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Failed

by P.B. Wrapper

 "And this..." Uhura smiled wickedly, "I found on that stall I told you about. The one in the veiled market." She slid a little black silk bag, closed with a pull cord, across the table to Sulu.

He looked at her doubtfully. "Is it safe to open it here?"

She nodded. "It's too beautiful not to share."

Sulu shrugged. Chekov was drinking coffee with the two lieutenants, and Sulu knew from experience that some of the things Uhura brought back from her visits to alien bazaars might look a little strange to the ensign. But he accepted her reassurance and loosened the neck of the bag. Reaching inside, he pulled out her purchase. It was a whip. Coiled. Its leather covered handle fit into his hand as if he'd been born holding it. It was, he realised immediately, designed for other uses besides simply holding. The leather was soft and seamless, and dyed, or perhaps naturally, a perfect midnight black, and under the leather was something firm but slightly padded, wood perhaps, and a layer of wadding. Running his finger hard over its surface, he could feel ridges and grooves. The whip itself he estimated at a couple of metres long. He wanted to shake it out and see how it fell, how it moved, but he knew he would have to wait. It was plaited animal hair, three strands, ivory, dark chocolate and gold.

"It's beautifully made." Chekov had reached out a hand to touch the tips of the three strands. "But... what are you going to use it for?"

She shrugged. "I'm not sure. What would you suggest?"

Sulu watched his friend carefully. He was never entirely sure just how... inexperienced Chekov really was, but he was pretty sure that once -- if -- the ensign worked out what was going on, he would back off faster than a starship on reverse impulse.

Chekov continued to finger the tassle, almost automatically stroking down to the tiny knotted spheres in the end of each strand. His forefinger froze, touching the palest of the three threads.

"I... um..." He swallowed. "I don't know. I should be returning to the bridge."

He picked up his coffee and finished it, then kicked his chair back and left them.

Sulu and Uhura looked at each other for a moment. The helmsman shook his head. "You shouldn't make sudden movements. You've scared him away."

She lifted his hand off the stock of the whip and coiled it carefully before sliding it inside its wrapping. She pulled the cord tight, then wound it round the neck of the bag. "Are you free this evening?"

Sulu looked up at her, through heavy-lidded eyes. "For you, my lady, yes."

It was a long, slow afternoon, and seemed all the more tedious because Chekov had retreated into defensive silence. Sulu wasn't sure how to deal with it. He'd have tried cajoling, or joking, but the shift was so uneventful that they couldn't even exchange a couple of words without two engineers and Uhura's relief trying to join in. Eventually, seventeen hundred hours arrived and the navigator shot out of his seat as if it was burning him. The turbo lift took a moment to arrive, and Sulu joined him nonchalantly.

"You're in a hurry."

"I have a headache."

"Bad one?" Sulu made his concern sound entirely straightforward.

"No. Just... I just..."

"Come to the rec room and have a coffee with me."

"Why?"

"Because it'll do you more good to unwind over a coffee with me, than to take a non-existent headache off to your cabin."

Chekov scowled at him, but didn't object when Sulu gave the appropriate order to the lift. The rec room was near empty, since most off-duty personnel were still ashore.

"Just coffee?" Sulu asked. "Or are you eating now?"

The ensign shrugged unhelpfully.

"I'll get us some sandwiches. Why don't you sit down?" Sulu nodded towards a deserted table, and a moment later brought a tray over and took a seat opposite his colleague. "Now, are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

"You know what's wrong!" Chekov spluttered. He'd balled his hands into fists and was staring at the tabletop.

"No, I don't. I don't honestly know if you're just being naive, or if Nyota inadvertantly..."

"Inadvertantly? She... she..."

"She wasn't very discrete, no, but I'm worried she reminded you of some bad experience, or something."

Chekov shook his head. "You mean..."

"I mean, there are sex games, and there's... other stuff."

"No. I am simply naive. Okay?"

Sulu frowned disbelievingly. "Pav, she took a big risk. You could make a complaint of sexual harassment. Hell, if you did, I'd have to give evidence... That would be pretty uncomfortable..."

"I would not do that!"

