Those who don't know imagine that that alone might be exciting, but it's not. You do not feel the bumps in the road or the varied movements of the waves. There is no scenery or weather to watch as the millions of kilometers flash past. The portholes and viewports stay firmly shut while you are warping space, lest the incomprehensible sights outside drive the minds who beheld them mad.
No one who is claustrophobic is fit for deep space duty. It helps if you are good at keeping yourself amused with indoor activities. All aboard the USS Enterprise have this peculiarity in common. When the ship is sealed and screaming silently through the void, they all find ways to keep themselves busy and happy that don't require sunlight and fresh air.
Captain James T. Kirk is one of the few aboard the Enterprise who actually does frequently crave sunlight and fresh air, which is one reason he always insists on going ashore himself whenever possible. It wasn't possible today, and it wouldn't be possible for weeks. Jim Kirk had a high tolerance for the restrictions that came with his exotic profession, but periodically a full, awful awareness of the total and inescapable nature of his captivity hit him full force, and today was one of those days. Today, the need to go outside and run conflicted directly with the certain knowledge that _that_ was completely impossible, and the thought stuck in his mind like a song which annoyingly, endlessly repeats, and it gnawed at his composure.
Kirk had tried being patient and had waited for Spock to take the initiative again as he had magically done once over five weeks before. What had brought that on? Jim waited for lightning to strike again, but he began to feel he was wasting his time. Patience is not Captain Kirk's strong suit, especially not when he's bored. The suspense and the tension had become unbearable. Jim felt like he was about to explode. Something had to give!
Jim realized that the time was ripe for a long, intense adventure through deep inner space, through pain and desire, to that strange isle of contentment that only his private sadomasochistic exertions could obtain. He used to do himself, with carefully choreographed masturbatory rituals that included self-flagellation and self-administered enema torture, but since Spock (his Vulcan first officer) had become his lover and soon after his "master", Jim learned he had to become accustomed to begging for what he used to freely give himself.
It wasn't easy. Jim loved Spock, he craved what Spock did for him, and he was always immensely relieved afterwards and had every reason to approach eagerly, but it was still difficult to ask for it. He trusted Spock, that was not the problem. He agonized over the embarrassment of his own masochistic necessities. It was an exquisite humiliation to ask, to demonstrate neediness. He had many problems with it. Still, Spock insisted that he abase himself by begging. It was the only way he was now allowed to get what he needed.
Jim didn't dare sneak off to try to do himself. You can't keep secrets from a telepathic lover. Besides, Spock, knowing his weaknesses, had confiscated Jim's "toybag" and was keeping Jim's S/M sex-kit in his cabin.
Jim shifted restlessly in his Captain's chair. He was distracted and irritable. Spock no doubt knew why.
As Jim struggled inwardly with his own stiff pride, he became aware that Spock was watching him. It was always this way. Jim always battled within himself and always ultimately lost. Humans' most implacable enemy is their own human nature. Like gravity, it is always drawing us downwards.
There sat Spock, serene at his station, waiting: poised, centered and certain. Discreetly watching and waiting for the inevitable like a vulture.
Jim glanced Spock's way many times while trying to rouse that queer courage within that made it possible for him to slavishly surrender himself. He was looking for something from Spock, some kind of sign, but he wasn't getting it, and that was frustrating.
This was beyond the need for sex. They had sex, regularly. Spock preferred giving and receiving fellatio - to him it was the most practical, efficient method available. Spock was like that: efficient and practical. He never failed to satisfy, but he wasn't by nature a very sensual creature, nor was he hotly passionate anymore, since the fires of Pon Farr had burned low.
Jim ached to be done to, to be taken; to be used; to be obsessed over. He wanted to be a toy for a masterful will; to be turned inside out as when one empties a pocket. He wanted to be emptied of self: to be totally lost for a while. He wanted to fly out from his body - to see and touch God. How to ask for this? It seemed like too much to ask for. How to explain such a desire to an icily rational creature like Spock?
Jim had managed to convince Spock to act dominant, to privately play the master to his slave, but Spock, although very able and at times brilliant at these kinky games, was too cool-headed and deliberate for Jim's taste. Jim wanted passion, but that went against Spock's grain. Spock actively resisted getting emotional. To him it was as embarrassing as if he pissed on himself.
Jim was sympathetic. He respected Spock's wishes, but that didn't change the fact that he had needs that weren't getting met. Spock had promised to take care of him. What about that?
You'd think, with a telepathic partner, that some things could just go without saying, but apparently not! Telepathic or not, Spock had needs too, and one of his needs was to be explicitly reassured that he was wanted. He needed to be invited. He was not the usually type to force himself on anybody.
