NEW: Theme and Variations Q/P (sorta) SMBD

[Jeanita]

Okay, say you're a hot dom and you have an even hotter boy who
you want to keep entertained. What do you do? Well, if you're
in my version of the HBP reality, you throw him to a room full of
doms and watch him get worked on. Let me explain. I hate when
characters I identify with are sad. Therefore, when I read His
Beloved Pet, I was devastated on Johnny's behalf and I had to
write Object Lessons in order to fix what ailed him. See, he can
be the biggest sub in the world as far as I'm concerned, but I
want him to be a happy one. So in OL, he's happy, and he and Q
are madly in love (As an old K/Ser, I can't have our boys just
fall in love quietly, they have to have a grand, transcendent
passion), and they're in this intense S/M relationship that's
very fulfilling to both of them except Q's a little worried that
Johnny might get bored and his mind will start to wander (He's a
mortal, you know, they're so easily distractable).
Theme and Variations is the next installment in my HBP reality
(don't worry, I asked Ruth and she said it was okay). I want you
(my loving audience) to be very clear on the fact that this is an
S/M story and Picard subs to the max in it. You've been warned.
Paramount actually owns Picard and Q and the Enterprise but I
came up with the villa in upstate New York as well as all the hot
parts.
Enjoy.
Oh, and need I say I want feedback? Actually, yes, I think I do,
so: WRITE ME AND TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK (but only if it's praise
or objective commentary.)
Oh, and no printing it without the header, and no adding it to mailing
lists or ftp sites without asking first, okay? :-)

Oh, Lord, have mercy, mercy, mercy, mercy, mercy...
-Shy Guy
Diane King

Theme and Variations
J. Danzik

One night Q appeared dressed all in leather. Jean-Luc
immediately lowered his eyes, so the only thing he could see was
Q's black boots, the tight black pants, and the loop of a long
chain that dangled from the immortal's waist. The rich scent of
Q's clothing filled the room, and Jean-Luc breathed in
appreciatively. His eyes strayed to the bulge in the crotch of
Q's pants and he hid a smile. Whatever the immortal had in mind
this time, Jean-Luc suspected it wouldn't be long before he found
himself bent over a chair or a bed, moaning while Q took him.
Q surprised him, however, explaining as he strapped Jean-Luc
into his collar and cuffs that tonight was his night to show off,
and that he expected his slave to acquit himself admirably. He
was, he said, taking Jean-Luc to a gathering where he was sure
his well-trained bottom would be the center of attention.
Despite his willingness to do and be what Q wanted, Picard
almost balked at that. No matter how much he loved submitting to
Q in the privacy of his quarters, he was unwilling to take the
chance of being discovered. He had a sudden horrible vision of
tabloids screaming "Starfleet Captain Discovered in Sex Slave
Love-Fest." He tensed and was about to apologize and
ask Q please not to do whatever he was planning, but Q's hand was
already raised. The immortal snapped his fingers and Jean-Luc
suddenly found himself in a small, dark, enclosed space that
hummed with a low vibration. Disoriented, he looked around
himself, accidentally meeting Q's eyes. Q lifted an eyebrow, and
Jean-Luc yanked his eyes away and bowed his apology as best he
was able in the tiny room. Despite himself he was beginning to
feel tremors of lust and anticipation which warred with his
understandable sense of caution. Where was he? And what was in
store for him tonight? He tried to make sense of his
surroundings. He was kneeling at Q's feet, naturally, on some
soft carpeting. As they both lurched slightly to the right, he
realized they were travelling in a vehicle of some sort. He
searched his mind for the correct appellation, but, distracted by
thoughts on what lay ahead of him, he couldn't remember the word.
The humming whined down as the vehicle slowed, then slowed even
more. There was another slight lurch, this time from front to
back, and he realized they had stopped.
Jean-Luc felt his heart begin to pound. He was acutely
aware that he was naked, erect, collared and cuffed; unimaginably
vulnerable to whatever Q had in store for him. His stomach
fluttered, and despite himself he let his eyes raise as high as
he dared--to Q's chest which was exposed by the partially zipped
leather jacket--looking for some reassurance that he wouldn't
have to resign in disgrace after this session was over.
Q ignored him which was oddly reassuring. Idly he stroked
Jean-Luc's head, then took the chain off his belt and hooked it
to Jean-Luc's collar. The humming sound grumbled and stopped.
Moments later a door opened, a hand reached in to assist Q's
exit, and Q stepped out. As he obeyed Q's murmured "Hands and
knees, Johnny," Jean-Luc knew a moment of sheer terror. He was
going to be discovered, he was going to be publicly humiliated,
ashamed, embarrassed, fired.
He was...
in more darkness. Clumsily, on all fours, he exited the
vehicle and found himself on more carpeting, slightly rougher
than what he'd just been kneeling on. He rubbed one hand along
it feeling a thrill of humiliation at his debasement. Here he
was, the captain of the finest vessel in Starfleet, searching for
clues to his whereabouts as he knelt on the ground waiting for
his master's orders. He felt his heart slamming and his
face grew hot. 'I shouldn't love this so much,' he told himself.