"No, I know. But... you could. Or you could just tell people what happened. That would be pretty embarrassing for her..."

"So why did she have to show us that thing? No one asked her to."

"She was taking a chance, making you an offer. Telling you something intimate about herself, because she trusts you, and she likes you, and she'd like to take that a little further, if you're interested. That's all."

Chekov pushed at the edge of the tray with his thumb. "I didn't ask her to..."

"No, so she made the first move. You're okay with that, aren't you?"

Chekov scowled thoughtfully. "I don't mind who makes the first move, but she was not playing the same game that I was."

"Not quite the same version of the game, perhaps. But she let you know what kind of offer she's making. Not everyone likes their sex entirely vanilla. That's not so unusual. Maybe you haven't..."

"I know that!"

"Mm."

"What do you mean by that, 'mm'?" Chekov demanded angrily.

"Well, there's a difference, isn't there, between reading in your human biology text that 'some adults use role play and toys to enhance their sexual pleasure', and discovering that two people you work with regularly enjoy tying each other up and inflicting a little discomfort."

Chekov's eyes widened. "You mean... you and Lieutenant Uhura... Well, I'm not interested. I have done nothing to encourage her. You saw that."

Sulu couldn't stop himself smiling. "I'm not jealous, Pav. For heaven's sake, here I am, trying to persuade you she's not a female Marquis de Sade, and you're worried I'm going to accuse you of stealing my woman. I don't own her. We're friends. And lovers, but friends first. There's no one on this ship I want to make a lifelong commitment to, and home leave never lasts long enough to discover if there's anyone there either. So... we have fun together. With role play and toys, sometimes. Sometimes, we invite someone else to join us."

"Well, you do not need to invite me."

"Fine. I'll tell Uhura you're just not interested. But..."

"What?"

"Don't you have any... fantasies?"

"No."

"Okay."

"And I would not tell you if I did."

"Fine."

"I certainly don't have fantasies about Lieutenant Uhura."

"Of course not." Sulu started counting slowly under his breath. He hadn't quite reached ten, when Chekov spoke again.

"Or you. I certainly do not have fantasies about you."

"I think someone's been refining the replicator programs again. These sandwiches aren't at all bad. Are you going to eat any?"

Chekov pulled the plate over to his half of the table and started eating.

"Are you signed up for the squash tournament?"

The ensign stopped. "You are accusing me of diverting my... my... libido into sport?"

"I just wondered if you'd qualified for the premier sixteen."

"Why? Is there some correlation between hand to eye coordination and sexual activity?"

"Pavel, I said I wouldn't mention it again. You could help me along a little here."

"I'm not even sure what you mean by fantasies. Am I allowed to admire a beautiful woman? Does that count?"

"Pavel, for Pete's sake. I'm not criticising you. I just don't relish the thought of you doing this outraged puritan act for the next three years. I think we'd both be a little more comfortable with each other, given that Nyota has ruffled your feathers so, if you'd just admit that you're human like the rest of us."

"Human, yes. Like some people, no, fortunately."

"Do you want another coffee?"

"I have not even started this one."

Most of the sandwiches had gone when Sulu returned with his refilled cup, which he took as a good sign, but Chekov was still looking resentful.

Sulu slid into his seat and lounged back. "Before Nyota and I... actually got together, I used to imagine her as a Nubian queen, commanding vast armies, having all the prisoners paraded in front of her and picking out the most beautiful, or the bravest..."

Chekov swallowed uncomfortably.

"...of which, of course, I was always one." The helmsman chuckled to himself. "She had a palace in the desert, with a harem, or whatever you call a harem when it's full of men. She'd walk through it, dripping jewellery, in a haze of perfume..."

"And otherwise naked?" Chekov chipped in sarcastically.

"Sometimes," Sulu agreed.

"Why are you telling me this, Lieutenant?" the Russian demanded, more than a little anger in his voice.

"Well..." Sulu laughed. "All those men, sitting around in the harem, with nothing much to do but lift weights and take a turkish bath from time to time... I mean, it would spoil the fantasy if the queen wanted me every night. There has to be that element of 'will she want me, or won't she', and... a little illicit homoeroticism..."

