Top
    


Star Trek - DS9: The Delightful Education Of Julian Bashir Part 1
by The Phantom (MF,F-dom,bond)

Julian Bashir's fingers trembled slightly as he pressed the door chime. It
was only a scant few hours ago since he had met her, when she had come to
the infirmary with a slashed hand. At first, he had been preoccupied with
healing the cut -- obtained in Quark's after, according to her, some of the
other patrons had taken exception to the fact that she cheated better than
they did -- but after finishing, he had looked up to see more. They
exchanged a few words, and he learned that she was from Ishtar. That had
explained several things to him: her skill with a knife (the other man had
sustained considerably more damage) and the way her eyes held him like a
cat's held a mouse. Her gaze alone was enough to make him flush slightly.

He had turned to replace the protoplaser in the sterilization field, and
when he turned back around, she was no more than three inches away from him.
Stammering an apology, he tried to edge past her but could not; her hands
were around his slim waist, and she had positioned her hips directly in front
of his.

"Have you eaten?" she asked him, her voice low and rich. He had managed to
force a "no" past his lips, feeling more and more like a mouse as her eyes
roved over his face.

"My ship is called the Ariad. It is docked at Bay 2," she had told him.
"You are very lovely, Doctor. Be there in two hours."

And then she had left, leaving him quite warm, with a thin film of sweat on
the back of his neck. He sat down to collect himself, feeling the slightly
pleasurable ache between his thighs that always signaled arousal. I guess
it's true, he had thought, what they say about Ishtarian women.

The intervening two hours had passed slowly, with no incident, making it hard
for him to ignore the insistent throb that reminded him of his appointment.
Finally, out of boredom and a desire to distract himself, he asked the
computer for information on Ishtar, the woman's home planet.

When at last he looked up from the desk viewer to discover that the rest of
the two hours had passed, he wondered what would happen. I'm not going, he
told himself. I'm just not going to go. I'll get back to my quarters, get
something out of the food replicator, and just get to sleep early. He sat
back in the chair, leaning his head against the headrest. Though he tried
not to, he couldn't keep from looking at the last image on the viewer -- that
of one of the twelve Ruling Queens of Ishtar with six of her consorts. Six
of ten.

I'm just not going, he told himself again. He got up, licked his lips
nervously, smoothed his uniform, and walked out of the infirmary, dead set
on returning to his quarters.

Now, he stood before the docking entrance to her ship, unable to restrain his
curiosity and thinking even that, perhaps, she might be something that he
needed. He remembered the way she had looked at him after he had regenerated
the skin on her palm, and how he had felt like a rabbit looking up into the
eyes of a sleek hunting bitch, his throat tight and he barely able to speak.
It'll just be a nice dinner, he told himself, but that thought died faster
than Warp 9. He knew how she had looked at him, and he knew after reading
more about Ishtarian culture why she had looked at him as she did.

He pressed the chime again, and the door slid back to reveal darkness lit by
firelight inside. The same rich voice that had caught his attention so
completely in the infirmary told him to enter and swallowing once, hard, he
obeyed.

He saw nothing at first, his eyes still adjusting to the change in lighting,
but when they had, he nearly gasped in astonishment. The rich voice came
again, from nowhere, "I told you I was good at cheating."

The ship was opulent, and everywhere he looked, he saw beautiful things to
delight his eye. Tapestries hung from the bulkheads, flame lamps stood from
the floor, lighting the deeply colored room with a somber and quieting glow.
He moved forward, feeling as if he were walking in liquid topaz light,
looking for the source of the voice. Nervous, he said nothing.

"I'm over here," the voice said, from directly behind him. Julian jumped and
spun around -- and gasped yet again. She walked toward him, and he felt his
chest rise and fall in little pants. He swallowed again.

"Are you nervous?" she asked him, raising her sharp, dark face in a
challenge. She took a step toward him, the click made by the heels of her
boots audible against the polished hardwood floors of her vessel. She wore
only them and a pair of dark fingerless gloves that reached to above her
elbows. In one hand he could just see two velvety blue cords dangling down
to reach the floor.

