Mary Sue noncon #5 or 6 - first-time scene

[bironic]

So, I just finished this? It's the first-time scene for Karin (OFC) and Makor (OMC) in the main thread of my DS9 Mary Sue noncon epic. 4,600 words, warning for graphic noncon, some struggling, some bondage, some humiliation, and a little melodrama. With bonus unexpected muscle cramp metaphor.

I know there are approximately three of you who read these things, so, for the rest of you, I'm sorry. Fannish content to reappear at some point, I swear. Watch this space.

"What are you-?" She pulls her head back and takes a step away from him, heart pounding. "Don't touch me."

Out of nowhere, an arm locks around her neck. She startles and fights, realizing as her instincts kick in that the second man stepped up behind her. He grunts as a jab and a kick catch him where they're supposed to, but then he snags her left arm and twists it up behind her back, high enough to make her breath catch. She switches tactics and tries to pry his other arm from her throat instead.

When she's been subdued, the man in front of her steps forward, saying, "Let me explain a few things to you."

He reaches out again and touches her cheek. She stops clawing at the headlock to bat him away, but he catches her wrist with embarrassing ease and touches her face with his other hand instead. Grimacing, she turns her head away as much as she can. He follows.

"I will touch you as I please. I will touch you where I please. And I will touch you often."

No. Her breathing quickens as the potential implications sink in. He can't. He won't. She tries to shake free again, but their hands stay in place. On her.

Somehow, she summons up a measure of courage. "You are committing assault on a member of Starfleet on top of the abduction charges you're already facing." Her voice comes out reasonably steady.

Unsurprisingly, the man doesn't seem bothered. His thumb sweeps across her cheek. "Let us add a few new accusations, then, shall we? Take this," he adds to the man behind her, who releases her throat to transfer her wrist between them. With a twist that has her choking back a yell, he bends both arms up between her shoulder blades. She arches into the hold and pants as tendons and ligaments strain. If she moves much more, she's sure she would dislocate a shoulder.

The Cardassian in front of her takes hold of the fastening at the front of her uniform and pulls it down. She squirms in the second man's grasp and makes a sound of distress that morphs into one of pain.

"You have no right," she manages as he finishes opening her jacket and reaches without pause for the zipper on her inner top. "This is my body. You have no right."

He opens her shirt.

"Stop," she tries instead, ignoring her own infuriating blush. He only stands there and looks at her half-exposed chest. Her heart pounds in her throat, her fingertips; her breath is coming in ragged gasps now. The man behind her tightens his grip as though anticipating a surge in her efforts to get away, which doesn't make sense until the one in front of her puts his hands on her, warm against the bare skin over her ribs. She flinches away, or tries to, but his thumbs tuck under the bottom of her bra, and she has nowhere to go. She whines.

"Responsive," he murmurs, sounding approving.

She can't do anything as he slides his hands around her ribcage beneath her shirt and figures out how to open her bra. Can't do anything when he brings his hands back around and lifts it up to look at her breasts. Her nipples have already gone hard with the fight-or-flight response thrumming through her; she turns her face away.

He says, "Let's move this to the bed."

Dread shudders through her. "No," she says through her suddenly tight throat. "No." He isn't going to-they aren't- God, they're going to take her clothes off and touch her. Might take their dicks out and make her touch them. Suck them. Choke on them. Might force her legs open and- No. It isn't happening. It won't. They won't. She won't let them.

It happens in a sick blur from there. The Cardassian holding her lets her arms go, only they're so numb and weak as circulation spikes back through them that he has no trouble yanking her dangling jacket, shirt and bra off in one movement. He's dragging her into an adjoining bedroom and hauling her onto the large bed there. She's on her back and he's sitting astride her chest, her bare chest, facing her, holding her arms down. Her upper body is effectively immobilized, but she kicks, making senseless protesting noises. Out of sight, the first man still manages to work her boots off, and then he takes hold of her pants and underpants and yanks those off, too, and then she's naked. Naked. She twists and writhes and tries not to think about being exposed to the room and the Cardassians' gazes, tries to wrap her mind around what's about to happen, tries to figure a way out of it.

