Chapter 1: deep-throating and face-sitting
Kathryn looks up with big trusting eyes, the smudged make-up causing her to look wild and untamed. My thighs frame her face as I kneel above her.
“Are you sure?” I inquire, hoping her answer will be yes because I don’t think I can hold on much longer. Not after I have watched her come again and again, heard her scream in pleasure and felt her cunt contract against my fingers, mouth and cock.
Her tongue comes out to lick the bottom of my hard shaft and I groan. She hums and looks right at me, playful challenge twinkling in her eyes. Then firm hands reach up, first stroking my thighs, then my ass, massaging the straining muscles.
“Yes, I am sure,” she replies and her lips move against my dick.
With one hand braced against the headboard, I use the other to rub my length over her cheeks, her chin, along her lips and then again her tongue comes out, caressing my tip. Her grip on my ass tightens, pulls me forwards and so I slide my cock into her hot waiting mouth.
“Fuck!” I exclaim when she eagerly sucks me in, swallowing my entire length down her throat.
Chapter 2: watersports
I had spent so much time only seeing the Captain, my commanding officer, that every bit of that role falling away felt precious. I obsessively cataloged these discoveries, every glimpse another piece to puzzle her together.
I watched her stand close to the bathroom mirror and pluck her eyebrows, a reminder how she was in control of every aspect of herself. I stared at her filing the nails on her elegant fingers and it gave me a new appreciation the next time she dug them into my skin. I loved her tousled hair, so I put a little extra effort into being the cause for it. Sharing a shower to simplify our morning routine had me mesmerized by her hands running methodically over her body, under her armpits, cupping her breasts, down between her legs. I thought about those confident movements for weeks when I brought myself to orgasm.
The more time we spent together, the more I craved every last one of her secrets, the more knowing them aroused me.
It took a while until she used the bathroom for the first time while I was getting ready myself. She was hurried, tried to cover herself, but the sound of her urinating, this act normally kept from me, went straight to my groin. I wanted to see her, feel the hot liquid against my skin.
One week later, curled around each other in bed, I brought it up. At first she discarded my comment as a joke, as if I couldn’t possibly be serious. But I explained my desire to watch her, how much witnessing this most private act would feed into my lust for her, and with a small nod she agreed.
The prospect of this finally happening had me hard instantly.
I waited as patiently as possible for us to be ready to shower, suggested using water instead of the regular sonic to make her feel a little more comfortable. We took our time to touch each other, hands gliding easily over soapy curves, but eventually I slid my fingers between her thighs and pressed her against the steamed up wall.
Kathryn looked up at me with trepidation shining through, so I assured her that if anything, this would make me want her more, told her how much this intimacy between us was arousing me, and pressed my erection into her hip as proof. My free arm wound around her waist, keeping her close.
She smiled and wrapped one determined hand around my cock. As she pumped me slowly, I slipped a finger in between her folds, making her knees shake. I teased her from her clit down to her anus, telling her how good she felt, how much I wanted every last inch of her. In return, she licked her lips and with her eyes trained on my face, she relaxed into my arm holding her.
And then I felt an entirely different kind of tension and release against my fingers and when I looked down to my hand between her legs, I saw the first hints of golden liquid run over my skin. I pressed my thumb to her clit, told her how hot the sight of her urine was and more of it gushed over my wrist, down her legs and her grasp on my cock tightened. I watched the water at our feet turn yellow and she increased the speed at which she pumped my dick. And when at last the pulsing of her folds subsided, she nipped at my earlobe and with a loud moan I shot my release onto her skin.
Chapter 3: knife play
The blade is cool against my neck, pressing into me but not quite cutting my skin. Chakotay’s face is mere inches away, his features obstructed by the darkness, but his breath is hot on my cheek.
My arms, twisted behind my back, are pressed hard against the bulkhead, secured in place as his large hand skims up my thigh, reaching under my nightgown with determination. He slides it higher and higher as his solid thigh opens me to him, not that I would dare to struggle in earnest.
He growls when he finds no fabric at my folds and roughly pushes a large finger into me. I am not quite ready, so I gasp at the stretch of my body around his forceful intrusion. In reply he drags the knife down my throat, across my skin, scraping along my shoulder.
He hooks it under a thin strap and my breath hitches when it is easily cut away. He does the same to the other, causing the delicate material to slide down below my breasts, catching around my waist, where he is holding me in place.
“Now, Kathryn,” he threatens with a low voice, “give me what I came here for.”
“Look at yourself, Kathryn. Do you see that hungry mouth; how much you need to be fucked?”
Chakotay’s chest is solid behind me, his erection pressed against my lower back, his warm hands on top my thighs, thumbs stroking not quite close enough to my desperate core.
In front of us the recording of our last evening on the holodeck continues to play.
I watch the copy of me on all fours, while the hologram of a burly man pumps into her from behind, forcing her again and again to take all of his hard length. She moans around Chakotay’s cock sliding in and out of her mouth, saliva drips from her chin, and there is wild abandon in her eyes. Her Chakotay looks down at her, fingers in her hair, his expression a mixture of lust and restraint.
My Chakotay draws his firm hands closer to my spread cunt that is dripping with need.
I watch the woman who was me not seven days ago, tense and shiver, know of the burning climax that is about to overtake her. And when she comes with a choked wail, Chakotay pushes a finger into my slick heat and I follow her.
Written with the generous support of my smut-buddy BlackVelvet. <3
Chapter 5: sadism/masochism
For years I struggled with my longing to be controlled, my fantasies of being hurt and degraded. Our society has seen a long and difficult struggle to overcome sexism and to become understanding of all expressions of sexuality. Yet there is still a certain taboo when it comes to the complexities of Masochism.
I tried to explain what I needed, but neither Justin nor Mark ever fully understood what freedom I would experience if they sexually dominated me. They were willing to be rough, both going beyond their personal comfort to grant me release, yet I always knew it wasn’t what they wanted. Maybe it could have been enough for me, maybe I could have learned to be content with what they offered. I’ll never know.
But I do know that my relationship with Chakotay is different.
When he drags his nails across my skin, when he bites and hits me until he draws blood, there is nothing but shared ecstasy. He enjoys hurting me, because I enjoy being hurt.
Like most solid relationships, ours is based on complete and unconditional trust. I never doubt his love for me, not for a single second. We are equal in everything we face, standing by each other’s side. Which is the only reason I can let go of all my doubts and insecurities when he humiliates me and takes me to the edge of what I can endure.
We don’t engage in these interests every time we are intimate, but they are the undercurrent drifting through our sex life, a source of comfort when we need to feel even closer to each other. At first that seems paradox, that being called a slut, being beaten and fucked until I can no longer walk, would make me feel at peace, but in the end it is what brings me back to myself.
Chakotay is my first partner who truly enjoys it. He likes to be creative, to find new ways to express control over me. He has taken a liking to formal events, always finding a way to remind me of our secret. Sometimes it’s not more than a whispered word here or there, telling me what pain awaits me at home, racking up my arousal throughout the night until I find an excuse to leave.
He loves to challenge me by leaving especially uncomfortable scratches and bruises just before I have to sit in briefings all day, causing me to shift in my seat. On those days I have to work hard to suppress a grin when I think about his teeth sinking into my skin, about the hot tears on my cheeks as he whipped my thighs and ass.
I used to be afraid of the darkness I was seeking. I used to wonder if there was something wrong with me for wanting to crawl on my knees, of being tied up so harshly I wear the marks for days.
But instead, I now thrive on the pain Chakotay offers me.
Throughout the years he had often seen her walk to the holodeck in elaborate dresses, her hair even more intricately styled, and her already small waist constricted further under heavy fabrics. He had never given it much thought, simply chalked it up to literary interest.
He just hadn’t known to which extent she enjoyed wearing these old-fashioned outfits. That only became apparent once their relationship progressed from friendship to love.
One evening, over dinner, she asked him with a glint in her eyes if he’d be willing to try something a little different. Not long after, he found himself struggling with the overly complex fasteners of 19th century breeches.
But when he entered the holodeck, his hands easily wrapped around her corseted waist, his teeth sank into her soft breasts spilling out at the top, and he suddenly understood the appeal of her request.
