NC-17, McCoy/Chapel, D/s Just What The Doctor Ordered
Title: Just What The Doctor Ordered
Author: trek_bdsm
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: McCoy/Chapel
Warnings: Consensual bondage, spanking, consensual sexual domination and submission, breathplay
Word count: 5300
Summary: Chapel takes a chance on knowing what McCoy needs.
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.
I still haven't written about how they got together, but this is set a few months after Good Girl.
She was beginning to learn the signs now, not just in herself but in him as well. Nine months in, and she was still so new to this side of herself that had been there since forever.
She knew when she needed the sting of his hand on her breasts and buttocks, or when only the cruel bite of the cane would please her. She knew when she couldn’t breathe without the heavy polymer over her mouth, muffling the screams and the moans. She knew when she needed to hear what a good little girl she was, and when she was his dirty little fucktoy. She knew when she wanted to let it all go and give it all up and put the diligent and caring Christine in a box for a few hours.
She was getting better at reading his signs now, about deciding when the tension lines on his forehead could be best smoothed away by handing him a glass of bourbon, or by handing him herself to play with. He would always watch her: as a superior monitoring a complicated procedure; as a friend cheering her on in inter-departmental softball matches; as a lover gazing into her eyes over candlelit meals. But sometimes he would watch her with a hunger in his eyes that could only be sated with her absolute submission to his desires.
She sometimes wondered how she had been so blind for so long, to miss the fire that burned in him.
”You have to see it in yourself before you can see it in others,” he had said, shrugging off her concern. “Don’t think about the past, Christine, just think about the future.”
The day was a routine one, in so much as this ship had a routine day. There were no perilous away missions, no dicing with death. The engines were behaving themselves, nobody had ingested any hallucinogens and the captain was buried firmly underneath a small mountain of paperwork that had just caught up to them via subspace communication. Yet there was something about her lover today, some steeliness to his eyes, the timbre of his voice, that told her something was not quite right. She felt his eyes on her continually, making judgements, assessing her, undressing her.
She knew what he needed.
She approached him first at the start of their lunch break, when he was tucked away in his private office. He did that, when the pressure got too much, when having her flit around sickbay in a mini-skirt got too much to bear. He had thrown her pants down the recycling shaft and told her firmly that while on-duty, she was only allowed to wear the mini-skirt.
”Wear what you damn well like on your own time, but when you’re following my orders, you’ll wear what I tell you to wear.”
He hadn’t shouted, or threatened. He didn’t have to. So strong was her reaction to his commanding tone, she would have agreed to wear a clown outfit, if he had desired it. It was a concession to the limitations placed on them by professionalism, she worked out later. As enticing as the thought of being taken roughly from behind over a biobed was, there was no way that either of them would dare to do it. When they wore their uniforms they forbade themselves any touch longer than it took to pass a hypospray or sign off on a PADD. Watching her bare legs as she worked was all that he’d allow himself.
It made her shiver sometimes, when she thought about how much he wanted her.
She found him hunched over some medical journals, making disgusted noises under his breath and writing notes in the margin of his PADD as he disagreed with the idiots who had got their latest crackpot ideas published. She shut the door behind her and engaged the privacy lock before walking over to him and kneeling quietly at the side of his desk.
He registered her immediately, she could tell, but he didn’t react until he had finished the page he was reading.
“You know that this isn’t the time or place,” he said severely. “It’s against the rules.”
“You’ll have to punish me then,” she said simply.
His hand descended into her hair and yanked her head back so she was looking him straight in the eye.
“You don’t get punished because you want to be,” he said. “You know that.”
She let out a little yelp, and his fist tightened perceptibly in her hair until she yelped again. He let go of her hair.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said meekly, looking down.
A minute passed before his hand returned to her hair, but this time far more gently. He stroked it, and guided her head until it rested against his thigh. He let out a small sigh, and relaxed slightly into his chair.
“I would like to give you something,” she said eventually. “Tonight, after our shift finishes.”
His fingers ran down the back of her head until they found her neck. He rested his large hand there, gently squeezing at the muscles he found. Christine could feel her panties begin to moisten immediately, his touch bringing about a Pavlovian reaction.
“We’ll eat first,” he said eventually.
“Of course,” she agreed. She had heard too many lectures about low blood sugar and dehydration causing injury during scenes to even think about suggesting that they play without taking all the proper precautions. There were times when she wished that he was a little more spontaneous sometimes, less concerned with risk. He always planned everything, down to the smallest detail. Then she would read up on some medical reports of people who had played without taking precautions, and she would remember why she loved him as she did.
He kept her kneeling there for another ten minutes as he slowly stroked her hair and neck, then he let her go to her lunch. She staggered away with a blissful smile on her face, her good mood open for all to see. She did grab a synthesised sandwich on a flying visit to the galley, but she had other things to do.
Holodecks had been installed during their last series of upgrades, and they were the latest craze among the crew. The programming was still in its beta testing phase, and the decks themselves were still somewhat limited, but the engineers were in raptures over the potential the technology held. The holodeck could manage a good facsimile of a static environment, and that was all she required. Luckily the yeoman in charge of booking time slots owed her a favour after a potentially embarrassing sexual misadventure failed to find its way onto an incident report, and he gave her a prime time slot. He didn’t bat an eyelash when she requested a simulation of the Chief Medical Officer’s private office, merely noted that the Captain’s Ready Room was a more popular choice of venue. She smiled and made a note to request it for their next session.
There was just enough time to get back to her cabin and pack a bag of supplies she thought he might need, then she was due back on duty. McCoy spent the rest of the shift unobtrusively watching her as he ran through patient charts with each of his subordinate doctors. If she bent over more often than usual, or thrust her chest and backside out a little further than usual, she blamed it on his presence and the promise of their night ahead.
The shift ended and they joined the rest of the crowd of newly-freed crewmen for a meal in the large mess hall. Their conversation was innocuous, the usual chit-chat of an established couple, but he was already beginning to assume his role as the dominant partner. She deferred to his choice of meal, his choice of table, his choice of conversation. It gave her a thrill to be playing this game in full sight, and she could tell that he wasn’t unaffected by it either.