Chekov looked daggers at him. "So, you want to incorporate me in your fantasies as a... a... an occasional catamite?"

Sulu nodded happily.

"My fantasies are heterosexual, thank you."

"Then you do have fantasies?"

"I never said I didn't." Chekov looked down at the last sandwich, obviously remembering that he had said exactly that only moments before.

"I would have imagined you..."

"Wearing a veil and earrings?" Chekov suggested sharply.

"No." Sulu laughed. "Well, unless Cossack horsemen wear earrings. Do they?"

The ensign abruptly turned sickly pale, but managed to smile gamely. "You imagined me as a Cossack horseman? Why?"

"Oh, I don't know. Sweeping across the steppes in the black Caucasian night, with your stolen bride tied across your saddle. Or am I confusing Cossacks with some other tribe?"

"This is becoming ridiculous." Chekov drained his cup and leaned over to put it on Sulu's tray, keeping his smile fixed on his face as he blatantly invaded the helmsman's space. "Tell me, Lieutenant, does the Nubian queen ever loan the members of her harem to her friends?"

Sulu grinned back. "Why don't you ask her?"

"I'm too busy tonight. I have to make love to the captain." Chekov nodded curtly and walked off.

Sulu shut his eyes and nodded slowly to himself. "Good diversionary tactics, Pavel. But... I think you let slip more than you intended."

"You are insane, Hikaru Sulu," Uhura hissed. "If he takes this the wrong way, we're dead meat."

"But he won't," Sulu assured her happily. "He'll be delighted."

"He actually told you that he fantasised about being abducted by a horde of Cossack riders..."

"He didn't quite put it into words."

"So how do you know? He used sign language? Drew you pictures?"

"No, he just... went quiet. The way he does. You know."

Uhura reached out to turn up the lights. "I see. I'm here waiting to kidnap a Starfleet ensign and carry him off into the night, because -- correct me if I'm wrong here -- he expressed no interest at all in being kidnapped and ravished by fake Cossack horsewomen, or men. I'm still not entirely sure where you think you fit into this."

Sulu shrugged happily. "That's because I'm not entirely sure whether he was thinking in terms of male or female Cossacks. Or either, really. Some fantasies never get that specific."

"Sounds a bundle of fun," Uhura snapped back. Then she laughed. "I must be mad, to listen to you."

"It's not a matter of mad," Sulu insisted seriously, turning the light down again. "It's just a matter of living life to the full, and that's something you, and Pavel, are very good at."

Chekov moved carefully through the crush in the nightclub, trying to spot Starfleet uniforms among the rainbow variety of party wear favored by the native Curosians. He shouldn't have volunteered to stay late and finish the navigational updates, but it had been a good excuse to avoid going on shoreleave with Lieutenants Sulu and Uhura. He still felt a little awkward around them, even though he'd decided the whole matter was best forgotten. He wasn't yet sure he could trust Uhura not to lead him into store selling sandalwood dildoes and fur-lined shackles, of which there were several among the restaurants and bars he'd passed on the way here, or Sulu not to start quizzing him on his innermost dreams and desires in front of people he had to work with. Other people he had to work with. No, he'd been sensible to stay behind and volunteer to catch up with Harries and her friends later, even if it meant missing an hour's drinking. Out of a twenty four hour leave, that wasn't too high a price to pay.

He stopped, realising he'd come right to the back of the bar. He'd have to go through and check again. Perhaps he'd missed an alcove, or a stairway. He grinned to himself. He suspected there were one or two Curosian ladies who wouldn't be at all sorry to see him for a second time. What Sulu obviously didn't realise was that fantasies weren't so important if you were fielding more real life offers, more attractive ones, than you could realistically handle. His sex life might be a little quiet on board, but that was the fault of Personnel, not Pavel Chekov. Shoreleave was another matter. He hesitated though. It was cool here, right by the wide doors. They lead onto a wooden deck surrounded by dense bushes threaded with fairy lights. The mind-numbing music from the dance floor was more bearable, and the perfume of some night-flowering shrub sweetened the air. Now, if his companions had any sense, they'd be outside... He moved a little closer to the doors to check and was totally unready when a soft, heavy, black cloth dropped over his head and at least two people seized his arms and pushed him out into the strikingly cold night air. He heard the doors slam shut behind him.

