Spock/Uhura New Year's Present (Part 2): For Querulouspeg
Recipient: querulouspeg
Present Giver: linstock
Story Name: More Deadly Than The Male
(From LB: Same thing here. LJ's not being cooperative with the formatting.)
Her status was entirely her own.
Once I had thought I possessed an acceptable degree of self-insight. I have learned otherwise. Over time I have realized my own arrogance was my undoing.
I’d observed the crew, seen their crude machinations, their transparent motives, how they manipulated, and betrayed each other. I’d believed I understood their interactions as completely as the chemical reactions in a test tube. And I’d considered myself above such things … superior.
Of course I’d noticed Lieutenant Uhura. I saw her every day. She was chief of communications; her workstation stood next to mine. From the first I knew she was beautiful. I quickly perceived she was also dangerous, and not only with her razor-sharp knife.
I’d seen but not understood the importance of what I saw. Usually on the ISS Enterprise - and throughout the Imperial fleet - a female secured her status by forming an alliance with a powerful male. This status was not dependent on rank alone. They became the “Lieutenant’s woman” or “Captain's woman”. The connection was flaunted and tokens of the relationship, anything from jewelry to scratches and bite marks, were displayed as obviously as rank stripes.
With Uhura this was not the case. I knew some had tried to claim her. Sulu wore the marks of his failure as openly as others wore their tokens of success. Her status was entirely her own. Aside from her golden arm bracelet of rank, the only jewelry she wore was her earrings and I had never seen a mark on her. For all I knew she had never been marked, or else she was careful to remove any trace of another from her skin. Now I know.
We worked effectively as a team. There is more overlap between the science and communication stations than many realize and it is no accident that the stations are side by side. A principle function of both is taking readings and interpreting signals, it is often only in the intent of interpretation that they differ.
Lieutenant Uhura was highly skilled. She researched deeply into the cultural background of every language she spoke, including Vulcan. She had asked me many probing questions about Vulcan culture in the guise of research and I’d never thought to wonder why.
It wasn't until much later I realized the extent of my oversight.
A bitter truth.
My response to servitude was entirely emotional. When I felt the gentle tug in my mind as she summoned me I fought like a lematya struggling against a strangling vine. Finally, exhausted, like the trapped animal I was, I acquiesced to her wishes.
As a child I was told repeatedly I was stubborn to the point of illogic. Now this stubbornness reared its head and railed, refusing to comply even … and this truth cut deepest … even if I wanted to. Slowly I realized that behind my stubbornness lay pride.
Following that insight, a bitter truth crawled into my awareness like a spider from under a rock: the reason I served on the ship of humans was because of my pride. I could have served on a Vulcan science vessel, or one of the Vulcan clan ships that led the way in deep space exploration. Vulcan stoicism and logic made them less susceptible to the psychological pressures other races suffered in deep space. The Empire knew and valued Vulcans for this. But I chose to serve on a Starship, virtually guaranteed to be the only Vulcan crew member. Amongst Vulcans I was too human; here I could play the epitome of a Vulcan and act with pride, choosing to be, as the humans might say, a big fish in a small - polluted - pond.
Following this insight … came others.
The man in the mirror.
I was working extra hours in the lab when I felt a gentle pressure in my mind. Nyota required me. I continued my work, ignoring her. Another, stronger pull came. I continued with my task, struggling to override the compulsion to go to her and slowly it faded. I felt a small surge of pleasure. I had won this round.
I was crossing the lab carrying a tray of vials when I felt a sudden vicious summons. My hands reflexively released the tray; the vials shattered around my feet, scattering shards across the floor.
Barking an order for the startled lab assistants to clear up the mess, I left. There was no choice. This was not an invitation, this was a summons. She called … I obeyed.
Nyota was angry and she wasn’t gentle. She opened the links between our minds, scalding me with the intensity of her need and igniting my own. That night Nyota was relentless.
Finally she was replete and secluded herself to bathe and remove the marks left by my fingers and teeth.
I was crossing her bedroom when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and froze, transfixed by the gaze of the stranger before me. My body was far too lean; my servitude had reduced me to muscle and sinew. I gazed into the dark eyes of the man in the mirror and I scarcely knew myself. But he recognized me.
