunction about kicking his ass across the bar. He’d seen her in the combat requalifications, she had used her knowledge of anatomy to take down opponents twice her size and had laughed delightedly as she did it.
No, she had to be the one to come to him. That was how it worked. He extended a leg and nudged the empty chair opposite him out slightly, towards her. That was all the invitation she was going to get.
And she took it, although who was more surprised by that fact, her or him, was hard to tell.
“Is this is the part where I ask how a nice girl like you ends up in a place like this?” he said, calm as you please.
“That’s inferring that I’m a nice girl,” she shot back, trying to stay calm. It wasn’t easy when all she could think was ohshitohshitohshitohshitohshit, or when he was looking at her with those burning, intense eyes.
“In that dress you couldn’t be anything other than nice,” he replied, running his eyes over her body unashamedly. “That’s why you’ve been the center of attention around here. All those big, bad men just want to take you in hand and get you out of it.”
She placed her half empty glass on the table and fiddled with the stem of it, her only indication of her nervousness.
“Is that why you’re here?” she asked. “Trying to find someone to get out of their clothes?”
She made a show of looking around the room.
“I’d try the lady in the green duralex bikini,” she advised. “Less to take off.”
“Maybe I like a challenge,” he said, giving her a lazy half-smile that set her stomach to fluttering like a baby bird on its first hop out of the nest.
She couldn’t help the sarcastic snort that leapt from her mouth.
“Maybe that’s because you’re pretty challenging yourself,” she said, and there was an awful moment where she realised what she had said, and who she had said it to, and where they were sitting. Then, thankfully, Len laughed, really laughed, and the mood changed.
“Goddamnit Christine, if you had just waiteda few hours...” he said before trailing off and shaking his head.
“What?” she asked, curiously.
“If you had waited a few hours, I was going to ask you to accompany me on a short hike on a pretty mountain trail, followed by a picnic,” he said, exasperated. “I was going to do this right, I was going to gently bring you around to the idea of...” he trailed off again, mischief dancing in his dark eyes.
“But no,” he concluded. “Instead, you go running off unexpectedly and I find you the new craze in the most notorious sex club on the planet, all the time looking like you’re at a cocktail party. Unbelievable, yet knowing you as I do, completely believable at the same time. Congratulations Christine, you’re a paradox.”
“You were going to ask me out? On a date?” she said, hackles slightly raised. Before he could answer, she added, “Yet instead of comming me to find out where I was, you decide to visit the most notorious sex club on the planet instead? Unbelievable, yet knowing you as I do, completely believable. Congratulations, Len, you’re a man.”
They glared at each other for a moment, before collapsing into laughter again.
“Ok, ok, let’s do it right this time,” he said, reaching across the table to hold her hand loosely in his. “Christine, I think you’re an incredibly beautiful and intelligent woman, who has so far shown unbelievably bad taste in men. Ah,” he said in warning at her protest. “Your turn in a minute. You’ve shown unbelievably bad taste in men because you haven’t yet picked someone that’s made you happy. You’ve been moping around the ship for months, and I’m not having it any more. You need a man in your life that isn’t scared to do whatever it takes to make you happy. And considering where we are right now, I think I have a pretty damn good idea of what you need.”
“And you’re volunteering your services?” she asked, eyebrow raised. “How incredibly noble of you.”
Her harsh words were softened by the way that her hand tightened around his, and he smiled.
“I’m a very selfless man,” he agreed. She rolled her eyes and laughed a little, and he held her hand more firmly.
“You’re not wrong about the bad taste in men part,” she said eventually, “but that’s not entirely their fault. I’ve never been able to express what I really want.” She smiled ruefully. “I’m not really sure what I really want,” she admitted. “I just know that it’s more than I’ve been able to ask for, and when I’ve tried, they’ve been less than cooperative.”
He shook his head in amazement.
“Incredible,” he said. “A beautiful woman asks to be tied up and spanked, and there are morons out there that refuse.”
She blushed. “I’ve never asked to be spanked,” she said quietly. “I’ve never had the courage.”
“You shouldn’t have had to ask,” he said irritably. “They should have known what you need without you having to ask for it.”
“Do you know what I need?” she asked slyly.
“Oh yes,” he replied. “I know exactly what you need. I have for quite a while. And I want to be the man that gives it to you, Christine, if you’ll let me.”
She took a deep breath, and nodded.
“Come here,” he said, in a voice that was nearly, but not completely like, the tone of voice he used when he was issuing instructions in sickbay. But this tone was more compelling, as if it reached into her head and over-rode her ability to make decisions. She got up from her chair and walked to him, and didn’t resist as he pulled her into his lap and curled an arm possessively around her waist.
He placed two fingers gently under her chin and tipped her head back, exposing the pale column of her throat, where she could feel her pulse jumping madly. He paused for a moment or two, studying her face and staring deep into her eyes before he moved to cover her mouth with his own.
It would be fair to say that this kiss was unlike any she had known before. She tried to meet his ferocity with her own, but he was unyielding. It wasn’t until she relaxed into the kiss and fully gave up control of it to him that something inside her clicked into place. Oh, she thought.This is how it’s supposed to be.” She felt possessed by that kiss, as if his lips were marking her, branding her in some way. His tongue pushed easily into her mouth and it was ridiculously simple to just let him do as he wished. He brought a hand up to gently touch her hair, and it was this tenderness combined with the passion of the fierce kiss that made her clutch at him tightly. The noise and the madness of the bar around them fell away; they may have been the only two people in the universe for all she knew.
When the need for air eventually disrupted them, it was clear that he was as deeply affected by it as she was. But while her body was lazy and languid, almost molten with pleasure, his was all tension and hard lines. The arm around her waist gripped her far more tightly, and the hand in her hair clutched at it, as if he was anchoring her to him.
“We have to go somewhere more private,” he said, nipping at her earlobe. “Now.”
“Yes,” she agreed blindly. At this point, whatever he wanted was fine with her.
He pulled her up onto her feet, and then laid a hand possessively around her wrist. His hand was large, her wrists were delicate, and the warm pressure there only stoked the fire that had been lit in her. He took off towards the large flight of stairs at the back of the room, and she followed meekly behind him, trembling slightly with excitement. She caught the eye of the bartender, and she gave him a smile, which he returned.
At the top of the stairs two employees of the club scanned them for intoxicants, and had them sign a statement of voluntary intent. McCoy signed his only after scrutinising the document carefully; she scribbled her name immediately and thrust the PADD back at the waiting attendant.
“I’m going to have to teach you to be more patient,” he observed, finally handing his PADD over.
She made a non-committal noise, in an attempt to hide the thrill that ran through her at his words.
