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2000-02-15 00:00:00 - Belonging & Turn - (-Sir Matthew Good- <m_g_b_f_c@hotmail.com>)


Tom knelt, naked and shivering, waiting for the One who owned his life. He had been terrified he would be late. The One had been very displeased last week when he had been held up in Sickbay, the Doctor literally holding him in place while lecturing him in proper triage procedures. Tom had almost torn his uniform to escape, then had had to look busy at a junction box while several junior crew members walked past His quarters. Tom had hurried inside, holding his breath, and collapsed into the essence of submission when he heard noises in the other room. No time to remove his uniform, no time to finish the preparations... The beating had been warily expected, surprisingly brutal, and better than he deserved. He could have avoided the entire visit to Sickbay, except Harry had been there, and Tom just wanted to say hello and 'get well soon'. Harry had appreciated it, but Tom wasn't sure now if it had been worth it. Though Tom definitely knew what had *not* been worth it: the trip to Andor12 where Chakotay had saved his life, picked him out of the jaws of death, as that inane security force would have killed him on the spot for... jaywalking, or whatever it was. 'Defiling holy ground', actually. It had seemed like a shortcut at the time, but he definitely should have known that fence meant *something*... And then the casual summons to His quarters, followed by His quiet explanation of what it really meant to own someone's life. No excuses for not telling him when things were the other way 'round, or while they had been 'even' for the last year or so. If their positions had been reversed, Tom would no doubt have withheld the information as well. Clearly, he should have done just a little more research into the customs of His people before admitting his *own* life was forfeit. And now, whenever they were both off-duty... and because He scheduled their shifts, it was more and more often... Tom was expected to be here, waiting, in this position, with all the preparations made. The fresh linens on His bed, the sweet unguent He preferred, the music at the proper volume, the candles lighting the room. The waiting was the worst part. Even when He came in, he would usually ignore Tom for some time. Or go off to dinner, sometimes allowing him to eat, usually not. Tom had learned to eat well when he could. The best part... Tom had been surprised at that. At how he had learned to crave the small things: a caress of his shoulder, an infrequent kind word. How he had begun to love the way He used his body, taking His pleasure in it, allowing him pleasure as well as pain, as He wanted. It felt... right, and a growing part of him hoped he would be here a lifetime, kneeling, naked and shivering, waiting for the One who owned his life. ===== "Turn" (VOY, C/P, NC-17, bdsm) by Smaragd As the Commander neared his quarters, thick waves of anger coursed through his gut. He couldn't believe it. He'd known something was wrong hours ago, though he thanked the stars B'Elanna had made him wait until his shift had ended to tell him what had happened. He probably would have broken something... or someone. He'd waited, trusting B'Elanna to tell him the truth, she had been there, had seen it herself, but even as he sat in her office and listened to her words, he could *not* believe it. *His* chuja would never do that. He knew better. It would not be tolerated. Determined, he entered the cabin, wanting to shake, to hurt, to punish... then he saw Tom Paris, perfectly in place, almost trembling in the soft light... naked... waiting. Time slowed as the doors closed behind him, and he took a deep breath, forcing his inner peace to the surface, leaving the anger outside the cabin. It had no place here. His eyes scanned the room, quickly checking the placement, the preparations. It looked perfect... but as he moved toward his desk, he saw the splattered mess on the table. His rage flared again, hot in his ears, as he recognized what was happening. Hell, he'd done it himself when he was young. But he knew Paris hadn't realized what he had done, nor why he had needed to do it. He forced the anger down again and shook his head, wondering how this boy be could so damned smart and so goddamned stupid at the same time. When he'd begun this, he'd known it would be a trial for both of them, albeit necessary for the good of the ship. He still believed that. "Chuja." The kneeling man flinched only slightly. "You spilled wax on the table." Paris did not look up, just nodded silently. "You made a mistake. You will be punished for it." Paris nodded again. Chakotay could almost feel his chuja's need for the punishment, as strong as his need to please his One. "Now clean this up." As Paris unfolded his legs and hurried to comply, Chakotay reached into a drawer under the desk and found the restraints. He hooked them over the wall fixture, then watched as Paris finished his work. The nude man deftly put the sonic cleaner away and paused, eyes down, still trembling slightly. Chakotay turned him to face the wall, roughly pulling Paris' arms up and cuffing him in place. He could feel Paris' apprehension as he fastened the restraints around his wrists, could smell his fear of the unknown punishment. Had he thought he would only receive a slap on the wrist? His anger threatened to surface again, and Chakotay knew this was the wrong time for passion. He needed serenity now, something