An anxious hour passed, and then another, while Jim put the crew through a series of routine drills. Finally, by mid-day the drills were satisfactorily completed. Kirk gave Spock the conn and escaped the bridge and Spock's smug scrutiny. He hastened to the gym and put himself through a vigorous workout, pushing hard, punishing himself. He went from there to a hearty lunch, but only finished half of it, because his anxiety was interfering with his appetite.
Jim retreated to his cabin to clear his mind in privacy. He showered, and brushed his teeth. He reclined on his bunk naked and tried to relax. No good. He felt twitchy. His skin crawled. He halfheartedly tugged at his cock and considered jerking off, but he knew that wouldn't do. He got up and got dressed. He sat at his terminal and started trying to read his favorite message boards, but they couldn't catch and hold his interest.
Bored with his leisure, he decided to concentrate again on duty. He checked his to-do list and decided to answer a couple of personal letters. Almost from the first moment he started composing his first note, he realized he wasn't writing to whom he wanted to write to. His mood shifted and his heartrate quickened as he started a new letter. This one was for Spock.
The words didn't come easily at first, but he kept at it and after several false starts and rewrites, he soon had composed something that met with his approval. He printed a copy without saving it, then deleted its shadow on the computer. Only this one copy existed, on a single sheet of paper.
He read the letter quietly aloud to himself, and then folded it in half, taking great care to fold it as perfectly as he humanly could. Then he painstakingly folded that folded paper inward on itself, by thirds. He knew then that he should stop, but he couldn't stop himself. That was folded again in half, and again, until it finally became a small, folded packet that he could conceal within his hand.
He punched the intercom button.
"Bridge."
"Spock here."
"Mr. Spock, will you please meet me in my quarters? I have something I need to discuss with you."
"On my way" Spock replied, seeming pleased.
Smug, arrogant sonovabitch.
Spock gave the conn to Mr. Scott and walked slowly to the lift, not wishing to seem overly eager to leave. He and Jim both took great care to be very discreet about their affair. It wouldn't reassure the crew to know that the inscrutable alien first officer had a telepathic backdoor into the Captain's skull, especially not if it came to light that torture was involved. Neither Jim nor Spock wanted to try to explain it to anyone.
Spock entered Kirk's cabin and Kirk locked the door behind him manually.
Jim stepped quickly to Spock's side, and, flushed with excitement, he took Spock's receptive right hand with his two hands, and pressed the folded letter into it.
"I think you should take a look at this" Kirk stated, a bit breathlessly. Then he walked briskly away to sit before the terminal at his desk. As Spock delicately and solemnly unfolded the letter, Jim busied himself with one of the other letters he needed to write.
Here is what Spock read:
"For your information:
1) It's been 5 weeks since you last underestimated me.
2) I have TWO holes, you moron.
3) The word enema is not enemy misspelled.
4) I can't help but notice that women still think I'm interesting.
5) All Vulcans are big soft-dick sissies.
6) I am not going to give you an engraved invitation on a silver platter. Fuck you."
Spock was electrified. It was deliberate provocation. He *had* been expecting a handsomely-worded invitation to play, but this... this was practically an invitation to a war.
The "five weeks" remark referred to the last time... and it had in fact happened five weeks, two days and thirty-one point forty-eight hours ago... they had shared a sadomasochistic adventure, and as he recalled it had been a deeply fulfilling experience for both of them. What was meant by this? What is the proper response to such an outrage?
Spock instantly felt a rush of dismay and anger, a sickening but exhilarating combination - the sensation of blood rushing hotly through his veins. He quickly stilled his inward storm with logical thoughts. Jim is clearly trying to manipulate me emotionally, Spock thought. The reason for it, too, seemed clear enough.
His victim's prolonged, tense silence told Jim that Spock had been suitably affected. Encouraged, he focused closely on his banal quarterly catch-up newsletter intended for the cousins that were now raising his orphaned nephew Peter. Now that Jim knew trouble was looming very near, the petty unclassified details he was permitted to release to his relatives suddenly seemed vitally interesting to him. He almost forgot that Spock was still there, seething with resentment. Hee hee. Poor Spock.
Spock deliberately and precisely refolded the letter, and held on to it. He then stood, still as a pillar, and waited for Jim to glance his way, which Jim seemed determined to never do. But eventually, it came: the glance, the blush, the small guilty smile.
"It appears I have overestimated you in one area" Spock intoned. "I apparently was mistaken to think you could conduct yourself in our relationship as if you are a mature adult."
Jim suppressed the urge to chuckle and looked up, eyes twinkling with mischief. "You're still here!? Did you just say something? I wasn't paying attention."