“Where now?” he said as they left the mess hall. “What do you have planned for me?”
“The holodecks,” she replied. “For a game.”
“Are there rules?” he asked, taking the bag of supplies from her and holding her wrist with his strong hand.
“Only the ones you decide,” she replied, enjoying the sensation of his fingers on his pulse.
He held her hand often in public, but only gripped her by the wrist when they were enjoying themselves privately. To do so here in the middle of the corridor felt illicit and dangerous.
He nodded, clearly approving of her submission.
They arrived at the doors to the holodeck and she paused.
“You go in first,” she said. “Get yourself settled. I’ve outlined the details on a PADD, but comm me if you want to talk before we start. Otherwise I’ll join you in five minutes.”
“Tell me your words,” he said without moving towards the doors.
“Yellow if I want to slow things down,” she parroted dutifully. “Red to stop completely.”
“Tell me the rules,” he continued, his face stern.
“You make the rules,” she said impatiently. “You won’t stop if I cry, you won’t stop if I say no, you won’t stop unless I safeword. “
He nodded, let go of her wrist, kissed her briefly and stepped into the doorway. The doors closed behind him, but not before she discerned a bark of laughter as he recognised the scenario. She waited the agreed five minutes, but he obviously didn’t need any explanation as to what she wanted to happen. She just prayed that she had read him right and that this was what he wanted as well.
The door to the CMO’s office loomed large in front of her. Christine gazed at it fearfully. She knew that she was in a lot of trouble with Doctor McCoy, who had to be the scariest man she’d ever met, as well as the sexiest. If she didn’t get in the office soon, she’d be in even more trouble, but she just couldn’t help herself. She was scared.
Eventually, she raised her hand and knocked timidly at the door. He yelled at her to enter and she flinched before nervously stepping into his private office. The doors slid shut behind her and fastened themselves with a thud of finality. She stood before his desk, but he ignored her, leaving her to stand there, knees trembling, for a good five minutes before he deigned to finish whatever he was doing with his PADD.
“Sir, I...” she began, but was cut off almost immediately.
“Shut up. In this room you’ll speak only when spoken to. Do you understand?” His voice was rich and deep, and his tone was positively commanding. She must be in a lot of trouble to warrant this treatment.
“Yes, sir, I understand,” she stammered out.
“You’ve been summoned here because of your latest performance evaluation,” he said, skimming the PADD across the large desk towards her. She said nothing, as per his orders.
“Frankly, Ensign Chapel, your work just isn’t up to the standards that the Enterprise expects of its crew.”
She gave a little gasp at that, but immediately hushed herself. Tears started to form in her eyes.
“You’re constantly late to duty, and you gossip more than you care for the patients. You cut corners wherever you can, and don’t think I don’t know about what you and Technician D’Vel get up to in the stock room when you think that nobody’s looking.”
Chapel flushed bright red at that, embarrassed at the thought of McCoy watching her and D’Vel go at it in the stock room among spare hyposprays and secondary dermal regenerators.
“So,” he concluded, steepling his fingers together, “I know that you have aspirations to be Head Nurse someday, but frankly Chapel, it won’t be here. I really have no other option other than to recommend that you’re reassigned to a ship of lesser importance. One of the cargo transports, perhaps, or a prison vessel. Would you like that, Chapel, tending to the needs of a hundred lonely men?”
His mouth curved up in a cruel smile. “You have permission to speak,” he told her.
“No sir, please, don’t reassign me,” she begged, tears starting to trickle down her face. “I love it here on the Enterprise, it’s become like home to me.”
McCoy shrugged his shoulders. “That’s neither here nor there,” he told her dismissively.
“What you want is no longer an option, nurse.”
The tears were falling down her face quite openly now.
“Please,” she begged again. “Please, sir, give me another chance. I’ll do anything to stay, I really would.”
McCoy stared at her levelly. “If I were to rewrite parts of your evaluation,” he said eventually, “it would be possible for you to stay on board, on some kind of probationary scheme.”
She stopped crying, and looked at him hopefully.
“However,” he continued, “it would be remiss of me as your commanding officer not to punish you for your lack at attention to duty and flagrant flouting of Starfleet regulations.”
She nodded, willing to put up with any punishment McCoy would give her if it meant staying on board the ship. It would mean extra duty shifts, probably, or doing the scut work nobody else wanted to do.
“You agree to be punished, then? At my discretion, for the period of time that I feel is appropriate?” He questioned her sharply, his eyes narrowing as he stared directly into her eyes. “You have my permission to speak.”
“Oh yes, sir.” Her answer was immediate. He smiled again, only this time it was more predatory. He stood up, and once again she was rocked with a wave of desire as she noticed his strong chest, his long legs, his wide shoulders. He walked around her in a small circle, looking her up and down.
“Strip,” he said eventually.
Christine blinked. “P..p..pardon?” she asked, but was immediately silenced as he grabbed her throat in one of his powerful hands and squeezed it.
“I didn’t say you could speak,” he hissed. “Strip. Take off your boots, and that little dress you love so much. Put them on the chair over there.”
He let go of her and returned to his chair. She swallowed heavily, fighting down the mixture of fear and arousal the hand tightening around her throat had stirred up in her belly. This was to be her punishment? A small part of her brain reminded her of how awful sanitising bed pans was, and how she hated sorting and folding the sterilised laundry. Another part told her how badly she had performed, and how she’d hate treating lecherous criminals.
She swallowed heavily, and unzipped her boots. After removing them she pulled off her uniform dress and folded it into a square before placing her clothing as instructed on the chair. She returned to the space in front of his desk as ordered. He took a long time looking at her there in her bra and panties before he said,
“You’re in non-regulation clothing, Ensign. That’s going to add to your punishment. Unhook your bra and bring it here.”
Shaking more than ever, she found the clasp at the back of the red bra and unfastened it. She slid the straps down over her shoulders and gingerly removed it completely. He took a deep breath as she picked her way around the desk and held it out to him.