She whimpered and dug her fingers into his jacket. Her breathing was shallow, and he worried about her, questioned the need for the lacing to be so tight, but her determined fingers tore at his vest and shirt and thus rid him of any concerns. He pushed her back onto the lavish dining room table, not caring about the china breaking into pieces on the floor. Quick gulps of air caused her marked breasts to heave and he was overcome by the need to feel her climax.
She pulled him between her legs, grasping at his hair until his mouth was back at her exposed skin. He grinned at her vigor before he bit down again, her desire fueling his own. When she reached into his pants, her moans made him thrust into her hand and then she closed her fist around his erection and his teeth sank harshly into her shoulder.
Under the layers of skirts, he searched for her wet heat, but the fabric kept piling up, denying him access and eventually he cursed. With a grin she placed his hands on the closures at her chest and when he tore at them, they came apart to reveal her deep blue corset and lack of further undergarments, displaying her glistening folds. Her shape was exaggerated by the rigid panes, and her breath came in short bursts, making her reddened breasts swell.
Her grip on him had him look up to see her unveiled lust and her heels on his thighs pulled him close. As her teeth worried his lower lip, he thrust into her, making both of them groan loudly. She ran her hands over his back, moaning into his ear how good he looked, how much she wanted him.
He took her roughly, dimly aware of her gasps for air, of her loosening hold on him but then she climaxed around his cock, her cunt contracting and pulsing and he couldn’t stop until he had emptied himself inside her.
As the last tremors of orgasm moved through him, he raised his eyes to find hers in a haze. Then her body went limp.
He cursed and reached for the strings at her back, his shaking fingers struggling with the knot. Her head was resting heavily against his shoulder, her arms and legs lax, and finally he managed to undo the bow and pull at the confining garment.
Immediately she inhaled sharply and he cupped her face, eyes darting over her features, watching life rushing back into her.
He brushed the hair from her damp forehead and asked if she was alright.
In reply, a faint smile played on her lips and with still slightly unfocused eyes she looked at him.
“Not alright. Divine.”
Many thanks to MiaCooper for helping me out with this venture. ;)
Chapter 7: aphrodisiacs
I love to cook for her. The first time I did it, back on New Earth, it was born out of necessity. Providing a meal to share was a way for me to ignore the situation we were in, allowed me to pretend we could have a normal life on this nameless world so far from our roots.
Kathryn always showed her appreciation, told me how much she liked my cooking, and when she inhaled the scent of what I had prepared for us, I loved the smile it brought to her face.
Really though, I just already loved her.
When we made it back to Earth, she became a frequent guest in my kitchen, sipping wine while I was busy chopping and stirring. Those times were pleasant and light, even if we were never quite sure where we would land on that fine line drawn between us, separating friends from lovers.
How strange this trepidation seems now that we have shared a home for so many years.
I tease her about the magnetic pull I must have on her when I am cooking. Because she likes to abandon whatever she is doing in favor of keeping me company. Then her hands slide over my waist when she takes a look at what is on the stove and she runs her fingers between my shoulders and up to my neck in comfortable affection.
I like to stand close when I hold out a spoon for her to sample what I am preparing. As her lips wrap around the warm metal, her eyes drift shut, and she savors the flavors and textures, always the meticulous scientist. Her low hum of approval and her tongue licking her lips will never lose their effect on me.
We’ve grown quite accustomed to postponing dinner.
At the sight of his large hands between my legs I can’t quite swallow down my nerves at what we are about to do. He watches as I adjust myself on the pillows, moving against the one underneath my hips.
While his thumbs rub the lubricant over my sex in slow circles, he smiles at me.
“We will stop anytime you like.”
I am too mesmerized by his careful touch, too aroused to think clearly, so I just nod.
With steady strokes he slides his fingers along my inner labia, coating me with the slippery moisture and I am not sure how much of it is artificial and how much my own.
My eyes dart down to the bulge in his briefs and I lick my lips.
“Don’t worry about me,” he says and brings my focus back to his face, “tonight is about you.”
In reply I nod again and then I close my eyes and willfully relax into the pillows, taking deep breaths.
His firm touch massages my thighs and then his fingers dip back into my sex, down to my anus and back up to my mons.
“Please,” I plead, “please let me feel you.”
Carefully, he pushes one finger into me, and I twists my hands into the sheets. He slides his digit back and forth, while his other hand continues to tease me, rubbing my labia. I can’t help but move my hips against his touch and he obliges my silent demand by pushing a second finger into me. He kneads the floor of my vagina, all while continuously caressing me with confident strokes.
By the time he adds a third finger, I am squirming, my entire body gyrating against him. He applies light pressure to my clit and I begin to pant.
“Are you close?” he asks, increasing the speed at which he pumps his fingers into me and begins to draw circles on my clit.
“Yes,” I manage to say, “please don’t stop. Right there. Please...”
The orgasm builds and builds until its full force rushes through me, spreading from my center through my fingertips and I thrash and moan.
When the twitching in my limbs subsides, I open my eyes and Chakotay’s smiling face comes into focus.
“Ready for more?” His hands have slowed a little, but he still has three fingers inside me, and he rotates his wrist, increasing the stretch.
“Mhhh…” is all I manage to say through my foggy brain. My hands find his strong arms and I trace the move of his firm muscles, hoping my touch conveys all of my affection since my brain is too depleted of blood to do so. I focus on the sensation of floating he is providing for me with his continues caress.
His eyes are on my face. “Tell me when you’re ready for more.”
I lick my lips at the nervous flutter in my belly, this feeling of taking a leap into the unknown.
“I’m ready. Just go slowly.”
He withdraws his hand and I am transfixed as he applies more lube, coating it all the way to his wrist. Then he presses all four of his fingers at my entrance and my fears dissipate at the delicious stretch.
Throwing back my head I groan loudly. “Ugh! So good!”
He chuckles in reply and turns his fingers inside me, his thumbs meeting to rub my clit. My arousal is instantly back at full force.
“Please more. Please,” I beg again and slide my hands up to cup my breasts, pulling at my nipples, feeling wild and untamed.
Once more, he pulls out his hand and just as I want to complain, his fingers are back at my entrance, his thumb folded in. The shape is entirely different and he takes his time to work himself back into me, his other hand massaging my sex.
With the pads of my fingers circling my nipples I look up at him. “I want this. Please.”
“You are in control,” he assures me again. “Tell me if you need me to change anything.”
I just nod, feeling hot and sweaty and so very ready.
He focuses on his hands, and then slides his fist in, making the next breath catch in my throat.
The knowledge that his entire hand is inside me, the near impossible stretch of my cunt is almost too much. I whimper and my eyes roll back.
“Faster,” I manage to say between sighs, “Please faster.”
And he gives me what I crave, his thick hand thrusting into me, his other squeezing my clit, rubbing it and my nails dig into my breasts. My entire body grows rigid when the orgasm surges through me, flooding me, overwhelming me, going on and on, leaving me helpless in the eye of this storm.
This was tricky to write and I looked at Abigail Barnette's fantastically sexy novel "The Bride" for help. If you like the smut I write, you'll very much enjoy her "The Boss" series.
I recline in my chair and spread my thighs as much as possible around Kathryn kneeling between them. Her breasts are pressed tightly around my dick while she is rocking herself, making it slide back and forth.
“Fuck, that feels amazing,” I groan.
She grins and stops her motions to wrap her hands firmly around my erection, then slides down my foreskin to circle her hot tongue around my tip. My balls tighten and then then she squeezes her tits around my cock again and I thrust up, leveraged on my seat until my release splashes across her chest.
Can I just say how much I hate the term "titfucking"? Just... Ugh.
Does anyone know a better word for it? I couldn't seem to find one.
Chapter 10: hairpulling
It isn’t often that he leaves my hands unrestrained, neither tied to the bed, nor held down by his. So I run my fingers through his hair, drag my nails over his scalp to watch his brows draw together. I caress his nape, and he hums in response.
He continues to make his way down my body, licking my collarbones, then closer and closer to first one nipple, then the other, but not to where I ache to feel him. So I tear at the salt and pepper strands, making him grin against my flushed chest.