He declined the offer of a private room, electing to take her into one of the private viewing galleries instead. It was dark, contained one, large chair and a massive viewscreen. He sat in the cushioned chair, much like the one that sat on the Enterprise’s bridge, and settled her on his lap again. He pulled her in for another of those fabulously possessive kisses, and she lost track of time again.
When he pulled away, she whined a little and tried to pull him back down. He chuckled, and grabbed her wrists with his hand.
“Now now, plenty of time for that later,” he chided. “We’re going to use our time here to figure out what exactly it is that you want.”
“What about what you want?” she asked.
“Don’t you worry about that, sweetheart, I’m going to get exactly what I want,” he said, with just enough darkness in his tone to make her shiver with pleasure. “But this is something that we need to talk about. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right.”
He pressed a button on the arm of the chair, and the viewscreen popped into life. It displayed a feed from one of the private rooms, of a couple having some very enthusiastic sex. There were no restraints or gags anywhere in sight; as the woman flipped them over and settled down on top of her lover, she displayed a reddened backside. It was clear that she had been spanked at some point in the proceedings, but there was no evidence of domination or submission going on here. There were just two people having a very good time, as evidenced by the woman turning her head to grin at the camera and give a little wave.
“They look like they’re having fun,” Christine said.
“That’s exactly what I was hoping to see,” McCoy said, rubbing her arm gently. “If you’re not having fun, you’re not doing it right.”
The couple finished noisily, and crashed into each others’ arms, grinning at each other before kissing madly. McCoy pressed the button again, and the picture changed.
In another room, a large man sat on a plain wooden chair, a smaller, naked man stretched out over his lap. The smaller man had interlocked his fingers behind his head, and was visibly wincing as the larger man’s meaty hand came down in unrelenting smacks across his bare ass. McCoy flicked another switch and the audio feed came through.
The noise of flesh meeting flesh was loud, and each smack was followed by a little yelp of pain from the smaller man, who counted off each blow. Christine shifted on McCoy’s lap, a telltale moistness developing between her thighs. They watched as blow after blow descended onto the ass of the smaller man, who was now sobbing as each spank landed on flesh that was reddened and obviously sore.
“He’s crying,” she said, sounding somewhat inane to her ears.
“Well, it hurts,” McCoy said, smiling. “It depends on the kind of spanking you’re getting, of course. There’s a world of difference between a good girl spanking and a bad girl spanking.”
“Such as?” she questioned, wriggling on his lap to face him, genuinely confused.
“Sometimes you’ll want to be spanked,” he told her seriously. “The endorphins released by your brain by the spanking will give you an incredible high. You’ll drift off into some wonderfully subby headspace, and you won’t know right from up. It’ll hurt, but it’ll be the good kind of hurt that’ll help you get off.”
He paused there to let the mental images sink in, of her, naked and splayed over his lap, backside high in the air and bright pink.
“Sometimes, though, you won’t want to be spanked and I’ll do it anyway, because I want to spank you, or think you need it,” he cautioned, his voice firm. “That’s the kind of spanking he’s getting, that’s why his dom is making him count each one of the smacks he’s getting. The counting makes him focus on the next blow that’s coming, and stops him drifting off into his own head.”
On the screen, the spanking had stopped, and the sub was pulled into a big hug by his dom. His ruby-red backside wasn’t the only thing on display; the sub’s large erection stood proudly from his body.
“He seemed to like the bad boy spanking,” she said, amazed.
“Of course he did; he’s masochistic,” explained McCoy patiently. “Even though it hurts, he feels some kind of pleasure from the pain. I’d be very worried if he wasn’t showing some kind of excitement; if you’re not both getting off on this then you’re moving away from the realms of consensual play and into something a lot darker.”
“I’ve been doing some reading,” Christine said hesitantly.
“I bet you have,” McCoy said into her hair as he nuzzled at her ear. “What have you been reading”?
“Psychological journals, studies of psycho-sexual illnesses, that sort of thing,” she admitted. “Also a little bit of porn.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m really not sure what’s worse,” he grumbled. “You’re not strange for wanting what you want, Christine. You don’t want it because you were smacked as a child, or not smacked, or because you hate your daddy, or because you love him too much.”
She gasped at that, and smacked him across the arm. He caught her hand and said seriously,
“I’ll allow that because we haven’t decided or defined anything. But I’m warning you Christine, if we’re playing and you behave in a disrespectful way to me, you’ll be on the receiving end of a bad girl spanking before you could blink.”
She did blink at that, and her heart raced a little. The moisture between her thighs increased at both the tone of his voice and the threat implied by his words.
“You said when we’re playing,” she managed. He nodded, still holding her hand.
“There are some people out there that manage to live their whole lives in this kind of mindset,” he said, nodding at the screen when the naked sub was giving the fully clothed dom a very enthusiastic blow job. “And as tempting as that sounds, it’s just not a reality for me or for you. Not only am I not sure I could keep up the persona all the time, our jobs just don’t give us the flexibility that the lifestyle requires.”
He kissed her again, and all her nerve endings thrummed with pleasure.
“Plus, and most importantly, as much as you may like me taking control in bed, I know for a fact that there’s no way in hell you would tolerate me taking over every aspect of your life. What you wore. When you saw your friends. What you ate. What hobbies you had. How you wore your hair. It’s fun to play around with, but the minute I tried to take it too seriously you’d space me without a moment's hesitation.”
“I would do no such thing!” she protested, but the knowing smile on his face made her back down and admit that, yes, certain parts of his anatomy that he valued highly would be in danger if he tried to take over her life in that matter.
“But don’t think that I don’t know what you’ve been doing,” she said slyly. “All those meals where we just happened to be sitting at the same table? All those desserts that you couldn’t possibly eat yourself? All those movies where we just had to sit close together? Face it Len, you’re busted.”
“Guilty as charged,” admitted. “But did you like it?”
“Oh yes,” she said honestly. “But seriously, lay off the desserts. I’ll get fat.”
“Nonsense,” he said firmly. “There’s nothing wrong with your body, and a few pounds more would probably do you good. Besides, with all the sex we’re going to be having, any extra calories you consume will be burned off very quickly.”
She giggled, and tucked her head into his shoulder, her hands playing with the buttons on his shirt.
“Can we get to the sex part soon?” she asked hopefully.
“In a little while,” he replied firmly. “I want to see what turns you on first.”
Spanking, they decided after viewing some more of the feeds, was definitely something that she wanted to try. She winced a little as she saw some of the implements being used, but resigned herself to trying out a few of them when she heard his tiny intake of breath when one woman, strapped to a table, was on the receiving end of five cracks across the backside from the belt of another woman.