Spock was determined to stay in control of himself, and of the situation. He recognized that this was Jim's awkward and childish way of trying to inspire sadistic behavior. He understood that this was as pretty an invitation as he was likely to get. It would have to do.
"Jim, however long either of us thinks it has been, I agree that it has definitely been too long. I shall not keep you waiting much longer. Meet me in my cabin at 20 hundred, sharp."
Spock then turned on his heel and exited without waiting to be formally dismissed.
"I've got a date!" Jim said aloud, aglow with perverse delight.
The remaining hours in the day passed excruciatingly slowly for Jim. His imagination came fully alive and kept pushing pornographic images of his own anticipated torments to the forefront of his mind. It was only with supreme effort that he managed to attend to the necessary tasks duty put before him. He postponed or delegated everything that he could, and knocked off a couple of hours early.
Jim used the extra time he had created for himself to attend, with extraordinary, meticulous care, to his own grooming. He stepped into the shower again, soaped himself all over, and painstaking shaved off the hair from his face, neck, chest, crotch and ass. It was slow going, and at times an awkward chore. To see between his legs he had to put a mirror on the shower-stall floor and squat low over it. Getting the light to reflect just right was tricky. He had to bunch up a hand-towel, lean the mirror on it just so, and then lean against the fixtures on the wall - not exactly comfortable. Near the end of this process, his right hand that held the razor was nearly numb, his thighs and calves were burning, his back ached, and he felt like he was going cross-eyed.
Once that was finished, Jim rinsed off, toweled dry and studied his reflection in the mirror. He turned sideways, straightened his posture, tightened his tummy, and enjoyed the sight of his own handsome physique. Not bad! Holdin' steady. Gotta watch that waistline. Nice arms, nice pecs...oh, baby, hot lookin' ass. Jim pinched his own nipples erect and blew himself a kiss.
"You are too much!" Jim smiled flirtatiously at his reflection. "You sexy thing, you!"
He left off cologne: Spock didn't like it. He left off his usual fed-issue undershirt and briefs, and donned instead a garment that was a cross between a jock-strap and backless briefs that he'd bought for occasions like this. He then put on a fresh uniform, and used a dab of hair dressing and a fine-tooth comb to perfect his appearance.
He leaned in close and confided to the mirror:
"Such a bad, bad boy."
It bothered Jim that Spock had all the equipment in his cabin. Jim would have preferred to give himself an enema or two just for hygiene (and to put himself in the mood). Spock properly should have given him an enema bag and explicit instructions in how to prepare himself for tonight, damn it. He'd have to talk to Spock about that. The thought occurred to him that he could swing by sickbay and complain to McCoy about feeling constipated, maybe get a prescription for one of those stupid little bird-bath enemas that come in a tiny, premeasured dose, but McCoy was as likely to change his diet to nothing but salads for a week instead.
McCoy understood what was going on well enough to stymie Jim at every turn. Jim had thought, from his earliest conversations with the Enterprise's chief physician, that the guy might be up for some games, but the second Bones got wise to what Kirk was hinting at he slammed that window of opportunity shut. Jim was sure McCoy had a sadistic side, but the guy, alas, seemed determined to stay deep in denial. Lately, having noticed that Kirk was a little too happy, Bones had begun to question Kirk's friendship with Spock a bit too closely, as if he smelled something fishy going on. Killjoy. McCoy's sadism was of the more refined type that insisted on spoiling other kinkos' fun. Part of the fun was getting around him, now.
The more Jim tried to put it out of his mind, the more tempted he became. Why not swing by to talk to Bones for a few? They could have a couple of drinks together. Bones would like that. Spock wouldn't. Perfect!
===
Doctor Leonard McCoy was seated in his back office, and was blissfully idle at the moment, so he was relaxing and enjoying a movie. It was an action/adventure/romance/comedy featuring some new actors he wasn't sure he liked, but the story was entertaining. The leading lady was a real looker - a stunning young Terran woman, a mixed-race brunette with golden brown skin and remarkable bright green eyes - her trademark. McCoy was hypnotized by a close-up of her astonishing visage and didn't notice at first that Captain Kirk had quietly come in and seated himself at McCoy's left.
When Jim asked, "Who's that?" McCoy nearly jumped out of his skin.
"Damn it, Jim, don't sneak up on a fella like that, especially not when he has weapons nearby!"
Irritated, McCoy grouchily stopped the movie.
"Hey, you don't have to stop it!" Jim exclaimed.
"Technically, I'm on duty and I'm supposed to ask you what the hell you want!"
Jim Kirk's handsome face broke into a big, ingratiating grin. "Bones! This is a social call! Relax!"
"That's what I was trying to do." McCoy groused.