“Turn around,” he commanded and she did so. Before she could blink, he had grabbed her wrists behind her back and used the red bra to bind them together. She pulled at the material, but it didn’t budge a centimetre. He grabbed her by the hips and spun her around so that she faced him as he sat in his big, comfortable chair.
“Your punishment starts now,” he told her, tugging her down so she had no choice but to lay over his firm thighs. She hastily swallowed a yelp of surprise, and she kept silent as he manhandled her into a position that was convenient for him. His cool fingers tugged at the elastic of her underwear, and she felt him roll them down so they came just below her thighs, exposing her bare backside to his scrutiny.
She thought she knew what to expect, but the sting from the blows to her backside was much harsher than she thought it would be. She’d never been spanked as a child, and not one of her lovers had ever given her so much as a love tap. This was a completely new experience.
There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to how his blows fell. Sometimes he would alternate slaps between her cheeks, in a steady left-right rhythm. Sometimes he would aim for the curvature of her buttocks, catching her deftly on the sensitive skin there. He would occasionally venture down to the fleshier parts of her thighs, making sure to make the pale skin there glow pink with heat. Each blow landed with precision, and they built up from tolerable in intensity to extremely painful.
She wriggled and writhed as each blow fell, but that only seemed to increase his speed and force. When she tried to keep herself still, the blows lessened in intensity. She started to cry almost immediately, the sobs becoming real howls of pain when he really put some effort into his blows.
He didn’t speak during the spanking, merely grunted with the effort of keeping her still and the blows coming. When she kept herself still, he let his free hand wander. Sometimes he held her throat, and laughed when she couldn’t help but moan a little. Sometimes his hand would slip lower and grab at her exposed breasts, pulling and plucking at her nipples. Squealing “No!” and “Stop!” only made him pinch harder, so she soon learned to shut up and just sob out her pain instead.
Eventually the blows slowed down, and eventually ceased altogether. She remained sprawled over his thighs, and he stroked her back gently as she finished sobbing. His other hand rested gently on her well-spanked backside, and she flinched as she felt a finger rub along the crack of her ass and disappear further downwards.
He thrust the finger deep inside her, and her cheeks flushed almost as red as her backside when he gave a low whistle and slipped another long finger inside her slick channel.
“What a little pain-slut you are, Chapel,” he murmured softly, thrusting his fingers in and out of her remorselessly. Against her will she squeezed her thighs together and rubbed against the dark material of his uniform pants.
“Oh no,” he said, laughing, as he grabbed her by the hair and jerked her upright. “This is a punishment. You don’t get to come.”
He pulled her red panties all the way off and threw them carelessly away. He stood up, put his hands on her hips and lifted her so that she sat on the coolness of his desk. She screamed at the contrast between her heated flesh and the coldness of the moulded plastic, and the pain that sitting on such a well-spanked backside caused her.
“Hush,” said McCoy disapprovingly. “If you’re going to scream about an itty bitty spanking like that, then you’ll have nothing left for the rest of my plans for you.”
He opened a draw of the desk and pulled out two pieces of shiny silver metal. Before Chapel could really process what was going on, he had grabbed one of her nipples, tugged on it to stretch it a little, then clamped it firmly with the small clamp in his hand. He repeated his action with the other, and Chapel let out a real scream. He flicked the clamps, and she screamed again, tears coming streaming down her face as the dull ache in her nipples peaked with a spike of lightning.
He played with her breasts for a while, grabbing them and kneading them, tugging on the shiny silver clamps. She was caught in a riptide of pleasure and pain, never descending too long into one before a wash of the other would take her unawares. She squirmed and writhed under his rough touch, but her thoroughly spanked behind complained when she moved too much. Her breath came in great, tear-wracked sobs and her focus narrowed completely to focus on pleasing the man in front of her.
He stepped away from her eventually and sat back in his chair, the massive erection in his pants causing a serious disturbance to the smooth lines of his uniform. Her gaze couldn’t help but wander to it, and she brought her eyes back up to his with a shocked glance.
“You see what you’ve done now?” he asked coldly. “Stupid little slut. I can’t go into a senior staff meeting like this. Get down here and do something about it.”
Grimacing she wriggled off the desk and immediately sank to the floor. Her legs were like jello, and she ended up shuffling towards him on her knees. He spread his legs, and beckoned for her to come further forward. She crawled forwards until her mouth was directly in front of his crotch. He leaned back, hands behind his head. Clearly, he wasn’t even going to unfasten his pants for her.
She rooted about blindly in the dark fabric with her lips, searching for the concealed zipper. He let out a grunt of pleasure as she rubbed her face over his erection, and he hissed when she finally found what she was looking for. She tugged gently, and he was magnanimous enough to shift his hips slightly so she could free his engorged cock.
Christine blinked. He was certainly a very impressive size, both long and thick. His cock was hot and red, standing proudly to attention.
“Get on with it,” he snapped. “It isn’t going to suck itself.”
She began by sucking just the tip of it into her mouth, working her lips over his uncircumcised head. When she flicked the tip of her tongue into the slit he let out a long breath and gripped the arms of his chair tightly. She did it a few more times, before taking a deep breath and allowing a few more inches to slide into her mouth. She bobbed her head up and down a few times, applying suction with each upwards movement.
“Faster,” he ground out from above her.
She tried to move faster on him, but she found it hard to get good purchase on his length and thickness at the awkward angle she was working at. He kept popping loose from her mouth and smacking her in the cheek, leaving a shiny trail of spit and pre-cum to trickle down her face.
“God, Chapel, you can’t even suck cock right,” he muttered. He fumbled in one of the drawers of his desk until he came up with a simple hair tie. He roughly yanked her hair back into a sloppy ponytail, and fastened it with the tie. He grabbed the pony tail firmly, and used it to jerk her head up and down on his cock.
Christine’s eyes widened as she was forced to open her throat to accommodate more of the thick length. He bounced her head up and down on his cock merrily for a few minutes, enjoying her muted squeals and gasps for breath. Then he forced the full length of himself down her throat, holding her head still so she couldn’t try to reject him. She thrashed about slightly, desperate for air and he released her. She had enough time to gulp a quick breath before she found herself nose-deep in his pubic hair once again.