“I’m not having any of that,” McCoy said firmly as they watched one sub being shared between two doms. “Nobody else gets to even look at you naked, let alone touch you.”
She bit her lip when she saw one female sub get her nipples pinched, tugged, squeezed and clamped, and didn’t resist when McCoy started to play with hers through the fabric of her dress. She moaned throatily and writhed against his hardness, evident since they had first settled into the chair.
“Nipples, then,” said McCoy in a strained voice. “Check.”
They both watched in fascinated horror as a dom lovingly changed the diaper of her sub, dressed as a baby.
“No,” they both said in unison, and he changed the viewscreen feed.
Bondage was a must, they decided. Christine got wetter and wetter as she watched men and women get tied up with rope, chained to walls and restrained with magnetic cuffs over, under and around various interestingly shaped pieces of furniture. She felt McCoy’s interest peak when a woman, almost the same shade of blonde she was, had her wrists shackled to her ankles, forcing her to stand with her legs wide apart to keep her precarious balance as she was fucked very thoroughly and loudly by a female dom with an impressively long strap-on dildo.
She’d better take a few yoga classes, she decided.
McCoy liked it when the subs wore gags; Christine was turned on by the collars that some subs wore, and had to take a deep breath when one dom held his sub firmly by the throat as he fucked him. McCoy rested his palm gently against her throat and she moaned in pleasure and writhed against him.
“We’ll build up to that one,” he decided. She nodded, willing to go along with just about anything he said.
Exhibitions of anal sex clearly excited him; his grip on her nipples tightened, and he moved his hand up under her skirt for the first time. He didn’t bother to remove her panties, merely pulled them to one side and slid one finger into her slick opening, followed by another. She gasped at the intrusion and clutched at him as he shifted his hand to tease as her clit. He kept his attention firmly on the viewscreen, watching eagerly as a female sub keened and wailed as her ass was filled by her dom’s dick, but he did not stop the relentless stimulation of her either.
Her orgasm was sharp and unexpected, ripping through her body like a bolt of charged phaser fire and making her scream aloud. She collapsed into the support of his arms, but he didn’t stop manipulating her body until he had drawn another, longer orgasm from her followed by another quick one that was almost painful in its intensity.
She had long ago stopped caring about the images on the screen, focused entirely on her pleasure. But now, panting, sweaty, flushed and sticky, she was now all too aware of his controlled breathing and the hard length in his pants that was pressing insistently into her backside. She shyly slid her hand down until it wrapped around his length, and she began to stroke gently. His hand wrapped around hers, correcting her technique, and she quickly adjusted her style to suit his needs. He let her stroke him for a minute or two before he stilled her hand.
“I want your mouth,” he said directly into her ear, and she immediately slithered off his lap and onto the floor. She looked up at him from in between his knees, and the look of utter lust on his face as he stared down at her was intensely gratifying. It made her feel powerful, in control, although her position was the subordinate one. Another little block fell into place; she smiled as she quickly unfastened his pants and brought his length into her hand, then her mouth.
She was making this strong, dominating man gasp for breath, groan and throw back his head. One hand descended to her hair, gripping it firmly but not painfully. He moved her head, controlling her movements, his hips stuttering when she put her anatomical studies into full use. His other hand rested on her cheek, stroking it gently as it distended with the presence of his dick.
Christine brought all her skills into play, nibbling, sucking, using the very tip of her tongue to trace the delicate slit at the top of his dick. He would get lost in the sensations, then drag himself back from the edge to thrust deeper into her mouth. She could manage half his length comfortably, three quarters with some difficulty and the full length only when he tipped her head back and he thrust fiercely with his hips. She choked on his thickness and had to draw breath in quickly when he pulled out a little, only to have him thrust in again. It took him four of such thrusts to come to climax, which she did her very best to swallow. Despite her efforts, a combination of saliva and ejaculate escaped her mouth and rolled down her chin. He gripped her chin in his hand, and with slightly shaking fingers wiped the mess away, only to thrust the fingers back into her mouth again for her to lick clean.
“Every drop, Christine,” he said quietly.
The eagerness with which she complied surprised her.
He tucked himself away, then dragged her back up into his embrace. They sat there in silence, holding each other fiercely for what seemed like an age.
“That was...” Christine started, then trailed off, unable to continue.
“I know,” he replied, directly into her ear. “God only knows how I’m going to keep my hands off you in sickbay.”
“Just think about all the incredibly depraved things you’re going to do to me after the shift ends,” she chuckled.
“I’ll make a list,” he said seriously. “There are many things I want to do to you, Christine.”
Christine shivered in pleasure, and moved closer to him. She couldn’t wait.
hit counter dreamweaver
Author: trek_bdsm
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: McCoy/Chapel
Warnings: d/s, mentions of consensual spanking, anal, m/m and f/f sex and (very briefly) infantilism.
Word count: 7666
Summary: Christine decides to do something about the kinky dreams she's been having. McCoy is only too happy to help.
Disclaimer: The characters belong to their respective owners and copyright holders, clearly not to me. The characters may practice elements of BDSM that do not fall under the category of "safe sex". I assume you're not stupid, but in the spirit of a vague disclaimer being nobody's friend, I'll spell it out: I practice safe, sane and consensual BDSM in my real life; the characters in my fic may not. I do not condone unsafe sex in real life in any form, and any idiot that copies verbatim anything they read off the internet deserves the embarrassing trip to the hospital that will inevitably follow.
Golden rule, folks; if you're not sure about it, don't stick it up there.
Author's Notes: I finally sat down and thrashed out the first part of the McCoy/Chapel series. This is followed chronologically by Good Girl and Just What The Doctor Ordered.
Her hands were tied above her head, roped to a metal hook that was attached to a chain from the ceiling. She sat on a wooden ladder-backed chair, her legs spread and tied with more rope at the ankle to the legs of the chair. No matter how much she wriggled and writhed, it was useless. She was trapped in the dark room, completely vulnerable to anyone who came through the door.
And she knew that someone was going to come through the door, because he always did.
Sure enough, the door opened, spilling a splash of light into the darkness of the cold room. A man’s heavy footsteps entered, then the light disappeared as the door shut with a chilling finality. She stepped up her struggles, but it was no good. She was firmly trapped.
The footsteps came near, circling around her as he admired her naked form. He let a finger trail over her aching shoulders, her clavicle, her lips. She snapped at him with her teeth, and he laughed, amused, before giving her a none-too-gentle slap across her right cheek. Her head snapped back and she let out a pained yelp.