The dark hairs of his arms, chest and belly were matted and slick with sweat. My eyes trailed over fingernail scratches, green against his pale skin, to the dark nest of hair at his loins where his lok stood semi-erect, still glistening with secretions. Those same fluids, drying now, stickily coated the insides of his thighs and the creases of his groin.
I looked deep into his eyes. This was the sensual lusting primitive Vulcan, who forced his way to freedom every seven years roaring with his madness. He dwelt inside me, denied, held in check, but present. I had always known him and turned away from the knowledge. Nyota had forced me to face him. His instincts were Nyota’s allies, responding to her a bondmate, not a captor. He was unable to deliberately harm her, and the thought of another doing so triggered a rage from deep within him. He was her protector, no matter what it might cost him.
Under his relentless gaze I knew that when she called he hungered to respond.
The revelations of my own carnality lay around me like a dark cloak when Nyota emerged from the bathroom, showered and refreshed.
She looked at me … at him …. and nodded.
She sat on the bed and lay back, her heels drawn up to her buttocks, knees splayed wide. I went to her and knelt. As I lowered my mouth to lick, there was a purr of desire in my throat.
A dark and bitter thing.
Even within the harsh life of the ISS Enterprise Nyota expressed moments of humour. When Nyota laughed the sensation flowed through our connection like water onto parched soil, making me feel lighter … though I never understood the joke.
Mostly her amusement was a dark and bitter thing like the chocolate she sometimes ate at night. She would place the dark sliver in her mouth, savoring the taste, then kiss me, spreading the deep melting chocolate over my tongue.
On those nights I knew I would get no rest.
The closest thing to freedom left.
I soothe and cradle her mind as she slumbers, quieting her many nightmares to ensure she sleeps long and peacefully. When she sleeps I have the closest thing to freedom left to me. In this space I nurture the part of me that refuses to make its peace with servitude and I lay my pIans.
Sometimes I wonder if she knows, but grants me this small illusion of freedom.
I have learned to take what I can get.
Once my defensive barriers were like towering stone fortifications. They were nothing to her. Her slender tendrils of thought wormed their way through tiny cracks I didn’t know existed. The tendrils thickened, prising apart my defenses until another layer of my mind was exposed.
She burrows through my thoughts, hopes, fears and ideas with endless curiosity. I regularly examine my mind for signs and interference with the same dedicated thoroughness with which she erases every mark I leave on her skin. I have never found an indication that she interferes. She allows me to remain myself; it is a deep irony.
Sometimes I cross the mind’s bridge and explore the accessible regions of her mind. She allows me access to the superficial levels, I do not know why. It was here that I glimpsed her intricate meticulous planning and I lost another illusion. I thought I was unreadable, the inscrutable Vulcan. She always read me like a book.
There are many sections of her mind that I can’t enter, barred by endless thickets of thorn. I marvel at how she has done this. The skill and discipline it shows is humbling. At first I believed this was a poor defense. Once again I was wrong. I could penetrate the surface of the thicket but before long the thorns embedded in my thoughts, holding me fast. If I tried to force my way through the thorns dug deeper, ripping and scouring until I withdrew in painful defeat.
Nyota has never commented about my incursions or tried to prevent them.
I can change nothing, nor implant any ideas in her mind … I have tried and paid.
We perform flawlessly.
Now as I work beside Lieutenant Uhura, we are a perfect synergy. We anticipate each other's needs, respond as fast as the speed of thought, our unique abilities melding into something greater than the sum of its parts.
On away teams we perform flawlessly, almost uncannily. Others have noticed. The Captain was suspicious, fearing a lethal alliance, but time has passed; since no attempt was made against him, he has relaxed, accepting the new status quo with its increased rewards. We are accepted as a pairing … another irony.
The possibility of love.
As time has passed I’ve achieved acceptance. It is illogical to rail endlessly against what can’t be changed. A rational being learns to accept his situation and adapt. I remain vigilant and learn from the harsh lessons Nyota teaches. She isn’t the only one who can be patient.
Over time our relationship has changed. The connection between us is deeper than anything I have ever known but I do not delude myself there is love.
