NEW2ASCEM: Surrender 4/7 TOS [NC-17] (K/S, d/s)

[ASCEM]

Subject:
NEW2ASCEM: Surrender 4/7 TOS [NC-17] (K/S, d/s)
Date:
Tue, 9 Dec 1997 16:00:25 EST
From:
Killashdra <Killa...@aol.com>
Organization:
AOL (http://www.aol.com)
To:
as...@earthlink.net

"You're out of your mind."
A whisper, a statement of fact. Kirk's fear gave way to
something unnamable.
"You make me so."
The tip of the Vulcan's tongue traced the vein pulsing in
Kirk's throat, and the human fought the urge to groan with
the pleasure.
"Why are you doing this?" he gasped, pleading.
"You know why."
"No." A sob. A supplication. "Spock, please. Don't do
this to me." Kirk heard the tight longing he couldn't hide,
and wanted to weep with helplessness. "To us."
And then Spock's hands--those incredible, sensitive,
knowing hands--curved against the underside of his
pectoral muscles, thumbs caressing his nipples. Kirk grew
instantly, achingly hard, his arousal trapped between their
bodies.
"You wish me to stop?"
Yes! Yes, stop. Gods have mercy, don't make me do this.
Don't make me feel this.
But the words did not make it past his lips, for Spock's
hands made speech impossible. To his chagrin, Kirk realized
he was struggling vainly to press his cock tighter against
his captor's body.
It did not matter then, that Kirk willed himself to
resist, for there was no strength in him to combat the
licking flames that ran through him, through his groin and
thighs and belly and nipples. He made a sound he did not
recognize, a raw whimper, and rubbed himself voluptuously,
helplessly, against an answering hardness.
Spock's heat made him want to make that sound again,
made him ache for the feel of that silken flesh against his
instead of the rough friction of clothing. "Please don't," he
grated out, even as his head fell back and dampness surged
from his own arousal. "Don't." He hardly knew what he was
saying any more.
Then the Vulcan drew back, and Kirk had to look up, look
at him.
Dark eyes like cinders threatened to set Kirk ablaze.
The Vulcan's lips were curving now, the slightest shadow of
pleasure, and suddenly Kirk realized what he had said. Spock
was waiting. And underneath the smoldering heat,
something else shone, deep and sure.
The voice, when it came, was very low and made the
hair stand up at Kirk's nape.
"You wish me to continue, then?"
Do you trust me?
Held breath. Then--
"God, yes," Kirk whispered, and closed his eyes.
"Yes," the Vulcan breathed. "Yes." Kirk's arms, bound
behind him, throbbed in protest. Spock had entwined one leg
with Kirk's, bracing with the other; had pushed him down in
the chair until they were stretched almost full length, thigh
to thigh, belly to belly. "Yes, James. Feel how hot, how good
we are together. You cannot fight me. Let me feel you."
The relief of being able to press against him, to rub his
naked sex against that heat, was so great that Kirk moaned,
helplessly.
Then, suddenly, the weight and the delicious friction
left him.
"Get up."
Kirk fought for breath, fought for sanity.
"Now."
The word touched him in some vulnerable, deep place, the
sound of it a purr, a command.
He pushed himself up in the chair, tried to get his feet
under him. With his arms pinned, it was difficult. Then
suddenly Spock's hand was between his legs, cupping his
erection, his testicles, sending him racing up an unknown
peak of stunned pleasure. He sucked in oxygen and thought
he was going to pass out.
"Get up," Spock whispered. His other hand was at the
small of Kirk's back. His hold on Kirk's sex was a pressure
that could not be borne, or resisted. The human struggled to
his feet, feeling the hand at his back balancing him.
They stood like that for a moment, Kirk swaying
unsteadily. He could feel every part of Spock, that close
heat, could smell him, but could not make himself raise his
eyes. He was suddenly, painfully aware of his own
nakedness, his utter vulnerability. Spock was still fully
dressed--still in uniform!--and that awareness threatened
to drive Kirk over some edge of control. His cock was
painfully hard in Spock's hand. He felt his own copious fluid
slick and unbearably erotic against the pulse at the Vulcan's
wrist, shaming him.