His hands were cold as he gripped her breasts firmly, trapping her nipples between his fingers and squeezing them tightly. No amount of wriggling would make him break his grip, and he clearly enjoyed her struggle. His hands trailed up and down her ribcage, ran along the length of her splayed legs and even tangled themselves in her blonde hair, and there was nothing she could do about it.
Except get annoyingly, traitorously wet.
He laughed again when he discovered that, plunging two large fingers straight into her, stabbing her with a ferocity that just made her scream and writhe all the more. The screams turned into a wordless, high-pitched keening when he suckled her clit into his mouth and pulled her, fighting all the way, closer and closer to orgasm.
As she bucked and struggled in her chair, trying to avoid his hot mouth, an irritating buzzing noise started humming insistently in her ear. It got louder and louder as he dragged her inexorably towards the peak of her pleasure, and just as she was about to tip over the edge the noise got so unbearably loud...
...that she woke up.
Panting, sweating, oozing moisture between her thighs, Christine fumbled for the alarm on her bedside cabinet. She flopped back onto the bed, her left forearm thrown across her eyes so she was unable to see her right hand slip into her sleep shorts and quickly flick herself over the edge into orgasm. The sensations literally took her breath away, leaving her gasping for air on the dampened sheets of her bed.
This was getting ridiculous, she scolded herself, as she stripped the bed and threw the discarded linens into the laundry chute along with her sodden sleep shorts. It was the third time that week she had woken from that dream, and the third time she had masturbated herself to completion. Now she was going to go through the day unsettled and jumpy, wondering what her psyche had in store for her that evening.
It wasn’t as if she was embarrassed about sex dreams, she reasoned as the sonic shower completed its cycle and she pulled on her uniform. She had a healthy libido, she enjoyed sex and she had been without a partner for a long time. It would be worrying not to have sex dreams.
No, she thought glumly as she left her cabin for the mess hall and assembled herself a breakfast of fruit, yoghurt and crunchy brown toast, it was the content of the dreams that concerned her.
Sexuality was fluid, she knew that. And everyone had their own needs and desires, little buttons that needed to be pressed before they could get off. That was just basic psychology, no big deal. But her needs and desires, her buttons, seemed to be getting darker, more dangerous as the years went by. And that was the problem.
It niggled at her all day as she went about her duties in Sickbay; drawing up the next week’s duty roster, keeping an eye on patient charts, attending to the myriad cuts and scrapes that came through the doors. She’d always had a type, that was obvious; older, authoritative men. Men with some kind of power, or that demanded some kind of respect through their physical or mental prowess. She always thought of herself as equal in power in the politics of her relationships, but she’d be lying (and had been lying) to herself if she thought that equality was what she craved when she was actually having sex.
Christine liked it when she was on the bottom, she liked it when her lover would stretch out over her and pin her wrists to the bed while he rocked in and out of her. She loved it when she was positioned on all fours, when her lover’s urgency would force her head and shoulders to the floor, displaying her most vulnerable parts for him to see.
She had been tempted so many times to ask her lovers for what she really craved - restraints that kept her locked to the headboard, bars that prevented her from closing her legs. She liked gentle touches and reverent kisses as much as the next woman, but there were times when a fire burned in her belly and she wanted fierce hands grabbing roughly at her breasts, heavy slaps falling on her ass and teeth marks decorating her shoulders and thighs.
But she hadn’t asked, stopped by their confusion at her subtle hints to treat her more roughly. She was to be loved, and cherished, and that meant treating their little angel as if she was made of gossamer and spun sugar.
She knew she was made of stronger stuff than that.
But how do you ask someone you love and trust to hurt you?
She sighed aloud again as she checked and rechecked the readings from the biobeds; the age-old dilemma of a timid masochist.
From the corner of the room, half hidden under a pile of PADDS, McCoy watched her as she glumly ran through the standard diagnostics on the biobeds.
She was unhappy, any fool could see that. Oh, she hid it well; she gave each patient a big smile and cheered them out of their misery. She was part of medical’s softball squad and always joined in the team bonding sessions in one of the rec rooms as they mourned their inevitable defeat in inter-departmental matches. Whenever they ate meals together (and they did that a lot, their similar age and low tolerance for bullshit drawing them together socially and professionally) she was bright, interesting company.
But she had no inner fire, no spark to lift the colour of her rich brown eyes, so striking under that cascade of golden hair. She was clearly missing something in her life, and his instincts, so strong and dependable, were screaming at him to pay attention.
He would bet all the credits in his newly-recovering bank account that his beautiful head nurse was an untrained, maybe even unrealised sub, casting about looking for the elusive something that would make her feel whole, make her feel right.
It would fit; he knew she hadn’t dated much while stationed on the Enterprise, not since her long-distance thing with Korby had gone belly-up, but her partners were uniformly slightly older, physically impressive men, or men with humble rank but impressive academic qualifications.
Not to brag, but he was confident that he could fit that particular bill quite nicely.
But those relationships were always short-lived and when department scuttlebutt would whisper that she was single again, he would release a breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding.
What a joy it would be to help this beautiful, intelligent woman discover a side to herself that she hadn’t known existed. He couldn’t help but speculate about her figure; most of the time she hid it under the passion-killing trouser variant of the female uniform, but he had seen her once, briefly, as she hauled herself out of the swimming pool. He remembered shapely breasts and hips, an old-fashioned hour-glass figure with killer legs that went right up to her eyebrows.
What he wouldn’t give to map that uncharted territory, finding the spots that would make her squirm with pleasure, pushing at the places that would make her gasp with just enough pain to make her beg for more. He’d hold her, hurt her, cherish her, punish her, care for her and in exchange she would let him.
McCoy was an unashamedly sexually dominant man, through and through, with a sadistic streak that had worked hard to tame, but he knew exactly who held the real power in his relationships. Without her consent, he had no power over her at all; his pleasure depended absolutely on her willing submission. Anything less than that was rape, and anyone who did that deserved nothing better than a slow, painful death.
In his humble opinion, anyway.
Any dom who knew anything knew that their subs held the true power in the relationship, and they were worshipped accordingly. Any dom that thought different was a danger to everybody concerned.
He had shied away from pursuing a relationship that went beyond their somewhat confusing clutter of friend-colleague-boss; it never seemed to be the right time to push at the boundaries they had set themselves. She was no quick affaire, to be loved and amicably lost. She deserved more than that, more than perhaps he had been truly ready to give. Old wounds, and all that jazz.
But he was ready now, and it seemed that maybe she was too. They were due at a pleasure-planet for some much-needed shore leave in a week or two. Perhaps away from the familiar confines of the ship she may be more amenable to shifting their relationship away from that of friends towards that of lovers.
He nodded to himself, decision made. He’d begin to lay the groundwork, drop subtle hints, start to show little flashes of distinctly dom-like behaviour and see how she reacted.