Nothing. It's happening too fast. The one on top of her moves so he's behind her, holding her forearms down hard. The first man shoves a knee between her legs, then two. She twists from the middle to get away from him, ignoring the wrench in her back, but he gets her by the hipbones and shoves her flat again. He unfastens the crotch of his uniform. She feels like she's hyperventilating.

"Please," she says. "Please. Don't do this. Don't. Please. Please." Her voice breaks; her eyes are brimming; she knows she has to look terrified, and that such signs of weakness will only encourage him as a predator, but she doesn't know what else to do. He has to connect with her. He has to see how much fear and pain he's going to cause her, and stop. He has to.

But there it is: his dick, his erection, gray and hairless and long and ridged up the front. It's like any Cardassian penis she's seen in an anatomy holotext, only the thought of him putting it in her makes it seem dangerous and not at all clinical.

Then an idea occurs to her. Guilt burns in her chest to even consider it, but-"I'll tell you. Whatever you want to know. I'll tell you. Just don't do this."

He looks at her at that, and the smile that touches the corners of his mouth tells her exactly how well that tactic hasn't worked. Part of her is relieved. "She thinks I want information," he says to his partner.

A soft laugh comes from behind her. Her cheeks burn hotter.

"There must be-" she tries, but her voice fails her when he spits into his palm and slicks himself. "Something, there must be-something else, besides this, pl-"

His response is to hike one of her knees up and spread her with his fingers.

"Oh, my God," she moans, and it's like she can't control the words that are coming out of her mouth anymore. "Oh, my God. Please. No. Please."

The wet, blunt head slips against her as he lines up.

It comes out of her on a single, desperate breath: "Please I've never done this before please be gentle-"

The man only makes a quiet noise and pushes partway in.

She pants and tries to stave off hysteria. Okay, she soothes herself. Okay, she can do this. He's pushing her wide, wider than she's ever been, but it doesn't hurt, not exactly. It might not be so bad.

Then he pushes again, and she keens. She can't help it. Another shove before she can even catch her breath, and her noise turns into something choked. Now it hurts. It hurts like hell. She's dry, he's big, she's clamped tight and he's forcing his way in anyway. She bucks, trying to push him out, get him out, get away. He only clutches her hip to keep her in place and keeps sliding in in jerky little increments. She can feel every notch of his penile ridges drag along her hymen as her body strains to accommodate him. She sobs. He doesn't belong in there. He doesn't belong in there, she isn't ready, she doesn't want him, and her body refuses to cooperate; but he doesn't care. He keeps pushing, keeps pushing that humiliating noise out of her, pushing impossibly deeper, until she's stretched beyond what she can take, until she finally, finally feels his groin flush against hers and he lets out a breath. She lets out an answering sob, turns her head to the side and squeezes her eyes shut.

And then he's fucking her-fucking her-she's being fucked-pulling back with a disturbing sucking sensation and shoving back in, slow at first but picking up speed, four hands holding her immobile, and she tries to bear it stoically but she can't stop making those pathetic whimpery sounds as she's pushed into the bed over and over. She clutches at the air. Her breasts lurch with his thrusts. His hips hold her thighs too wide. She wants to keep fighting, keep kicking, but it hurts, it hurts to go wider or narrower or even press her hips into the mattress when he's so huge and solid in her, and she's afraid she's really going to hurt herself if she keeps trying. All she can do is lie there and take it.

At some point, she registers the man saying something in a strained voice, and then he shoves in hard a couple of times and goes shudderingly, blessedly still.

*

The stretch and pop of him pulling out is the final shame. She stares at the ceiling and gasps for air. She feels-she feels-she still can't believe this is happening to her. That this has happened to her. She's lying naked in a stranger's bed. A man's bed. Where she's just had sex. She's had sex, she thinks, blank with it. She's been raped. She's had a man's dick in her; she can feel him, still, in there, where she's stretched wide and throbbing; her thighs are streaked with wetness. She's not a virgin anymore. Hours ago she was in her quarters and now she's naked and bruised and she's had sex. With a Cardassian.

He leans back off of her, and the man behind her releases her arms as well. She lies as they leave her. Tries to get control of her breathing. She's been raped, but it's over. It's done. He's done with her. (Please let him be done with her.) He caught her and stripped her and held her down and broke her open, but she's still alive. Raped, says a voice in her head. Raped. Raped. It repeats until it hardly means anything. She lies there shaking.