At best it is forced interdependence, propinquity breeding familiarity, lust and, maybe even attachment, out of what the human doctor refers to as “Stockholm syndrome”, but not love.
Strangely, since my servitude began I have realized I believe in the possibility of love, a thing I would have denied when I was free. Surely for love to exist so must freedom of choice. I have only what Nyota grants me. A benign dictator is still a dictator. The only choice I can make freely is obedience or pain.
While it is illogical to regret what has passed and cannot be changed, I find one memory singularly difficult to accept. At the beginning of our bonding there was one delicately perfect moment when the tendrils of our minds wound together in a caressing embrace and I experienced the revelation of what could be…and now would never be. I mourn that loss.
To the rest of the Empire I remain the powerful, mysterious Vulcan first officer on the ISS Enterprise, a ruthless man not to be crossed, fortunate to have at his side a formidable consort.
Only we know the truth. I am a slave.
The only end to my servitude is death … hers, or mine.
The true nature of stars.
The name Nyota means “star”.
Humans speak of stars as benevolent, twinkling lights in the night sky.
I am a scientist. I know the true nature of stars.
They are immutable and unforgiving. A star will seize any wandering planetoid in its gravitational thrall. One solar flare can wipe out life on the planetary body but without the star’s warmth and light there is only frozen desolation.
Stars are deadly. If you venture too close your layers will be melted away until you are utterly consumed.
Coda
He is mine and I will keep him.
I watch him as he sleeps. Once he always stayed vigilant in my presence, but recently, after he has satisfied me, he allows himself to sleep. He is beautiful. He is precious to me - the only thing in this universe that is mine.
He has never asked me, “Why?”
What answer could I give?
I could say I did it for companionship, or control, or maybe simply because, alone among the teeming millions of this universe, I could … each would have a grain of truth.
It’d be foolish to deny sex played a role in my choice, so I might reply: “From the first time I saw you, I wanted you.” That would be true, but not the whole truth.
“I felt a desperate need for something that is truly mine.” This would also be a truth. Over time, the need for constant vigilance, coupled with relentless sense of being utterly alone had become insupportable. The isolation and uncertainty of my existence pressed in on me like a madness.
I’d maneuvered to excel in each assignment so I could ascend to the crew of the ISS Enterprise. I needed an isolated Vulcan … my plan wouldn’t have worked otherwise. I knew there was a male Vulcan officer on board the Enterprise. Because there are so few in Starfleet - and they’re so highly prized - there is never more than one Vulcan officer per ship. Starfleet was the best option for me to find a Vulcan isolated from his kind.
I would’ve proceeded no matter what, but I was lucky. The smooth grace of his movements, the precision of his speech and the incisive clarity of his thinking all attracted me.
I had the skills, I had selected my target … I just had to wait for his Time.
I’d spent half a lifetime laying my plans and the opportunity couldn’t have been more perfect when it came. I recognized the signs - but he didn’t. Even so, I almost lost my chance. I’d searched for him frantically, inquiring during each brief pause in the terrorizing of the populace, through the chaos of the occupied city, unable to find him. Pandemonium ruled, people running desperately in all directions. Eventually I discovered he’d left the city for the desert. And then everything fell neatly into place.
One thing I know: he is mine and I will keep him.
The degree of my freedom is directly proportional to his servitude.
I am a woman of the Empire. I lost my innocence and trust before I knew I had them. The degree of my freedom is directly proportional to his servitude. He cannot betray me or deny me - this is my safety.
Learning to understand Spock’s mind was like learning an intricate and subtle language. I found it endlessly fascinating. As I sifted through his memories I grew more confident and everywhere I travelled I left my embedded tendrils until I until I encrusted his consciousness with my presence.
His body was equally fascinating.
In my world, sex was a weapon I used with the same lethal effect as my knife. Every coupling was a calculated risk. I was always watching for the inevitable betrayal as I planned my own. Now I had the safety and freedom to allow my body to ebb, flow and find its natural rhythms in the ways I felt rather than in service to my mere existence.
I became drunk with lust and sexual power. I used Spock in every way I desired. He was surprisingly naïve, even innocent. I know I shocked him … and I taught him.