“Something I can do for you?” He draws his tongue around my navel, looking up from under his fringe, and I groan.
“You can stop teasing me and make me come already.”
That actually makes him laugh but thankfully he allows me to tug his head further down until he is nestled between my thighs. Without hesitation he licks me with one long stroke from taint up to my clit.
“Yes!” I exclaim, pushing my hips up against him, needing more.
As my fingers go back to pulling his thick hair, relishing this rare moment of power, he finally buries his tongue inside me.
I look down at the sleek metal rod between my fingers. It’s thin, perfectly smooth and cool to the touch.
Chakotay is watching me, his features calm and focused.
“And it doesn’t hurt?” I can’t quite believe it.
“No,” he pauses, “at least not much.”
He takes the sound from my hand and holds it up next to his semi-hard penis. “See, it’s really not that scary.” The metal piece looks almost delicate next to his erection and it helps to sooth my concern.
“I would just like to watch.” I look up at him. “Is that okay for now?”
He smiles and leans back against our headboard, “Of course. I like it when you watch.”
I settle comfortably between his spread legs and he begins to stroke himself, easily bringing his cock to full size. I slide one hand between my thighs, dip a finger into my channel and spread my moisture around my sex. Watching Chakotay masturbate is one of my favorite treats, especially when I get to put on a show for him as well. For a moment we both just pleasure ourselves while watching each other, enjoying the familiar comfort between us.
Eventually, he reaches for the sanitizer and cleans his hands and the sound, then drops a good amount of lube onto it and his cock.
With careful concentration he places the metal against his urethra and I watch in fascination as it slides in, millimeter by millimeter in one smooth and steady motion. The sight is absolutely fascinating and a little disconcerting at once.
I look up at his face, his parted lips, the sweat on his brow, the absolute elation that is written all over his features.
When the metal has slid in all the way, there is a still a part visible at the top. He begins to stroke himself. The fist around his shaft is not as tight as usual, while his other hand moves the metal pin lightly in and out. I adjust the motions of my own hand to his, rubbing myself at the same pace, wanting to share this experience as much as possible.
My mouth feels dry, watching him pleasure himself and I suddenly can’t just sit here and watch. Instead I want more, want him to have the best possible experience.
“Let me help you,” I say and reach out to cup his balls, tugging as I pulse my fist rhythmically around them.
His pace speeds up and he groans, “Yes, like that.”
He continues to fist his cock and I adjust my caress of his testicles to match.
“What does it feel like?” I ask full of curiosity, completely overtaken by this display of raw sexuality.
“I can feel it down at my prostate, it’s so intense, Kathryn.” He is panting, his neck strained and I need to see him come. I stop touching myself and place my slippery finger on his taint. He growls and I take it as his approval and move my finger lower to his rectum.
Lubricated with my own juices I slowly slide my index finger into him, past the tight ring of muscle. I curl up my digit towards his prostrate and his reaction is instantaneous. He actually cries out, and his head falls back against the headboard, his eyes squeezed shut.
Then his balls tighten under my caress and he pulls out the sound, while rapidly pumping his shaft, and ribbons of his white seed erupt. They cover his stomach and thighs, up to his chest while his whole body is overtaken with the tremors of his orgasm.
I would like to thank the internet for providing me with all the information a girl could need to write about sounding. ;)
Chapter 12: anilingus
“Bend over,” he commands with a low growl and pushes her naked torso flat to the desk.
With a feral grin he watches her spread her legs in hungry desperation, her sex swollen and glistening, begging to be penetrated. But as enticing as the sight is, he wants something else.
He kneels behind her, sinking his teeth into her ass for good measure, making her legs shake and she hisses in a mix of pain and pleasure. He spreads his hands across her glutes, pulling them apart until her anus is on display and runs his thumbs over the tight muscle.
She tenses on the table and he feels her shift as if she wants to raise her torso. A loud smack to her rump is the consequence.
Her voice trembles when she asks, “What are you doing?”
“Whatever I want,” is all the answer she gets and then he licks along her cleft.
She squeals in reply, squirms against the desk, but he holds her steady, presses her into the solid furniture and dips his tongue into her puckered ring. His nails leave red marks on her skin and finally she groans, the sound coming from deep in her throat and she relaxes enough for him to slip his tongue in further, thrusting into her.
He continues to feast on her, licking away her restraint. She is getting close, he can tell by her trembling thighs, by her desperate whimpers and so he keeps up his pace, getting her worked up and ready for what he has in mind.
When she is begging him to let her come, to please never stop, he can no longer hold back. He gets up quickly, and coats his rigid length in her dripping folds, before he pushes his cock into her ass.
Chapter 13: weight gain
When Chakotay retired to a desk, it took six months for his new sedentary job to show its side-effect. He started to tense up when I caressed his waist, found excuses to not share a shower. He began to sleep wearing a shirt, something he had never done for as long as we had been together. It was just a hint of vanity, of not wanting to accept his body, but it hurt that he had such little faith in my affection for him.
I usually wake up before he does and on a warm Sunday in June this was no different. I watched him sleeping peacefully on his back, one hand above his head, the other under the sheets, resting close to my thigh without touching me. His features were serene, his lips slightly parted and the grey morning stubble tinted his skin. I had absolutely no idea how he could possibly assume I would ever stop wanting him.
Shifting carefully to not wake him, I moved closer and he took a deep breath, his hand settling on my bare thigh. I pulled the sheets back, revealing his broad torso, covered by the simple cotton shirt. Running my fingers under the hem, I found his soft, warm skin.
I took my time caressing his belly up to his ribcage, circling his navel, tracing the hairs leading down to his growing erection. I ran my palms to his waist, my hand prickling with the feel of him. He woke slowly, noticeable by his change in breathing, the slow movement of his fingers between by thighs, but I just kept going. I pushed at his shirt and leaned over to kiss along the top of his briefs, tasted him on my tongue. His breath hitched when my cheek rubbed against the bulge in his underwear.
One hand was still between my thighs, just a light touch against my wet panties, his other cupped my head, fingers threading into my messy hair.
And then I felt his stomach tense, heard him hold his breath.
I looked up at him.
“Don’t do that.”
He swallowed, his body still rigid.
“Do you feel this?” I placed my hand over his, pulled it roughly against the soaked fabric over my mound. “I am this wet from touching and kissing you. This is what you do to me. What you have always done to me. And it won’t change.”
His eyes, still showing trepidation, held mine.
“I am not comfortable with all this weight…” His voice was soft ad he trailed off.
My chest ached at his admission. “Don’t you dare.”
Scooting up I leaned over to kiss him. My tongue parted his lips and when it met his, I moaned, pressing my cunt against his fingers. He began rubbing me, adding just the right amount of friction. Slowly he became alive, kissing me with vigor, moving my panties aside so he could push a finger into me. I ran my hand back to his stomach and smiled against his lips when his muscles relaxed.
With self-assured movements, his finger pumping into me, thumb on my clit, he brought me to climax. And when I came with a loud groan, I dug my fingers roughly into his soft midsection.
Now, when we are curled up in bed, my head resting in the crook of his neck, my fingers draw circles from his bare chest down to his soft belly that rises and falls with deep relaxed breaths.
The softness under my touch feels like a life spent together in happiness and comfort. It feels like home.
Chapter 14: cunnilingus
Another morning in bed. I don't think there can ever be enough. ;)
The slap of my feet against the wooden floors is the only sound in our house as I make my way back to bed. The first rays of the morning light fall into the room, right onto Kathryn’s sleeping form. She is on her left, facing away from me, curled around the sheets that are bunched between her thighs. And she is very much naked.
My blood rushes south as my eyes follow the curve of her shoulder, the dip of her waist, the swell of her behind and the lines of her legs. My bite-marks have turned into purple bruises across her shoulders and glutes and I let the memories of giving them to her play through my mind.
She rolls onto her back, exposing her full breasts. She is sleeping peacefully, her chest rising and falling in even intervals, and I am torn between wanting to let her rest and simply wanting her.
It’s a battle that is over before it can even begin.
Quietly I step close to the foot of the bed, and look up the length of her body. One leg is still under the sheets, the material covering her sex and part of her stomach. I carefully move it and have to suppress a growl when I am granted the unrestricted view up between her thighs.