"Don't struggle, and we won't hurt you." Strong hands pulled his arms firmly behind his back and began tying his wrists.

Chekov stood still through a count of five, then pulled away as violently and as fast as he could. The cord his assailant had been using burned deep into his wrists as he escaped, but he was free. He blundered forward, tugging desperately at the cloth which still blinded him, and crashed into a post, or a tree trunk. As he tried to turn, he was caught again. This time, he was forced to the decking, and one person knelt on his legs while the other pulled his wrists together again. He heard someone mutter in annoyance, and then the sound of fabric tearing. Something soft was wrapped round his wrists first, and then the cord was drawn tight. The abrasions stung a little, but the discomfort was minimal. Obviously, these people were quite serious about not hurting him, but who the hell were they?

Local terrorists? Someone with a grudge against Starfleet? Or was this some kind of stunt?

The cloth was pulled off his head, but that only gave him a view of the narrow gaps between the boards. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he could see water a metre or so below.

A padded leather gag was pulled over, and partly inside, his mouth. He shook his head to try and stop them fastening it, earning a resounding slap on his buttocks for his trouble. A blindfold followed. Then he was rolled over and helped to stand. He realised he was shaking. He was quite worried, but mostly very, very annoyed.

"I am told to tell you," the voice he'd heard before said, with the slightly exaggerated clarity of someone speaking an unfamiliar language, "that you are in absolutely no danger. If you cooperate, you will not be hurt. We are only authorised to use such force as we need to bring you to the appointed place, no more."

The gag was fiendishly effective, due mainly to the firmly upholstered protrusion that almost filled his mouth and pinned his tongue down. 'Authorised by whom?' and 'what appointed place would that be?' were questions that were going to have to wait.

Then there was splashing, and heavy breathing... Ah, no, that wasn't people. Even allowing for the native Curosians' large mouths and noses, it sounded more like horses.

Chekov's heart skipped a beat. Horses? No one who was seriously kidnapping anyone would use horses, or even the Curosian equivalent. He wasn't sure what the Curosian equivalent was, but it smelt convincingly like Equus Cabullus, of sweat and damp leather. They whickered and snorted. And wouldn't show up on sensors, like powered vehicles or transporter beams.

He was led a couple of steps and stopped firmly from going further. They were at the edge of the decking, he imagined. If the horses were wading in the water, then assuming they were the same size as their Terran cousins, mounting would be a matter of moving across, rather than up. He waited for a lead. Falling into water with his hands tied, even shallow water, wasn't a good escape strategy. Something bumped against his knees and he was pushed forward into waiting arms. Before he could fight back he found himself lying face down over the neck of a Curosian horse. It had a long mane which flowed down and ended ticklishly just by his nose. He didn't dare twist or struggle for fear of sliding head first off the beast's shoulders. Someone gripped the waistband of his pants in one hand and shook the animal's reins so that they flicked Chekov's back and legs, stinging sharply even through his uniform.

Fortunately the river was only ankle deep, and the horse moved at a gentle walk. Chekov felt only an occasional splash of water on his face. This continued for a few paces until a sharp word from the horse's rider caused it to turn up onto a bank. As it climbed, Chekov felt himself roll back into the knees of the rider, who patted him reassuringly on one shoulder before shaking the reins again, taking the animal into a trot, and then a canter. Around him, the muffled thunder of hooves on turf suggested that at least four or five horses were involved in this midnight getaway.

For a moment, Chekov was afraid the jolts and bumps were going to shake his head off. He was helpless to brace himself. He was glad he hadn't eaten that evening, and then sorry. Throwing up over the rider's no doubt expensive boots might have made him feel much better. This had to be the most uncomfortable method of travel ever devised. If those Cossacks imagined their brides were going to be in the mood for romance after being stolen...