The two Cardassians are talking to each other. It takes a while for the sounds to make sense as words in her head. Something about-oh, God, taking a turn, the second one is going to-she can't do this twice, she can't-

But the man declines, and the one who raped her hitches his uniform closed and sees him out.

When they leave the room, Karin forces herself to move. She curls up onto one elbow, wincing at the sting and deep ache that aggravates. She steels herself and twists into a sitting position. She crawls to the edge of the bed. She stands. She has no idea how long it takes. Her muscles tremble from overexertion. Her back protests. Her head is pounding. She needs to brace one hand on the mattress to stay upright against the shakes and the mild but nauseating discomfort from where he violated her.

She scans the room for anything she can use as a weapon. The bed has nothing but soft pillows and sheets. She supposes she could try smothering him, but she knows she doesn't have the strength to hold something over his face when he tries to buck her off. The bureau across the room is more likely to have something useful.

Her pants are hanging over the footboard; she doesn't see her underwear. She moves cautiously, still feeling woozy and blank, passing them by on her way to the bureau no matter how much she'd like to get dressed. The slide of liquid between her legs makes her throat go tight.

"Up and about so soon?" comes the man's voice from the doorway, startling her badly enough that she almost loses her footing. She turns to face him. He's standing with his arms crossed and a half-smile on his face as though she presented no threat to him. She wants to show him he's wrong. She wants to cover herself so he can't look at her. She wants him to let her go now that he's gotten what he wanted from her. She wants this entire night to have never happened.

"I thought I fucked the fight right out of you," he says casually. Her face goes hot. "Looks like you need another round."

Her heart kicks up at that. She knows from class and from reports of Bajoran war victims that Cardassians tend to ejaculate in two sessions-a suspected evolutionary adaptation to ensure that their semen is first and last in a mate's womb-but knowing it and facing it a handful of steps away are two very different things. Like a deer staring down the barrel of a hunter's phaser rifle, she keeps her eyes on him, waiting for any sudden movements, and tries to gauge her distance from the bureau without looking directly at it.

In the end, it doesn't matter. She turns and runs, he grabs her when she's pulling open the first drawer, and then it and the contents are spilling all over the carpet as he grapples with her.

There's only one of him now, but she's weakened and panicking and uncoordinated, and he's still a fully grown Cardassian soldier. He grabs her fist as she tries for his face and uses her momentum to pull her back against him. When she goes limp in his arms and kicks back into his shins, he grunts and shoves her to the floor. She catches sight of a metal bar there, makes a grab for it and swings it as she turns onto her back-but he catches her forearm and yanks the bar from her grasp, tossing it into the corner. Gasping, she manages to twist onto her stomach again. That's when he pins her.

"Were you looking for this?" he asks, and it's a minute before she can focus enough to see what he's nudging: a fat, milky-white dildo. "Or these, perhaps?"-a pair of regulation handcuffs. She realizes with a hot wash of embarrassment that the drawer was full of sex toys. Her weapons cache is a silicone penis and a ring gag.

She doubles her efforts to get free when the man grabs the cuffs. That earns her a knee in the spine and an infuriating chastizing noise. She flails back at him blindly with the arm he isn't holding down, but he gets the cuffs around her captured wrist with little trouble. She immediately tucks her remaining hand under her so he can't get at it. She presses her forehead into the carpet and tries to figure out what to do.

"Shall we do it here, or on the bed?" he asks, and the dread that rises up in her chest is enough to choke her when she says, "No."

"Your favorite word," is his calm reply, and with a sudden rise in pressure on her back that forces a noise from her, he pushes up to his knees, then his feet, and brings her with him. "The bed, then. Easier on the knees."

He wrestles her onto the mattress despite her increasingly desperate struggles. There is no way this is happening again. It's not. She can't. She's face-down beneath him this time, and she tries to claw her way off the bed but he's an immovable weight on top of her. She can feel his erection digging in to the back of her thigh as they move. She's never felt an erection before tonight, and now it makes her sick with the thought of what he's done to her and what he's trying to do-probably will do-again.