Now he surpasses even me. There’s not a centimeter of his skin I haven’t tasted, no part of his body I haven’t used. I’ve felt him arch in ecstasy and cry out as he surrenders himself completely to the demands of his body, and have been intoxicated. I had expected this euphoria to fade - it has not.
Sometimes our coupling is as sinuous and muscular as the mating of two snakes. Writhing, twisting, gripping, biting, as if seeking to consume each other, we plumb the pleasure that lies on the edge of pain.
At other times we lie as gently as strands of kelp on the ocean, feeling gentle undulations swell and recede until our delicate, warm, final blossoming.
I believe that, deeply enmeshed in each other’s minds and bodies, we are as perfectly synchronized as two beings can be. In this respect - if in no other way - we have found a balance.
I take no pleasure in his pain. He has suffered, my stubborn, proud Vulcan. In this, he is illogical and oddly, it makes him dearer to me even as I am forced to show him the error of his choices. I feel no guilt. It is absolutely necessary that there is no corner of him able to resist me. Only with our solid alliance can I know my freedom. If he was a human male he would hate me, but he is a Vulcan. He strives for acceptance but I know he would seize his freedom if he could.
He need only be patient. Humans in Starfleet rarely live long enough to die of old age. No matter - either way, he will outlive me by many long years. When the grip of my mind is finally released and he is alone with the crumpled ruins of his defenses and exposed truths of himself, surrounded by vast echoing empty spaces I have occupied …
I wonder, my poor Spock … what will you do then?
The End.
Vulcan words used
Note: All Vulcan words are from the Vulcan Language Dictionary - unless I state that I made them up.
Kosu: woman
Tast: information known only to a special group: something that should remain hidden from others; something that baffles understanding and cannot be explained.
Present Giver: linstock
Story Name: More Deadly Than The Male
(From LB: Same thing here. LJ's not being cooperative with the formatting.)
Her status was entirely her own.
Once I had thought I possessed an acceptable degree of self-insight. I have learned otherwise. Over time I have realized my own arrogance was my undoing.
I’d observed the crew, seen their crude machinations, their transparent motives, how they manipulated, and betrayed each other. I’d believed I understood their interactions as completely as the chemical reactions in a test tube. And I’d considered myself above such things … superior.
Of course I’d noticed Lieutenant Uhura. I saw her every day. She was chief of communications; her workstation stood next to mine. From the first I knew she was beautiful. I quickly perceived she was also dangerous, and not only with her razor-sharp knife.
I’d seen but not understood the importance of what I saw. Usually on the ISS Enterprise - and throughout the Imperial fleet - a female secured her status by forming an alliance with a powerful male. This status was not dependent on rank alone. They became the “Lieutenant’s woman” or “Captain's woman”. The connection was flaunted and tokens of the relationship, anything from jewelry to scratches and bite marks, were displayed as obviously as rank stripes.
With Uhura this was not the case. I knew some had tried to claim her. Sulu wore the marks of his failure as openly as others wore their tokens of success. Her status was entirely her own. Aside from her golden arm bracelet of rank, the only jewelry she wore was her earrings and I had never seen a mark on her. For all I knew she had never been marked, or else she was careful to remove any trace of another from her skin. Now I know.
We worked effectively as a team. There is more overlap between the science and communication stations than many realize and it is no accident that the stations are side by side. A principle function of both is taking readings and interpreting signals, it is often only in the intent of interpretation that they differ.
Lieutenant Uhura was highly skilled. She researched deeply into the cultural background of every language she spoke, including Vulcan. She had asked me many probing questions about Vulcan culture in the guise of research and I’d never thought to wonder why.
It wasn't until much later I realized the extent of my oversight.
A bitter truth.
My response to servitude was entirely emotional. When I felt the gentle tug in my mind as she summoned me I fought like a lematya struggling against a strangling vine. Finally, exhausted, like the trapped animal I was, I acquiesced to her wishes.
As a child I was told repeatedly I was stubborn to the point of illogic. Now this stubbornness reared its head and railed, refusing to comply even … and this truth cut deepest … even if I wanted to. Slowly I realized that behind my stubbornness lay pride.
