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Star Trek - DS9: The Delightful Education Of Julian Bashir Part 2
by The Phantom (MF,F-dom,bond)

"Lady . . . " he gasped, his voice soft and pleading. She turned back to
face him, and he saw in her eyes what she saw: his bare body, shining with
the light sheen of sweat that had formed on him, long legs stretched out
along the bed with his rigid sex between them, arms forced wide, face alive
with a mix of fear and arousal. She turned away then, and he watched as
she disappeared into another room. After an awful pause during which she
was out of his sight, she returned carrying a small silver jar. He only
watched as she resumed her position standing over top of him. This time,
he could see her sweet vulva more clearly, and he felt himself throb and
thirst to be inside her again. "What . . . what is that?" he managed to
whisper. She reached down quickly and grasped him hard, squeezing tightly.
Julian's head swam.

"*What* do you say?" she demanded softly, in a voice of great affection and
patience.

He could barely think for the roaring of blood in his ears. "What is
that . . . Lady?" he choked out. She released him, and he began breathing
again, not sure of whether he would want her never to touch him like that
again, or do so over and over until he was wrung dry.

She sat on the edge of the bed and stroked at his inner thigh idly as she
told him, and he could barely concentrate on her words. "It is called
kamireh." She removed the lid slowly, then resumed stroking his thigh.
Not even addressing his body, twitching with every move ment of her fingers,
she explained further. "It is very sweet," she scooped out a small portion
on a fingertip and smiled at him a smile he had been waiting to see all his
life, "and VERY sticky." Languidly, she placed her finger in her own mouth,
and sucked at it as he watched, his large eyes riveted to her lips and how
they draped around her finger, how her cheeks pulsed as she sucked. Allowing
this tension to mount, she then scooped out another little mound of the
kamireh and held it over his anxious mouth. "Would you like some?"

He parted his lips. "Yes, Lady . . . please." She withdrew her finger
slightly as his mouth rose for it.

"I should warn you that it has some . . . unusual qualities," she informed
him, pulling her hand back until it was directly between her breasts.

"What . . . unusual qualities?" he asked, then added quickly, "Lady," at her
budding expression of displeasure. She was satisfied.

"Pleasure-enhancing qualities, or rather stamina-enhancing. Are you really
sure you want some?" She shifted her position slightly, opening her legs
just a bit so that he could see past the leather and between her firm thighs.
She saw him looking at her and her eyes became hooded at the naked hunger on
his face. "That's for later, if you do your job well." Then, she held her
hand over his mouth and slowly placed her finger between his eagerly parted
lips. His eyes closed in sheer pleasure as he sucked at the intensely sweet
creamy confection. He could feel it making his blood pulse faster, and his
sex, previously beginning to surrender to frustration, bounded back to stand
at attention, thirsty and throbbing. His appetite rebounded with it, and he
heard himself moaning in response to it.

He had never wanted anything so badly.

After a few moments, the silence in the room caused him to open his eyes.
She was watching him, plainly taking great delight in witnessing his reaction
to the kamireh. "You are VERY responsive," she said approvingly. "Few men
so young respond so well and so completely to it. Would you like another
taste?"

He had to gather his breath. "Yes, Lady, I would." A chill swept over his
naked body, and he shivered.

"Very well." She resumed squatting over him, painfully not such that he
would be able to be inside her, took another little mound of kamireh and, as
he watched in growing excitement, placed it on her tongue. She bent over
him and his lips parted again; his heart knocked hard enough to burst from
his chest in anticipation of . . .

He felt her tongue slide between his lips, the sweet cream at the tip, and
meet his own. For a few moments, he felt nothing, was nothing, save the
delicious sensations flowing over him like wet velvet as he sucked at her
tongue. Her breasts touched lightly against his chest as she bent over him,
and for a time they were silent, toying with one another's warm nimble
tongues and delighting in the sweetness of the kamireh.

Then, he felt another burst of hot fire run through and over him, and the
hard throb that pounded at him from his sex felt as if it could drive him
through the roof. He was gasping now, and whimpering lightly on every
exhalation. Finally, he found the consciousness to open his eyes, and saw
a similar hunger in her face, felt as her breasts pushed rhythmically at
him as she panted as well; the kamireh affected Ishtarians, too. "I
must . . . " she began, then broke off as a shudder ran through her; her
felt her sex also twitch and pulse against his naked belly. "I must . . .
be careful of the kamireh, or I will not be able to," she looked at his
shining body with greed, "restrain myself long enough to instruct you
properly." For a brief few seconds, she simply stared at him, grasped his
upper arms, and gripped them so hard that she left the imprints of her
nails in his skin. "It's a pity you Starfleet types are so dedicated, and
so easily missed, or else I might never let you off my ship." At his
expression, she patted his cheek. "Don't worry, Doctor. I have every
intention of allowing you to return to your duty, but," and she traced her
fingers along his sternum down to the hollow area between his hips, "your
duty lies with me right now." Yet again, she drove her hips down onto his,
this time lingering a little longer. He felt her muscles contract as she
squeezed at him, and felt rather than saw her take two handsful of his hair
and pull his head back until his neck was extended completely. Fleet doctor,
brilliant specialist in multi-species medicine, he was now nothing but a
mass of raw nerve endings, knowing and caring about nothing but the
satisfaction of the woman that had swallowed him up. She was right; his
duty was here now. She clutched at him for a few more times, her own face
betraying her excitement and desire as she watched his body arch under hers,
and then she withdrew, oblivious to his sobs, and stood over him on the bed.