I gingerly grasp one ankle and move it just far enough to crawl onto the bed between her legs. My cock is painfully hard, begging for attention but I ignore it for now, too captivated by what’s in front of me.
Kathryn has the most gorgeous cunt I have ever seen. I know I may be biased, but I can’t ever get enough of it. It is completely bare, something she maintains for me because she knows how much I love for it to be on display, just as it is now.
I lay down, trapping my erection between me and the bed and look up at her perfectly symmetrical labia. They are smooth, a light shade of pink, and I place one hand over them, rubbing them together. Her legs twist in response and spread further, making me grin. Her mind may still be asleep but her body is coming alive before me.
Pulling her folds carefully apart, her glistening channel comes into view, the already swelling protrusion of her clitoris. How blatantly visibly aroused she gets may be my favorite part of her anatomy.
My tongue dips into her entrance and her juices burst against my tongue, the pure essence of her sexuality surging through me. I take one long lick along her folds, slowly taking my time to feel every crevice and ridge.
One hand is on her stomach, my fingers spread across her tensing abs. She is beginning to wake up, I can tell by the movements of her legs, the lift of her pelvis, but I don’t stop. Instead I close my lips over her clit and suck on the small bud, feeling it swell against my tongue.
She moans and lean fingers wind into my hair, pull on my strands. I speed up my rhythm in response and work one finger into her rippling cunt. Her heels dig into my back and her body writhes against my mouth while I coax more and more of the sweet essence from her.
I lick and suck in pulsing motions, and listen to the hitch in her breathing, inhale her scent that has me close to coming against our sheets. I slide in another finger, press down and continue thrusting into her. Then her body convulses, waves spreading from her clit down to the puffy walls around my fingers, up through her abs until her whole body is shaking and twisting.
I keep going until she tugs at my hair, pulling me away from her overstimulated nerves. With one last sweep of my tongue through her moisture that makes her hiss, I pull fully away. I wipe my chin and then she is hauling me up her body, her legs pulling my cock against her wetness.
Then she kisses me, and her lips are wild and hungry, her devious tongue licking her taste from me.
Chapter 15: intercrural sex
Her hands are pressed firmly against the wall, her arms shaking with the effort to steady her against Chakotay’s forceful thrusts. His cock keeps sliding back and forth between her thighs, coated in her juices that are dripping from her painfully neglected cunt.
She wants to rub her clit, tilt her hips so he will slide into her but she knows her attempts would be useless. He is doing this to punish her, to show her what insubordination will get her. She is not going to climax tonight, and she hates how much she loves this control he has over her.
Chakotay’s hands are everywhere, wrapping around her throat, twisting her nipples, digging into her hips. He is not interested in her pleasure, ignoring her pleas and instead takes what he wants.
“Yes, that’s it,” he hisses into her ear, “keep those legs nice and tight together.”
His thrusts speed up and his hands are firm on her thighs, keeping her in place despite the fact that she is more than willing to follow his command. And when he bites down hard on her neck his hot seed erupts between her thighs, coating her skin before dribbling onto the floor.
Chapter 16: frottage
Locking my ankles behind his thighs, I press myself against his rigid cock sliding through my puffy sex without entering me. With every thrust his sac hits my cunt, creating sparks of pleasure, remnants of earlier orgasms.
“What do you want?” he asks, his voice strained.
“Come like this,” I reply, grinding harder against him and he groans.
Turning my head so I can bite his earlobe, I tease, “I love feeling your big, hard cock.”
I slide a hand down to his flexing ass that keeps pushing him against me faster and faster, creating obscene sounds as he coaxes more liquid from my channel. I dig my nails into his muscles and he groans.
“Take what you need.” My tongue slides over his jaw, back up to his mouth. We kiss, his lips still a little sticky with my juices.
“Mhhh… I can taste my pussy on you.” I nip at him. “Please let me feel you come.”
I emphasize my request by pulling back his head to lick his throat and the sound he makes in response is almost inhuman.
Then my legs are spread even wider and his entire body convulses, his seed erupting between our stomachs.
Chapter 17: masturbation and orgasm denial
If he doesn’t let me come soon I will die. I know I will. I have lost track of how long he has had me caught in this purgatory. My cunt is gushing, rippling, painfully swollen and if he will only let me touch my clit I will come instantly.
I have trouble breathing, my legs hurt with their strain to twist and close, fighting against the ropes that ensure his unobstructed view of my fevered admirations.
He is just sitting at the foot of the bed, reminding me in that dark tone of his “Don’t come Kathryn, not yet.”
Chapter 18: fucking machine
Chakotay pushes me to take another step forward and my hands flex against my back, the ropes cutting into my wrists deliciously. The blindfold is disorienting but I trust him as he maneuvers me against a padded obstruction reaching the apex of my thighs.
“Spread your legs,” he instructs and I comply instantly.
He helps me until I am resting on what I can only describe as a seat, shaped not unlike a saddle. The surface quickly warms to my skin, and when I lean forward my torso comes to rest on this padded bench, allowing me to rest comfortably.
I know what I must look like, hands bound, blindfolded, pushed forward so my sex at the edge of the seat is fully exposed to him. This feeling of helplessness, of being completely under his control is like a drug, sharpening my senses while blurring all distractions.
“Don’t move,” comes his next command and then I feel him restrain my thighs with confident movements. Next he secures my hands underneath the contraption I am on.
“Oh Kathryn,” he croons and drags a finger from between my shoulder blades down my back, then glides without pause from my anus to my clit, and I arch my back as much as my position allows.
“You look stunning,” his finger probes my cunt, dipping into my wetness, “although you mostly look desperate to be fucked.”
I moan in confirmation and as he continues to lazily, and much too slowly, push just the tip of his finger into me.
“Yes, please.” I can’t believe he has me begging already, but I know my chances of coming are much higher if I show proper sub-etiquette.
“Don’t worry, you will get what you’re hoping for,” he leans in close to my ear and whispers, “and a lot more than that.”
Then he is suddenly gone and I whimper at having lost even that little stimulation he was willing to provide. In hopes to relieve some of the tension I press my pelvis against the seat, but it just reminds me of what I really want.
Chakotay is moving behind me, causing sounds I can’t quite place until the push of a thick object at my core startles me. As it is slowly moved forward, I recognize it as a dildo, its smooth surface letting it slide in easily into my dripping core while its girth still stretches my muscles.
“Yes…,” I hiss, trying my best to lean further into the intrusion, despite the ropes. I picture Chakotay behind me, the big toy in his hand, eyes focused on it being inserted.
Needless to say, I am startled when both of his hands stroke my shoulders.
The thrusting of the phallus continues, at a steady pace and it dawns on me what I will finally get to experience, and I almost squeal in excitement. The speed increases and it is a completely different sensation than when I or Chakotay use it on me. The perfect repetition of the movements keep stroking me, all the way to my cervix and with each push my clit is being stimulated, nudged just enough to rack up my arousal further and further.
A slow hum of vibrations begins to spread, and hits every nerve along my channel, then races through my body. Before I know it, I am brought to climax, the release I have wanted to desperately surging through me, pulsing around the thick intrusion.
I barely have time to come back from my high, for my heart to slow, because the machine is relentless as it fucks me, keeping the exact same pace, continuing to vibrate and pulse and suddenly the orgasms won’t stop, one chasing another, setting fire to my body and consuming my mind. I am reduced to nothing but a shaking mess, caught in the spiral of sexual relief that winds itself tighter and tighter around me.
I can’t get enough and yet can’t take anymore, but the machine keeps going, keeps forcing me to climax again and again, despite the cramps in my legs, the tears soaking the blindfold.
My entire body is tense, every cell brought to their limits by this onslaught and finally I can’t take anymore and beg for it to end, to just please let me rest.
And then it stops. The room is quiet but for my rasping breaths as my body goes limp. I swallow with difficulty, my throat sore from screaming out my ecstasy.
A cool glass touches my lips and I take a few careful sips before I collapse again.
Chakotay removes the blindfold, wipes away my tears and matted hair. Then his face comes back into focus as my senses return to me and my eyes adjust.