Any reply he made would be a lie. He tried to shake his head and muster some
bravado and failed, settling only for licking his lips yet again. He had
only guessed at her physique earlier on in the infirmary; now he was able to
see what had previously been only hinted at.

She was tall, nearly as tall as him, and muscles stood outlined under her
smooth flesh as she moved. He was unable to take his eyes off of her, but
could only gaze. Her breasts were firm, and as she breathed their perfect
rosy nipples appeared to point at him, over and over. Her stomach was
hard-looking, with the muscular outlines that spoke of peak physical
condition. Under this were a set of very female hips, and he could just
see in the dark lighting the outlines of her vulva, inviting and mystifying.
Then came the long, fit legs, muscled and strong looking -- what he could
see that was not hidden under the boots she wore. Only the barest hint of
thigh showed; the rest was covered in the black animal skin. No elevated
heels were on these boots; this woman's feet were planted solidly on the
ground.

She was directly in front of him now, reaching up to run her fingers over
his moist lips. "I enjoy watching when you do that." Her eyes were riveted
to his face, raking over it like nails.

"I . . . I . . . thought . . . we were going to have dinner," he managed to
stammer. He felt lightheaded, and she started backing him toward the massive
bed in the far corner of the main room.

"I said nothing about dinner," she told him. "I asked only if you had
eaten." She reached out with leather-gloved hands and took one wrist firmly.
"Have you?"

"N-no. . . " He could only watch in fascination as she tied one of the two
soft blue cords firmly around his wrist, letting the ends dangle down from
his arm. He did nothing to stop her as she repeated this with his other
wrist. "What . . . " he began, but she placed her hand very firmly against
his mouth.

"No questions." He felt her reach down and take his hips again, and with a
push, he was thrust backward to land on the bed. She stepped directly onto
the bed until she stood over him with one foot on either side of his chest.
He could make out more of her moist and tantalizing vulva, but tried only to
squirm his way into a sitting position.

She would have none of it, and placed one booted foot directly on his chest.
"You will not move until I give you leave to move," she said. Stunned and
wondering what this night would teach him, he said nothing, only looked up at
this beautiful and dangerous woman standing over him. As he watched, he saw
the undersides of her breasts moving rhythmically, bouncing gently as the bed
cushion rocked in response to his attempts to get away.

"I saw you in the infirmary," she told him, still standing over his supine
form. "That's when I decided I wanted to teach you." She moved her foot
from off of his chest and descended on him hard, to land sitting with her
legs straddling his ribs. He cried out in surprise, and felt the bed roll
under his back.

Taking his face in her hands, she looked directly into his wide eyes. Her
voice softened but lost none of its resonant quality. "You are so very
beautiful, Doctor, with your large eyes which you use to melt my heart. I
can't let you melt it, though." She shook her dark head. "A teacher must
be firm and disciplined with her pupils." Her dark, sharp-featured face
dipped close to his until he could feel her breath against his trembling
lips. "You, with your lovely mouth and lips and soft voice, which you will
beg with, but I can't let your begging sway me." She took two handfuls of
his hair and drew his head back hard. "Your long slender neck, which I will
see bend and arch as I will it . . . " He turned his head, trying to get it
free of her grasp, breathing hard, and a puppy-like whimper escaped his
throat.

"Please, don't hurt me . . . " he said. His eyes were wide with incipient
fear. "Don't hurt me . . . " Immediately, her voice softened, and she
placed her hands on his smooth young cheeks. He could smell the rich leather
and feel it against his skin.

"Beautiful child, I would never hurt you." Her eyes became moist and soft.
"I will teach you, not hurt you." She ran her hands over his chest and
stomach. "So beautiful . . . " she said with hunger in her voice that
frightened him. No, he thought, not a rabbit. And she's no hunting bitch.
As he watched her tawny, muscled body over his, with its cape of wild dark
hair he realized what she was -- a lioness. That makes me the lamb, he
thought, or the cub. Maybe a gazelle, after being run down and caught. His
breath came faster, and he felt his mouth go dry.

"What is your name?" he managed to choke out.