Christine squirmed as she felt her wetness begin to trickle down the inside of her thighs. The movement didn’t escape him, and he laughed harshly as he thrust himself down her throat again and again.
“You are a little slut,” he marvelled as she groaned and whimpered, thrusting her clamped breasts forward to rub against his clothed legs, desperate for any stimulation she could receive. Her fingers flexed and curled behind her, desperate to reach her dripping cunt and rub at her pleasure centre.
“Up,” he ordered, still clutching firmly to her hair. She pulled herself to her feet, but was grateful for the strong arm that curled around her waist and supported her weight. He turned her around and draped her over his desk. She whimpered as her clamped breasts pushed into the cool plastic, and repeated the noise when his booted foot insinuated its way between hers and kicked her legs apart.
She felt his thick length, well moistened by her mouth and throat, hit the crack of her ass with a meaty thud. She tensed as the head poked briefly at her asshole, but let out a sigh of relief when it dipped further along the curve of her ass.
“Interesting,” McCoy said without emotion, and then slapped her reddened cheeks suddenly and without warning. She screamed again, and, embarrassingly, flooded with wetness.
“If I decide to fuck you in the ass, then that’s where you’re going to get fucked,” he said coldly. “Every time you flinch you get another smack, and I may not be kind enough to use my hand next time.”
His hands settled on her hips and hitched them up enough for his cock to find her wetness and push its way inside her. He didn’t give her much time to accommodate his size, merely paused for a second before starting a punishing pace. He held onto her hips firmly, trapping her in position against the cool table.
Christine could feel the pleasure build up in waves, each thrust of McCoy’s powerful body causing her muscles surrounding him to tense and clench. He was panting hard now, and running his large hands up and down the sides of her body. He slipped one arm over her ribcage and pulled her upwards and back towards his chest, changing the angle of his penetration so she screamed again with the sensation. His free hand skated over her left breast. He cupped her tightly for a moment, then without warning released the clamp on her nipple. She felt a momentary feeling of relief before the awful sensation of returning blood flow hit her body hard. She was still in the middle of screaming about the left nipple when he released her right, and the answering slash of pain across her breasts made her buck, twist and writhe under and around him.
It was too much for him, and he barely had time to shift his hand down to her clit before his orgasm broke. He threw his head back and howled his release, pumping hard into her. She bucked against his hand eagerly and came with a roar of her own.
He slumped down over her for a minute or two, before pulling himself up and out. She moaned at the loss of him, and he shushed her by pulling her into his lap as he sat in his chair. He kissed her deeply and thoroughly, using his thumb to wipe the tear-tracks from her face. He undid the hasty ponytail, and pushed tendrils of hair back from her face, where the sweat and the tears had caused it to stick. They kissed for an age, and his hands roamed gently over her naked body, assessing any damage he had caused. He finger-fucked her gently, rubbing carefully with the pad of his thumb at her swollen clit. He was able to coax two more orgasms from her pliable body before he removed his fingers, coated with their joint release, for her to lick clean. He repeated the action until his desire to surround her and be inside her simultaneously was somewhat sated.
She was still lost inside her own headspace, so he waited patiently while she snuggled deeper into his embrace. He whispered into her ear, words of praise and encouragement, of love and devotion. He was so lucky to have her, he told her. Such a good girl. She stirred at that, and smiled, so he repeated it again and again.
She came up a while late. He could tell immediately by the way that the dreaminess left her beautiful brown eyes, and clarity returned. He reached behind her and untwisted the fabric of her bra so her hands were free.
“Ow,” she told him sternly, poking him in the shoulder with a firm finger. “You set those clamps to a firmer setting than usual.”
“Guilty as charged,” he said, smiling.
“Sadist,” she said grumpily, settling back into his arms.
“Masochist,” he teased, eying her abused nipples. The clamps were padded, so there was no harm to the skin, but they were going to ache for a long time.
“Not that much of a masochist,” she shot back. “I prepared some analgesics. Give me one, please.”
He opened the desk draw, and pulled out three that she had made up.
“Which one?” he asked seriously. He trusted her to manage her own level of pain relief. She looked thoughtfully at the selection, and then selected the middle-level dose. He raised an eyebrow.
“Not the heaviest one?” he said mildly as he applied the hypospray gently to her neck. She shook her head.
“I just want to take the edge off,” she explained. “I like feeling the effects.”
“I like looking at the effects,” he said, nuzzling her heck. “Your ass is going to be all sorts of colors tomorrow.”
“You can keep two bruises,” she told him generously. “You can heal the rest.”
“Thank you,” he said gravely, struck again by just how lucky he was that this...goddess allowed him to worship her in this way.
“This was...what you wanted?” she asked hesitantly. “I know I don’t always get the signals right.”
He kissed her again, hard and long, and she melted beneath him in a deliciously gratifying way.
“It was perfect,” he said fiercely. “I know we said not at work, Christine, and I know why we said it, but sometimes this, this hunger just burns up inside me and it kills me that I can’t just drag you off somewhere and fuck you until you’re screaming.”
“You drag me off and lift up my skirt to see my panties,” she said with a smile.
“And that’s all I get to do,” he grumbled. “This...” he trailed off and waved a hand around at the still-running simulation. “This was perfect. I’m grateful that Ensign Chapel was such a bad girl that the big scary CMO had to punish her.”
Christine sighed sadly. “And the worst thing about it is that she still hasn’t learnt her lesson,” she said, rubbing gently at the shell of his ear. He shivered under her touch and gripped her tightly. “I get the feeling that she may have to come back for another performance evaluation.”
It was McCoy’s turn to sigh. “The CMO hates those evaluations,” he said with regret. “His hand always stings so much after them, he may just have to get his trusty paddle out. Or his belt.”
She shivered deliciously, and he kissed her again.
“Come on,” he said firmly. “I want to get you back home so I can give you a proper check-up. Can you walk?”
“Yes,” she said exasperatedly. “I’m not made of china.”