For a daring moment he conceded that this delicious degradation
might almost be worth trading a career for.
"Rest, Johnny," Q ordered, and Picard knelt up, legs spread,
eyes down, palms on his thighs. He liked it when Q told him what
to do. It was comforting to obey orders, to know that all
decisions had been taken away from him, but sometimes, like now,
he indulged himself in small disobediences which Q generally
ignored. He'd been trained to keep his eyes down, but now he
raised them again to the level of Q's belt. His chain
rattled with Q's movements and he wanted to know what was
happening. Q removed a blindfold and strapped it around Johnny's
head, fitting it snugly. Now Johnny was well and truly helpless,
and he knew he was faced with a choice: trust Q and obey him, or
call a halt, disappoint Q, and never find out what might have
been in store for him this night. It was a given that Q would
punish his cowardice, but worst of all, he would never know what
he'd missed. Q gave him an order to stand, and in the decision
to rise to his feet he made his choice.
'I'll just explain that this was all an experiment,' he told
himself, painting a nightmare scenario where friends, or worse,
family members encountered him blindfolded, collared, cuffed and
led around on a chain. He braced himself for the startled
exclamation, 'My god, Jean-Luc, is that you?'
'What will I say?' He thought, trying to still his panic.
'What will I do?' He followed Q's prompting, passing through an
outer door, then another one that led him into the building
proper.
Without his sight he had to rely on his other senses to tell
him what was going on around him. Listening carefully, he
discerned the sound of doors opening and shutting, a soft crackle
of logs in a fireplace, masculine voices, and the sound of
bootheels of every description. Q's boots thumped. Someone
else's clicked sharply. A third person, obviously very fat,
shook the floor with every thudding step. There was the soft
patter of sandaled feet moving quickly by him. By comparison,
his own bare soles slapped the floor with barely any sound at
all, and on the rugs which occasionally appeared beneath his feet
he might as well not even have existed.
A soft breeze was created whenever someone moved around him,
making goosebumps rise on his bare skin. He wondered if he was
the only naked man present, and again he struggled with his
doubts and suspicions. What was happening? What was he doing
here and why had he trusted Q in the first place? Among the low
murmur of masculine voices, he could discern what sounded like
orders. He listened carefully, heard someone say 'kneel, sit,
stay, good boy'--obviously there was more than one slave here.
He strained for the sound of his own master's voice, suddenly
afraid he might not recognize it among all the other sounds.
Jean-Luc froze, fearful and disoriented. He wished Q would touch
him and relieve his growing nervousness, but the chain was slack
and Q was silent. In this unfamiliar place, where he didn't know
where he was or what was going to happen to him, there was only Q
or the void. He had no choice but to wait patiently for Q to
pull on the chain, or speak, or touch him. He would continue to
be lost until Q rescued him, and he wished it could happen soon
so he could believe in his own existence again.
'I could just reach up and pull the blindfold off,' he told
himself, 'just for a second. Q would put it back on, and punish
me, but it might be worth it. At least I would know where I
was.' He teased himself with the thought of true disobedience,
but he knew he wouldn't. Still, it was pleasant to immerse
himself in imaginary rebelliousness for a moment, as a defense
against helplessness. What had Q said mere moments ago when they
were in his quarters? That he expected his slave to acquit
himself admirably. Jean-Luc pulled himself fractionally more
erect, squaring his shoulders.
"Good boy," Q's voice came from his right. Instead of
reassuring him as he expected it would, the approving words made
him feel more helpless than ever. Q had been watching him and he
hadn't known it. What else was happening that he wasn't aware
of? Jean-Luc shivered. Absent the right to speak, he'd
developed an entire repertoire of involuntary non-verbal signals:
moans, gasps, tremors; he was deeply embarrassed at having no
choice but to rely on this method of conveying his thoughts to Q,
but he was also reassured by the fact that it worked. A side
effect of his training, he'd become acutely attuned to his own
responses. His body could no more lie to him than it could to Q,
and all he had to do was pay attention to be primally aware of
his feelings. The tremors increased. Jean-Luc wanted to shrink
in on himself, to become small and still and invisible, though
that was patently impossible. 'I'm afraid,' he said to himself,
and didn't think to wonder why that thought made his erect penis
even stiffer. It was one of those contradictions about himself
that he was beginning to accept and not worry over. He wondered
if Q was looking at him, seeing his penis becoming harder. Yes,
obviously, because Q chuckled, rather hoarsely, Picard noted, and
reached down to stroke him.
Sometimes, because it was another way to make Jean-Luc lose
control, Q knelt between his legs and took him. Until he'd begun
submitting to Q he'd never realized that getting a blow job could
be an act of obedience, but now, feeling himself teased towards
orgasm, he acknowledged once again that it was his will which he
offered up, not just his responses. If Q wanted to masturbate
him to orgasm in a room full of strangers, it was Johnny's
pleasure to give his climax to his master.