Jim leaned forward and licked his lips. "Got any drinkin' stuff? I'm starting my weekend early."
"I'll say. It's Thursday."
"We're in the middle of an infinite sea of endless night. Thursday's just a concept."
The doctor stood and stepped to his cabinet where he kept his private liquor supply, and took out a bottle and two small glasses.
"A weekend is just a concept too, you know."
"Yeah, well, I like the weekend concept better, right now."
"Come to think of it, so do I!" McCoy smiled happily. He poured an ounce of amber liquid into each glass, and offered one to Jim.
Jim saluted his friend with his drink. "That proves the old adage, 'Great minds think alike'."
"To great minds." Bones agreed, and they both sipped.
Bones restarted the film and they watched it together, drinking brandy and critiquing the movie aloud through the whole thing. As the show neared the climax, Jim petulantly asked for something stronger than brandy and McCoy obliged him with a glass of Romulan ale, one of their shared guilty pleasures. Within minutes the conversation became more ribald and hilarious.
Once the movie was finished they simply continued criticizing the actors, the director's questionable decisions, and the preposterous dialog. The ending hadn't satisfied them. This led to talk of better films they had enjoyed, and others they wished to see, while the ale kept flowing. Jim managed to kill his remaining hour this way. He knew Spock disliked him drinking with McCoy, and the thought of Spock's displeasure added to Jim's enjoyment.
Boy, I'm was really going to get it tonight, Jim thought.
The way his erotic undergarment was pinching Jim reminded him of his agreement to meet Spock. He rose to his feet and waited for the rest of the room to catch up to him before bidding his drinking buddy a fond farewell.
"Welp, gotta go. I got a date" Jim winked.
To McCoy, Jim had been in kind of a funk for months, keeping himself to himself too much. McCoy believed that, for any young man, it was healthy to date and unhealthy not to... and this was especially true for one as full of sap as Kirk. Jim's apparent celibacy had been troubling to the Doctor. He was concerned that Spock had convinced Jim to substitute some weird Vulcan mental discipline for a normal human-style social life. He was pleased that Jim had apparently decided to start to acting normal again.
Radiating approval, McCoy smiled broadly. "Really!? Who with?"
Jim regretted his careless remark. He backpedaled, playing coy. "Oh, nobody you don't know."
"Oh, come on, you can tell me!"
"No medical need for you to know, Doctor."
"Come on, Jimmy-boy, come on...!"Bones weedled.
"No!" Jim was serious. "A gentleman's gotta stay true to the code."
"You must have wanted to tell me or you wouldn't have brought it up!" McCoy cannily pointed out. "I'll find out anyway, eventually. Everybody talks about everybody around here."
"I know, and that's WRONG!" Jim asserted, aroused. He pointed his finger at McCoy. "Loose lips sink ships! Don't gossip! I grew up in a small town where that was the national sport, and it ruins people!"
"All right! All right! Forget that I asked!" McCoy stowed the bottle and glasses, since the party was clearly over.
Jim was on a roll.
"I don't talk about people and I don't like people talking about me! If you hear anything about anybody, don't pass it on, squelch it! Especially if it's about me! That's an order!"
"Aye, aye CAPTAIN! Will there be anything else, CAPTAIN!?" McCoy barked, adopting a combative stance. He wouldn't let anybody, he didn't care who, stand over him in his own office and browbeat him.
Realizing he'd overstepped the bounds of McCoy's hospitality, Jim gentled his manner.
"Oh, no, that's great, Bones. Uh... thanks a million. I'd better go."
After Jim left, McCoy felt troubled. He found himself wondering why Jim was so secretive and defensive? Code, my eye! It didn't seem like the Jim Kirk he had come to know. But does anybody really know anybody?
===
Minutes before 2000 hours Jim realized with a guilty pang of regret that he was about to wheel into his deadly serious Vulcan fuck-master's lair with a head full of Romulan ale. Spock had been quite specific about wanting Jim to quit drinking completely. Jim wasn't a chronic drinker, but when he did drink, he drank hard, and Spock didn't like it.
He also suddenly realized that he was ferociously hungry. His stomach felt like it was trying to eat itself. He'd missed dinner while drinking with Bones. Jim drunkenly reasoned that a quick meal and a couple of cups of strong coffee would help to set him up for his confrontation with Spock, so he stopped by the galley to pick up a snack.
Kirk, a classic hyperactive with a muscular physique and a fast metabolism, generally had to take in approximately 4000 calories a day just to maintain his weight. The galley crew was accustomed to Kirk's erratic snacking habits. They weren't surprised to see him.