He is grinning when he whispers, “Happy Birthday, Kathryn.”
Chapter 19: public
Under the table, hidden by the long cloth, Chakotay’s hand wanders up my thigh, and I spread my legs to grant him access, doing my best to keep my upper body still.
“Are you having a good time?” My question only sounds innocent, considering he is pushing one large finger into me.
“I am. Do you think this music is a little loud?” His eyes spark with the challenge of his question.
But I won’t give up so easily. “Let me finish my wine, then we can get some fresh air.”
In response he presses down on my clit, just the way I like, and I shift in my seat. That bastard.
But two can play this game.
“These chairs are really uncomfortable.” I purposefully move against his hand. “I will be completely stiff in the morning.” With that I stretch my neck, exaggerating the movement, groaning deeply as my hands rub underneath the straps of my dress, massaging my shoulders. I make sure to draw a finger along my collarbone, all the while looking up at him innocently.
He swallows and I know I have him.
“How about you?” I ask. “Are you feeling stiff at all?”
That earns me a pinch to my clit and I have to bite my tongue to keep my composure, which is difficult considering his continuous torture of my sensitive nerves.
“I am doing just fine. But you seem very tense suddenly.”
Damn his handsome face and damn his smug grin and his strong fingers and damn this game.
I push back my chair and his hand is gone in an instant. I stand, drain the rest of my wine and as I turn on my heel I snap, “Captain, would you like to join me outside?”
His grin is audible. “Aye, Ma’am.”
I am sorry we are currently limited to exchanging written messages. It is only another week until we are back in range to communicate visually, but maybe we can make the best of it. There is a certain old-world charm to it, don’t you think?
While we can’t see each other, all we have are our fantasies of when we will be together again. I can’t help but think about kissing you, running my lips along your cheek, back to that spot behind your ear that makes you moan. The sounds you make for me hit every nerve in my body, and just thinking about a shuddering sigh leaving your lips has me hard.
Do you sound like that when you touch yourself, when there is nobody around to hear you pant and whimper? Or do you stay quiet, your lips pressed together in concentration so your pleasure can be your secret?
Do you have to be quiet right now, at your desk, with all those fellow admirals right outside your door? Do you have to be quiet while you think about my hands on your breasts, my tongue circling your hard nipples? I can picture them perfectly, can almost feel the hard peaks. Can you make yourself come only by touching them?
Not that you have to. Just slip a hand between your thighs. When you rub yourself, can you feel the moisture seeping through the layers? Can you see me kneeling between your thighs, spreading you for my tongue to lick at your folds? I remember exactly how you taste, how your wetness smells and it takes me right to the edge of my climax.
But my teasing tongue is never enough, is it? So I would carefully slide one finger into you, stretching your slick channel. I would slowly pump in and out until your juices ran onto my hand, while I would suck on your clit. Can you feel the pulsing of your cunt, that approaching climax? But maybe you need more? Do you need me to lift you onto your desk so I can push my cock into you? Would you dig your nails into my shoulder, urging me to go harder? Would you forget the world around you and moan as I rubbed your clit? And would you finally climax, your pussy milking every last drop from me?
Only another month, Kathryn.
I feel this totally qualifies as a Full Circle missing scene. ;)
Cause then you get some extra heartache at the end. :P
Chapter 21: bukkake
Kathryn is on her back, her head reclined to swallow the cock between her lips. I watch the bulge of the hard flesh stretch her throat, and tighten the grip on my erection, knowing all too well what it feels like to bury myself in her mouth.
Between her legs another man is fucking her with powerful thrusts, forcing her to keep sucking on the thick penis. At her sides are two others, pinching her nipples, stroking her stomach, teasing her clit, all while jerking off to the sight in front of them.
I love watching Kathryn with other men. Seeing her shudder and shake in climax is an entirely different experience when I watch her as an outsider. I get to take note of every twitch along her body, get to watch the orgasm make its way from her cunt, electrifying all of her muscles, causing her to twist and turn in pleasure until she can’t take anymore.
Then there is the fire of jealousy that is ignited by watching others enjoy what is mine. These men want her, are hard because they are looking at her, this woman who belongs to me, who I am choosing to share entirely on my terms. Because there are rules to using Kathryn. Rules that ensure everyone is aware that she is mine.
These rules are what causes the large cock to be pulled from her mouth just in time to coat her chin and neck, all the way down to her chest in ribbons of semen. Kathryn gasps for air, fondles her breasts and I can’t suppress a growl at the sight. Then another man is coming on her chest, stroking himself reverently as he covers her round breasts.
Her fingers slide down to her pussy, making her groan and mew, and I spit into my hand, fist myself faster at the obscene sight of another man shooting his load onto her chest and abdomen.
She is still coming, crying out her climax when the man between her legs pulls out to add his load to the white splashes on her body.
Then she is reaching for me, panting and flushed underneath the white splatter. My hands wind into her hair as she draws my cock into her mouth and with a confident sweep of her tongue I am coming down her throat as she sucks every last drop from me.
Kathryn is laid on top a sturdy-looking table, her dress long discarded on the floor, corset constricting her waist while allowing her full breasts to be exposed. Between her legs, her hologram is thrusting into her, creating obscene slapping sounds as he fucks her.
Sitting in the shadows of the bar, I watch as her fingers twist into his open vest, see her back arch in ecstasy. Her legs are wrapped around his thighs and she moans, begs him to go harder, tells him how good he feels, without ever looking away from me.
The jealousy races through my veins and pools hot between my thighs while my gaze is fixed on her. Her eyes are hazy, cheeks flushed with arousal, and I know she is close, so close for him to make her come.
I clench my fists. She is taunting me, even though she knows what it will get her, and his name tumbles from her lips when I see the certain signs of her being close to climax.
But not like this. Not around his cock that is nothing but photons and force fields.
I rise from my chair and unbutton my pants.
“Computer, delete Michael Sullivan.”
Can you tell I have a weakness for jealous and possessive Chakotay? ;)
Chapter 23: shibari
She had brought it up one evening when they had settled comfortably on the couch. She had told him how often she had thought about it during long and arduous shifts. And then, with quiet, but certain words, she had explained her need for a constant reminder of his power over her, of that role he played to perfection. She had also spoken of her struggle with being more than her rank, not forgetting who she was underneath, of letting herself be the sum of her parts. He had listened carefully, and then, together, they had contemplated how her desires could be fulfilled.
The next morning, he merely wound the thinnest of ropes around her waist, tightly enough to constrict her, but easily loosened should she want to. The sensation was pleasant enough, but instead of bringing her the feelings she had hoped for, its simplicity left her aching for more.
So the bindings became more complex. He incorporated elaborate knots, wove the rope into intricate patterns that pressed against her back, marked her delicate breasts and teased between her thighs. There was more than plain arousal when he meticulously drew the lines across her bare skin. She felt held and supported, strengthened not just in her role as leader, but in that of sexual being, of the woman who was desired and loved. The rope caressed and tortured her, taking the place of her of her lover’s affection and dominance.
Now, when she faces the challenges the universe imposes on her, she does so with the same focus, the same tireless dedication she always has. But underneath, she is imbued with a new sense of tranquility, provided by the balance of being supported and desired in the entirety of all her facets. Of being loved for everything she is.
Chapter 24: pegging
“Think you are ready for me?” She asks and her dilated pupils are all the confirmation I need that she is just as aroused as I am.
I take another deep breath. “Yes.”
Instead of entering me with the slick dildo, her finger inside my anus remains still, pressed against my prostate without movement. I hiss in surprise when she licks a slow trail up my hard cock, and the sensation is intensified by knowing it will be the last direct attention my erection will receive for a while. She pulls back my foreskin, circles the sensitive head with her pointed tongue, looking up at me, lust in her eyes.
Then her tongue slides down again, lapping at my balls and she sucks first one, then the other into her hot mouth, and I am forced to think about tomorrow’s duty roster to keep myself from climaxing at the obscene sight between my thighs.
“Please,” I manage to say past clenched teeth, “You need to stop.”
Immediately she falls completely still, giving me the chance to come back from the brink and once I have, she leans back, pulling her digit from me. I am left feeling exposed, almost painfully empty and certain I will die if she doesn’t fuck me soon.