He moaned, not simply because it felt good, which it did,
but because they both knew the sound meant 'I surrender,' the
first, last, and only thing Q wanted to hear from him. 'Yes,
yes,' he thought. 'Take it all.' He braced himself, wondering
what would happen next. One of Q's favorite games was to bring
him to the brink of orgasm then slack off. Sure enough, Q's hand
moved away. Jean-Luc shuddered, his head falling back as his
breath came in short, sharp pants. He wanted to touch himself so
badly that he had to squeeze his legs together in a vain attempt
to shut off sensation. He wanted to feel fingers on his nipples,
his own or Q's--he didn't care which. He wanted a mouth or a
hand on his penis, or Q's cock in his ass, something--anything--
to drive him to the brink and then push him over the edge.
In the midst of this overload, he felt movement along the
length of his chain. Q had turned, was talking to somebody--
receiving instructions on where to take him. There was a gentle
tug, and he followed, trusting. Q's hand on his arm guided him
around obstacles. Q's voice soothed him when he made inadvertent
contact with an endtable. Picard had no choice but to follow the
sound of Q's boots. When they stopped, he stopped. It appeared
they'd reached their destination because Q smoothed his hand
along Jean-Luc's cheek, made a minor adjustment to his collar,
then there was the click he now recognized as the sound of a door
being opened. As warm air hit his face, Picard heard murmured
conversation; heard it pause abruptly then start up again,
punctuated by expressions of surprise and approval.
Someone said, voice rich with appreciation, "Quentin you've
done it again."
Someone else, with a much younger voice said, "But he's
old."
"Yes," the first voice responded, "but look at the bearing."
Picard froze again as a hand grasped his chin, tilting it up.
"And look at the shape he's is in." The hand trailed down his
chest, tracing the ripples of his abdomen. Heels clicked on the
floor as his appraiser walked around behind him. "And take a
look at this." The hand came up again, cupped one cheek then the
other, caressing him. "Tell me you don't want to put the stones
to that."
More hands grasped Jean-Luc by the waist and shoulders,
turning him around. Someone, presumably his critic, rubbed his
leather-clad erection between his cheeks. "He's actually not
that bad," the second voice conceded.
"He's perfect," Q snapped. "If you haven't developed the
wherewithal to appreciate his attributes perhaps you'd better go
across the hall."
'What was across the hall?" Picard wondered. He did not
dwell on it overmuch. He was beginning to discern the shape and
form of this little adventure and it stunned him. Obviously he
was boy de jour, but he had a hard time believing Q was actually
going to hand him over to these men. The thought made him
shudder as conflicting impulses warred within him. He was not
public property, and he didn't want strangers invading his
pristine body. He should say something, do something to make his
presence known as more than a mere object of sexual
gratification. He should define his parameters, make it clear
that there were certain things he wouldn't stand for. The
thought occurred to him that this could be some elaborately cruel
trick on Q's part, that he would be led right up to the brink of
compliance then Q would pull the blinders from his eyes and yell
Surprise! leaving him to face a group of disbelieving
interlocutors.
But overlaying his resistance and extreme wariness was a
more fundamental impulse. He *needed* to demonstrate his willing
obedience, and at a deep level it thrilled him that his
compliance was being put to the test. That compliance was a very
near thing, however. The temptation was to simply put on his
Captain's voice and tell Q he couldn't do this. He said nothing
however because he still couldn't quite believe that Q would
actually ask this of him--well not ask, exactly, but require--and
even as he was led forward again, helped up a short flight of
stairs and laid across a gently swinging platform of some sort
with his ass in the air and his head resting on a velvet cushion,
he expected to find himself suddenly back in his quarters, taking
it as usual while the immortal demurred that he really didn't
want Johnny desecrated by the emissions of a group of strangers.
Q's hand--funny how he could tell--gave him an approving pat
on the bottom as he was bent over. He unhesitatingly obeyed the
hands that positioned him, felt the leash removed and a much
heavier chain attached. He could not raise his head without
extreme difficulty. To either side, hands grasped his wrists and
began removing the restraints he wore. He was buckled into a
different set of restraints which were attached to the dais on
which he rested. Despite himself Jean-Luc began to tremble
again. He tried not to think of what this meant. The hands on
his left side were large and meaty and handled him roughly. The
hands on his right were more perfunctory, but he was buckled in
no less tightly for all that. He pulled against the restraints a
little, enough to find out that he had almost no slack. His
hands were locked in place on either side of his head, and he was
bent over with his legs wide open. He felt horribly exposed and
helpless, and for a moment shame and utter rebelliousness
overtook him. How dare Q do this to him, and what could he
possibly have been thinking to allow this? Jean-Luc wondered
what Q would say if he asked to be let go. He thought of how
disbelieving he would be if his pillow or his chair or his
replicator were to voice an opinion. The very notion seemed
ridiculous. He didn't want to speak, but he was afraid he
wouldn't be able to take what was coming.
'As long as it's just sex,' he thought, and sneered at
himself for his cowardice. He was unwilling to tell Q 'no' and
just as unwilling to admit that maybe, possibly, he wanted this.