A petite young redheaded crew woman named Tammy assembled a ham and cheese sandwich for Kirk, flirting like mad all the while. Cute kid. Kirk liked her all right, but he tried to not to encourage her too much. She really wasn't his type. Too tiny. Dainty as a doll. Kirk preferred his women bustier, and more robust overall. He liked a woman he could wrassle with, without worrying that he might hurt her. Some one like the shapely Lt. Uhura was much more like it, but unfortunately he was not *her* type.
Kirk stood at the counter in the galley and devoured his sandwich on the spot, while Tammy watched. He washed it down with one cup of coffee and took another one to go.
He stopped by his cabin one last time to repair his appearance and it was 20 hundred hours, straight up. He called Spock on the intercom.
"Spock here."
"Mr. Spock, this is the Captain. I've been delayed, but I'm now on my way."
"Understood. Spock out." Spock closed the connection.
Ohh, he's not happy, Jim thought. I'd better make nice with him right away.
Sensing he'd already gone too far, Jim began planning all the mollifying things he'd say and do after his arrival as he walked quickly to Spock's quarters.
I'll drop to my knees right away, he thought. I'll be real cooperative. Whatever he wants is fine.Tonight's his night.He's the king.
Jim's heart was racing. The hot glow that resulted from combination of fear and anticipation filled his senses. He got the classic 'butterflies in the stomach' feeling, a kind of stage fright. This was it: it was crunch time. He knew he'd given Spock ample reason to go hard on him, very hard. Maybe he shouldn't have had that big sandwich just now. It was always better to encounter one's bete noir on an empty stomach. He'd forgotten that.
Kirk rang Spock's bell and the door slid open at once. Jim slipped quickly inside. The room was dimly lit and he didn't see Spock at first. He waited for the door to seal shut behind him, then he sank to his knees as he had planned.
He was no longer his own man. He was Spock's, now.
Silence.
Curious, Jim looked around for Spock. Then he saw his tall, slim shape, a solid black shadow against the wall. The presence moved nearer, and Jim now could see that Spock was clad head to toe in a spectacular form-fitting black rubber suit. Spock wore a matching skin-tight hood that left only his face visible. There was a predatory expression gleaming in his alien eyes.
Jim was thrilled. Apparently Spock had something major planned for this evening! He hadn't dressed up before. This showed forethought: it definitely wasn't an impromptu thing for Spock to encase himself in latex. Now Jim really was sorry he hadn't been more respectful, sooner.
Spock silently crossed the room directly to Kirk and firmly grasped a handful of Jim's hair with a gloved hand. He pulled, and Jim allowed it. When the pain became extreme, Jim understood he was expected to stand. He put his hands up, but stopped himself from touching Spock's hand.
Give him what he wants. Just go with it, Jim thought to himself. You deserve this, you asked for it, brat.
Holding Jim away from him at arm's length by his hair, Spock fixed his obsidian gaze on Jim's hazel eyes. Their gazes locked.
"You are late."
"Yes," Jim gasped hurriedly, "I know. I'm sorry..." Jim willed his hands down by his sides, and submitted.
"You are to be punished for this infraction, and for the others."
"Yes, sir. I understand", Jim agreed.
"Hang your uniform and return to your knees before me...now."
Spock released his hold and Jim hastily undressed. He was back at Spock's booted feet in less than a minute. He knelt and clasped his hands behind his back in the posture of submissive readiness that Spock had previously trained him to adopt.
The sweet, pungent aroma of the latex and the distinctive crinkling sound it made when Spock moved even slightly attracted Jim's attention. His eyes had adjusted to the light and he now could see some of the details of Spock's fantastic costume. Spock was clad in heavy, form-fitted black rubber boots that laced up to the knee. He was wearing a pair of snug rubber leggings that Jim saw was cleverly punctuated by a snap-off codpiece. Nice detail, that. It meant Spock could get his cock sucked, or fuck, without having to undress. How convenient. Jim's crotch got hot and his cock pulsed alive just to think of it.
He didn't have long to think. Now that he was in position and plainly ready for action, Spock went to work.
Spock stepped behind Jim and knelt. Jim felt him deftly binding his wrists together...not with rope, this was something else. A long, wide, flexible strap or thong, bound around and around and then between to tighten it together, then knotted. It was quite secure. Jim tested the binding, pulling it, and felt that it was of some kind of strong, stretchy material.
Immediately after, Spock reached around Jim's body from behind and, while holding him firmly around the shoulders with his strong left arm, he reached for Jim's face with his right hand. Jim flinched, unsure about what was coming. Spock pinched Jim's nose closed. Jim opened his mouth to breath, and Spock's left hand came up to his mouth and introduced a wide rubber strap. He used both hands to pull it into place, pulling back as if on the reins of a horse. Spock pulled firmly back with one hand, and with the other he brought the length of the strap around Jim's head, into his mouth over the first layer, and then around again, and drew it in snug into place. This then was knotted at the back of Jim's head.