Following that insight, a bitter truth crawled into my awareness like a spider from under a rock: the reason I served on the ship of humans was because of my pride. I could have served on a Vulcan science vessel, or one of the Vulcan clan ships that led the way in deep space exploration. Vulcan stoicism and logic made them less susceptible to the psychological pressures other races suffered in deep space. The Empire knew and valued Vulcans for this. But I chose to serve on a Starship, virtually guaranteed to be the only Vulcan crew member. Amongst Vulcans I was too human; here I could play the epitome of a Vulcan and act with pride, choosing to be, as the humans might say, a big fish in a small - polluted - pond.
Following this insight … came others.
The man in the mirror.
I was working extra hours in the lab when I felt a gentle pressure in my mind. Nyota required me. I continued my work, ignoring her. Another, stronger pull came. I continued with my task, struggling to override the compulsion to go to her and slowly it faded. I felt a small surge of pleasure. I had won this round.
I was crossing the lab carrying a tray of vials when I felt a sudden vicious summons. My hands reflexively released the tray; the vials shattered around my feet, scattering shards across the floor.
Barking an order for the startled lab assistants to clear up the mess, I left. There was no choice. This was not an invitation, this was a summons. She called … I obeyed.
Nyota was angry and she wasn’t gentle. She opened the links between our minds, scalding me with the intensity of her need and igniting my own. That night Nyota was relentless.
Finally she was replete and secluded herself to bathe and remove the marks left by my fingers and teeth.
I was crossing her bedroom when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and froze, transfixed by the gaze of the stranger before me. My body was far too lean; my servitude had reduced me to muscle and sinew. I gazed into the dark eyes of the man in the mirror and I scarcely knew myself. But he recognized me.
The dark hairs of his arms, chest and belly were matted and slick with sweat. My eyes trailed over fingernail scratches, green against his pale skin, to the dark nest of hair at his loins where his lok stood semi-erect, still glistening with secretions. Those same fluids, drying now, stickily coated the insides of his thighs and the creases of his groin.
I looked deep into his eyes. This was the sensual lusting primitive Vulcan, who forced his way to freedom every seven years roaring with his madness. He dwelt inside me, denied, held in check, but present. I had always known him and turned away from the knowledge. Nyota had forced me to face him. His instincts were Nyota’s allies, responding to her a bondmate, not a captor. He was unable to deliberately harm her, and the thought of another doing so triggered a rage from deep within him. He was her protector, no matter what it might cost him.
Under his relentless gaze I knew that when she called he hungered to respond.
The revelations of my own carnality lay around me like a dark cloak when Nyota emerged from the bathroom, showered and refreshed.
She looked at me … at him …. and nodded.
She sat on the bed and lay back, her heels drawn up to her buttocks, knees splayed wide. I went to her and knelt. As I lowered my mouth to lick, there was a purr of desire in my throat.
A dark and bitter thing.
Even within the harsh life of the ISS Enterprise Nyota expressed moments of humour. When Nyota laughed the sensation flowed through our connection like water onto parched soil, making me feel lighter … though I never understood the joke.
Mostly her amusement was a dark and bitter thing like the chocolate she sometimes ate at night. She would place the dark sliver in her mouth, savoring the taste, then kiss me, spreading the deep melting chocolate over my tongue.
On those nights I knew I would get no rest.
The closest thing to freedom left.
I soothe and cradle her mind as she slumbers, quieting her many nightmares to ensure she sleeps long and peacefully. When she sleeps I have the closest thing to freedom left to me. In this space I nurture the part of me that refuses to make its peace with servitude and I lay my pIans.
Sometimes I wonder if she knows, but grants me this small illusion of freedom.
I have learned to take what I can get.
Once my defensive barriers were like towering stone fortifications. They were nothing to her. Her slender tendrils of thought wormed their way through tiny cracks I didn’t know existed. The tendrils thickened, prising apart my defenses until another layer of my mind was exposed.
She burrows through my thoughts, hopes, fears and ideas with endless curiosity. I regularly examine my mind for signs and interference with the same dedicated thoroughness with which she erases every mark I leave on her skin. I have never found an indication that she interferes. She allows me to remain myself; it is a deep irony.