She bucks and twists and kicks but can't get an arm or a leg around him to flip him over or push him off. He's breathing heavily over her head, holding her manacled wrist up to the headboard and keeping her mostly at bay with his other hand. She hears herself repeating, "No, no, no, no," half to herself, and can't seem to stop. When he grabs her free wrist and forces it up near the other, she sees what he's going to do, scoots forward and clamps her teeth into his uniformed forearm. But he's hopelessly stronger than she is; he grips tighter and manages to close the handcuffs around her so they're secured behind one of the headboard bars. He lets go and shakes his arm until she releases her jaw to avoid injuring her neck.

She tests her bonds: She can slide her hands up and down along the bar, but she can't pull back. The cuffs are wide and stiff enough that she can't even grab hold of the bar itself, can only make useless fists. A sob escapes her throat. Immediately, she flushes hard at her weakness. One man, and she, a trained Starfleet cadet, can't even stop him from handcuffing her to a bed and-raping her. Raping her twice.

"There we go," the man is saying while he sits back and does something with his clothes. She yanks at the cuffs, which gains her a foot or so but also results in chafed wrists and the man's hands at her waist. He gets between her legs and gives her a hard tug back so that her arms extend all the way, then too far, and she cries out at the stretch in her shoulders and sharp bite of the cuffs.

Hands still firm on her waist, he spreads her legs with his knees. "Still wide open for me," he murmurs. "Hungry for more?"

"Get off me," she grinds out, hating that she can't seem to do anything other than this ineffectual bucking. Hating that her voice breaks when she says it. Hating that he thinks he can tease her about this.

One arm worms its way under her pelvis, and he lifts her halfway to her knees. He must have opened his pants before, because when he rubs up against her there's nothing but hot skin.

"Stop it," she says. "This is rape. This is illegal. You're-ah-you're hurting me." She doesn't know what else to say. She doesn't know how to stop him. She can barely get her knees under her to support herself as he works his way back inside her. She can't stop hot tears from spilling over as she drops her head and tries not to give him the satisfaction of hearing her cry.

"Oh, that's good," the man groans when he's all the way in. Both arms lock across her pelvis as he starts up with slow, lazy thrusts. It doesn't hurt quite as much as the first time, at least, but she's still swollen and stinging and tight enough that it's an effort to tone down the cries she wants to make. They're as much from the growing realization that he can pretty much do whatever he wants to her as they are from the physical discomfort. The involuntary clench of muscle only makes him hum.

There is no part of her body that doesn't hurt. She lies tense in his grip and waits for him to finish.

*

"I am Gul Makor," the man says when it's over.

She's breathing wetly into the mattress, her hands still cuffed and her muscles aching. He sits beside her, leaning back against the barred headboard and gazing down at her. He has grey eyes. He looks like he should be smoking one of those old-fashioned Earth nicotine cigarettes.

"You will be my mistress," he continues, and her mind goes blank. Wiped clean of everything but this casually tossed-off statement, as though he were telling her the sun would set that evening.

"I expect you to service me daily," he was saying. "I see you are inexperienced. What you don't know how to do, you will learn."

She wipes her mouth on the sheet and lifts her head. "I am no one's mistress. I am a cadet at Starfleet Academy in the United Federation of Planets."

"You were," he acknowledges. "Now you are here, and you are mine."

"I am not."

"You may argue the point all you like, but it does not change reality," he says calmly. "Now. It is time for bed. What do you need?"

She gapes at him before she gains control of herself. "I need my med kit and my uniform, I need you to uncuff me from this bed, and I need to go back to Deep Space Nine."

He sniffs out a soft laugh. "Quite. You may have a shower and use the toilet. I will uncuff you for the duration so long as you refrain from attacking me."

She considers his offer. She does need to use the toilet, especially if he's going to leave her chained up all night. But she also needs her med kit. She doesn't know what damage he caused, and she can't lie here for hours with his-with his semen swirling around her uterus and congealing on her thighs. She had the standard contraceptive hypo at her last physical, but there's no telling what diseases she runs the risk of contracting.

Raped, says the voice again. She tamps it back down.

"I need medical attention," she repeats. "You've hurt me. I'm an intern, I can take care of it, but I need equipment."

"Unnecessary. I've done you no serious harm."

"I need-"

"This is not a negotiation," he interrupts sharply. "One trip to the washroom only, or you may go to sleep filthy and run the risk of wetting yourself in the night."

She makes herself breathe evenly. "Fine."