All the same, he kept a firm arm around her waist on the way back to her quarters, and she let him.
counter
Author: trek_bdsm
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: McCoy/Chapel
Warnings: Consensual bondage, spanking, consensual sexual domination and submission, breathplay
Word count: 5300
Summary: Chapel takes a chance on knowing what McCoy needs.
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.
I still haven't written about how they got together, but this is set a few months after Good Girl.
She was beginning to learn the signs now, not just in herself but in him as well. Nine months in, and she was still so new to this side of herself that had been there since forever.
She knew when she needed the sting of his hand on her breasts and buttocks, or when only the cruel bite of the cane would please her. She knew when she couldn’t breathe without the heavy polymer over her mouth, muffling the screams and the moans. She knew when she needed to hear what a good little girl she was, and when she was his dirty little fucktoy. She knew when she wanted to let it all go and give it all up and put the diligent and caring Christine in a box for a few hours.
She was getting better at reading his signs now, about deciding when the tension lines on his forehead could be best smoothed away by handing him a glass of bourbon, or by handing him herself to play with. He would always watch her: as a superior monitoring a complicated procedure; as a friend cheering her on in inter-departmental softball matches; as a lover gazing into her eyes over candlelit meals. But sometimes he would watch her with a hunger in his eyes that could only be sated with her absolute submission to his desires.
She sometimes wondered how she had been so blind for so long, to miss the fire that burned in him.
”You have to see it in yourself before you can see it in others,” he had said, shrugging off her concern. “Don’t think about the past, Christine, just think about the future.”
The day was a routine one, in so much as this ship had a routine day. There were no perilous away missions, no dicing with death. The engines were behaving themselves, nobody had ingested any hallucinogens and the captain was buried firmly underneath a small mountain of paperwork that had just caught up to them via subspace communication. Yet there was something about her lover today, some steeliness to his eyes, the timbre of his voice, that told her something was not quite right. She felt his eyes on her continually, making judgements, assessing her, undressing her.
She knew what he needed.
She approached him first at the start of their lunch break, when he was tucked away in his private office. He did that, when the pressure got too much, when having her flit around sickbay in a mini-skirt got too much to bear. He had thrown her pants down the recycling shaft and told her firmly that while on-duty, she was only allowed to wear the mini-skirt.
”Wear what you damn well like on your own time, but when you’re following my orders, you’ll wear what I tell you to wear.”
He hadn’t shouted, or threatened. He didn’t have to. So strong was her reaction to his commanding tone, she would have agreed to wear a clown outfit, if he had desired it. It was a concession to the limitations placed on them by professionalism, she worked out later. As enticing as the thought of being taken roughly from behind over a biobed was, there was no way that either of them would dare to do it. When they wore their uniforms they forbade themselves any touch longer than it took to pass a hypospray or sign off on a PADD. Watching her bare legs as she worked was all that he’d allow himself.
It made her shiver sometimes, when she thought about how much he wanted her.
She found him hunched over some medical journals, making disgusted noises under his breath and writing notes in the margin of his PADD as he disagreed with the idiots who had got their latest crackpot ideas published. She shut the door behind her and engaged the privacy lock before walking over to him and kneeling quietly at the side of his desk.
He registered her immediately, she could tell, but he didn’t react until he had finished the page he was reading.
“You know that this isn’t the time or place,” he said severely. “It’s against the rules.”
“You’ll have to punish me then,” she said simply.
His hand descended into her hair and yanked her head back so she was looking him straight in the eye.
“You don’t get punished because you want to be,” he said. “You know that.”
She let out a little yelp, and his fist tightened perceptibly in her hair until she yelped again. He let go of her hair.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said meekly, looking down.
A minute passed before his hand returned to her hair, but this time far more gently. He stroked it, and guided her head until it rested against his thigh. He let out a small sigh, and relaxed slightly into his chair.
“I would like to give you something,” she said eventually. “Tonight, after our shift finishes.”
His fingers ran down the back of her head until they found her neck. He rested his large hand there, gently squeezing at the muscles he found. Christine could feel her panties begin to moisten immediately, his touch bringing about a Pavlovian reaction.
“We’ll eat first,” he said eventually.
“Of course,” she agreed. She had heard too many lectures about low blood sugar and dehydration causing injury during scenes to even think about suggesting that they play without taking all the proper precautions. There were times when she wished that he was a little more spontaneous sometimes, less concerned with risk. He always planned everything, down to the smallest detail. Then she would read up on some medical reports of people who had played without taking precautions, and she would remember why she loved him as she did.
He kept her kneeling there for another ten minutes as he slowly stroked her hair and neck, then he let her go to her lunch. She staggered away with a blissful smile on her face, her good mood open for all to see. She did grab a synthesised sandwich on a flying visit to the galley, but she had other things to do.
Holodecks had been installed during their last series of upgrades, and they were the latest craze among the crew. The programming was still in its beta testing phase, and the decks themselves were still somewhat limited, but the engineers were in raptures over the potential the technology held. The holodeck could manage a good facsimile of a static environment, and that was all she required. Luckily the yeoman in charge of booking time slots owed her a favour after a potentially embarrassing sexual misadventure failed to find its way onto an incident report, and he gave her a prime time slot. He didn’t bat an eyelash when she requested a simulation of the Chief Medical Officer’s private office, merely noted that the Captain’s Ready Room was a more popular choice of venue. She smiled and made a note to request it for their next session.
There was just enough time to get back to her cabin and pack a bag of supplies she thought he might need, then she was due back on duty. McCoy spent the rest of the shift unobtrusively watching her as he ran through patient charts with each of his subordinate doctors. If she bent over more often than usual, or thrust her chest and backside out a little further than usual, she blamed it on his presence and the promise of their night ahead.
The shift ended and they joined the rest of the crowd of newly-freed crewmen for a meal in the large mess hall. Their conversation was innocuous, the usual chit-chat of an established couple, but he was already beginning to assume his role as the dominant partner. She deferred to his choice of meal, his choice of table, his choice of conversation. It gave her a thrill to be playing this game in full sight, and she could tell that he wasn’t unaffected by it either.