Kathryn reaches for the lube and drizzles more of it onto the dildo jutting out between her thighs, then strokes the toy, moaning as her touch is transferred to the phallus inside her. I grasp the headboard, needing something solid to hold on to, to keep me from reaching for her to bury my cock inside her pussy, her ass, anything to get release. No matter that I know what she is about to do to me will feel infinitely better.
The pressure of the dildo against my slick ring of muscle brings my focus back to reality. Excruciatingly slowly Kathryn pushes forward, giving me time to adjust, pausing every few millimeters until I nod, signaling her to keep going.
I spread my legs as far as possible, feet firmly on the mattress allowing her easier access, almost overwhelmed with the feeling of fullness as she slides into me completely. When she finally has, she is panting heavily, one hand gripping her breast, nails dug into the soft flesh, the other on my abdomen that is flexing with my restraint.
And then the vibrations begin. Slow at first, barely noticeable, but they increase, and knowing they are triggered by Kathryn’s pulsing channel makes my throat dry.
“You feel so good,” she moans, pulling first on one, then on the other nipple, before she flicks the hard buds. “Do you want more?”
“Yes. Please. Fuck me,” the words rush out.
And then she pulls back, the thick bulge of the toy making my insides throb, and when she pushes back in, it rubs against my prostate exactly like I need it to. She keeps going, won’t stop and the pressure inside me builds. The arousal begins to ripple through me. The waves are small at first, mere sparks along my nervous system but then they increase, growing stronger the longer Kathryn keeps thrusting against me.
When she comes, the toy transfers her shivers to me, causing harder vibrations that are almost painful. But nothing can bring me back down. I am floating, removed from my body, at the same time more aware of my pleasure reaching every cell, and yet completely disconnected from my surroundings.
There is nothing but the constant thrum inside me, the tension that makes my vision blur and my hands cramp around the headboard. I think I am moaning, hissing, whimpering, crying out but I don’t know if those sounds are mine or hers. We are one being, coming and coming, over and over, intoxicated, blinded, and yet she still keeps going, stretching out our orgasms that turn from one into another.
Somewhere in my foggy brain I hear Kathryn’s cries, feel her grip on my skin, and only when I no longer know how to breath do I reach down to my dribbling cock, and then my seed erupts in long hot ribbons up my chest, covering my stomach until I collapse, entirely spent.
Chapter 25: boot worship and olfactophilia (scent)
“There is something for you to wear in the bedroom,” is the only thing I say to Kathryn as she walks through the door.
I can see her swallow, but the flushing skin at her collar is giving away that my words had the desired effect, just like they always do. She may be born to lead, but she is equally made for following commands. They just have to be ones she wants to follow.
I give her a few minutes, listen to her moving in the bedroom. Meanwhile I sip my whiskey, its spicy heat spreading from my lips down through my body. When I have finished my drink, I set down the glass and adjust my erection that has been demanding attention ever since I replicated Kathryn’s outfit.
Then she finally appears, her form illuminated by the light of the bedroom. Her long legs are stretched out into lean lines by the high heels of the boots I set out for her, her waist is constricted by the corset, emphasizing the swell of her bare hips and chest.
The light behind her turns off and she walks closer, her hips swaying with every step. I can make out her hair caressing her pale shoulders, and even in the low light her sensual smile is visible. I am not entirely sure how I ever got so lucky.
“Come here,” I order, spreading my legs to allow for her to step between them. When she does, her pert nipples are just above my eye-level and the span of skin from her hips down to her knees is gloriously on display. I run my hands lightly along her thighs, causing her skin to break out in goose-bumps.
I can already smell her arousal.
“Mhhh,” I hum in approval, “turn around.”
She follows my command and her ass comes into view, nicely accentuated by the high heels and the leather at her waist. I slide my hands around her thighs, until my thumbs rest along the crease of her glutes, my fingertips close to her pussy. But instead of giving in to my impulse to feel her wetness, I look up to the constricted lines of her midsection. I can’t wait to fuck her.
“Get the ottoman, place it right here and sit down facing me,” I instruct and watch her carry out my orders eagerly. She takes a seat with her legs together, almost prim if it wasn’t for her nudity.
“You look like every man’s dream,” I say, leaning forward and her lips quirk as if she wants to reply but I don’t let her. “Except most men don’t know that dressing up like this has you so wet I’m sure you’re already leaking onto the cushion.”
Her abdomen flexes and I know my words are true.
“Spread your legs. I want to see your pussy.”
She widens her thighs slowly and instantly her scent teases my nose even more, that sweet promise of what is to come, and my mouth waters.
“Just like I thought. Tell me why you’re dripping already. We have barely started.”
The red of her cheeks grows a shade darker and she licks her lips before she speaks. “I turns me on that you think about this during the day,” her eyes dart down to where my hand is cupping the bulge in my pants, “I love that wearing what you tell me to makes you so hard.”
I smirk at her admission.
She does, and I reach down, bringing first one boot-clad foot onto my thigh, then the other.
“You know why I replicated these for you?” I ask and let my hands trail over the dark leather, down to the thin heels, back to trace the lacing. “You have amazing legs, Kathryn. I remember the first time I caught a glimpse of just your calves when you wore a dress, but then on New Earth…” I trail off at the memory and focus on the softness of her skin above the boots.
She is staring at my caress, lips parted, nipples hard, the aroma of her need heavy in the air. But I am not quite done appreciating her outfit.
“You used to sit in that bathtub, your perfect legs right there on display. Then you would come in, wearing only your robe, and when you sat down, it would sometimes slide open.” I run my hands further up her thighs and her breathing speeds up. “You know how many times I jerked off thinking about you being exposed to me like that?”
Kathryn shifts as much as she is able, and I see a glistening stain of where her arousal is pooling. No matter how often I tell her this story, it never misses its mark
“If only I had known then what you have told me. How you’d tease yourself in that tub I had built for you, how when you came in, your skin wasn’t flushed from the heated water alone, how under your robe, your clit was swollen and begging for more.”
I lean forward as my hands roam even higher, thumbs reaching the top of her thighs and she arches into my touch.
“Aren’t you glad we no longer have to keep any secrets?”
I recline and unzip my pants, freeing my cock and pump it, Kathryn’s eyes glued to my actions. I love that she likes watching me so much. She can never hold out long and tonight is no different. She shifts until she is resting on one hand, the other coming around to touch herself. Her index finger dips into her channel, spreading her juices around her every crevice and I can no longer restrain myself.
“Come here. I need to feel you. Now.”
And with quick motions she in on her knees above me, pressing her breasts to my face and then she sinks down, taking in my aching cock, and with my hands on her boots, she begins to ride me.
Chapter 26: smiles/laughter
He doesn’t fall in love with her instantly. Those feelings only gradually solidify over the years.
At first there is his simple wish to make her smile. It starts as a means to improve their working relationship. Humor is his way for them to bond, to form this one crew she has spoken of. So he finds opportunities to lighten the mood, tells her little anecdotes, makes jokes here and there. And she reciprocates, opens up to him, slowly but steadily and before long, he finds himself bound by her spell, captivated in utter loyalty.
They form a unity, a companionship that is rarely shaken, that gives them both the strength to lead their crew, to make difficult decisions and even harder sacrifices. He trusts her like he has rarely trusted another soul. She is his constant, his confidante, his closest friend.
Despite that, there are times when her smiles are rare. When her features harden and he can’t seem to reach her. Those times are the darkest on their journey. When she feels alone, and he has no way of ensuring her that she is not. And in turn, he feels alone as well, like he has been stripped off something essential.
Eventually her curiosity and idealism are dulled by what she has imposed on herself, this need to live up to what she thinks is expected of her. He wants to tell her that she is already so much more, that she has proven herself in every way she ever could, but he knows she wouldn’t believe him.
Little by little he gives up. It is not a conscious decision, it just happens, brought on by the hardships they face and everything between them that remains unspoken.
He tries to find happiness with someone else, but despite everything this woman has going for her, what is missing between them is what he has built over the years with another: That deep bond, that connection that goes beyond comradery or friendship or even affection. So he is not as heartbroken as he should be when the relationship ends before it can deserve that designation.