He started to tremble, couldn't stop.
"This is insane," he whispered, eyes squeezing shut.
"Perhaps." Spock's hand moved lower, cradled his
scrotum and squeezed slightly, emphasizing his
helplessness. Behind him, the Vulcan was holding to the
strip of cloth which bound his arms--the belt from his robe,
Kirk realized dimly--pinning his wrists against his back. "I
find that seeing you like this I do not much care." The
words were hoarse with desire.
Kirk's legs did not want to hold him. The need for
release felt like a painful tightness in every nerve, a
vibration that shuddered over his skin. Did he need to
come? To cry? The needs were so many and so tangled up
with one another that he could not separate them. He
swayed against Spock's body, one breath from going to his
knees. The motion rubbed his sex against Spock's wrist, the
edge of the blue velour sleeve, and unable to stop himself,
Kirk moaned aloud.
"Be still."
An order. To be obeyed. Sudden pressure on his testicles
that made him gasp with almost-pain, and need denied. And
finally, unable to stop himself, he looked up, met Spock's
eyes.
They were glittering. A look he had never seen, never
dreamed of seeing. It touched that deep place again, that
part of him that wanted nothing except Spock's approval.
Ah, god, he's beautiful, Kirk thought, quite apart from the
molten chaos that was consuming him from the inside out.
And he was. The generous lips were flushed copper,
wanting, and Kirk knew that the pressure of that mouth on
his could have brought him to orgasm within seconds. He
realized he had swayed forward only when Spock's arm
tensed, and the bonds holding his wrists tightened.
"Be still," Spock said again, a bare murmur.
Kirk was trembling uncontrollably now. "What do you
want from me?"
The dark eyes swallowed him whole. "Submission."
For long moments, the human could not breathe, or speak.
Finally he swallowed, and choked, "What are you going to do
to me?"
And Spock released him, suddenly, and moved behind him,
and apprehension and arousal ran through Kirk in equal
measure. Those hands encircled his hips, one in front, one
behind. The one in front moved between his thighs, pushing
his legs apart, exposing him, and the other hand... the other...
But then he moaned, and nearly collapsed, because those
exquisitely sensitive fingertips were touching him in his
most secret places. "Oh god," he breathed, knowing his legs
were giving out. Spock's hand was still between his thighs,
almost holding him up. And still he was touching,
caressing... *there,* and again, and Kirk knew that he was
lost... knew that he would beg for anything his captor would
give him. "Oh, Spock..."
Spock's voice was a growl against his ear, rushing
shivers all down that side of his body. "Yes. You will say
my name. You will beg me to release you from this pleasure.
I will make you *mine.*"
"Spock..." The name was a wanting entreaty, low in his
throat.
The hands left him. "Get on the bed."
Kirk obeyed, never thought of not obeying. He felt
Spock's eyes follow him, felt his skin burning. He was
starting to go out of his head, and it was a relief. This was
not happening. Could not happen.
"There. Face down. On your knees."
Kirk drew a breath in sharply. What was he...?
His trembling reached a crescendo. Waves of tremors
were washing through him now. Suddenly he knew he was
not going to be able to bear this. He turned his face toward
the Vulcan, eyes down, fighting not to let the tears spill.
"Please..."
Spock close, not touching. "What is it, James?"
Kirk's breath hitched. His throat was so tight he could
not swallow, could not get the words out. "Please, I need... I
need you to..."
"Tell me."
That voice, tender and velvet-deep, seemed to touch him
in vital places, a wash of shivery pleasure through his belly,
his groin. It made fresh fluid gather at the tip of Kirk's
penis; he felt a little slip down the tip onto the bed, knew
that the other saw it.