“Where now?” he said as they left the mess hall. “What do you have planned for me?”
“The holodecks,” she replied. “For a game.”
“Are there rules?” he asked, taking the bag of supplies from her and holding her wrist with his strong hand.
“Only the ones you decide,” she replied, enjoying the sensation of his fingers on his pulse.
He held her hand often in public, but only gripped her by the wrist when they were enjoying themselves privately. To do so here in the middle of the corridor felt illicit and dangerous.
He nodded, clearly approving of her submission.
They arrived at the doors to the holodeck and she paused.
“You go in first,” she said. “Get yourself settled. I’ve outlined the details on a PADD, but comm me if you want to talk before we start. Otherwise I’ll join you in five minutes.”
“Tell me your words,” he said without moving towards the doors.
“Yellow if I want to slow things down,” she parroted dutifully. “Red to stop completely.”
“Tell me the rules,” he continued, his face stern.
“You make the rules,” she said impatiently. “You won’t stop if I cry, you won’t stop if I say no, you won’t stop unless I safeword. “
He nodded, let go of her wrist, kissed her briefly and stepped into the doorway. The doors closed behind him, but not before she discerned a bark of laughter as he recognised the scenario. She waited the agreed five minutes, but he obviously didn’t need any explanation as to what she wanted to happen. She just prayed that she had read him right and that this was what he wanted as well.
The door to the CMO’s office loomed large in front of her. Christine gazed at it fearfully. She knew that she was in a lot of trouble with Doctor McCoy, who had to be the scariest man she’d ever met, as well as the sexiest. If she didn’t get in the office soon, she’d be in even more trouble, but she just couldn’t help herself. She was scared.
Eventually, she raised her hand and knocked timidly at the door. He yelled at her to enter and she flinched before nervously stepping into his private office. The doors slid shut behind her and fastened themselves with a thud of finality. She stood before his desk, but he ignored her, leaving her to stand there, knees trembling, for a good five minutes before he deigned to finish whatever he was doing with his PADD.
“Sir, I...” she began, but was cut off almost immediately.
“Shut up. In this room you’ll speak only when spoken to. Do you understand?” His voice was rich and deep, and his tone was positively commanding. She must be in a lot of trouble to warrant this treatment.
“Yes, sir, I understand,” she stammered out.
“You’ve been summoned here because of your latest performance evaluation,” he said, skimming the PADD across the large desk towards her. She said nothing, as per his orders.
“Frankly, Ensign Chapel, your work just isn’t up to the standards that the Enterprise expects of its crew.”
She gave a little gasp at that, but immediately hushed herself. Tears started to form in her eyes.
“You’re constantly late to duty, and you gossip more than you care for the patients. You cut corners wherever you can, and don’t think I don’t know about what you and Technician D’Vel get up to in the stock room when you think that nobody’s looking.”
Chapel flushed bright red at that, embarrassed at the thought of McCoy watching her and D’Vel go at it in the stock room among spare hyposprays and secondary dermal regenerators.
“So,” he concluded, steepling his fingers together, “I know that you have aspirations to be Head Nurse someday, but frankly Chapel, it won’t be here. I really have no other option other than to recommend that you’re reassigned to a ship of lesser importance. One of the cargo transports, perhaps, or a prison vessel. Would you like that, Chapel, tending to the needs of a hundred lonely men?”
His mouth curved up in a cruel smile. “You have permission to speak,” he told her.
“No sir, please, don’t reassign me,” she begged, tears starting to trickle down her face. “I love it here on the Enterprise, it’s become like home to me.”
McCoy shrugged his shoulders. “That’s neither here nor there,” he told her dismissively.
“What you want is no longer an option, nurse.”
The tears were falling down her face quite openly now.
“Please,” she begged again. “Please, sir, give me another chance. I’ll do anything to stay, I really would.”
McCoy stared at her levelly. “If I were to rewrite parts of your evaluation,” he said eventually, “it would be possible for you to stay on board, on some kind of probationary scheme.”
She stopped crying, and looked at him hopefully.
“However,” he continued, “it would be remiss of me as your commanding officer not to punish you for your lack at attention to duty and flagrant flouting of Starfleet regulations.”
She nodded, willing to put up with any punishment McCoy would give her if it meant staying on board the ship. It would mean extra duty shifts, probably, or doing the scut work nobody else wanted to do.
“You agree to be punished, then? At my discretion, for the period of time that I feel is appropriate?” He questioned her sharply, his eyes narrowing as he stared directly into her eyes. “You have my permission to speak.”
“Oh yes, sir.” Her answer was immediate. He smiled again, only this time it was more predatory. He stood up, and once again she was rocked with a wave of desire as she noticed his strong chest, his long legs, his wide shoulders. He walked around her in a small circle, looking her up and down.
“Strip,” he said eventually.
Christine blinked. “P..p..pardon?” she asked, but was immediately silenced as he grabbed her throat in one of his powerful hands and squeezed it.
“I didn’t say you could speak,” he hissed. “Strip. Take off your boots, and that little dress you love so much. Put them on the chair over there.”
He let go of her and returned to his chair. She swallowed heavily, fighting down the mixture of fear and arousal the hand tightening around her throat had stirred up in her belly. This was to be her punishment? A small part of her brain reminded her of how awful sanitising bed pans was, and how she hated sorting and folding the sterilised laundry. Another part told her how badly she had performed, and how she’d hate treating lecherous criminals.
She swallowed heavily, and unzipped her boots. After removing them she pulled off her uniform dress and folded it into a square before placing her clothing as instructed on the chair. She returned to the space in front of his desk as ordered. He took a long time looking at her there in her bra and panties before he said,
“You’re in non-regulation clothing, Ensign. That’s going to add to your punishment. Unhook your bra and bring it here.”
Shaking more than ever, she found the clasp at the back of the red bra and unfastened it. She slid the straps down over her shoulders and gingerly removed it completely. He took a deep breath as she picked her way around the desk and held it out to him.