The horse halted and whinnied interrogatively. Chekov could feel a shifting of weight as its rider leaned forward to talk to someone. The words spoken were not Standard, probably Curosian. He wasn't enough of a linguist to tell, and anyway, he wasn't sure his ears were operating properly anymore. Even though they weren't moving now, the fluid in his inner ear still seemed to be sloshing about. He'd probably be sick the moment they let him down, which he sincerely hoped they were going to do very soon.

He felt the rider dismount, keeping his hand firmly on Chekov's belt to keep him in place. The horse was then lead for a short distance, its shoes clicking sharply on a paved surface. Road, Chekov thought, or yard. A sharp tug to his belt brought his feet in contact with the ground and he stumbled against the horse, which danced away, spooked. An arm stopped him falling. He resisted moving for a moment, breathing deeply and trying to convince his stomach to stop roiling. Eventually, it seemed to be under control. He gave in to the arm's pressure and took careful steps, recognising when they entered a building from the warmer air and altered acoustics.

"Here, let me unbind you. But remember, if you try to escape, you'll be punished. Our orders are to keep you here for the one who wants you." The cord was cut. Chekov tried to bring his hands up to his face, to pull off the gag and blindfold, but his shoulders were so stiff, he couldn't do it. His captor laughed and began to massage at the ensign's knotted muscles, but Chekov dodged him.

"At least let me take your blindfold off for you." At that Chekov stood firm. He blinked a little, rotating his shoulders this way and that as he looked around, but the room was lit only by a single dim lamp on a central table. There wasn't much to see. An elderly Curosian woman sat beside the table, sewing. She pushed a pile of neatly folded clothes across the table towards the prisoner and gestured that he should put them on.

Chekov folded his arms. He might smell strongly of horse, but that was a long way short of being a reason to give up his uniform.

A knife pricked the back of his neck. Chekov turned and frowned furiously at his captor. Being gagged was very frustrating.

"Your clothes are muddy and crumpled, and weren't very flattering when they were fresh. Get changed."

Chekov narrowed his eyes. The Curosian, who was about two metres tall and proportionately broad, narrowed his too.

Chekov sighed and turned back to the bundle of clothes. At least, he told himself, if they turned out to be a garish imitation of traditional Cossack dress, he'd finally be certain of what was going on.

He shook out a copy of the Curosian rider's outfit. Black pants in a firm, woven fabric with a slight shine to it tapered to narrow ankles laced through metal eyelets. The shirt was a rippling mass of tiny, irregular pleats. It had no collar and sleeves made in one piece with the body, so that they would hang like wings when the wearer extended his arms.

The fact that it wasn't traditional Cossack dress didn't actually prove anything, Chekov decided. He looked meaningfully at the old lady. She pursed her lips and turned her back.

Chekov stripped off his tunic, boots and pants, then picked up the clean shirt. He stopped when a large hand descended on his. He turned. The Curosian shook his head.

"Everything. We don't wear undergarments."

Chekov really wished he could give this guy a piece of his mind. He pulled his singlet off and threw it down on the floor, put the shirt on and stared down at the fastenings. After a moment, he decided that the bone arrow heads would thread through the silver chain links and twist, staying put until someone reversed the process. He fastened all of them, down to his waist, then removed his briefs and pulled on the pants. They were tight, like thermal underwear. The waist and fly fastened diagonally across his left hip with more arrowheads. He knelt to lace the ankles.

He stood up again, to find the Curosian rider was smiling at him. "Good. No belt or boots, until you're marked as one of ours, but you look well enough now. Come here."

The man held out his hands, but Chekov didn't move.

"I said, come here. Or do you like wearing that gag?"

That was incentive enough for Chekov to move forward, only to find himself snatched off his feet and thrown over the man's shoulder. He pounded with his fists on the Curosian's back all the way up a narrow, twisting staircase, and into another lamplit room, this time a bedchamber. A four poster bed, big enough for several people, was the main item of furniture, but a few other items immediately caught the prisoner's eye. A chain hung from the ceiling, with a metal bar, about a shoulder's breadth long, swinging horizontally from it, and an open cuff at either end of that. The cuffs were fur lined. On a small table there stood a jug, and three large goblets. A fire burned dull red in a large grate, and half a dozen metal rods were resting on the lip of the grate, so that each had one end among the coals and one end, presumably, cool enough to handle.