His instincts had never let him down before. He saw no reason why they should now.
Alright, so something was clearly up with Len, but she was damned if she could figure out what it was. She felt his eyes on her constantly at work, as if he was assessing her or judging her in some way, but he was always friendly and polite when they spoke. Well, she amended, as friendly and polite as he ever was, which was considerably more so with her than just about anybody else.
She’d made her feelings about rude and grumpy doctors quite clear during their first week of service; he’d paid attention.
But it seemed to her that she just couldn’t seem to shake him off this week. It was normal for them to eat together two or three times a week, but it seemed that whenever she was hungry enough to venture into the mess, he was already in the queue, or at a secluded table with a spare seat just for her. He’d taken to ordering a portion of whatever dessert was on the menu, although he didn’t eat it himself. He’d slip it over to her side of the table with a stern injunction to consume more calories. She’d eat it too, which was completely unlike her; her body was one of those that merely had to look at a slice of chocolate cake to gain weight, so she was usually very strict about what she ate. She damn well enjoyed those desserts, though whether it was the skill of the chef or the approving look in McCoy’s eyes as she cleared her plate that made her feel happy was not always clear.
He was in the gym when she turned up for her session on the treadmills, and she had nothing to do but watch as he effortlessly lifted weights and toned up his already impressive body. He was there when she joined the crowd in one of the rec rooms for movie night, and she had to spend an hour and half sitting close enough to him to feel the heat radiating from his body after he beckoned her over to a space right next to him. It was always slightly too small, so she was forced to curl her body into his.
Truth be told, she wouldn’t have moved for all the gold pressed latinum on Ferengar.
He had started to use cologne that she had never noticed before, and whenever she caught a smell of it she had to resist the urge to lean in closely and breathe deeply. The smell did something to her, it scrambled up her brain.
This was her boss. This was a bad idea. Never mind that he was tall, dark and handsome, just as she liked. Never mind that his legs were long, his thighs firm, his shoulders broad and his hands so large yet so delicate. Never mind that his barked orders had all of sickbay jumping to attention and scurrying to do his bidding, her included.
On top of all that, she liked him. She respected him. She counted him as a friend, and she knew the sentiment was returned.
She couldn’t risk all of that on the slim chance that he was interested in her, or that he would be willing to play along with her fantasies, she thought bitterly. That made her feel incredibly depressed.
Something had to be done, she concluded. She couldn’t go on like this, driven mad by nightly excursions into the erotically depraved sections of her brain. In the last week she’d had variations on the dream four more times, only now, because she was so busy wondering why she seemed to trip over her boss wherever she went on the ship, the faceless man had morphed into him.
She, Christine Chapel, was having sex dreams about her boss.
This was not a situation that could continue.
In a few days they were due to dock at a pleasure planet, the home of a friendly and hedonistic culture. While the planet offered all sorts of pastimes - their definition of pleasure was indeed a broad one - they were famous for their sex clubs, specialising in all sorts of acts.
Maybe it was time she faced her own demons, took them in hand and reclaimed her brain as her own.
He was annoyed with himself. He had been building up to asking Christine to spend some time with him down on the planet, but she had switched her shifts at the last possible second and disappeared from the ship. He had hoped that his last-minute proposal would catch her off-guard and lead her to agree to the pleasant hike and picnic he had planned up in the mountains on the eastern continent.
He hadn’t expected her to slip away like this. He laughed to himself. It never paid to underestimate her; he should have known that by now. Pinning Christine down was hard, although he’d love to give it a go.
Well, since his (mostly) innocent and harmless date had gone out of the window, he may as well enjoy himself in other ways. The sex clubs here were notorious for their strict ideas about consent and hygiene, two factors that were important to him. He’d seen enough dead-eyed girls in dubious dives across the galaxy to want to spend his time and his credits in anything less than the best.
He’d go and check out the scene, and find someone willing to play for a while. He’d built up a lot of tension over the past week or two, and it would be good to release it into something other than his right hand. If he couldn’t have her, he’d have to make do with the next best thing.
What the hell was she thinking? She wasn’t ready for this. My God, was that man wearing a leash?
She’d been so determined that she was going to go through with her plan that she’d switched shifts, just to make herself get off the ship and go. She’d put on her best dress, smoothed some of the ridiculously expensive shimmering body lotion she’d treated herself too on Oridia Prime into her skin and beamed down to the centre of the notorious sex district to find herself the sort of club she’d spent the last week and half reading about.
She knew how they operated - she’d made sure that her research was thorough. People gathered in the club’s bar, where they circulated until they found someone they wanted to spend some time with. Mandatory blood toxin scans were in operation before the management of the club let you move beyond the doors to the private rooms, or the observation galleries.
It was as safe as they could make it, given the activities that went on in those private rooms.
She hadn’t expected the atmosphere of the bar though, the feeling of assessment and lewd interest that sent prickles of excitement and terror straight down her spine. Men, and more than a few women, of many different species, looked her up and down thoughtfully, clearly mentally stripping her of her black shift dress and delicate kitten heels as soon as she entered the busy room.
She swallowed nervously and made a beeline for the bar, grateful to have her back to the teeming crowd. The bartender shot her a sympathetic look.
“First time?” he asked, pulling bottles out from under the bar.
“Is it that obvious?” she said bravely, tucking a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear.
“I’m afraid so,” said the barman, shooting her a winning smile. “But the good news is that, as a virgin, the first drink is on the house.”
Christine let a small laugh slip out.
“It’s been a few years since I was one of those,” she replied ruefully.
“Ah, but here, you’re brand new, which makes you a virgin. That’s why the sharks are circling.”
He looked meaningfully over her shoulder towards the crowd of people that were edging slowly closer to her. He finished mixing a colourful drink in a long glass, and passed it across the bar to her.
“It’s synthehol,” he explained as she took a cautious sip. “Newbies don’t get the good stuff on their first time out. House rules.”
“That makes sense,” Christine said, wishing for a bit of Dutch courage all the same. “It tastes wonderful, thank you.”
“You’re welcome. You just relax and have a good time. If you’re not happy with any of your admirers, just wave the glass in the air as if you want a refill. I’ll get security over to you before you can blink.”
Christine looked at some of the mountainous men stationed discreetly at intervals around the room. She began to relax slightly.
“I appreciate it,” she said. “Thank you again.”
“All part of the service,” the bartender said with a wink. “And if you don’t find the person you’re looking for, you could always walk back this way and we could see what happens.”
Christine smiled, and picked up her drink.
“You never know, I might just do that,” she said as she walked away into the crowded room, feeling slightly more confident than she had before.