Sometimes I cross the mind’s bridge and explore the accessible regions of her mind. She allows me access to the superficial levels, I do not know why. It was here that I glimpsed her intricate meticulous planning and I lost another illusion. I thought I was unreadable, the inscrutable Vulcan. She always read me like a book.
There are many sections of her mind that I can’t enter, barred by endless thickets of thorn. I marvel at how she has done this. The skill and discipline it shows is humbling. At first I believed this was a poor defense. Once again I was wrong. I could penetrate the surface of the thicket but before long the thorns embedded in my thoughts, holding me fast. If I tried to force my way through the thorns dug deeper, ripping and scouring until I withdrew in painful defeat.
Nyota has never commented about my incursions or tried to prevent them.
I can change nothing, nor implant any ideas in her mind … I have tried and paid.
We perform flawlessly.
Now as I work beside Lieutenant Uhura, we are a perfect synergy. We anticipate each other's needs, respond as fast as the speed of thought, our unique abilities melding into something greater than the sum of its parts.
On away teams we perform flawlessly, almost uncannily. Others have noticed. The Captain was suspicious, fearing a lethal alliance, but time has passed; since no attempt was made against him, he has relaxed, accepting the new status quo with its increased rewards. We are accepted as a pairing … another irony.
The possibility of love.
As time has passed I’ve achieved acceptance. It is illogical to rail endlessly against what can’t be changed. A rational being learns to accept his situation and adapt. I remain vigilant and learn from the harsh lessons Nyota teaches. She isn’t the only one who can be patient.
Over time our relationship has changed. The connection between us is deeper than anything I have ever known but I do not delude myself there is love.
At best it is forced interdependence, propinquity breeding familiarity, lust and, maybe even attachment, out of what the human doctor refers to as “Stockholm syndrome”, but not love.
Strangely, since my servitude began I have realized I believe in the possibility of love, a thing I would have denied when I was free. Surely for love to exist so must freedom of choice. I have only what Nyota grants me. A benign dictator is still a dictator. The only choice I can make freely is obedience or pain.
While it is illogical to regret what has passed and cannot be changed, I find one memory singularly difficult to accept. At the beginning of our bonding there was one delicately perfect moment when the tendrils of our minds wound together in a caressing embrace and I experienced the revelation of what could be…and now would never be. I mourn that loss.
To the rest of the Empire I remain the powerful, mysterious Vulcan first officer on the ISS Enterprise, a ruthless man not to be crossed, fortunate to have at his side a formidable consort.
Only we know the truth. I am a slave.
The only end to my servitude is death … hers, or mine.
The true nature of stars.
The name Nyota means “star”.
Humans speak of stars as benevolent, twinkling lights in the night sky.
I am a scientist. I know the true nature of stars.
They are immutable and unforgiving. A star will seize any wandering planetoid in its gravitational thrall. One solar flare can wipe out life on the planetary body but without the star’s warmth and light there is only frozen desolation.
Stars are deadly. If you venture too close your layers will be melted away until you are utterly consumed.
Coda
He is mine and I will keep him.
I watch him as he sleeps. Once he always stayed vigilant in my presence, but recently, after he has satisfied me, he allows himself to sleep. He is beautiful. He is precious to me - the only thing in this universe that is mine.
He has never asked me, “Why?”
What answer could I give?
I could say I did it for companionship, or control, or maybe simply because, alone among the teeming millions of this universe, I could … each would have a grain of truth.
It’d be foolish to deny sex played a role in my choice, so I might reply: “From the first time I saw you, I wanted you.” That would be true, but not the whole truth.
“I felt a desperate need for something that is truly mine.” This would also be a truth. Over time, the need for constant vigilance, coupled with relentless sense of being utterly alone had become insupportable. The isolation and uncertainty of my existence pressed in on me like a madness.
I’d maneuvered to excel in each assignment so I could ascend to the crew of the ISS Enterprise. I needed an isolated Vulcan … my plan wouldn’t have worked otherwise. I knew there was a male Vulcan officer on board the Enterprise. Because there are so few in Starfleet - and they’re so highly prized - there is never more than one Vulcan officer per ship. Starfleet was the best option for me to find a Vulcan isolated from his kind.