Chekov began struggling in earnest. He was rewarded by being placed gently on the floor right under the metal bar, and the cuffs had snapped shut round his wrists before he had time to consider his next move. Now, at last, the gag was loosened a little, but not removed. Chekov sucked at his teeth, working saliva back into crannies of his mouth that had dried out, assessing his new situation.

The clothes had fit perfectly, even if they weren't traditional Cossack costume, and now the cuffs were at exactly the right height for him to just stand with his feet flat on the ground. Either he'd been kidnapped to order on a very detailed specification, or... He heard the door shut, and the Curosian had taken the lamp with him. The fire gave hardly any light, and standing like this, with his wrists over his head, was going to be very uncomfortable very quickly.

Sulu, or Uhura, really hadn't researched this very thoroughly. Bride stealing was simply a matter of avoiding paying a dowry. You did it to your girlfriend, not your helm partner. Half the time, she was already pregnant. Branding simply didn't feature in the tradition.

Chekov began to really, really hope that he'd recognise the next person to come through that door.

The fire sighed as a charred log crumbled and sent up a tiny shower of sparks.

He hadn't eaten since lunchtime and he was starting to feel giddy.

He began to be aware of a faint, cold draft from a window somewhere behind his back. The chill air was making all his body hair stand erect.

That wasn't all that was standing erect.

"If you want this to stop now, just shake your head, and I'll let you down."

Chekov's heart was hammering. Sulu was standing so close behind him that he could feel the helmsman's breath on his neck.

"But," Sulu added, "we might not be very quick to issue another invitation."

Chekov stopped composing the speech in which he told Sulu, in no uncertain terms, that if he didn't let him down now, he'd be lucky to still have his commission by the following evening.

"Nod if it's okay," Sulu said, very gently. "Shake your head and I'll release you."

Chekov barely hesitated. He nodded as little as he could and still be sure Sulu would sense it. This exchange wasn't part of the... the fantasy. It wasn't real. The fire, and fluttering lightness in his gut, and pressure of hard flesh against taut fabric, rubbing with each breath, was real.

"Good." And Sulu was gone, as silently as he'd come.

After a few minutes, Chekov tried letting the bar take some of his weight. The cuffs were comfortable, but not that comfortable, and his wrists were still sore from the cord burns. He settled back onto his feet, tried rocking from his toes to his heels, anything to stop the ache in every twisted joint. He was beginning to get angry again. This was not a joke. It was torture. Well, it was almost torture.

The door opened and light flooded the room, casting Chekov's shadow forward onto the wooden floor. It split as two people, each carrying a lamp, came round to stand in front of him. Sulu was wearing Curosian dress like himself, but his shirt was cinched tight with a leather belt, and he wore boots with spurred heels, which rattled, and put a clear two inches on his height. And Uhura, unexpectedly, wore the same.

The lamps were placed on the table, and Sulu poured something from the jug into two goblets.

"So, is he the one you wanted?"

Uhura turned to look at him. She stepped forward and turned Chekov's head, examining his profile. Then she traced a finger down his chest, stopping it just level with his navel, her eyes locked on his all the time. "Oh, yes. He's the one I wanted."

"You plan to keep him?"

"So long as he pleases me."

"I'll put your mark on him then."

"No!" Chekov twisted in the cuffs, hoping that the formless grunt he'd managed to force out past the gag would register. Uhura caught at the strap and pulled it, causing it to tighten again, and silencing him . He hung there, staring at her, trying to shame her into changing her mind. He hadn't expected this, not anything like this, not from his friends.

"His shirt..."

The arrowheads didn't slow her. Her slender fingers loosed them and parted the pleated fabric, pulling it down his back and away from his shoulders. Her fingertips slid like silk over his skin. "Here," she said, bracketing one shoulder blade with her index fingers and thumbs. "Just here."

Sulu turned from the fire with one of the rods in his hand. Its tip glowed so intensely that Chekov couldn't make out what letter or symbol it carried. He did the only thing he could to make any kind of noise, stamping a bare foot on the wooden floor. Neither of them even noticed.