Instead he wonders what this new life, here at the destination of their journey, will mean for the deeply rooted feelings that have been part of who he is for so long
He loves her. Most days he manages to just accept it as a state of being, one more aspect of what makes him the man he is.
The first time she comes to visit him at his new place, she calls late at night, saying she can’t sleep. And then she is at his doorstep. And she is so much softer than he remembered, flowing linen dress, loosely tied back hair and that brilliant smile back on her lips. Her entire face is radiant and alive, and the reminder of what he feels for her threatens to drown him in all its intensity.
He knows then that he won’t ever stop loving her.
They discover who they can be outside of their ranks, and her laughs are suddenly fuller, sometimes causing tears to run down her cheeks, and he wants to kiss the moisture away, kiss her like he’s been wanting to for so long, but he never does, wondering if maybe they have missed their moment.
Until he learns they haven’t.
Nothing could ever compare to how she looks on his pillow, messy hair fanned out around her, her cheeks flushed. She smiles so broadly, with her whole body in such simple and complete happiness, openly reflecting everything he feels for her.
Chapter 27: degradation
His voice is unrelenting, and I immediately follow his order, placing both hands on my desk and my cheek between them. The cool surface is a sharp contrast to the heat trapped by the layers of my dress uniform.
Rough fingers pull at my clothes, and it is difficult to remain still against the manhandling as first my belt, then my pants and underwear are roughly torn down. My legs are kicked apart until I spread them as much as possible, crudely exposing my genitals, and the breath catches in my throat.
“I knew your cunt would be dripping. Of course you’d want that smug bastard to fuck you.”
A finger is shoved into my channel, forcefully, without consideration, and I gasp in response. Then it is withdrawn and pressed against my lips.
“Let me see how much you want a cock down your throat. Maybe I’ll be convinced to let you suck mine. Not that you deserve it after tonight.”
I do my best to please him, use my tongue, hum around the taste of myself but he pulls away, leaving me panting, my churning mind incapable of forming clear thoughts.
“You’re pathetic.” His breath is hot against my ear as he leans over me, covering my back with his heavy form, pressing me against the edge of the wood. All I can do is groan in reply.
“You go out there and you give that dirty little smirk to these men. You make them think they can have you, and you love knowing they will jerk off thinking about that possibility, don’t you?”
I try to swallow but my throat is too dry.
He grips my hair and pulls, making my head lurch back, extending my neck.
“I asked you a question,” he growls against my tender skin.
“Yes,” I croak out, “I flirted with him, but only so they would trade with us.”
We both know that’s a lie, that there was no professional need for me to lean in that close to the ambassador, that I didn’t have to share a dessert with him, that dancing with him was not required at all.
Chakotay huffs, and presses my face back down onto the hard surface. “Like I would believe that. You don’t give a damn about diplomacy. You only care about getting a fat cock up your cunt.”
The next word is a threat, a promise, the reason the blood rushes loudly through my veins.
My knees buckle, legs trembling with adrenaline.
Then the heat of his body is gone, leaving me exposed and cold in the dark office. He is only pressing down on my lower back, securing me to the solid desk.
When the first sharp sting of his hand on my ass surges through me, I cry out the pain and release. He doesn’t give me time to recover, instead hits me harder, causing fire to surge across my skin as each slap overlaps with the last, ensuring he spares no part of me. Tears begin to run from my eyes, but again and again his hand comes down on me, all his strength behind it, each time more cruel than the last.
Until he stops without warning, steps away, and my legs give out, forcing my fingers to wind tightly around the edge of the desk. My tears have pooled on the surface, and my chest is heaving, but I try my best to regain control over my body.
His voice cuts through my desperation.
“You are mine. And I am going to make sure you don’t forget again.”
Chapter 28: striptease
At the end of our shift, his uniform jacket always goes immediately after entering our quarters. Back then I could count the occasions I saw him in just his undershirt on one hand, and it’s not a sight I would have easily forgotten, especially since even then he favored the short sleeved version.
His exposed arms no longer have quite the electrifying effect on me, but that is probably because I have not only grown accustomed to seeing them, but because now I know how much more distracting other parts of him are.
So here I am, already in bed, trying to focus on James Joyce’s musings on Irish-catholic conventions of the 20th century. Under normal circumstances his words captivate me, but I am not sure how I could possibly focus on anything, as Chakotay takes his time to undress in front of me.
Supporting himself on the dresser he bends to take off his shoes and socks and then walks into the ‘fresher. I don’t know why the look of his bare feet has such an impact on me. It must be the ease with which he moves around, the pure domesticity of it all. I hear him relieve himself, then he comes back into view as he washes first his hands, then his face.
His routine is so familiar to me, I don’t have to see his features to know what he looks like as he scrutinizes his reflection, a little bit of vanity I can’t fault him for. In fact, I find it rather charming. After he has brushed his teeth he comes back into the bedroom and his movements draw my eyes to the play of his muscles, thus eradicating any chance James Joyce had of regaining my attention.
Chakotay undoes his pants and gives me the most fantastic view of his behind as he bends over. There is absolutely no chance that he undresses like this when he’s alone. No sentient being could be this much of a tease and not be aware.
Not that I’m complaining.
While he is setting aside his clothes, he shoots me a dimpled smile and I have to suppress a sigh. I can’t believe he still reduces me to a swooning teenager with that grin.
“What are you reading?” he asks casually as he takes off his shirt, exposing his broad torso.
I have to blink a few times before I remember.
“A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man,” I reply without tearing my eyes from him, while he is moving around the room, looking through a stack of padds, and absentmindedly adjusting the seam of his briefs. This blanket is starting to feel a little warm.
My eyes are glued to him, and it doesn’t matter that I have seen him undress a million times, because I still can’t get enough. He isn’t overly defined, doesn’t sport chiseled abs or anything of that sort. Instead he is solid, adorned with an underlying strength that shows itself in every stretch of his arm, every twist of his body.
This strength that translates to our sex-life, when he pins my hands above my hand, claiming me as his. It’s reflected in his solid form that presses me against a bulkhead, his intensity when he watches my reactions as I fall apart under his touch. It’s the rigid shape of is thighs I can dig my nails into, his soft skin, warm against mine when he lays on top of me.
I watch him get under the covers and realize we won’t be going to sleep anytime soon.
Chapter 29: sleepy sex
Through the fog of sleep she is dimly aware of lips caressing her shoulder, a light touch gliding down her abdomen. The world is warm and comfortable around her, and she keeps her eyes closed, embracing how her consciousness is still floating, not quite asleep, but not yet awake either.
Fingers slide between her legs and she moves enough to grant them access. A firm thigh is pushed between hers, opening her up, and the unmistakable hard swell of arousal presses firmly against her behind.
She hums into the pillows and arches her back, seeking more contact, her need a deeply ingrained reflex. The touch between her legs grows more determined, and her fingers wind into the sheets as her whole body is set ablaze, waking up while her mind is still reluctant.
She tilts her hips, inviting the solid length to enter her, and then the hardness rubs between her thighs, spreading her juices, racking up her arousal until she can’t remember how to breathe.
“Please,” is all she whispers into her pillow and then she sighs at the impossible stretch when he finally pushes into her, making her tremble and her insides pulse.
His labored breath is loud in her ear, in sync with his thrusts, while one of his hands is still moving against her clit, knowing fingers stimulating her and she whimpers in need, begs him for more, to please keep going, until finally her entire body convulses with her release.
His fingers grasp her hips harshly, and he keeps going, his pace now almost frantic, until he climaxes with a guttural cry.
A content grin spreads on her features, and she pulls his arm around her, indifferent to the wet trail his fingers leave, her limbs growing heavier yet again, slipping back into blissful sleep.
Chapter 30: breast worship
Kathryn Janeway has amazing breasts.
Obviously the list of features I love about her is near endless, but her breasts are the most exquisite of her physical attributes.
It is embarrassing to admit how soon I came to this conclusion. Even in uniform there was no denying her feminine form, but her fashion choices were always modest, and gave her an aura of being almost untouchable.