He knew, also, that he had never been so aroused in his
life--that if Spock had touched him then, anywhere, he
would have come.
Kirk's knees were leaning against the edge of the bed,
but could not go any further, for if he were to lie down now
he would be unable to stop himself from rubbing frantically
against the silken coverlet. He tried very hard to make
himself look at Spock. Tried to make himself raise his eyes.
But the awareness was surging through him, a visceral
certainty. Spock. It's Spock doing this to me. If he looked
at the Vulcan now, he really would lose it.
"Please," he whispered, fighting to make the words come.
"I need you to--touch me." Was he begging? He did not
know. He would beg, would do anything if only Spock would
help him.
He felt those hands again, cupping the back of his
neck, soothing him there. And he caught his breath. Closed
his eyes.
"So close," the Vulcan murmured, approving, caressing
with his voice. "You are so close, aren't you?"
"Yes," Kirk gasped. Liquid heat surged up his thighs,
centered on his cock. The hands on his neck were bringing
him higher--could bring him over the edge. The realization
itself was almost enough to finish him.
As if regretfully, Spock petted him once more and then
released him. "Not yet, my beautiful one. I am not finished
with you." And his hands on Kirk's shoulders turned him,
pushed him down until he was seated on the edge of the bed.
"Look at me."
It was not easy. But at last Kirk was able to raise his
eyes. And it was better than he thought it would be... easier.
For Spock--in the low light, those dark eyes hot with
passion and need, black hair gleaming, full lips flushed dark
and swollen slightly--was a sight that made him suck in
air, made him forget his own torment for looking.
It suddenly came to him that he did not know if he
would ever be able to want anyone else.
His own lips were parted; he heard himself breathing
hard. As he watched, the Vulcan moved, one hand going to
the collar of his tunic. Spock opened the seam unhurriedly,
eyes never leaving Kirk's. "I believe you require distraction,
James. For I want to drive you quite mad with pleasure...
and that must not be rushed." The blue tunic was discarded,
and Spock stood over him all in black, the heat and the smell
of him making Kirk's breath come faster. His eyes were
dragged, against his will, to the distinct, hard outline of
Spock's sex, and a wave of longing of a different kind swept
over him.
Spock moved closer, and his scent was a drug.
"You want to please me, don't you?" the Vulcan
murmured.
"Yes," Kirk breathed. "Anything."
"You want to taste me."
Kirk's heart raced, out of control. "Yes. Please, anything.
Anything."
"Watch me."
And Kirk did.
The color of Spock's skin in that light, flushed with
desire, was something he could not have described. He
ached to see more of it, all of it, to know the planes and
hollows of him. But Spock did not remove the black shirt,
did not bend to remove his boots. Instead, his hands went to
the waistband of his trousers.
It seemed to Kirk that it began to be real when the
Vulcan's cock sprang free, the heat and smell and power of
him inches from Kirk's face. That was when he felt
something start to give. Because there was no denying his
own answering heat, his own need. He shifted against the
bed, needing, knowing. Spock was going to fuck him. And he
was going to beg for it. Nothing was ever, ever going to be
the same.
"Put your mouth on me," Spock whispered hoarsely.
Kirk shivered. And obeyed. He had never put his mouth
on another man's penis in his life.
The first brush of his lips on the tender, velvet tip made
Spock gasp, made him sway a little. He braced his legs
further apart, and put his hands on Kirk's shoulders for
support. Then, "Yes," he urged softly.
It was softness and steel and silk, and nothing Kirk had
imagined. The taste of Spock was absolutely the most
intoxicating thing he had ever consumed. As soon as he
touched his tongue to the tender place behind the crown, and
heard Spock's low cry of pleasure, he longed to take the lean
hips in his hands and pull that incredible heat deep into his
throat, suck him until he screamed hoarsely, until they both
passed out.
But his wrists were bound securely, and the hands on his
shoulders could paralyze him in a second, could hold him
easily. Spock was still in control.