Jim's mouth was now held open and filled. He could bite down on the rubber straps and bend them a little, he could chew on them, but they forced his jaws open whenever he relaxed. Jim began to salivate around this unusual gag. The taste of the rubber was both attractive and repulsive. His tongue was pushed back, crowded to the back of his mouth, so that he could hardly move it. With the ball gag he was accustomed to, he could use his tongue to toy with the object, but not this time. It was hard to swallow. Jim threw his head back so his collecting saliva would run to the back of his throat. He swallowed, but it was a strain.
Jim was filled with a weird admiration. This already was more of an adventure than he had been expecting. Spock had clearly been doing his homework!
Spock strolled slowly around his kneeling, wide-eyed captive and seemed to be simply enjoying the sight of Jim as the man experienced new sensations. Spock could telepathically sense Jim's growing alarm and masochistic happiness, and it was impossible to ignore the prominent erection that was stretching the front of Jim's jock out of shape.
Spock now stood before Jim, and leaned over to place his large hands under his manly captive's arms. He lifted Jim easily to a standing position, and felt Jim's approving aura celebrating the moment. Jim loved Spock's strength.
Spock steadied Jim, and once he was sure he was secure on his feet, let go. Jim straightened, stood tall, and pushed his shoulders back as if offering his nipples for Spock's amusement. Whatever was going to happen next, he was impatient for Spock to get on with it.
Spock looked down at Jim's crotch. Jim's erect prick was peeking its pink tip out of Jim's waistband, like a kangaroo's joey nosing up out of the pouch for some air. Spock was amused.
"Hello." Spock greeted Jim's hardon.
"Agk" Jim replied. It was all he could say.
Jim now could see that Spock had another of the long rubber thongs draped around his neck. It stayed there for now. Spock's hood was actually part of the shirt. It was a sleeveless, hooded, rubber shirt. Spock's arms were covered nearly to the shoulder with shiny, black latex gloves. Jim fixated for a moment on the tiny area of bare skin at Spock's shoulder. He felt a sudden unprecedented desire to kiss Spock there, on that one, naked, neglected, vulnerable spot, but of course he couldn't do that right now.
Spock slid silkily behind Jim, and passed his gloved hand over the muscled mounds of Jim's ass. With his left hand in front he gently squeezed Jim's pulsing cock through the fabric, and with his right hand he toyed with Jim's ass, palming one cheek, then the other, patting here and petting there, enticing and teasing.
Then Jim saw, pushed up against the wall, the table that Spock had prepared with the items he planned to use tonight, and the sight of the instruments of his torment arrayed so logically and neatly combined with Spock's seductive touch inflamed Jim to a nearly intolerable degree. Jim moaned a warning.
"Oh, not to worry. You'll not be getting off very easily tonight." Spock warmly assured him. "First, you are to be punished for your tardiness." Spock stood again before Jim. He carefully caught Jim's left nipple between his forefinger and thumb and pinched hard, then harder, then began to pull. He backed up slowly and Jim was compelled in this manner to follow him.
Jim suddenly felt rebellious. The gag was already too oppressive. He turned away sharply, painfully freeing his nipple from Spock's grasp and frowned, shaking his head. He felt a strong desire to talk to Spock for a minute. He wanted the gag removed.
Spock's response was to grab for Jim's waistband, and with two hands he tore it open. He violently ripped the ridiculous garment free from Jim's torso, then, as Jim spun about and insanely tried to run, Spock thrust his arm under Jim, between his legs, and lifted him right up off the floor. Jim squealed, for a moment terrified. Spock caught a secure hold of Jim's body and held him aloft - one arm around Jim's torso, the other thrust between his legs.
Jim's mind reeled as the room wheeled around. He was straddling Spock's arm in mid-air one moment, with his tattered garment falling down around his thighs, and the next moment Spock was letting him fall to the left, he was spinning, now he was stopped in mid-air head down, kicking legs flailing skyward, and Spock was carrying him to the table. There was nothing he could do but roar a strangled protest against the horrible rubber straps in his mouth, and that did no damn good whatsoever.
Spock lay a kicking, gargling, infuriated Jim belly down on the floor by the table, and then lay his weight across Jim to hold him down. He let Jim buck helplessly for one long minute and 17 seconds, until he tired himself. Jim was having trouble breathing in enough air to empower him for his exertions, and he finally stilled his limbs to concentrate on breathing.
During the brief respite Spock quietly asked, "Would you like to have that nasty gag removed?