He recalled the rough hands that had buckled him into his
restraints and couldn't help but wonder what a whip would feel
like wielded by those hard hands. Cut off from sight, unable to
speak, he suddenly gave himself over to the moment, resting his
head between his hands, wondering, if, having exposed and
humiliated him, Q would now let him go.
"Who's first?" Q's voice was directly above his head.
Jean-Luc heard an enthusiastic response from somewhere off
to his left and he felt his heart beat faster. He couldn't
believe this was happening. He didn't want this. He didn't want
Q to do this to him. He was going to stop playing these games
right now. Tell Q no and damn the consequences. He was so
wrapped up in his need to reassert control that he didn't even
hear the footsteps of the man who was about to take him, but
there was no mistaking the feel of a generous amount of lubricant
being inserted inside him with a soft, needle-nosed implement, or
the sweaty warmth and bulk of the man's broad stomach as he took
his place behind him.
Q's hands came down on his shoulders as the man came
forward. Jean-Luc bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut inside
the blindfold. This wasn't happening. A moan escaped him as his
sphincter gave way and the man pushed into him. His penis was
very long and narrow for such a large man, and for a moment Jean-
Luc was distracted by the notion of all the different kinds of
penises he would feel this night. It worked him, this long thin
rod, and he couldn't help but respond to it, pushing back,
timidly at first, but with more vigor as he matched rhythms with
the stranger. When the man finally came, Picard was still
unsatisfied, but oddly reassured by this.
'I just let a total stranger fuck me,' he said to himself.
It was a liberating thought. 'All I have to do is lie here and
strangers will come and take me all night long if I want. Or
even if I don't,' he told himself, finally admitting he was here
to stay as long as Q wanted him to. He thought about what it
would feel like to be fucked a second and third and fourth time,
and while he was contemplating this a second man slipped inside
him.
'Two,' Jean-Luc thought. He wondered if Q was watching
proudly. 'Of course he is.' He decided. 'Q is watching me take
on this stranger, watching me respond to him.' For Jean-Luc
couldn't help responding. It felt good, and suddenly he wanted
it urgently. He pressed back, moaning, showing off for Q.
Suddenly the idea of being possessed by strangers didn't bother
him anymore. This really was a pas de deux, a duet between him
and Q, and the other people were mere mis en scene. As he
realized this, much of his apprehension vanished, and he could
settle back and really live this experience rather than worrying
about what it meant.
Without sight to guide him, he relied on other senses to
give him information. The second man to take him was smaller
than the first, but his penis was much bulkier. It's owner,
reed-thin and cooler, didn't need to manipulate his body around a
large belly. He fastened his hands around Jean-Luc's hips,
slamming into him with enthusiasm. Jean-Luc felt like he was
being worked over with a drill. It felt good, but the hands on
his waist held him still. He couldn't push back and all too soon
the man was shooting inside him, shouting out his satisfaction.
Voices murmured in approval and appreciation. A third man
entered his body. Jean-Luc distracted himself by counting the
strokes. Sometimes Q used his powers to keep himself from having
an orgasm, and Jean-Luc's count was in the thousands when Q
finally released his control and came. This fellow, absent an
immortal's stamina barely made it past sixty before crying out
and grinding himself flush against Jean-Luc's ass.
'Amateur,' Jean-Luc thought disdainfully. He wished he
would be allowed to come, but this was beginning to be rather
exciting. They were actually arguing over who would have him
next. The winner had his cuffs and collar unlocked, and Jean-Luc
was lifted off the bench and set on his feet. Facing his next
proxy master, still blindfolded, Jean-Luc jumped slightly when
the man appreciatively ran his hands down his torso. Jean-Luc
felt the man move closer, take his left nipple between his teeth
and bite down hard. Jean-Luc cried out. There was applause, and
Jean-Luc suddenly remembered that he was in a room full of
spectators. He opened his eyes inside the blindfold, saw nothing
but imagined the lustfully appreciative stares that raked his
body, measured his responses. Now the man picked up Jean-Luc's
hand and brought it to his chest. Jean-Luc felt a solid wall of
muscle beneath his hand; Worf on steroids, only bigger. He
didn't know what was expected of him and wondered what his
punishment would be if he were to make a mistake. Slowly,
tentatively, he began to run his hands down the man's torso.
When he heard the man sigh in pleasure, Jean-Luc relaxed. When
the massive hand reached behind his head and guided Jean-Luc's
mouth towards his chest, Jean-Luc understood what was being asked
of him. With all the patience he could muster he licked and bit
at the man's nipples, eventually bringing his attention lower and
lower down. Finally he sank to his knees. He had tacit
permission to use his hands here, so he opened his mouth, found
the not-very-large-penis-for-such-a-giant, and began to nurse on
it, stroking at the man's buttocks in time to his mouth's rhythm.
Finally the man came, grasping the back of Jean-Luc's head
and holding his mouth down by the root of his cock. Q had
actually trained him rather well in this. He could even still
his involuntary panic at not being able to take a breath, at
least at first. Jean-Luc swallowed and did not gag, barely
tasting the salty fluid that filled his mouth.