Then came New Earth. Suddenly she wore flowing dresses that played around her curves, cut low enough to expose the freckles on her collar bones and I was a lost cause. She transformed into this vibrant, sensual being, barefoot, loose tendrils framing her face, cheeks smudged with the dirt of her garden.
My desire for her always simmered beneath the surface, but I learned to distract myself from the power she had over me. Our friendship and her trust were too important, and I was not going to damage what we had built by giving in to my hormones. However, keeping her out of my dreams during those lonely nights was an impossible task.
Until I didn’t just have to just dream about her anymore.
That first time, we were in no hurry to undress each other. Despite the long build-up to the moment, we both wanted to explore each other completely. I was absolutely mesmerized when her undershirt was tossed aside and I was left to marvel at her full breast, still encased by her standard issue bra. I sat on the bed, and guided her to stand between my thighs so I could press my face against the soft mounds, feel their weight in my palms, and inhale her scent.
She was entirely intoxicating as her fingers wound into my hair, keeping me close. Before long I undid the hooks at her back and then slowly slid the garment down, sitting back to watch as her rosy nipples were exposed, and breathing became impossible.
When I looked up, she was smiling down at me and I lightly caressed her exquisite skin, my fingertips barely touching her, circling her areola closer and closer to the hardened peaks. I grinned when she swayed and had to steady herself by reaching for my shoulders.
I could write novels about that first night. About the overwhelming sense of release that washed over me at taking this step together. About the curiosity we shared for each other’s bodies, wanting to learn everything there was to know. About the pure and all-encompassing happiness of being together, kissing her, feeling her skin against mine. About the passion I had always imagined could flow between us, and still surpassing my expectations.
Now, if anything, our bond has only been strengthened by our years together, by the difficulties we had to overcome as a couple. Her body still holds the same power over me, and it doesn’t matter how many times I have watched her dress or shed her clothes, how many showers we have shared, how often I have watched her tremble in ecstasy.
I have learned that if I focus my attention on her delicate nipples, flick and pinch them just right, I can bring her to climax without ever having touched her sex. I have learned that she marvels at the bite-marks I leave on her soft flesh, seeing the bruises as confirmation of our passion. I also know how beautiful she looks when she wears corsets, preferable those that merely cinch her waist so I can still pay full attention to her flushed chest. And I know I can spend endless hours looking at her nude form in bed besides me, allowing my fingers to wander.
Of course she is aware of my fixation, takes every opportunity to use this knowledge to her advantage. She knows how to lean against me, letting me feel the swell of her chest until my uniform feels too tight. She knows nothing distracts me from a padd, like her elegant finger drawing down her cleavage, sensually exposing more and more until I can’t restrain myself any longer.
And when I pull her towards me, my hunger open and unrestrained, her smile is the reflection of the passion and love we share.
Chapter 31: infinite diversity in infinite combinations
Chakotay could enjoy these diplomatic galas on their own, but they are certainly improved by the presence of his wife. Even after twenty-seven years of marriage, nothing can tear his focus away from her very long, especially not when they have spent all evening teasing each other with what the night still holds.
When she has once more managed to inconspicuously trail her fingers over his behind, he grasps her wrist. The gesture may not look meaningful, but his thumb, firmly pressed to her pulse, speaks volumes to them. He leans in close, a perfectly innocent gesture, even if his words are anything but.
“You have three minutes to find a reason to leave. Get home, undress, and make sure that pussy is wet and ready by the time I get there.”
Her features are the perfect mask of innocence but Chakotay doesn’t need a visual reaction to know his words affect her.
When he enters their bedroom thirty minutes later, she is where he told her to be, obedient as ever. The sight of her nude body, one hand between her thighs, the other on her breast, will never lose its effect on him. When he sees her softened curves, her white hair, and the spots across her skin, brought on by the passage of time, he sees the life she has spent with him. Every year etched into her skin is one they shared, and so how could he not be aroused when their relationship has been so full of shared ecstasy?
He doesn’t have to tell her not to come, she knows her orgasms are his. So she pauses in time, again and again while he undresses, methodically setting aside each item of his dress uniform. By the time he is finished, she is covered in a fine sheen of sweat, brought on by the restraint she has shown.
“Well done. I think you have earned a reward,” he states calmly and lies down on his side of the bed.
“Get on your knees,” is his next command, and her obedience is instantaneous, just as the hunger in her eyes.
Then he reaches out, wraps her long white hair around his wrist and pushes her head down, forcing her to suck in his entire length in one motion. She complies eagerly, humming deep in her throat as she allows him past her gag reflex. He won’t ever tire of seeing how easily she submits to him. She is on all fours, one hand fondling his testicles, the other holding her weight on the other side of his body, and he knows her knees won’t allow her to maintain the position for long, so he wants to make the best of it. His free hand moves down to her soft belly until he finds her cunt, puffy and wet, begging for his attention. And who is he to deny himself this treat?
So with strong hands he maneuvers her to rest above his face, his world becoming nothing but Kathryn, almost like that isn’t the existential truth of his life already. A little reluctantly he lets go of her hair to focus entirely on her, forcing her to sink down against his lips with his hands firm on her ass. He laps at her hungrily, and wants to drown in her aroma, die with his tongue buried inside her.
She sucks him in as far as she can, building the pressure in his groin, and then with one final thrust of his hips he groans in release against her engorged clit, while his semen erupts inside her mouth.
The night has continuously wound her up, kept her fully aware of the pulsing between her thighs, and the moisture soaking her clothes. Giving him the release she so desperately craves has only increased her need for him.
She wants to touch him, feel the muscles of his back, the sinews of his arms, the softness of his midsection. She wants to scrape her nails over his scalp, wipe the white fringe from his damp forehead, trace the weathered lines of his tattoo. She wants to lick the familiar taste off his chest, rub her breasts against the coarseness of his beard.
But her hands are restrained by the padded leather cuffs, attached firmly to the headboard. She pulls against them, arching her body, making it shake with the exertion. She knows she will only escape if he allows her to. Being at his mercy is her choice and she has never once regretted submitting to him so entirely, of giving him command over her body. There is no way she could, not when he knows so very well how to bring her to the edge of sanity.
Her nipples are pulsing, engorged by the force of the clamps. The pressure feels like needles, like a million pricks leading from her breasts straight down between her legs, and she would beg for him to just please let her come if he hadn’t given her the command to stay silent.
Not that he could possibly be dissuaded from his torture between her thighs, where he is intensely focused on the thick vibrator inside her, stretching her, assaulting her nerves. She bites her lip until she draws blood, the decades of practice the cause for her the strength to endure the torment he inflicts on her.
He brings her back up to that brink of climax, over and over, completely indifferent to how long she has been denied tonight. Instead he knows exactly when to stop her with a sharp slap to her swollen cunt, the years having given him the intimate knowledge to control her pleasure.
She writhes and pants, her heart beating fast.
And then he finally lets her fall over the edge, and the climax overwhelms her, fills her being with white light, and in that moment he releases the clamps on her nipples and she cries out in pain, her entire being set on fire, the release and agony mingling as one sensation that consumes her consciousness.
The sparks continue to assault her nerves, and just when she thinks she can’t possibly take any more, that she will forget how to breathe, does the sensation begin to subside, each wave being a little less intense than the last, allowing oxygen to flow down into her lungs again.
She comes back to reality with her body sore and exhausted, and there, at the center of her world, is her husband, smiling in open adoration, his hands warm and comforting on her thighs, soothing her tired muscles. And yes, the grin on his lips may just be a little smug, but she supposes he has earned that right.
His aftercare is meticulous, as he examines her wrists and arms, rubbing along weak muscles, running the regenerator over small bruises before they can blossom into ones that may be too noticeable. She loves watching him perform this task, cherishes how his hands that are so talented and hurting her can be so equally skilled at ensuring her well-being.
In these moments every single year of their lives together accumulates in her center, warm and soothing and there is nothing but happiness.
This is it for Kinktober 2018. What a ride!
Thank you so, so, so much everyone for commenting, leaving kudos and supporting me. It's be such a joy to publish these and get your reactions.
None of these would be here if it wasn't for BlackVelvet42. I can't thank you enough for everything. <3