he'd forgotten the last time he had done this. Chakotay went into the other room and removed his uniform, breathing purposefully, and put on his soft leather tunic. He wiggled his toes and stretched his arms. Yes, he thought as he strode back into the front room, he was in control, he could do this now. He reached back into the drawer and removed the wide leather strap. "There will be five lashes. Count them for me, chuja." The younger man nodded once more, his eyes closed, face passive. Chakotay stepped back, raised his arm, and laid the strap hard against Paris' tender backside. *slap* "One," Paris' voice was low, confident. Good. A pink welt appeared, glowing against the pale skin, pulsing with each heartbeat. *slap* "Two," Paris' breathing was more strained now, his voice a little louder. Chakotay's arm was warming up now. This felt good. *SLAP* "Three," sounded out, and Chakotay could hear a shade of panic in Paris's voice. OK. Two more. From this angle, he could see Paris' cock begin to lift, to respond to the stimulation provided by the strap. Chakotay held his breath. *SLAP* "Four-r," Paris' voice broke, his breathing coming faster. Chakotay could see the faint sheen of perspiration on the golden skin. And he could see Paris' cock jump, darkening with arousal. Chakotay let his lungs empty, feeling the response in his own body. Perfect. *SLAP* Paris sighed, "Five," in relief after that, visibly relaxing. Chakotay's arm itched to give him another, but he knew he couldn't. He'd said five, and there had been five. Chakotay replaced the strap in the drawer, feeling the heavy weight leave his hand. He had a sudden flashback to a day long past when he had been whipped, like this... for some petty offense, like this. When it had all finally made sense to him. There was a time for making mistakes and a time for paying for those mistakes... and once the debt was paid, the slate was wiped clean. That realization marked the day he felt he had become a man. Chakotay placed a firm hand on Paris' shoulder, and said, gently, "That was excellent." He could see the satisfaction in his face, the knowledge that he had pleased his One. But not the realization, not yet. "We have something else to discuss now," Chakotay kept his voice level yet stern. He *would* have an answer. "There was a problem in the mess hall today, chuja. Tell me what it was." Paris buried his face in his arms, shaking with fear, with anger, and shame. "I...," he stopped, then tried again, "I... it was... there was a fight," he stumbled, finally getting the words out. "Tell me what happened, chuja." Chakotay's voice was softer, reassuring. He really wanted to hear the other side of it. "Dalby... he cornered me in the corridor outside the mess hall." "And what happened?" "He...," Paris' nude form was squirming in the straps now, as though he needed to escape from a small room, but there was no door. He took an impatient breath. "He said some things... about the away mission last week. That Voyager shouldn't have come back for me." The little bastard. Chakotay would have a word with him later. After he took care of this side of it. "What did you do?" "I just listened to him. I tried to stay calm, to keep centered, like you told me. I knew he was just doing it to get a response. But...," Paris seemed to shrink into the wall, trying to hide, his voice getting lower, more compelling. "He said I would be better off staying out here because I'd just be going back to prison, later." His voice had faded almost to nothing as he continued, "Then I don't know what happened, it just burst out of me. I didn't mean to do it, I just had to get away from him... so I... punched him, I guess." "You guess." "OK, I punched him. And I pushed him out of the way. Then I left." Paris' eyes darted up to Chakotay's, then quickly lowered again. "Look, only a couple of people saw what happened, and they won't file a report. Dalby won't either." "And that means it doesn't matter because you got away with it." "Yeah... well, except for... " Paris stopped, realizing he hadn't gotten away with it at all. "Chuja, listen to me." Chakotay knew he needed to separate the action from the man, to keep the exasperation he felt out of his voice, "You made a mistake. You will be punished for it. And we will talk." The younger man sagged visibly in his bonds, signaling his acceptance of whatever would happen next. Paris' bottom was still a bright pink, inviting Chakotay's cool hand to touch the warm skin, neither able to resist the caress. He knew his chuja had prepared himself, *that* had been a lesson quickly learned. As he moved the long legs apart, roughly pushing him into position, Chakotay could see Paris relax into the restraints, surrendering everything to his One. Chakotay felt the ache in his groin, and knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he shouldn't want this as much as he did. He moved his tunic aside and rubbed the head of his stiff cock up and down the cleft of that nice, round ass... oh, he wanted this, no use denying that. He found his goal and quickly forced himself in, groaning as he felt the fluid muscles clench and release around him. Paris had braced his elbows against the wall and provided him with a solid target for his powerful thrusts. Chakotay took full advantage of the position, putting both hands on the wall on either side of the naked man in chains, surrounding the beautiful body that was at his mercy, his to ravish. But Paris didn't seem to want mercy as Chakotay began to stroke