And his control was unbelievable.
Kirk closed his eyes, taking as much as the Vulcan would
allow him, stroking the underside of that silken shaft with
his tongue, learning him. He couldn't think. His own cock
throbbed in sympathy with each movement of the Vulcan's
hips, each wet, intimate touch of his tongue on Spock's
naked sex. He knew that if the Vulcan's hot, pointed tongue
had touched him like that even once, he would have exploded.
But Spock was holding him, moving with exquisite
slowness, allowing only so much and no more.
"Yes. There. Yes." Spock gave a soft gasp that made
Kirk's whole lower body ache with wanting. He shifted
against the coverlet, his legs spread, the friction of fabric
against his scrotum almost unbearable. Wanting more than
anything to hear the sounds of Spock's pleasure, he touched
his tongue again and again to the place that had made him
gasp the first time. And suddenly he felt it--a gathering,
warning vibration. Spock made a sound that made him groan
in sympathy.
But the Vulcan pulled away, and his control filled Kirk
with awe. Anticipation flamed in his belly. Spock was
breathing hard, though evenly, and Kirk could taste the
sweet saltiness of Vulcan readiness on his tongue. He
looked up then, into Spock's face, and saw something he had
never seen before. A faint sheen of perspiration, gleaming in
the low light.
"Turn over," Spock grated. "On your knees."
The obedience was instinctive now. With his arms
bound, Kirk had to get up on his knees to turn around--and
then before he knew what was happening, Spock's hands
were on him, pushing him down, raising his hips.
"Spread your legs for me, James. Yes, like that."
Kirk felt suddenly, incredibly exposed and vulnerable, in
a way he hadn't been prepared for. The fear rose up again--
only it wasn't fear of what Spock was going to do to him,
not really. What scared him was the sudden knowledge that
he could lose himself. He was helpless in the face of his
own hunger for this;it could consume him.
He had time for exactly three seconds of that
realization. After that, the things that Spock did to him
took him to a place where thought was not possible.
He was in some hot dark center of self. His nerves sang,
over-stimulated to a point of pleasure that he thought
would surely drive him mad. He could not separate the
touches of those hands on his ass, his thighs, in his hair.
There were fingertips at his nipples and teeth at the back of
his neck. He gasped and shuddered. And then there was a
hot, firm wetness lapping at the center of him, touching
him, stroking the tender place between his buttocks until at
last he moaned over and over and again, utterly helpless to
stop. His desperation mounted until he would have shoved
himself against the bed if he could; he was pinned by the
hands at his waist. His wrists were raw.
And then the tongue was gone, and something softer and
firmer still pressed against the entrance to his body.
"James."
He was too far gone... far past the point of speech.
"You want me inside of you."
Kirk could only make an incoherent sound. His thighs
trembled with strain and effort.
"You are going to have to beg for it."
Kirk groaned. Hot tears of need tried to squeeze between
his eyelids. If he could not touch himself soon he would die.
If Spock touched him he would die.
"Please," he whispered, finding the word at last.
"Please."
"You must say it." Spock's own voice was
unrecognizable, splintered with need. But he would wait.
He was in control.
And Kirk was dissolving.
"P-please..."
"Say it."
He was liquid heat, magma running downhill, welling up
from underground fissures, neverending. "Please, fuck me...
fuck me. Fuck--"
And then he was, and Kirk heard a sound come from his
own throat he did not recognize. The pressure was a blade,
sundering him down the middle, liquid pain and stabbing
pleasure. It heaved against him, filled him, hot and slick
and shattering.
He was coming almost from the first moment of
penetration, coming with great, soul-deep cries, one after
the other. He was not himself any more. He was only the
pleasure, the blade.
He was the blade, inside, surrounded, mad with release.
He was the sheath, filled and giving and slick and tight. He
was Kirk. He was Spock. They were one.
Orgasm shuddered through him in a hot rush, took him
down without mercy.

<end part 4>

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