I would’ve proceeded no matter what, but I was lucky. The smooth grace of his movements, the precision of his speech and the incisive clarity of his thinking all attracted me.
I had the skills, I had selected my target … I just had to wait for his Time.
I’d spent half a lifetime laying my plans and the opportunity couldn’t have been more perfect when it came. I recognized the signs - but he didn’t. Even so, I almost lost my chance. I’d searched for him frantically, inquiring during each brief pause in the terrorizing of the populace, through the chaos of the occupied city, unable to find him. Pandemonium ruled, people running desperately in all directions. Eventually I discovered he’d left the city for the desert. And then everything fell neatly into place.
One thing I know: he is mine and I will keep him.
The degree of my freedom is directly proportional to his servitude.
I am a woman of the Empire. I lost my innocence and trust before I knew I had them. The degree of my freedom is directly proportional to his servitude. He cannot betray me or deny me - this is my safety.
Learning to understand Spock’s mind was like learning an intricate and subtle language. I found it endlessly fascinating. As I sifted through his memories I grew more confident and everywhere I travelled I left my embedded tendrils until I until I encrusted his consciousness with my presence.
His body was equally fascinating.
In my world, sex was a weapon I used with the same lethal effect as my knife. Every coupling was a calculated risk. I was always watching for the inevitable betrayal as I planned my own. Now I had the safety and freedom to allow my body to ebb, flow and find its natural rhythms in the ways I felt rather than in service to my mere existence.
I became drunk with lust and sexual power. I used Spock in every way I desired. He was surprisingly naïve, even innocent. I know I shocked him … and I taught him.
Now he surpasses even me. There’s not a centimeter of his skin I haven’t tasted, no part of his body I haven’t used. I’ve felt him arch in ecstasy and cry out as he surrenders himself completely to the demands of his body, and have been intoxicated. I had expected this euphoria to fade - it has not.
Sometimes our coupling is as sinuous and muscular as the mating of two snakes. Writhing, twisting, gripping, biting, as if seeking to consume each other, we plumb the pleasure that lies on the edge of pain.
At other times we lie as gently as strands of kelp on the ocean, feeling gentle undulations swell and recede until our delicate, warm, final blossoming.
I believe that, deeply enmeshed in each other’s minds and bodies, we are as perfectly synchronized as two beings can be. In this respect - if in no other way - we have found a balance.
I take no pleasure in his pain. He has suffered, my stubborn, proud Vulcan. In this, he is illogical and oddly, it makes him dearer to me even as I am forced to show him the error of his choices. I feel no guilt. It is absolutely necessary that there is no corner of him able to resist me. Only with our solid alliance can I know my freedom. If he was a human male he would hate me, but he is a Vulcan. He strives for acceptance but I know he would seize his freedom if he could.
He need only be patient. Humans in Starfleet rarely live long enough to die of old age. No matter - either way, he will outlive me by many long years. When the grip of my mind is finally released and he is alone with the crumpled ruins of his defenses and exposed truths of himself, surrounded by vast echoing empty spaces I have occupied …
I wonder, my poor Spock … what will you do then?
The End.
Vulcan words used
Note: All Vulcan words are from the Vulcan Language Dictionary - unless I state that I made them up.
- Keshtan-ur: vagina, the passage leading from the opening of the vulva to the cervix of the uterus in female mammals
- Pon farr: Time of Mating, the entirety of the Vulcan mating phenomena, generally occurs once every seven years [marriage]
- Plak-tau: Blood fever, the final stage of Pon farr, in which the victim is rendered incapacitated and the urge to mate overtakes all reason and logic [VLD spelling]
- Remans: the labor caste of the Romulan people. Some, if not all Remans, possess telepathic abilities similar to those shown by Vulcans and Betazoids
- Wan’gan and Plesh’e’tar: great Vulcan monasteries and repositories of ancient knowledge [I just made these up]
- Ro’fori’kosu’tsat: “secret women’s business” - elemental words follow
Kosu: woman
Tast: information known only to a special group: something that should remain hidden from others; something that baffles understanding and cannot be explained.