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New TOS Return of the Sq 1/3 [NC-17] (K/S)

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Tara Jane

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May 19, 2001, 9:57:58 PM5/19/01
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From: "Tara Jane" <javab...@hotmail.com>

Title: Return of the Squire of Gothos 1/3
Author: Mickey
Contact: javab...@hotmail.com
Series: TOS
Part: New
Rating: [NC-17] BDSM
Codes: K/S, Kirk in chain!!!!
Huge Thanks: to chaoslady for excellent and very sensitive editing!
Summary: As a mischevous child Trelane tormented the Enterprise crew.
Now he's a troubled teen who can't be controlled by his parents. He
summons Kirk and Spock back to Gothos for some adult-style games.
The time frame is between This Side of Paradise - Spock's frolic on
Omicron Ceti III and The Devil In The Dark visit to Horta land.


Disclaimer: Star Trek world belongs to Paramount. Sick story is mine and
not intended for profit or infringement.

Return Of The Squire Of Gothos
by Mickey

Kirk was relaxed at the center of the bridge. Janus VI awaited them, and
Omicron Ceti III was safely retreating. The crew seemed crisp. *Better
than all right*, according to McCoy, invigorated as a side effect of the
spores.
Kirk studied Spock at his station. //Not a sign of it. Like nothing happened
No anger. No grief.//

"Captain," Uhura's voice was uneasy, snapping Kirk's attention from Spock,
"I'm receiving a transmission from Gothos." A whisper of fear stirred
up from the very word *Gothos* which ran like a thread across the back
of Kirk's neck.

"Are you sure Uhura?" They were nowhere near the quadrant of space
where they'd encountered Trelane, the Psi creature who'd toyed with
them in his own private nightmarish playground. Kirk's body
remembered, adrenaline; running from the hunter.

"Receiving visual contact, sir."

"On screen," he said, hands tightened on the arms of the chair.

"Trelane," he uttered the name as the screen came to life with the face.
The seemingly youthful face under a tumble of dark curls would have
been handsome if it weren't for the curling sneer of self-indulgence.

"Greetings to the gallant crew of the Enterprise." He spoke with a
mocking tone in his musical voice. "It is my pleasure to inform you
that a party is being held in Gothos Manor." He bowed with a flourish
of his hand. His elaborate costume and setting were plucked from earth's
past, a montage of period finery. He'd raided the coffers of Europe at will
ranging from seventeenth century France to the parlors of Victorian
England to assemble a montage of decadent luxury in the midst of which
he stood, framed by a pair of marble columns. Ruffled lace crowded his
chin and dripped from the cuffs of a tight velvet tunic. He reached out to
touch one of the columns, drawing attention to a heavy chain that hung
from a ring embedded in the stone. "With my deepest apologies to the
uninvited," he said,"it's a private party, for two honored guests."

"We appreciate the offer, Trelane," Kirk said, evenly as possible,
fear climbing his back. "Unfortunately, there aren't two members
of my crew that I can spare for your party. A little more warning
and perhaps ..."

Trelane's laughter rippled across the bridge.

"Very amusing, Captain Kirk. But I wouldn't dream of letting
you miss the festivities. I'm sure your crew won't begrudge their
Captain and his First Officer a tiny diversion."

Kirk's vision filled with the transport effect. Then he heard
Trelane's voice alarming close,"Good evening gentlemen and welcome."

"Trelane!" he gasped. He started forward and was jerked to a halt.
He stumbled painfully against shackling at his ankles and reaching for
balance was caught by the wrench of wrist restraints.Trapped and
enraged, pain shooting up his arms from stunned wrists. He struggled
for balance, searching for his enemy.

"I'm so delighted that you could attend, Captain, so pleased that
you accepted my humble invitation."