Too skinny. Too vapid. Too short. Too timid.
None of the people here tonight were right, goddamnit.
He’d spent an hour and a half sitting in a booth in the corner of the room, assessing every woman who came across his line of sight. He’d beckoned to a few, calling them over to his quieter area, but none of them had been what he was looking for. Who he was looking for.
None of them were Christine Chapel, basically.
The buzz had increased in intensity a while back, indicating that some hot new plaything had stepped into the room, but he hadn’t paid much attention. The bar was crowded, and he was near the back. Now he sat alone, nursing his damned synthehol. He knew why the barman refused to serve him the real stuff - he couldn’t agree with the policy more, it was why he picked the place - but as it looked like he was destined to head back to the ship alone, he could have used a bourbon kicker to end the night.
He was giving the room one last sweep when his attention was called to the side of the room. He breathed a little bit harder. She was tall, blonde and showed off a killer body in the demure sort of dress you’d find at a society luncheon back home. In a room full of duralex, chains and full nudity her outfit set her apart from the crowd by the nature of its normality. He couldn’t see her face from this angle, but from the back the resemblance was staggering.
He took another sip of his drink, watching her make conversation with some tall, dark dom that was taking every opportunity to display the muscles under a shirt that looked like it was painted on. Closer inspection revealed that it was. The idiot must have said something amusing because the woman threw her head back and laughed, and damn if that throaty chuckle didn’t hit him like a slap to the face.
Christine?
He must have said it aloud, and loudly too, because her head snapped around and she zeroed in on him immediately. Her face was a picture of amazement and embarrassment, and a delightful pink blush crept along her cheeks. He’d never seen her blush before, and his dick started to throb with the sight of it. She bit her lip in that endearing way she did when she was working out a puzzle, and he continued to stare levelly at her.
Part of him wanted to go right over there, grab her by the arm and drag her back to his table, away from the musclebound moron and the stares of the other doms in the club. He didn’t though, because the behemoths they hired as security guards would flatten him if he laid a finger on her in here. Also, and perhaps more importantly, Christine would have no compunction about kicking his ass across the bar. He’d seen her in the combat requalifications, she had used her knowledge of anatomy to take down opponents twice her size and had laughed delightedly as she did it.
No, she had to be the one to come to him. That was how it worked. He extended a leg and nudged the empty chair opposite him out slightly, towards her. That was all the invitation she was going to get.
And she took it, although who was more surprised by that fact, her or him, was hard to tell.
“Is this is the part where I ask how a nice girl like you ends up in a place like this?” he said, calm as you please.
“That’s inferring that I’m a nice girl,” she shot back, trying to stay calm. It wasn’t easy when all she could think was ohshitohshitohshitohshitohshit, or when he was looking at her with those burning, intense eyes.
“In that dress you couldn’t be anything other than nice,” he replied, running his eyes over her body unashamedly. “That’s why you’ve been the center of attention around here. All those big, bad men just want to take you in hand and get you out of it.”
She placed her half empty glass on the table and fiddled with the stem of it, her only indication of her nervousness.
“Is that why you’re here?” she asked. “Trying to find someone to get out of their clothes?”
She made a show of looking around the room.
“I’d try the lady in the green duralex bikini,” she advised. “Less to take off.”
“Maybe I like a challenge,” he said, giving her a lazy half-smile that set her stomach to fluttering like a baby bird on its first hop out of the nest.
She couldn’t help the sarcastic snort that leapt from her mouth.
“Maybe that’s because you’re pretty challenging yourself,” she said, and there was an awful moment where she realised what she had said, and who she had said it to, and where they were sitting. Then, thankfully, Len laughed, really laughed, and the mood changed.
“Goddamnit Christine, if you had just waiteda few hours...” he said before trailing off and shaking his head.
“What?” she asked, curiously.
“If you had waited a few hours, I was going to ask you to accompany me on a short hike on a pretty mountain trail, followed by a picnic,” he said, exasperated. “I was going to do this right, I was going to gently bring you around to the idea of...” he trailed off again, mischief dancing in his dark eyes.
“But no,” he concluded. “Instead, you go running off unexpectedly and I find you the new craze in the most notorious sex club on the planet, all the time looking like you’re at a cocktail party. Unbelievable, yet knowing you as I do, completely believable at the same time. Congratulations Christine, you’re a paradox.”
“You were going to ask me out? On a date?” she said, hackles slightly raised. Before he could answer, she added, “Yet instead of comming me to find out where I was, you decide to visit the most notorious sex club on the planet instead? Unbelievable, yet knowing you as I do, completely believable. Congratulations, Len, you’re a man.”
They glared at each other for a moment, before collapsing into laughter again.
“Ok, ok, let’s do it right this time,” he said, reaching across the table to hold her hand loosely in his. “Christine, I think you’re an incredibly beautiful and intelligent woman, who has so far shown unbelievably bad taste in men. Ah,” he said in warning at her protest. “Your turn in a minute. You’ve shown unbelievably bad taste in men because you haven’t yet picked someone that’s made you happy. You’ve been moping around the ship for months, and I’m not having it any more. You need a man in your life that isn’t scared to do whatever it takes to make you happy. And considering where we are right now, I think I have a pretty damn good idea of what you need.”
“And you’re volunteering your services?” she asked, eyebrow raised. “How incredibly noble of you.”
Her harsh words were softened by the way that her hand tightened around his, and he smiled.
“I’m a very selfless man,” he agreed. She rolled her eyes and laughed a little, and he held her hand more firmly.
“You’re not wrong about the bad taste in men part,” she said eventually, “but that’s not entirely their fault. I’ve never been able to express what I really want.” She smiled ruefully. “I’m not really sure what I really want,” she admitted. “I just know that it’s more than I’ve been able to ask for, and when I’ve tried, they’ve been less than cooperative.”
He shook his head in amazement.
“Incredible,” he said. “A beautiful woman asks to be tied up and spanked, and there are morons out there that refuse.”
She blushed. “I’ve never asked to be spanked,” she said quietly. “I’ve never had the courage.”
“You shouldn’t have had to ask,” he said irritably. “They should have known what you need without you having to ask for it.”
“Do you know what I need?” she asked slyly.
“Oh yes,” he replied. “I know exactly what you need. I have for quite a while. And I want to be the man that gives it to you, Christine, if you’ll let me.”
She took a deep breath, and nodded.
“Come here,” he said, in a voice that was nearly, but not completely like, the tone of voice he used when he was issuing instructions in sickbay. But this tone was more compelling, as if it reached into her head and over-rode her ability to make decisions. She got up from her chair and walked to him, and didn’t resist as he pulled her into his lap and curled an arm possessively around her waist.