"AgK! Uhn!" A sweating, red-faced Jim affirmed, nodding emphatically.
"If I agree, do you promise to remain silent unless I ask you to speak..."
"Agk uhn!"
Spock gave Jim's undefended ass a hard swat with his hand.
"Let me finish!"
"nn-nn!" Jim whimpered, closing his eyes.
"Remain silent, unless you are required to speak, and then you must be polite. Do you promise?"
Jim nodded.
"Very well, I shall remove it temporarily, but you must keep your promise, or there will be dire consequences."
Jim moaned with relief. He was suddenly extremely anxious to be free of the hated mouthful.
Spock made him wait a little longer, though. Spock quickly secured Jim's ankles, first the right, then the left, to a leg-spreading hobble bar he had handy, before moving to Jim's head to unwind the head strap with ceremony. He took the long rubber thong, wet with Jim's saliva, and tossed it across the room where it slapped the wall and slid snakily down to curl in a heap on the floor.
Now Spock untied Jim's arms. Jim was hugely relieved by this change. He hadn't realized until the gag was gone that his arms were also starting to bother him. He normally would have thanked Spock for this mercy, but this time he obeyed the silence order instead.
Spock used the strap to now bind Jim's hands together palm to palm, as if for prayer. He then stood, and again pulled Jim to a stand.
Jim was forced by the bar to stand with his legs apart. He looked at his ankles, his bound hands, and didn't imagine that his situation was much improved. He knew this meant he was in for a whipping, and probably worse, but he had been expecting as much, and was resigned to it. He offered Spock a small smile, indicating his readiness to continue.
Spock now took the thong that was still draped around his neck, and doubled it while Jim watched. He walked behind Jim and formed a simple sliding noose with the thong as he walked. Then he held the noose ready with one hand, and reaching between Jim's legs from behind, he took a secure hold of Jim's testicles with the other.
Jim grunted, but permitted it.
Spock ensnared Jim's balls with the rubber noose, tugged it tight, then tied the rubber leash to the speader-bar that separated Jim's ankles, shortening the length until the weight of the bar was supported by Jim's scrotum.
Uh, oh. Jim thought, heart hammering.
Spock tightened the rubber thong a bit more. Jim was forced to squat to be the slightest bit comfortable. If he straightened his legs even slightly it pulled on his balls, sending sharp pains shooting upward through his abdomen. Jim reflexively held onto the thong with his bound hands in an effort to relieve the pressure.
"Hands behind head." Spock said.
Jim raised his hands and interlaced his fingers behind his head, as ordered, and glimpsed Spock out of the corner of his eye. He saw that Spock was holding the wooden paddle. Ohhh. This was it. The punishment he'd been promised.
Spock pronounced the sentence. "You were four minutes late. You will be paddled for four minutes for your tardiness, beginning now."
Spock landed a solid smack with the paddle on Jim's ass that sent Jim staggering forward a step.
Jim thoughtlessly straightened a bit but the pain in his nuts immediately reminded him to maintain the humiliating squat that his bondage enforced. The second Jim had his feet well under him Spock rocked him with another hard swat. His butt already was aflame. A few swats more and Jim was waddling a couple of steps forward with every swat. Spock permitted it. It amused him to drive Jim around the room this way.
Two minutes and many torturous swats later, Jim was beginning to break down. Sweat dripping down his forehead stung his eyes, and bought him an excuse to weep. This was good: one thing Jim needed was to cry.
His thighs burned, his nuts ached, his ass was on fire, but as terrible as it was, he strangely wanted more. The tears begand to flow freely, and he let them. Sobs caught in his throat. Another swat, another. Suddenly, a deeply perverse stubborness asserted itself. Jim stopped walking and held his ground, bracing himself for more. He didn't care about any of it, now... he just wanted to get it over with.
Take it you cocksucking piece of shit, Jim miserably told himself in his thoughts. Take it. Take it. Take it.
Jim closed his eyes. Everything turned red. A weird ecstasy overtook him and he involuntarily sobbed aloud.
Spock stopped everything when Jim swayed unsteadily. There was more time left but Spock waived his right to claim it. This had gone on long enough.
Spock freed Jim's balls from their bondage and Jim reflexively uttered a keening cry of relief.
"You may thank me." Spock growled.
"Thank you, Daddy", Jim whispered hoarsely. His mouth was dry.
Spock required Jim to kneel on the floor, and then he stepped to the washroom and brought back a cup of water for Jim. Jim let Spock hold the drink for him. He drained the cup in five gulps. Spock brought another cupful, and Jim smiled at him before obediently drinking all of that, too.
"Water is very good for you Jim." Spock spoke soothingly. "Much better for you than what you were poisoning yourself with before you came to me tonight."