“Turn around,” he commanded and she did so. Before she could blink, he had grabbed her wrists behind her back and used the red bra to bind them together. She pulled at the material, but it didn’t budge a centimetre. He grabbed her by the hips and spun her around so that she faced him as he sat in his big, comfortable chair.
“Your punishment starts now,” he told her, tugging her down so she had no choice but to lay over his firm thighs. She hastily swallowed a yelp of surprise, and she kept silent as he manhandled her into a position that was convenient for him. His cool fingers tugged at the elastic of her underwear, and she felt him roll them down so they came just below her thighs, exposing her bare backside to his scrutiny.
She thought she knew what to expect, but the sting from the blows to her backside was much harsher than she thought it would be. She’d never been spanked as a child, and not one of her lovers had ever given her so much as a love tap. This was a completely new experience.
There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to how his blows fell. Sometimes he would alternate slaps between her cheeks, in a steady left-right rhythm. Sometimes he would aim for the curvature of her buttocks, catching her deftly on the sensitive skin there. He would occasionally venture down to the fleshier parts of her thighs, making sure to make the pale skin there glow pink with heat. Each blow landed with precision, and they built up from tolerable in intensity to extremely painful.
She wriggled and writhed as each blow fell, but that only seemed to increase his speed and force. When she tried to keep herself still, the blows lessened in intensity. She started to cry almost immediately, the sobs becoming real howls of pain when he really put some effort into his blows.
He didn’t speak during the spanking, merely grunted with the effort of keeping her still and the blows coming. When she kept herself still, he let his free hand wander. Sometimes he held her throat, and laughed when she couldn’t help but moan a little. Sometimes his hand would slip lower and grab at her exposed breasts, pulling and plucking at her nipples. Squealing “No!” and “Stop!” only made him pinch harder, so she soon learned to shut up and just sob out her pain instead.
Eventually the blows slowed down, and eventually ceased altogether. She remained sprawled over his thighs, and he stroked her back gently as she finished sobbing. His other hand rested gently on her well-spanked backside, and she flinched as she felt a finger rub along the crack of her ass and disappear further downwards.
He thrust the finger deep inside her, and her cheeks flushed almost as red as her backside when he gave a low whistle and slipped another long finger inside her slick channel.
“What a little pain-slut you are, Chapel,” he murmured softly, thrusting his fingers in and out of her remorselessly. Against her will she squeezed her thighs together and rubbed against the dark material of his uniform pants.
“Oh no,” he said, laughing, as he grabbed her by the hair and jerked her upright. “This is a punishment. You don’t get to come.”
He pulled her red panties all the way off and threw them carelessly away. He stood up, put his hands on her hips and lifted her so that she sat on the coolness of his desk. She screamed at the contrast between her heated flesh and the coldness of the moulded plastic, and the pain that sitting on such a well-spanked backside caused her.
“Hush,” said McCoy disapprovingly. “If you’re going to scream about an itty bitty spanking like that, then you’ll have nothing left for the rest of my plans for you.”
He opened a draw of the desk and pulled out two pieces of shiny silver metal. Before Chapel could really process what was going on, he had grabbed one of her nipples, tugged on it to stretch it a little, then clamped it firmly with the small clamp in his hand. He repeated his action with the other, and Chapel let out a real scream. He flicked the clamps, and she screamed again, tears coming streaming down her face as the dull ache in her nipples peaked with a spike of lightning.
He played with her breasts for a while, grabbing them and kneading them, tugging on the shiny silver clamps. She was caught in a riptide of pleasure and pain, never descending too long into one before a wash of the other would take her unawares. She squirmed and writhed under his rough touch, but her thoroughly spanked behind complained when she moved too much. Her breath came in great, tear-wracked sobs and her focus narrowed completely to focus on pleasing the man in front of her.
He stepped away from her eventually and sat back in his chair, the massive erection in his pants causing a serious disturbance to the smooth lines of his uniform. Her gaze couldn’t help but wander to it, and she brought her eyes back up to his with a shocked glance.
“You see what you’ve done now?” he asked coldly. “Stupid little slut. I can’t go into a senior staff meeting like this. Get down here and do something about it.”
Grimacing she wriggled off the desk and immediately sank to the floor. Her legs were like jello, and she ended up shuffling towards him on her knees. He spread his legs, and beckoned for her to come further forward. She crawled forwards until her mouth was directly in front of his crotch. He leaned back, hands behind his head. Clearly, he wasn’t even going to unfasten his pants for her.
She rooted about blindly in the dark fabric with her lips, searching for the concealed zipper. He let out a grunt of pleasure as she rubbed her face over his erection, and he hissed when she finally found what she was looking for. She tugged gently, and he was magnanimous enough to shift his hips slightly so she could free his engorged cock.
Christine blinked. He was certainly a very impressive size, both long and thick. His cock was hot and red, standing proudly to attention.
“Get on with it,” he snapped. “It isn’t going to suck itself.”
She began by sucking just the tip of it into her mouth, working her lips over his uncircumcised head. When she flicked the tip of her tongue into the slit he let out a long breath and gripped the arms of his chair tightly. She did it a few more times, before taking a deep breath and allowing a few more inches to slide into her mouth. She bobbed her head up and down a few times, applying suction with each upwards movement.
“Faster,” he ground out from above her.
She tried to move faster on him, but she found it hard to get good purchase on his length and thickness at the awkward angle she was working at. He kept popping loose from her mouth and smacking her in the cheek, leaving a shiny trail of spit and pre-cum to trickle down her face.
“God, Chapel, you can’t even suck cock right,” he muttered. He fumbled in one of the drawers of his desk until he came up with a simple hair tie. He roughly yanked her hair back into a sloppy ponytail, and fastened it with the tie. He grabbed the pony tail firmly, and used it to jerk her head up and down on his cock.
Christine’s eyes widened as she was forced to open her throat to accommodate more of the thick length. He bounced her head up and down on his cock merrily for a few minutes, enjoying her muted squeals and gasps for breath. Then he forced the full length of himself down her throat, holding her head still so she couldn’t try to reject him. She thrashed about slightly, desperate for air and he released her. She had enough time to gulp a quick breath before she found herself nose-deep in his pubic hair once again.