He placed two fingers gently under her chin and tipped her head back, exposing the pale column of her throat, where she could feel her pulse jumping madly. He paused for a moment or two, studying her face and staring deep into her eyes before he moved to cover her mouth with his own.
It would be fair to say that this kiss was unlike any she had known before. She tried to meet his ferocity with her own, but he was unyielding. It wasn’t until she relaxed into the kiss and fully gave up control of it to him that something inside her clicked into place. Oh, she thought.This is how it’s supposed to be.” She felt possessed by that kiss, as if his lips were marking her, branding her in some way. His tongue pushed easily into her mouth and it was ridiculously simple to just let him do as he wished. He brought a hand up to gently touch her hair, and it was this tenderness combined with the passion of the fierce kiss that made her clutch at him tightly. The noise and the madness of the bar around them fell away; they may have been the only two people in the universe for all she knew.
When the need for air eventually disrupted them, it was clear that he was as deeply affected by it as she was. But while her body was lazy and languid, almost molten with pleasure, his was all tension and hard lines. The arm around her waist gripped her far more tightly, and the hand in her hair clutched at it, as if he was anchoring her to him.
“We have to go somewhere more private,” he said, nipping at her earlobe. “Now.”
“Yes,” she agreed blindly. At this point, whatever he wanted was fine with her.
He pulled her up onto her feet, and then laid a hand possessively around her wrist. His hand was large, her wrists were delicate, and the warm pressure there only stoked the fire that had been lit in her. He took off towards the large flight of stairs at the back of the room, and she followed meekly behind him, trembling slightly with excitement. She caught the eye of the bartender, and she gave him a smile, which he returned.
At the top of the stairs two employees of the club scanned them for intoxicants, and had them sign a statement of voluntary intent. McCoy signed his only after scrutinising the document carefully; she scribbled her name immediately and thrust the PADD back at the waiting attendant.
“I’m going to have to teach you to be more patient,” he observed, finally handing his PADD over.
She made a non-committal noise, in an attempt to hide the thrill that ran through her at his words.
He declined the offer of a private room, electing to take her into one of the private viewing galleries instead. It was dark, contained one, large chair and a massive viewscreen. He sat in the cushioned chair, much like the one that sat on the Enterprise’s bridge, and settled her on his lap again. He pulled her in for another of those fabulously possessive kisses, and she lost track of time again.
When he pulled away, she whined a little and tried to pull him back down. He chuckled, and grabbed her wrists with his hand.
“Now now, plenty of time for that later,” he chided. “We’re going to use our time here to figure out what exactly it is that you want.”
“What about what you want?” she asked.
“Don’t you worry about that, sweetheart, I’m going to get exactly what I want,” he said, with just enough darkness in his tone to make her shiver with pleasure. “But this is something that we need to talk about. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right.”
He pressed a button on the arm of the chair, and the viewscreen popped into life. It displayed a feed from one of the private rooms, of a couple having some very enthusiastic sex. There were no restraints or gags anywhere in sight; as the woman flipped them over and settled down on top of her lover, she displayed a reddened backside. It was clear that she had been spanked at some point in the proceedings, but there was no evidence of domination or submission going on here. There were just two people having a very good time, as evidenced by the woman turning her head to grin at the camera and give a little wave.
“They look like they’re having fun,” Christine said.
“That’s exactly what I was hoping to see,” McCoy said, rubbing her arm gently. “If you’re not having fun, you’re not doing it right.”
The couple finished noisily, and crashed into each others’ arms, grinning at each other before kissing madly. McCoy pressed the button again, and the picture changed.
In another room, a large man sat on a plain wooden chair, a smaller, naked man stretched out over his lap. The smaller man had interlocked his fingers behind his head, and was visibly wincing as the larger man’s meaty hand came down in unrelenting smacks across his bare ass. McCoy flicked another switch and the audio feed came through.
The noise of flesh meeting flesh was loud, and each smack was followed by a little yelp of pain from the smaller man, who counted off each blow. Christine shifted on McCoy’s lap, a telltale moistness developing between her thighs. They watched as blow after blow descended onto the ass of the smaller man, who was now sobbing as each spank landed on flesh that was reddened and obviously sore.
“He’s crying,” she said, sounding somewhat inane to her ears.
“Well, it hurts,” McCoy said, smiling. “It depends on the kind of spanking you’re getting, of course. There’s a world of difference between a good girl spanking and a bad girl spanking.”
“Such as?” she questioned, wriggling on his lap to face him, genuinely confused.
“Sometimes you’ll want to be spanked,” he told her seriously. “The endorphins released by your brain by the spanking will give you an incredible high. You’ll drift off into some wonderfully subby headspace, and you won’t know right from up. It’ll hurt, but it’ll be the good kind of hurt that’ll help you get off.”
He paused there to let the mental images sink in, of her, naked and splayed over his lap, backside high in the air and bright pink.
“Sometimes, though, you won’t want to be spanked and I’ll do it anyway, because I want to spank you, or think you need it,” he cautioned, his voice firm. “That’s the kind of spanking he’s getting, that’s why his dom is making him count each one of the smacks he’s getting. The counting makes him focus on the next blow that’s coming, and stops him drifting off into his own head.”
On the screen, the spanking had stopped, and the sub was pulled into a big hug by his dom. His ruby-red backside wasn’t the only thing on display; the sub’s large erection stood proudly from his body.
“He seemed to like the bad boy spanking,” she said, amazed.
“Of course he did; he’s masochistic,” explained McCoy patiently. “Even though it hurts, he feels some kind of pleasure from the pain. I’d be very worried if he wasn’t showing some kind of excitement; if you’re not both getting off on this then you’re moving away from the realms of consensual play and into something a lot darker.”
“I’ve been doing some reading,” Christine said hesitantly.
“I bet you have,” McCoy said into her hair as he nuzzled at her ear. “What have you been reading”?
“Psychological journals, studies of psycho-sexual illnesses, that sort of thing,” she admitted. “Also a little bit of porn.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m really not sure what’s worse,” he grumbled. “You’re not strange for wanting what you want, Christine. You don’t want it because you were smacked as a child, or not smacked, or because you hate your daddy, or because you love him too much.”
She gasped at that, and smacked him across the arm. He caught her hand and said seriously,
“I’ll allow that because we haven’t decided or defined anything. But I’m warning you Christine, if we’re playing and you behave in a disrespectful way to me, you’ll be on the receiving end of a bad girl spanking before you could blink.”
She did blink at that, and her heart raced a little. The moisture between her thighs increased at both the tone of his voice and the threat implied by his words.
“You said when we’re playing,” she managed. He nodded, still holding her hand.