He was set on his feet and led back to the platform. 'You
like this,' he accused himself as he was buckled in again, and he
found that he could neither lie nor answer honestly. He was
suspended between too many feelings; the need to please Q, the
shocking gratification at finding himself the center of
attention, the simple physical pleasure of being fucked; it all
honed down to a basic truth: he wanted to be here doing this.
He wondered if he would be allowed to come, and didn't know if it
would make this experience more painful or less so. His
sphincter had relaxed considerably, and the first moment of
penetration no longer hurt as much, but the inner walls of his
anus had engorged and were now very sensitive. The constant
sawing back and forth hurt him inside, and added to his
excitement. He cried out as the sixth man moved up into him, and
his fingers arched into claws for a few seconds, looking for
something to grasp and hold on to. Like a miracle, Q was there
again--Picard could smell the leather. Q laid both hands over
his, holding him gently. The hands tightened momentarily as Q
squatted and put his face next to Jean-Luc's, telling him what a
good boy he was. Jean-Luc lifted his head, the heavy chain
dragging, and offered his mouth. Q took it, kissing him sweetly.
There was a slight rustle as Q knelt on the floor in front of
him, their mouths glued together. Jean-Luc kissed back eagerly,
contentment surging through him. If he'd been standing, his
knees would have started to weaken by now. Q's kisses always did
that to him, started a rush of pure pleasure that whispered
through every part of his being. His hands relaxed again, but Q
stayed with him, tongue exploring Jean-Luc's mouth. The penis
inside him stayed with him for a long time, as if Jean-Luc had
somehow become a conduit for the sensations moving between
himself and Q. That was as it should be. He decided that he was
proud of the fact that Q wanted to hand him over, to offer him to
others. Every man who entered and dwelt within him was really Q
because Q's will drove this. This small penis that took it's
time, the large seventh one, the fat and fatter eight and ninth
ones, he could take them because Q wanted them there, and he felt
as if they were somehow enshrined within him, made special
because Q had turned his body into a temple into which all could
enter and make offering.
Jean-Luc thought some more of penises. Each one was as
distinct as it's owner, and each one did different things to him.
Oh, they were the same in the way they entered him, defined him
as vessel, but somehow it was as if each one was taking him on a
specific leg of this journey, contributing in a way that was
unique and special. Even through the growing discomfort he felt
gratitude for each and every one of them, felt humbled by the
attention. 'Make me good,' he prayed to no one in particular,
'make me worthy.' Each man who dwelt inside him created a
distinct facet of his servitude. Each one had a lesson for him,
coming one right after the other until he couldn't believe he'd
ever had a life outside this one. He'd always lived here, hadn't
he, bent over on this dais? He couldn't imagine living anywhere
else.
Time did strange things to his mind. He'd been here for
years and years; it was all he ever did, it was what he was, and
he realized he could run the gamut of emotion, from welcoming
receptiveness to resentment and rebellion, and it wouldn't matter
because he, Jean-Luc was somehow permanently in this place. The
knowledge was a comfort to him.
By the time the tenth man pushed into him, Jean-Luc had not
only acclimated to the pain, he wanted it. His body was
beginning to tell on him--there was a minor cramp in his right
calf and his knees were numb--but he'd hit a kind of plateau
where pain, discomfort and submission all blended into one, and
this felt too right to complain about. He was willing to stay
here for as long as Q needed him to be here, and throbbing
beneath his obedience, like the base notes of a song, his own
dark pleasure as he found incredible fulfillment in pain and
desire.
"Oh god!" he heard himself cry out. He wondered if it was
the first time he'd spoken aloud.
Q was suddenly with him, holding his hands again. "Pain
dignifies, Jean-Luc. Pain refines. Pain enhances. Are you a
good boy?"
He could not speak. Every stroke was a hammer refining
gold, purifying him with constant, unrelenting effort. Jean-Luc
nodded.
'I am the vessel,' he told himself, and it made the pain all
the sweeter. The receptacle, the grail, the cauldron in which
all impurity, all dross, all flotsam--he had to smile at that--
was refined out of him as he burned in this crucible of pain. He
wouldn't have wanted it any other way, and he was grateful to Q
for having the will to keep him here even though he was beginning
to cry and writhe against it; this strange, reverse communion
where he was emptied into instead of drained. And every time
essence spilled within him he was endlessly increased so that
there was always room to hold the gifts that were offered. The
wonder of it swelled against his chest so that he thought his
heart would take wings and fly away. Jean-Luc felt pure
thankfulness that it could be him who received. So it hurt. So
what? That wasn't the point at all.
Jean-Luc tried to hold that feeling of transcendence, but
all around him there were things to distract him. Sometimes they
blended into the rightness of the moment, but sometimes they
agitated him. Occasionally the door opened and sounds from
outside the room filtered in. Once he heard a loud groan of
ecstacy from the room across the hall and knew he wasn't the only
man in this house bent over a platform. He wondered what the
other slave was feeling, and shared a moment's kinship with him.