It was hard for Kirk to see at first, the room an uneven sea of gold
firelight and deep shadow. Trelane he couldn't find, but there stood
the Vulcan and Kirk stared. He could hardly recognize his First
Officer in the figure beside him. Black velvet chaps fit him like a
second skin, disappearing down into tall black leather boots. Kirk's
eyes rose to his crotch and were riveted. Skin showed to either side
of a velvet pouch attached front and back to the belt at his waist.
The pouch bulged obscenely . ...//*Damn*, it's his cock!//...Slashes
of criss-crossing leather hugged the Vulcan's hips like a gun belt.
Instead of gun it holstered a whip. Kirk's mouth went dry and he
dragged his eyes away from it, up Spock's body. He wore a white
silk shirt that billowed at either side of the waistband and hung
open under the weight of flounced edges.

Kirk swallowed hard without enough spit, eyes climbing the
naked muscled belly, an expanse of darkly-furred chest to the
olive-skinned throat framed by extravagant lace. He felt the
hot rush of his own blushing when his eyes reached Spock's.
The Vulcan's head was cocked toward him, a dark brow raised
as if questioning the long inspection of his body and Kirk pulled
uselessly at his arm restraints.

"Captain," said Spock, and the cool tone gave Kirk back some
measure of calm. //Don't stare at him. Damn, it's Spock.// Kirk
knew his anger and shame were no use to him and envying the
Vulcan's detachment, he tried to shove his emotions down forcibly.
He marvelled at Spock, as calm as if they still stood on the bridge
of the ship, examining the room around them, evaluating without panic.

A fresh surge of outrage ignited in Kirk in spite of himself as he
watched Spock lift the object from the holster on his hip. He was
holding a black leather rod about a foot long, trailing a cluster
of slim leather strands. Spock slowly pulled the strands across
the open palm of his hand, seeming to test the texture on the
sensitive skin of his finger. "It would appear we are once again
the guests of the Squire of Gothos. Evidently free of parental restraint."

"Superb, Mr. Spock," Trelane's voice rang out. "And may I say
that velvet and silk become you. And you, Captain, quite a fetching
outfit. So much prettier than your usual attire." Kirk spared a brief
glance at himself, only enough to register that he wore much the same
kind of clothes, but pale, very pale in contrast to the dark figure beside
him.

"Show yourself, Trelane," Kirk insisted, trying to push away his
awareness of the clothes. It wasn't easy to do. The trousers clung
to him. He was aware of them moulding the cheeks of his ass, a
thong of fabric curving between them with a silky warmth. Even
more difficult to ignore was the insistent feel of his genitals clutched
snugly in a soft pouch.

The significance of the sensuous clothes, the whip, the chains,
twisted in the pit of his belly. He seethed while in front of him
Spock was still a portrait in thought. Kirk forced his eyes away
from him, uncomfortably aware of how handsome he looked.
//Velvet and silk! Am I mad? Damn you Trelane!//

He made himself study his surroundings, searching for clues
to any escape route, searching for Trelane. The part of the
room that hadn't been revealed on screen in the Enterprise
was dominated by a massive four-postered bed drenched in
satin and piled high with pillows.

"I know you're here Trelane," he said. "Show yourself and explain.
This party is over."

The air shimmered on the bed and Trelane appeared. He was no
longer wearing the tunic, reclining in a suit that mirrored theirs
with a shocking variation. The crotch-covering fabric had been
removed leaving his pale skin bare. Kirk frowned at the sight of a
swollen penis lolling over a massive scrotum.

"Your desire to see me is a sweet surprise Captain," Trelane laughed.
He spread his thighs apart and waved a hand over his genitals.
"Do you like what you see?"

"Trelane," Kirk said sharply, "I demand that you release us."
He tried to use the authority in his voice to command the child
in their captor, keeping his eyes off the exposed flesh, focusing
on the pouting face.

"Oh but you just got here. And Mr. Spock is so handsome in
black, don't you agree, Captain? I've dreamed of him just this
way," he sighed. "So very, very sexy." He rose languorously from
the bed and approached the Vulcan. Spock watched without comment,
the leather whip dangling from a relaxed hand along his thigh.

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