Uh oh. Here it comes, thought Jim. He raised his eyes, full of love and fear, to look for a crumb of pity in his lover's gaze but all he saw was the dark mirrors of Spock's fanatical, demonic Vulcan glare.
Uh oh.
How did I get myself into this situation? Why do I do this to myself? Jim suddenly wondered. He suddenly envied normal people. Normal people are doing pleasant things right now, Jim thought. They aren't offering themselves as a living sacrifice for some implacable Vulcan scientist's experiments in human endurance. They don't have to spend the better part of a perfectly peaceful Thursday night, bloated like a pregnant woman, pumped full of obscene amounts of water and twisting on the nozzle like a worm that's impaled on a fishhook! Why can't I be like THEM!?
Why do I allow this? Jim wondered as Spock led him, still hobbled, to the shower stall where his hands were bound above his head to the shower head.
What is the meaning of these gestures? Jim wondered as Spock, dissatisfied with Jim's shaving job, tugged on Jim's balls, forcing him into a squat again, holding him firmly in place that way with one hand, while scraping off the few stray hairs Jim had missed with a dry straight razor, in a manner that implied a threat of castration.
How is it that we two are here, doing such things together? Jim wondered, marveling at it as if it were a miracle, while Spock knelt and sucked Jim's cock erect, while simultaneously introducing the fateful nozzle which was to be the principle instrument of Jim's destruction tonight.
The nozzle, that was connected to the tube, that was connected to the dear old bulging, red, two-quart enema bag, which was being refilled by the new black one-gallon bag which was suspended higher above it. Oh, dear. Oh, dear. Wasn't that....dangerous?
What kind of a guy has a hole for a primary sex organ? This guy. And what a thirsty hole it is, too. Oh, take it, bitch. Take it. Take it. Take it and beg for more, you insatiable whore hole.
Whose hole is it? Why, it's yours Spock, of course. Your hole. Fill it however you like, of course. It's your water hole, your finger hole, your fuck hole, your cum hole. It's whatever you want it to be.
Spock filled Jim with water slowly, and humiliated him by forcing him to hold it as long as possible before allowing him to empty out right there, standing in the shower ankle-deep in his own filth, overwhelmed by the stench. Then, they did it again. It wasn't nearly so dirty the second time. Spock slowly filled Jim's gut with water one last time. His decision.
If it were left up to Jim there would be no last time.
While Jim - utterly full, his belly swollen and distended - was enjoying feeling totally surrendered and possessed, Spock snapped off the codpiece and prodded between Jim's asscheeks. He pushed his greased cock into place and pumped, while Jim swooned with pain and delight. Gut cramping, asshole burning, Jim twisted his hips around Spock's hot cock... then moaned a warning, and ejaculated mightily, spraying semen on the shower stall wall. He experienced an orgasm of such raw, primitive power that tears of pure amazement squirted from his eyes. He was squirting from everywhere. He was chosen, he was blessed, he was God's holy fountain, a divine sieve. He loved Spock so much! Spock was God, God was love, and love was everything. Love, love, love. It was all there was.
Everything was light for a timeless moment, then everything was dark. But it was all still love.
Except now it was starting to get cold. Jim leaned against the wall, shivering, teeth chattering. His hands were numb, but that was all right. That was love too. Then Spock turned on the hot shower, and that was just heavenly. Nothing before had ever felt so good or had come so close to being perfect.
Spock, seeing that Jim was far away, drifting blissfully on an endorphin high that would probably last for days, realized his work for now was done. He freedJim's feet, untied Jim's hands, and tenderly washed him all over with soap before rinsing Jim's exterior completely clean. He peeled off his latex garb and rinsed the individual items clean in the spray, while Jim leaned against him, gently fondling him, worshipfully. Then, Spock embraced his slippery, dreamily smiling lover, and guided him out of the shower, across the cool tile floor, to the towel rack, where Jim passively allowed Spock to bundled him up in a large white towel.
The Vulcan easily lifted Jim in his arms as if he were an oversized child, and carried him to his bed. After covering his human lover with a blanket, Spock returned to the washroom and finished cleaning and drying his latex garments.Then he packed them away for another day.
Before Spock had finished stowing the toys and rearranging his room, Jim was sound asleep. Kirk was normally a light sleeper who was easily awakened, but not tonight. Tonight Jim stepped off the edge and fell straight to the bottom of the abyss like a stone. He was gone, perhaps for the rest of the night.
Spock wondered if this was the most desireable outcome possible.He'd originally planned to keep Jim awake all night. But Jim wore such a beatific expression as he slept, that Spock became convinced that that evening's adventure was a complete success.More would have been too much.