Another time, hearing a master's voice, harshly snapping out
orders, Picard couldn't help but shudder. Q never yelled. His
manner with Jean-Luc was extremely formal, almost courtly,
setting a tone that the other men in the room followed. Jean-Luc
was glad for this; he could never have respected a brute, and
besides, Q's unwavering politeness reinforced his absolute
control. He never snarled or pushed Johnny around. What need in
the face of such willing compliance?
Jean-Luc was further distracted by the feel of his wrist
restraints being unbuckled. Someone wanted to take him on his
back instead of his stomach. The heavy chain was removed from
his collar leaving his head unexpectedly light. Arms gathered
him in, Q's arms, and he was carried a short distance and laid
down on his back.
He was on a bed, it seemed. More arms pulled him into
position, and he felt his legs bent towards his chest then pulled
up and draped over someone's shoulders.
The person felt around the crack of his ass, positioning
himself, then paused. "Quentin, I want to take his blindfold
off. Is that alright?"
"Hmmm. Very well," Q's voice answered. Hands touched his
head, reaching for his blindfold, and for a moment sheer terror
overwhelmed him again. Picard had a horrible vision of
discovering himself in his own ready-room, Worf, Riker and Troi
staring at him in gap-jawed amazement.
But that didn't happen. As he was blinking his eyes against
the sudden brightness, hands gathered him close. Not Q's hands,
he realized. He wondered again at how easily he was able to
tell. The hands roamed freely over his body, furrowing between
the crack of his ass which was wet from the come that ran out of
him. Then, as he was entered, they ran down the front of his
body to gently weigh his testicles and stroke his erection.
"Sweet boy," their owner said fondly. "Quentin, he's so
good. Where did you find him?"
"I had to look and look." Q's voice was rich with
satisfaction. "And watch this." Other hands, Q's hands this
time, eased down from his shoulders to his chest. Q pulled at
his nipples, and despite himself, Picard gasped in quick,
shuddering breaths, acutely aware that this perfect stranger
could see his chest quickly rising and falling as lust overtook
him and made him surge beneath Q's knowing fingers.
When his eyes adjusted, Picard saw that he was being taken
by a dark-eyed, dark haired man with a tender smile and a
slightly worried expression to his face. The stranger pulled
Picard towards him, pressing their mouths together. Jean-Luc let
himself be kissed. Oh, but he wanted this. Wanted to be handed
over and fondled. Wanted to be subject to the lust of other men
for Q's sake. He melted into the man's embrace, knowing that he
was really kissing Q, and that he was being bent over and entered
at Q's behest. This one was very large. Jean-Luc caught his
breath, whimpering a little as he was stretched wide. He was
grateful that he'd had so many before and could accommodate him
with a minimum of pain. His sphincter spasmed a bit as the man
stopped just inside him, giving Jean-Luc time to get used to his
size. He ran his hands down Jean-Luc's sides, masturbated him,
played with his nipples, but with a cautious deliberation that
Jean-Luc found confusing for a moment until he realized the
source of the man's slight tension. He was afraid of being
rejected, or found wanting somehow, and that could never be.
Jean-Luc would show him how ridiculous that idea was. He opened
his legs wider, bearing down as the hard cock slid further up
inside him, and began to work his hips hard, pushing back and
forth and moaning his desire for more. The man pushed against
him slowly at first, but encouraged by Jean-Luc's response, soon
began to jackhammer enthusiastically. Jean-Luc sighed in
pleasure and shut his eyes. Around him, the spectators chuckled.
"That's what he wanted!" Someone said.
"Yeah, look at him go," another voice said in awed tones.
"He's a bottomless pit."
Jean-Luc wondered at himself as he drove against the penis
inside him. Had he ever thought about it, he would have guessed
that it might have bothered him to be spoken of in the third
person, but he didn't feel the least bit annoyed. Instead he
was... how *did* he feel? Safe, but more than that somehow.
Nurtured, protected, cared for, as if he could let go any time he
wanted, knowing he would be borne aloft in comforting arms which
were always held out for him; a boy with his loving daddy. This
which was required of him, his body, his responses, was nothing
to ask in exchange for the wonderful security which cocooned him.
The image came to mind of a little princess, coddled, even
spoiled, given everything she ever needed, the notion of lack or
loss so remote as to be a strange fiction that had nothing to do
with the reality of his life. Part of his mind worried at the
confusion between gender identity and role identity, but mostly
he just rode with the truth of his feelings.
In the reality of the moment, he lifted his body, offering
himself further. Hands supported his head, brought his mouth
within range of the man who leaned over him. Was it Q helping
him? It didn't matter. What was important was that this was yet
another way of showing his gratitude, of getting what he needed.
Above him, the man moaned and ducked his head to get at the
invitingly opened mouth, whispered to him to open his eyes.
Jean-Luc smiled up at him, saw some further resistance to
their union melt away as the man smiled back and stuck out his
tongue to lick softly at Jean-Luc's lips.