in and out of his tight ass. He whimpered and moaned, almost begging for more. Chakotay grunted behind him, biting his lip, pumping his hips with a potent rhythm. Almost too quickly, he approached the point of no return, letting the rushing wave overtake him, and he drowned in the release. Oh, spirits, this was sweet. He let his head rest briefly against Paris' shoulder, gulping air, before sliding out a tad too fast for comfort. This was not supposed to be pleasurable, he kept reminding himself. He'd only done it to maintain his control. Control was essential. He took a deep breath. He was in control. Chakotay stepped back and allowed himself a long look at the man in front of him, taking in Paris' heaving chest and his purple cock, which now looked painfully erect. A trickle of opaque fluid glistened in the blond hair on his thigh. He weighed his options and decided on the next stage of the punishment, bending slightly to find one more item in the compartment under the desk. His hand closed on it, long and cylindrical, with one rounded end and a short crossbar on the other. It was ebony, polished dark and smooth with use. Chakotay took the straps attached to the crossbar and wrapped them around his wrist, enjoying the feel of the burnished wood in his palm, the soft leather trailing down his arm. He put his left hand on Paris' shoulder and began to nudge the blunt tip of the rod into his ass. It was tight, but the lubrication from his own cum helped, and gradually, inches of it disappeared as he twisted and pushed. Chakotay watched the muscles in Paris' back strain as he adjusted to the intruder in his body. Control, he was still in control, he reminded himself, stopping himself from shoving it in to the hilt, hard and fast. Both men were breathing heavily as Chakotay worked the wooden rod back and forth, further and further in, ensuring it was properly seated. Then he reached around Paris' slim hips and looped the long leather straps, bringing one set around the tops of his thighs and across his lower abdomen, crossing them, then bringing the other set around his waist, and finally tying them both at his lower back. He felt the heat from the body he embraced in his chest and arms, the scent from those pores overwhelming him. He stepped back, breathing deeply to clear his head. When he'd stopped shaking, Chakotay reached up and released the restraints. Without a murmur of complaint, Paris easily returned to his position in the center of the room, and the Commander was once more amazed at how graceful the man was, even with several inches of hardwood shoved up his ass. He contemplated, not for the first time, the man's capacity for servitude, how easily he had taken to receiving punishment. And wondered what kind of childhood could have made him this way. Chakotay sat down at his desk and unnecessarily looked over some reports, glancing at his charge occasionally. The 18-hour days they were on didn't leave much time for discipline. They were both on call for the next 6 hours, then there were 6 hours for sleep, then they were both back on duty. He wanted some time to take his chuja planetside, to camp in the wilderness with him, to spend the time he needed to teach the lessons Paris had so much trouble learning. To show him how to use the self-reliance he'd built up over the years for self-discipline instead. But there had been no opportunity, and it didn't seem there would be, not on the course Voyager had chosen. Even so, he felt they had made some progress against the mountain of self-doubts in Paris' battered psyche. Chakotay sighed. He let his eyes wander over the tableau before him. Paris' pale skin was luminous in the candlelight, the colors in his hair flickering with the flames. His face was calm, his demeanor peaceful. He had transgressed, he was being punished, and he no longer trembled with fear of the unknown. His cock was not erect, but not soft, either, the only indication of the state of his well-stretched ass. The sight was too much for Chakotay to study for long. He rose and went to the replicator, ordering pasta with garlic and tomatoes for himself. After a moment's thought, he ordered some generic rations as well. He tilted the boy's chin up, looking into his eager face, and handed him the bowl. Paris did not speak, which had been a very long lesson learning, and took what was offered gratefully. Chakotay knew it was the blandest food imaginable, but it was nourishing, and they both needed to eat. He also knew the pungent aroma rising from his own dinner would make it more palatable. Ah, the things we do... After they'd eaten and Paris had completed the few chores he was assigned, Chakotay worked silently for awhile longer, enjoying the ambiance, the music, the peace... and yes, he ultimately admitted, the view. Finally, he'd allowed Paris some time alone in the bathroom for his ablutions, then had him tend to Chakotay's. His chuja flawlessly undressed his One, tended him, washed him... and waited. Chakotay sat down again in his desk chair, bringing Tom to kneel in front of him, the tenderness he felt unbidden but not unexpected. Tom moved easily into position, allowing Chakotay's leg between his, Chakotay's foot pushing the dildo deeper into his ass. Tom rocked against it as he stroked the stiff cock in front of him, kissing and nipping at its head before taking it deep, sucking long, swallowing whole. Chakotay heart ached with the sweetness of it, with the earnestness Tom brought to this simple act, wanting so much to please his