He unlocks the cuffs. She forces herself to stay still while his hands brush hers; forces herself not to swing the metal into the side of his head and make a break for it. She'd never make it to the door, and she doesn't want to know what he's like angry if this is him calm.

"This way," he says.

She can't hold back a small gasp as she gets off the bed again; her back is twinging now, her wrists throbbing with cuts and bruises, and her strained muscles are starting to go tight.

The man-Makor-glances at her as he leads her down a short hallway. She walks slowly, carefully. Numb. Disconnected.

They reach the washroom. He waves a hand at the toilet before stepping aside to fuss with the shower. It's a real water shower, not a sonic one, and just like that, she's yearning for it. Her skin is tacky all over with sweat and fluids she doesn't want to think about.

"Do I need to show you how to use this as well?" Makor asks her with a heavy dose of irony, raising his eyebrow ridges at the toilet.

Her face goes hot. "Of course not."

"Then stop wasting my time."

And, oh, of course he's not going to give her a modicum of privacy. At least the noise of the shower starting up masks some of the sounds she makes as she urinates, hissing at the sting of it, bending forward both to hide this intimate act and to relieve some of the discomfort.

He makes her shower with no curtain between them, either. He watches from across the room, arms folded across his chest. She averts her eyes as she reaches between her legs to wipe up the rest of the mess; closes them altogether when she tilts her head back and rinses her tangled hair.

Makor doesn't speak until she opens her mouth into the spray to ease her thirst. "Stop that," he says, as though she were a dog caught soiling the carpet. "You may have a proper drink when you're finished."

True to his word, he hands her a cup of water when she steps out of the shower. She briefly considers tossing it in his face, but his expression tells her he knows what she's thinking and he's not impressed. Besides, she's really thirsty.

He exchanges the empty cup for a towel and lets her dry off, but he doesn't give her anything to wear. When she's done, he offers her a hypo.

"A mild painkiller," he says at her questioning look.

She nods, surprised, and presses it to her throat. Her headache and backache ease. She almost thanks him.

Somehow, she doesn't balk until he leads her back toward the bedroom. It's involuntary; she knows he's going to force her back there, but pure animal panic makes her dig in her heels when they reach the doorway.

Makor sighs, picks her up and dumps her back on the bed. A short struggle later, he's got her cuffed to the bars again.

He tosses a sheet over her, even though she can't adjust it except to kick it off. "I will see you in the morning before my staff meeting," he says. "Computer, lights." And then he's gone, leaving her alone with only the light from some room around a corner.

She curls into a fetal position and lets herself tremble.

*

She doesn't know she's fallen asleep until she's waking up to pain and the sound of someone making a low, keening wail. It takes a minute for the world to coalesce around her, and then she realizes that she's the one making the noise. Her leg. God, her leg is- Her right calf has locked up in a cramp, and it's got her doubled up on her side, broken out in a cool sweat, gasping. She tries to dig her left heel into the muscle, but it's not enough pressure, it's not enough. She writhes. It's agony. It's just a cramp, it's nothing but a simple cramp, but the pain, she can't-and she can't get her hands on it, trapped in these godforsaken cuffs, can't get to any muscle relaxants, there's no one here to help her, and God, it hurts-

She squeezes her eyes shut and whimpers when someone orders the lights on.

"What is it," Makor says, more like an accusation than a question. But he must guess at the problem, because the bed dips and there are hands on her damp skin, searching.

"My leg-g," she manages.

He has to fight her to extend her leg, all her reflexes making her try to keep it tucked close to her chest. But he manages, and he slides his palms down to the rock-hard, rippling muscle and digs in his thumbs.

She whines again, completely involuntarily. She might kick him; she can't tell. Her whole world has narrowed down to one overworked, understretched muscle and the force Makor is applying to unlock it.

Finally, impossibly, it gives. She sobs with the relief.

Makor gives her calf a few more firm strokes. The muscle twitches as though debating whether to lock up again, but in the end it stays loose.

He gets up and leaves, but doesn't turn the light off. She wipes her sweaty hair off her forehead with her arm.

He returns a few moments later. "Here," he says. "A muscle relaxant. Next time we will ensure that you stretch properly before going to bed."

She lets him press the hypo home. She's exhausted.

"Go to sleep," he says. "There are a few hours left yet before morning."

She does.