"You are the most beautiful thing," the man said. His
tongue wandered down to Jean-Luc's chin, across his jaw, down to
his throat then back up to his mouth. It tickled. Miles below,
their hips still pistoned frantically, but their eyes created
communion, smiled into each other's depths. Jean-Luc's hands
were at his sides, unmoving; partially because that's how Q had
trained him, but mostly because he knew he had no obligations
here to be other than the recipient of pain and pleasure. Of
course. Princesses didn't have to work, they gave of themselves,
and that was always more than enough. He was rare and special
and loved and admired and laid out on his stomach or his back and
offered up for the gratification of others, and it was all hot
and good, and sweet, sweet, sweet.
The man finished with him and gave him an affectionate kiss
goodbye. He lay passively in Q's arms as he was carried back to
the platform, waiting for whatever came next. Before he was bent
over and locked in, a glass was held to his lips; rosewater and
brandy. He smiled as he drank, thinking 'always taken care of.'
The drink was taken away and he waited serenely while they found
the errant blindfold and covered his eyes again. Hands
positioned him. More hands wiped away the come which ran out of
him like water. Somebody eased two fingers inside him, feeling
around. "Good Lord, he's so swollen it's a wonder he's not
screaming."
'I could scream if I wanted to,' Jean-Luc thought smugly.
He wondered if he wanted to.
"Let me see." The fingers were withdrawn and other, rougher
ones replaced them. Jean-Luc cried out at this more aggressive
handling, even this small delusion of control ripped away from
him.
"Shhhh." Someone put their index finger in his mouth, and
he pulled at it, gentling immediately. Idly he listened to the
conversation going on behind him. The man with the rough fingers
wanted to take him next. He called for lubricant, then moments
later his slick penis was pushing against Jean-Luc's sphincter.
It hurt. 'I have to take this because I must because it's
good because I want to because Q wants me to because it's what I
do because princesses offer themselves up because it hurts oh it
hurts it's so good,' he chanted to himself. The words to the
litany did not matter as much as the hypnotizing effect they had
on him.
'Good boy good boy good boy,' he comforted himself. He bit
down on the finger in his mouth to keep from crying out then
cried out anyway. A second finger joined the first one and he
sucked on them avidly. They weren't Q's fingers, but he could
pretend they were. He focussed his attention on them, licking
and swirling his tongue around them, scraping his teeth against
them until their owner gasped hoarsely. Close to his ear Jean-
Luc heard the sound of a zipper being pulled down, then the
fingers were withdrawn, replaced by an erect penis. Jean-Luc
could smell the dusty scent of denim mixed in with the heady male
aroma. 'God this is so good,' he thought. His body rocked with
the pounding he was getting from behind, pushing his mouth down
onto the erect penis in front of him. He tried to make it as
good as he could, distracted more than ever by the fact that his
rectum itched and throbbed incessantly.
The next man had him gagged because it hurt so much now,
being fucked, that he was groaning in pain. Q wandered over
every once in a while and told him what a good boy he was and how
proud he was of Jean-Luc's good behavior. He wondered how many
more Q would want him to have, and how many he could actually
take. He hoped he wouldn't have to find out, then took it back.
He actually wouldn't mind knowing what his limits were. His ass
belonged to the men fucking it, so it was out of his control, but
even though he was utterly willing to have this go on as long as
Q deemed necessary, he feared the continuation of pain, even as
he longed for it.
Finally there was nothing to do but leave his body for long
periods of time. He blanked out, accidentally at first, then
deliberately. Every time he came back he was aware of the sweat
that dripped off him, of the tight muscles, of the fact that he
was crying like a child.
'Push me,' he thought. 'Push me hard, Q, because I can't do
this for myself. I want to stop, I want this to never have been,
but don't let it stop, not yet, make me do it I want to be your
good boy, your good boy, your good boy... By the time he'd
counted the seventeenth man to go up inside him he had learned to
blank out almost completely. He had reached a calm place. He
could be fucked and feel pain and cry, and it took on almost no
significance. He was only half aware when they were done because
he was drifting, almost dozing when Q's hand on his collar yanked
him back to reality. There was no one inside him. Were they
done? His hands were unlocked from their position beside his
head. Listening, he could tell that the room had emptied out
somewhat. A few men wandered over to congratulate him. He felt
kisses on his head, on his ass, on his hands. People told him he
was a good boy, that he'd done himself proud.
Q lifted him and set him down on the floor. Jean-Luc's
knees buckled and he folded slowly into the kneeling position
he'd held for so long on the platform.
"Take your time, Johnny." Q tugged gently at his collar,
indicating that he should stand up as soon as he was able to.
Jean-Luc wanted nothing more than to curl up at Q's feet and
sink into oblivion. He'd reached a new level of clarity, and he
wanted to stay here for a few moments in this state of
transubstantiation.
But Q wanted him on his feet. He stretched gently, working
the cramps out of constrained muscles. Finally, slowly, he
pushed himself to his knees, then his feet. He was coming down,
and he needed Q again. His mouth went slack, and the breath
sighed out of him as he once more listening carefully to his
surroundings. Q put his face against Jean-Luc's, nuzzling at
him. Perfect timing. Jean-Luc relaxed and let himself be led
away, staggering a little with dizziness and fatigue.