He could restrain himself no longer. "Lady!" he begged her. "Lady,
please . . . " His voice broke as he begged. "Lady . . . " But she simply
stood over him, looking down at him stretched beneath her, his arms tense
with their tendons standing out in clear relief as he strained against the
cords, fists gripping them. "Please," he whispered. She stood still for
long agonizing seconds, moving only as the bed swayed under her from Julian's
twisting and arching. Then, she squatted slowly over him, again not taking
him in despite his desire, and picked up the silver jar again. This time,
however, he shook his head in fear. "Please, no," he begged her. "No more,
Lady. I don't want that." His soft voice caught. "I . . . want you . . . "

She was silent and removed the cap, and then her gloves. Taking a little
kamireh out of the jar, she placed it caressingly on the head of his sex,
and with languid strokes, covered the shaft. He watched as she did this,
thrilling to each touch of her hands, gasping as his body reacted to them,
heightened by the kamireh already. "This," he was told, "will intensify
the experience. For both of us." She replaced the lid of the silver jar,
and grasped him firmly, hard enough to make his eyes squeeze shut. He
gritted his teeth, awaiting whatever would come next. When nothing
happened, he looked down and saw only her face looking straight at him.
Then, with great delibera- tion, she placed her sex directly over his and
guided him into her. He only stared and swallowed, not sure of whether or
not she would allow him to remain inside of her. Her face gave him no
clues; it was expressionless, looking into his eyes, or rather through
them. "Your eyes are," she bent down until she was on top of him, her face
even with his, "most remarkable. They are . . . like liquid . . . " Then,
she devoured his mouth, unable to control herself. She was whispering now,
as she took his face in her hands. "You will keep your eyes on mine at all
times." She paused and put her lips over his without kissing him, all the
while maintaining eye contact. "Even when you come." Her voice was soft
and delicious as she began to squeeze at him and undulate herself against
him. He shuddered and closed his eyes, and she stopped.

Nearly sobbing, he looked at her, his face a question between her hands.
"You will keep your eyes on mine at all times," she repeated. "Even when
you come."

"Yes, Lady," he breathed, and she resumed, keeping her grip on his head and
keeping his face turned to hers. More slow clutching, more languid movement
of her hips, becoming gradually more energetic as the kamireh took effect on
her as well. She watched as he tried to control his reactions, keeping his
eyes locked with hers. At one point, he bit his lip to keep from crying out.
Her face tightened in distress. "No!" she told him. "You may use your
voice." He nodded slowly in response, his nods gradually taking up the
cadence of her muscles gripping him, her hips grinding into his. Quietly at
first, but growing in volume, he moaned with each breath. Every part of his
body, every action, became synchronized with the woman to whom he had somehow
come to owe his bodily allegiance. He watched her head bob as the kamireh
took her, saw her wild hair drag over her wet body, felt her spasm as the hot
throbbing laid its grasp on her, saw her sweat-filmed breasts move in little
up-and-down circles as her body became synchronized as well with the wave
that had taken them both over. Together, they moved, together they moaned,
together they breathed -- all the while with their eyes locked.

He was tightening, becoming very tight, so tight . . . "Lady," he moaned
quietly. He could feel himself nearing the peak as she released his head and
slowly dragged her nails down his chest and stomach until her hands were at
her own hips. He was beyond gasping, felt only the first shuddering surge of
energy; she saw it as well, and her hands flew back to his cheeks to hold his
head rock steady. She bent again to him, focusing her eyes directly on his.
"Even when you come," she reminded him, her voice a ghostly hiss. He could
not respond, but only react as she clutched and thrust, finally feeling the
tightness build to the point where he felt that he could not stand it any
longer, to the point where he felt that the horrible ache would remain with
him all his life if he . . .

Then suddenly, with consuming thunder, he felt the first wave break over his
slick body. Though she kept her hands around his head, he managed to break
her iron grasp and his eyes rolled back. His voice, inarticulate and
wondering, gave way to such sensations that he never imagined a human body
could sustain without losing consciousness. Over and over, he felt himself
bucking wildly underneath the weight of the woman who owned him; over and
over, his hips thrust upwards, driving himself so deeply into her that he
felt he never wanted to come out. Oceans of cold water poured over Julian
Bashir, drowning him in icy fire. The cords, wet with his sweat, cut against
him, rubbing the skin from his wrists, but the hot electricity of the raw
skin on his arms only added to the intensity of what was breaking over him
with the power of a tsunami. All the nerves in his body were nothing but hot
wires, coursing with voltage that threatened to burn out his mind. The
sensory burnout sustained itself until he felt he could take no more;
incoherent from pleasure, he could only be buffeted about by the storm raging
around and through him. Minutes, hours . . . he did not count time. When he
at last knew himself again, the flame lamps were nearly dark, and his Lady
was in a state similar to his own -- asleep on top of him, covered in her own
sweat and his, exhausted.

His eyes took some time to adjust to the light level, and he wondered how
long he had been unaware of his surroundings. A trickle of their mingled
sweat that had once seemed so hot drew a sensuous icy line down his side, and
he caught his breath. Turning his head took every ounce of energy he had,
and he saw that his arms were still tied in the cords -- cords that had
become frayed and strained through his thrashing.

Every muscle in his body was sore. His stomach, his legs, his arms
especially. His abdomen and thighs were stiff and refused to respond to his
orders -- particularly with the prone form of his Lady asleep on top of them.
Still feeling the exhaustion, he sighed and dropped back to sleep.

    

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