One. Chakotay knew others had sought to punish Tom for his mistakes, but none had been prepared to forgive, to take the penance offered and absolve the transgression. He did this now, with soft words, telling his chuja how he could have handled the situation today with Dalby, that Chakotay had seen how he had tried to avoid it, where he had erred, how he could avoid it next time. The litany fell past his lips as his fingers ran through Tom's hair, over and over, letting the bead of each prayer flow between them before fading away. Chakotay felt a rush of affection-- Tom had tried so hard today. Chakotay moved Tom's hand down to his own cock, allowing him to stroke himself as he continued to take his One into his mouth. Telling him softly it was alright, he could come, it was alright, he deserved it... Then there was only the heat and the pressure, and Tom's tongue making him want nothing more than to be right here, in this spot, feeling his hot jism pulsing, ready... he loved this, loved the way Tom did this, it was so good... so sharp, so delicious... he wanted it never to end. But before he was ready, it was starting... and he was going to... lose it, he was going to... he hovered at the crest, not willing to let go... and then the waves surged over him, and he came hard, shooting fiery semen into that secret place, feeling Tom's gifted mouth sucking him dry, his sweet tongue licking him clean, his beautiful lips kissing him done. He sank back into the chair, watching Tom control his breathing after his own orgasm, waiting for the next directive from his One. Chakotay still had his hand in Tom's hair, caressing his ear, silently hoping Tom would, that Tom could understand how this episode was over now, atonement made. And that he would finally understand how he had already paid for all the other times he had sinned, had acted in anger, had lied... or had caused someone's death. That he had made ample payment for each mistake and they were no longer written on his slate. That he did not have to pay for them again and again. He rose and pulled Tom to his feet. Chakotay untied the leather straps and removed the wooden rod slowly, feeling Tom shudder silently as he did so, relief flooding them both as the punishment ended. He placed a small kiss on Tom's forehead and half-hugged him as they moved into the other room. It was as much affection as he dared to show. He cleaned the two of them off with the towels Tom had prepared, then extinguished the candles. He continued their nightly ritual as he bound Tom into his place at the foot of the bed, calling for the music and lights to fade over the next 15 minutes. Tom curled up on the pad on the floor, his head on his arm, contented. As Chakotay settled down to sleep, he checked the restraints again, making sure they weren't too tight, weren't going to cut off Tom's circulation. He let his hand rest briefly on the pale shoulder, listening to his steady breathing, knowing it was more relaxed now than it had been for months. Knowing the time was not far off when Tom would be ready to leave this enclave, this safe place where he could find peace from the demons chasing him. There was a time for owning and a time for being owned. And a time to be a man. It had been an new experience, having a chuja here on Voyager. When they'd first talked, he had told Tom the word meant 'belonging', and it did... but it really encompassed much more. In his culture, young men were owned by warriors who protected them, took responsibility for their training, rationed their discipline. Taught them about life. Initiated them into the tribe. It was a rite of passage, celebrated and feted, when a young one became a man. After that, if the circumstance occurred, a man might own another man, and would always have the right to use his skills for his own work, use his body for his own pleasure, but it wasn't done... no, Chakotay had never known it to be done... unless the man needed it, as Tom needed it. It seemed to be the only way to reach him. Tom had never been owned when he was young, no one had ever taken the time to teach him the things a father might teach in another culture. In some ways, Tom was still a wild boy. But in other ways... so many other ways... Chakotay felt thin tentacles wind around his heart and tighten in his chest, making it hard for him to breathe. It wasn't supposed to be like this, he thought, bitterly. A warrior was *not* supposed to fall in love with his chuja. But Tom was hardly a boy now, he was a man, a brave one, skilled and clever, and... capable of dealing with life in the Delta Quadrant. Soon, Tom would be ready to be that man, and their relationship would undergo a fundamental change. It had to, for Tom's sake. It would, for Tom's sake. Chakotay tossed and turned, sighing deeply. It wouldn't leave him alone... the vision of Tom chained to the wall, his shoulders braced, the desperate sounds he made as they coupled. The feeling of completeness as he came deep inside that beautiful ass. His heart skipped a beat as those images were shattered by questions too long denied. How long could he fool himself into thinking this was all for the good of the ship? When had things gotten so out of his control? He could probably figure out the answer to that... but it wouldn't help to know. What he need to know so badly... and he had no idea... How could he ever let Tom go? ---------------------------- VICTORY THROUGH SHEER VOLUME ---------------------------- Sent via Deja.com http://www.deja.com/ Before you buy.