It was someone else's turn. As he was led out, Jean-Luc
could hear the soft slap of bare feet against the wooden floor,
the light, rapid breathing of another vessel being prepared to
serve. He wished him well.
Q led him to another room and laid him down on a bed. He
stumbled slightly in his fatigue, but Q didn't bother to notice.
Picard relaxed, tired but happy. He'd never imagined he'd be
subjected to an experience like the one he'd just had, and now
that it was over he missed it.
Q sat beside him, removed his blindfold, stroked his arm,
stroked his cheek. "You were a good boy, Johnny. Everyone loved
you."
Picard smiled. He looked straight into Q's eyes, knowing
he'd earned the right to do that much. He held out his arms,
wanting Q to hold him, wanting Q to fuck him, despite the fact
that his entire rectum throbbed with pain.
But Q didn't. "You should get some rest now." He kissed
Jean-Luc gently on the forehead, pulled the covers up around him,
and left.
Jean-Luc shifted slightly, making himself comfortable, felt
a body next to his and turned swiftly. Another male lay next to
him, collared and cuffed. In the semi-darkness, he could see the
man's face was streaked with tears. He glanced at Jean-Luc once
then looked away, shamefaced. Jean-Luc wondered what to do, then
tentatively, because he wasn't sure he was allowed to, he reached
out to caress the man's wet cheek.
"What's wrong?" he whispered.
"Hurts," the man whispered brokenly.
Jean-Luc nodded. He'd been reduced to tears as well. "I
know. It hurt me too."
"Is this your first time?"
Jean-Luc nodded. "How many did you take?"
"Fifteen."
Jean-Luc felt a surge of pride. He'd stopped counting at
seventeen. And he'd had at least four more after that.
"Don't feel bad." Jean-Luc looked at the boy's full,
pouting lips and had an idea. "Did they let you come?"
The other man shook his head. Jean-Luc smiled again. "Do
you want to?"
Their eyes locked. The boy was very young and quite
beautiful, and they were only slaves here. What they did didn't
matter as long as their masters were pleased with them. And
their masters were finished with them for now. Jean-Luc slid
over and took the man in his arms, for comfort as much as to
relieve his unsatisfied lust. He wondered if this slave would
mind... He kissed him, stroking him gently like Q had touched
him, comforting. The man burrowed into Jean-Luc's arms,
obviously seeking affection and nurture, but soon they were
distracted by their erections rubbing against one another. They
almost couldn't help themselves. It was too sexual, and it was
what they did, these slaves; they gave sex. Naturally they gave
it to one another given the opportunity.
"This feels good," the other slave whispered.
Jean-Luc nodded, feeling that thrill of abasement yet again
as they moved against one another--two weary, worked-over slaves,
comforting each other in the semi-darkness.
Eventually, sated, they fell asleep in each other's arms.
When Q shook him awake, the other slave was gone, his side of the
bed already growing cold. Q had retrieved his wrist cuffs, and
Jean-Luc obediently held out his arms to be strapped in. As he
waited, his eyes fell on a folded sheaf of paper on the table by
the bed. The word across the top said TIME. Jean-Luc wondered
what that meant and he leaned over slightly to investigate. His
eyes fell on the date. June 30, 1972. He turned to look at Q in
amazement. They'd gone back in time... So he'd been safe all
along. He'd never been in danger of being exposed. Part of him
wanted to demand answers, to ask where they were and why this
place, but gratitude pushed those questions aside for other, more
important ones. "Master," he whispered. "Are you happy with me?
Was I as you wished me to be? Did I please you?"
Q smiled at him enigmatically and nodded. "Trust me now,
Johnny?"
What could he say to that? He suddenly understood what this
had really been about, understood that his ability to trust Q had
been widened and deepened, that this had been a turning point, a
test, and he'd passed. He was suddenly overwhelmingly grateful
to Q for subjecting him to this, and he grasped Q's hands and
kissed them fervently. That wasn't enough. He fell to his knees
by the side of the bed and pressed his lips to Q's boots. There
were no words to express his gratitude. "You're too good to me,"
he whispered. "I don't deserve you."
Suddenly a horrible thought struck him. He hadn't
recognized his own master's penis when it entered his body. Or
had Q even taken him tonight? His eyes flew to the crotch of Q's
pants, trying to discern whether he was erect or flaccid.
Q followed his eyes, laughing off his concerns. "Don't
worry, Johnny. Did you forget? There's always tomorrow."

End
--

[Lady Amethyst]

I hope your sending this stuff to alt.sex.bondage.stories too, I'd hate for
them all to miss out.
--
Amethyst
--
Keeper of the Labyrinth Flame | "Sorry, can't stop to chat, I've gone and
and Holy Virgin of Scotland | loosed my blood-dimmed tide, and if I want
http://minuteman.com/x-writers | to get to Babylon before it shuts I'll have
http://www.eskimo.com/~ash/ | to run for the next beast." Andrew Wheeler
http://gwis2.circ.gwu.edu/~hawk | "My rock is too small." drh