Christine squirmed as she felt her wetness begin to trickle down the inside of her thighs. The movement didn’t escape him, and he laughed harshly as he thrust himself down her throat again and again.
“You are a little slut,” he marvelled as she groaned and whimpered, thrusting her clamped breasts forward to rub against his clothed legs, desperate for any stimulation she could receive. Her fingers flexed and curled behind her, desperate to reach her dripping cunt and rub at her pleasure centre.
“Up,” he ordered, still clutching firmly to her hair. She pulled herself to her feet, but was grateful for the strong arm that curled around her waist and supported her weight. He turned her around and draped her over his desk. She whimpered as her clamped breasts pushed into the cool plastic, and repeated the noise when his booted foot insinuated its way between hers and kicked her legs apart.
She felt his thick length, well moistened by her mouth and throat, hit the crack of her ass with a meaty thud. She tensed as the head poked briefly at her asshole, but let out a sigh of relief when it dipped further along the curve of her ass.
“Interesting,” McCoy said without emotion, and then slapped her reddened cheeks suddenly and without warning. She screamed again, and, embarrassingly, flooded with wetness.
“If I decide to fuck you in the ass, then that’s where you’re going to get fucked,” he said coldly. “Every time you flinch you get another smack, and I may not be kind enough to use my hand next time.”
His hands settled on her hips and hitched them up enough for his cock to find her wetness and push its way inside her. He didn’t give her much time to accommodate his size, merely paused for a second before starting a punishing pace. He held onto her hips firmly, trapping her in position against the cool table.
Christine could feel the pleasure build up in waves, each thrust of McCoy’s powerful body causing her muscles surrounding him to tense and clench. He was panting hard now, and running his large hands up and down the sides of her body. He slipped one arm over her ribcage and pulled her upwards and back towards his chest, changing the angle of his penetration so she screamed again with the sensation. His free hand skated over her left breast. He cupped her tightly for a moment, then without warning released the clamp on her nipple. She felt a momentary feeling of relief before the awful sensation of returning blood flow hit her body hard. She was still in the middle of screaming about the left nipple when he released her right, and the answering slash of pain across her breasts made her buck, twist and writhe under and around him.
It was too much for him, and he barely had time to shift his hand down to her clit before his orgasm broke. He threw his head back and howled his release, pumping hard into her. She bucked against his hand eagerly and came with a roar of her own.
He slumped down over her for a minute or two, before pulling himself up and out. She moaned at the loss of him, and he shushed her by pulling her into his lap as he sat in his chair. He kissed her deeply and thoroughly, using his thumb to wipe the tear-tracks from her face. He undid the hasty ponytail, and pushed tendrils of hair back from her face, where the sweat and the tears had caused it to stick. They kissed for an age, and his hands roamed gently over her naked body, assessing any damage he had caused. He finger-fucked her gently, rubbing carefully with the pad of his thumb at her swollen clit. He was able to coax two more orgasms from her pliable body before he removed his fingers, coated with their joint release, for her to lick clean. He repeated the action until his desire to surround her and be inside her simultaneously was somewhat sated.
She was still lost inside her own headspace, so he waited patiently while she snuggled deeper into his embrace. He whispered into her ear, words of praise and encouragement, of love and devotion. He was so lucky to have her, he told her. Such a good girl. She stirred at that, and smiled, so he repeated it again and again.
She came up a while late. He could tell immediately by the way that the dreaminess left her beautiful brown eyes, and clarity returned. He reached behind her and untwisted the fabric of her bra so her hands were free.
“Ow,” she told him sternly, poking him in the shoulder with a firm finger. “You set those clamps to a firmer setting than usual.”
“Guilty as charged,” he said, smiling.
“Sadist,” she said grumpily, settling back into his arms.
“Masochist,” he teased, eying her abused nipples. The clamps were padded, so there was no harm to the skin, but they were going to ache for a long time.
“Not that much of a masochist,” she shot back. “I prepared some analgesics. Give me one, please.”
He opened the desk draw, and pulled out three that she had made up.
“Which one?” he asked seriously. He trusted her to manage her own level of pain relief. She looked thoughtfully at the selection, and then selected the middle-level dose. He raised an eyebrow.
“Not the heaviest one?” he said mildly as he applied the hypospray gently to her neck. She shook her head.
“I just want to take the edge off,” she explained. “I like feeling the effects.”
“I like looking at the effects,” he said, nuzzling her heck. “Your ass is going to be all sorts of colors tomorrow.”
“You can keep two bruises,” she told him generously. “You can heal the rest.”
“Thank you,” he said gravely, struck again by just how lucky he was that this...goddess allowed him to worship her in this way.
“This was...what you wanted?” she asked hesitantly. “I know I don’t always get the signals right.”
He kissed her again, hard and long, and she melted beneath him in a deliciously gratifying way.
“It was perfect,” he said fiercely. “I know we said not at work, Christine, and I know why we said it, but sometimes this, this hunger just burns up inside me and it kills me that I can’t just drag you off somewhere and fuck you until you’re screaming.”
“You drag me off and lift up my skirt to see my panties,” she said with a smile.
“And that’s all I get to do,” he grumbled. “This...” he trailed off and waved a hand around at the still-running simulation. “This was perfect. I’m grateful that Ensign Chapel was such a bad girl that the big scary CMO had to punish her.”
Christine sighed sadly. “And the worst thing about it is that she still hasn’t learnt her lesson,” she said, rubbing gently at the shell of his ear. He shivered under her touch and gripped her tightly. “I get the feeling that she may have to come back for another performance evaluation.”
It was McCoy’s turn to sigh. “The CMO hates those evaluations,” he said with regret. “His hand always stings so much after them, he may just have to get his trusty paddle out. Or his belt.”
She shivered deliciously, and he kissed her again.
“Come on,” he said firmly. “I want to get you back home so I can give you a proper check-up. Can you walk?”
“Yes,” she said exasperatedly. “I’m not made of china.”
All the same, he kept a firm arm around her waist on the way back to her quarters, and she let him.
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