“There are some people out there that manage to live their whole lives in this kind of mindset,” he said, nodding at the screen when the naked sub was giving the fully clothed dom a very enthusiastic blow job. “And as tempting as that sounds, it’s just not a reality for me or for you. Not only am I not sure I could keep up the persona all the time, our jobs just don’t give us the flexibility that the lifestyle requires.”
He kissed her again, and all her nerve endings thrummed with pleasure.
“Plus, and most importantly, as much as you may like me taking control in bed, I know for a fact that there’s no way in hell you would tolerate me taking over every aspect of your life. What you wore. When you saw your friends. What you ate. What hobbies you had. How you wore your hair. It’s fun to play around with, but the minute I tried to take it too seriously you’d space me without a moment's hesitation.”
“I would do no such thing!” she protested, but the knowing smile on his face made her back down and admit that, yes, certain parts of his anatomy that he valued highly would be in danger if he tried to take over her life in that matter.
“But don’t think that I don’t know what you’ve been doing,” she said slyly. “All those meals where we just happened to be sitting at the same table? All those desserts that you couldn’t possibly eat yourself? All those movies where we just had to sit close together? Face it Len, you’re busted.”
“Guilty as charged,” admitted. “But did you like it?”
“Oh yes,” she said honestly. “But seriously, lay off the desserts. I’ll get fat.”
“Nonsense,” he said firmly. “There’s nothing wrong with your body, and a few pounds more would probably do you good. Besides, with all the sex we’re going to be having, any extra calories you consume will be burned off very quickly.”
She giggled, and tucked her head into his shoulder, her hands playing with the buttons on his shirt.
“Can we get to the sex part soon?” she asked hopefully.
“In a little while,” he replied firmly. “I want to see what turns you on first.”
Spanking, they decided after viewing some more of the feeds, was definitely something that she wanted to try. She winced a little as she saw some of the implements being used, but resigned herself to trying out a few of them when she heard his tiny intake of breath when one woman, strapped to a table, was on the receiving end of five cracks across the backside from the belt of another woman.
“I’m not having any of that,” McCoy said firmly as they watched one sub being shared between two doms. “Nobody else gets to even look at you naked, let alone touch you.”
She bit her lip when she saw one female sub get her nipples pinched, tugged, squeezed and clamped, and didn’t resist when McCoy started to play with hers through the fabric of her dress. She moaned throatily and writhed against his hardness, evident since they had first settled into the chair.
“Nipples, then,” said McCoy in a strained voice. “Check.”
They both watched in fascinated horror as a dom lovingly changed the diaper of her sub, dressed as a baby.
“No,” they both said in unison, and he changed the viewscreen feed.
Bondage was a must, they decided. Christine got wetter and wetter as she watched men and women get tied up with rope, chained to walls and restrained with magnetic cuffs over, under and around various interestingly shaped pieces of furniture. She felt McCoy’s interest peak when a woman, almost the same shade of blonde she was, had her wrists shackled to her ankles, forcing her to stand with her legs wide apart to keep her precarious balance as she was fucked very thoroughly and loudly by a female dom with an impressively long strap-on dildo.
She’d better take a few yoga classes, she decided.
McCoy liked it when the subs wore gags; Christine was turned on by the collars that some subs wore, and had to take a deep breath when one dom held his sub firmly by the throat as he fucked him. McCoy rested his palm gently against her throat and she moaned in pleasure and writhed against him.
“We’ll build up to that one,” he decided. She nodded, willing to go along with just about anything he said.
Exhibitions of anal sex clearly excited him; his grip on her nipples tightened, and he moved his hand up under her skirt for the first time. He didn’t bother to remove her panties, merely pulled them to one side and slid one finger into her slick opening, followed by another. She gasped at the intrusion and clutched at him as he shifted his hand to tease as her clit. He kept his attention firmly on the viewscreen, watching eagerly as a female sub keened and wailed as her ass was filled by her dom’s dick, but he did not stop the relentless stimulation of her either.
Her orgasm was sharp and unexpected, ripping through her body like a bolt of charged phaser fire and making her scream aloud. She collapsed into the support of his arms, but he didn’t stop manipulating her body until he had drawn another, longer orgasm from her followed by another quick one that was almost painful in its intensity.
She had long ago stopped caring about the images on the screen, focused entirely on her pleasure. But now, panting, sweaty, flushed and sticky, she was now all too aware of his controlled breathing and the hard length in his pants that was pressing insistently into her backside. She shyly slid her hand down until it wrapped around his length, and she began to stroke gently. His hand wrapped around hers, correcting her technique, and she quickly adjusted her style to suit his needs. He let her stroke him for a minute or two before he stilled her hand.
“I want your mouth,” he said directly into her ear, and she immediately slithered off his lap and onto the floor. She looked up at him from in between his knees, and the look of utter lust on his face as he stared down at her was intensely gratifying. It made her feel powerful, in control, although her position was the subordinate one. Another little block fell into place; she smiled as she quickly unfastened his pants and brought his length into her hand, then her mouth.
She was making this strong, dominating man gasp for breath, groan and throw back his head. One hand descended to her hair, gripping it firmly but not painfully. He moved her head, controlling her movements, his hips stuttering when she put her anatomical studies into full use. His other hand rested on her cheek, stroking it gently as it distended with the presence of his dick.
Christine brought all her skills into play, nibbling, sucking, using the very tip of her tongue to trace the delicate slit at the top of his dick. He would get lost in the sensations, then drag himself back from the edge to thrust deeper into her mouth. She could manage half his length comfortably, three quarters with some difficulty and the full length only when he tipped her head back and he thrust fiercely with his hips. She choked on his thickness and had to draw breath in quickly when he pulled out a little, only to have him thrust in again. It took him four of such thrusts to come to climax, which she did her very best to swallow. Despite her efforts, a combination of saliva and ejaculate escaped her mouth and rolled down her chin. He gripped her chin in his hand, and with slightly shaking fingers wiped the mess away, only to thrust the fingers back into her mouth again for her to lick clean.
“Every drop, Christine,” he said quietly.
The eagerness with which she complied surprised her.
He tucked himself away, then dragged her back up into his embrace. They sat there in silence, holding each other fiercely for what seemed like an age.
“That was...” Christine started, then trailed off, unable to continue.
“I know,” he replied, directly into her ear. “God only knows how I’m going to keep my hands off you in sickbay.”
“Just think about all the incredibly depraved things you’re going to do to me after the shift ends,” she chuckled.
“I’ll make a list,” he said seriously. “There are many things I want to do to you, Christine.”
Christine shivered in pleasure, and moved closer to him. She couldn’t wait.
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