"Why do you need to know?" he was told. "You need only call me Lady." She
took one wrist and pulled it away from his chest where he had raised it to
protect himself, and he turned his head to see her fastening the dangling
ends of the cord to one of the corner posts of the bed. He could not defend
himself; before he knew what was happening, his arm was stretched out and he
could not budge it. She slapped him lightly. "Stop this ridiculous
struggling." Taking his other hand, he was soon defenseless and completely
vulnerable to this woman atop him. His heart contracted and he cried out
in fear when she rose from the bed and returned carrying a large, vicious
looking knife. She saw his face, questioning and afraid, and her own
expression hardened slightly. "I am not going to hurt you," he was told.
Then, "Do you have another uniform?" Confused, he nodded. "Good."

Fascinated and unable to stop her, he watched as she straddled him again,
slid the knife under his tunic, and cut it away from his body. He fought
against the bonds she had placed him in, feeling the soft cord cut into
his wrist, but she had done her job well, and the knots did not give a
millimeter. "If you don't stop struggling, you could get cut. You must
stay completely still." He did so, and could feel the dull edge of the
knife brushing against his skin as she cut away the uniform shirt to expose
his chest, rising and falling quickly, and his slim stomach. "My . . . "
she said, and placed the knife on the bed cushion. "I see you're this
beautiful caramel color all over, Doctor," she whispered. As her eyes
devoured him, she placed her hands on either side of his neck, drawing
them down toward his waist firmly. He felt her touch, and writhed as her
nails contacted the sensitive skin on his sides and near his waist. He
could not hold back a small sound of mixed distress and pleasure at the
sensation that made his hair stand on end and lit up every nerve ending in
his body.

Her face lit up as well. "Ah!" she said in the voice of someone who has
made a great discovery. His eyes shot to her.

"No . . . "

"`No, Lady,' you mean," she instructed him, drawing her nails against his
smooth cafe-au-lait skin again. His muscles tensed under her touch as he
bucked against her.

"Stop!" His voice broke. "Please . . . "

"Please WHAT?" she demanded, not letting up but intensifying what seemed to
him to hover on a thin and exquisite border between torture and pleasure.
He cried out again. Finally:

"Please, Lady!" was wrung from his quivering mouth.

"What?" She did not stop.

"Please, Lady, stop!" Instantly, the sensation ceased, and he threw his
head back, panting, eyes closed, the muscles in his arms aching from his
struggle against the cords. His eyes jerked open again, though, when he
felt her gloved hand against his cheek again. He looked at her, saying
nothing, only trying to get his breath back.

She was regarding him with a hunger that seemed to make her previous appetite
pale to nothing. Her beautiful face closed in on him, and she placed her
mouth against his, but did not kiss him. He felt her own breath coming more
quickly, and realized that she was becoming as badly aroused as . . .

. . . as he was. He was very badly aroused now, he suddenly saw. He could
feel himself pushing against his uniform trousers, and he wished with all his
heart that she would cut them from around his legs as well. "I want you," he
whispered to her, his lips brushing over hers as he spoke.

"You beg . . . so beautifully . . . " she told him, and he could feel her
lips moving as well. "But . . . " and she pulled back, "I will take you when
and if I decide that you have earned it." He watched with excitement as,
after pulling off his uniform boots, she picked up the knife again and slid
it underneath the cuff of his trousers. Slowly, slowly, he felt the edge
brush against his skin as it rose along his inner thigh, sending chills along
his spine and making goose-bumps stand out all over him. When progress would
have endangered him, she slid the knife up along his abdomen, making him
writhe anew as he felt the edge tickling him, his skin's sensitivity now
heightened with anticipation. The same sensation met his other leg, and as
she then cut away his underclothes, he burst forth, ready and aching horribly
for her. He was completely unclothed, and completely at her mercy.

She turned and threw the knife hard; it thudded into the wall opposite them,
the Starfleet doctor supine and defenseless and the Ishtarian woman who had
made him that way. She was silent for a brief moment, and then drove her
hips down on his, plunging him deep inside her. He gasped and shuddered at
the warm wetness that clutched at him, and moaned in horror when he felt her
withdraw and get up from the bed. "That is a taste," he was told as he
moaned in frustration. "IF you satisfy me, that is what you can win. If
not, you win nothing."

    

Back 1 page


Submit stories to: [email protected](dot)com
with the title heading "TSSA Story Submission"



Bottom