"Don't let him move."

Uhura slid her arms round his waist and clasped him tightly to her.

He shook his head. He twisted his shoulders. She leaned forward and pressed her body up against his, so that all he could do was try to pull back away from her, where her arms wouldn't let him go. The warm glow of the iron was close enough to feel.

"Here?"

"Yes."

Chekov screamed silently into the gag. His skin sizzled, like bacon. It stank. It smoked. The iron rang as it fell to the floor. He felt lips press themselves to the wound and the pain dulled. He closed his eyes. More lips kissed his eyelids. "You're mine now," Uhura said. "Mine."

"Ours," Sulu said. His hands slid round Chekov's hips and began unthreading the arrowheads, coaxing them loose. Uhura's hands cupped themselves under the ensign's ass.

He was crying. He was crying, and in a few moments he wouldn't be able to breathe and he'd suffocate, hanging here, helpless, and Sulu and Uhura would be murderers because he'd drowned in his own tears. A silent sob shook Chekov from his wrists to his toes.

"Ssshh. It's okay. You're here because we love you, Pavel..."

"Ssshh. It doesn't hurt now. Nothing will hurt for very long. We love you."

The Curosian pants fell loose, down to his ankles. Someone placed a boot firmly on the garment's crotch, tugging at the still laced fabric round his ankles and pinning Chekov taut, trapped, for the first time. The stiff leather of the boot scratched the insides of Chekov's calves, and the warm pressure of the thigh between his thighs stirred a hunger in him that he tried desperately to ignore.

"I want him now," Sulu said, softly, pleadingly. "Please, my lady, let me have him now."

Chekov opened his eyes, and looked straight into Uhura's face through distorting tears. She reached up and wiped them away so he could see the flush in her cheeks. She was breathing fast.

"If I give him to you, slave, you have to pay for the privilege."

"Anything, my lady."

"Anything?" She smiled at Chekov. "I like the sound of that, although I don't need your promise, do I? I can choose anything, anytime I like, and you have to obey, don't you?"

"Yes. Yes, I do."

"Mm. Do with him what pleases you, Hikaru, but leave him able to please me, understood?"

"Yes, my lady."

"Wait. I want to hear him while you do this." The gag fell loose and Chekov sucked in a desperate breath, not a moment too soon. Before he was ready to expel it, a finger was laid over his newly liberated lips. "You may not speak, Pavel. Remember my whip? I shall count every recognisable word you speak, and punish you for each one. Do you understand?"

"Let me go..."

Her palm silenced him, held firm against his jaw so he couldn't bite her.

"A lash for every word. I don't even know yet how much my whip hurts. I'm saving it just for you. Now, kiss my hand if you're going to obey me." She lessened the pressure, making obedience optional.

Chekov started trembling, great quaking shakes. He jerked his head back. "Please, can we stop this game for just a moment? I need to talk to you, I..."

The cuffs fell open and he dropped to his knees, held like a fly in a web of arms.

"What do you need to know?" Sulu's voice was still thick with desire, but he'd clearly tried his damnedest to sound as if he was cross-checking something on the bridge.

"I don't know! I'm scared and... and I want both of you so badly... and..."

"Right. We love you, and we still plan to be your friends in the morning, and if we don't take you back to the ship in a fit state to walk onto the bridge and look Captain Kirk in the eye, we know we're dead. Okay?"

"Mm," Chekov sniffed. Someone produced a handkerchief. "Okay."

"Do you want to go on, or go and have a drink in a nice safe bar somewhere?"

Chekov sniffed again. "Um. What else are you going to do..."

"No questions. Either you trust us or you don't," Uhura said firmly. "Decide."

"I don't want to..." He stopped. He could sense something, an almost tangible disapproval. No questions, and clearly, no conditions either. "I would like to go on."

He was jerked back to his feet before he could have second thoughts. Refastening the cuffs was trickier than loosing them. By the time Sulu had closed them, all three were breathing heavily again. Uhura slid her thigh back into place between Chekov's and kissed him on the lips. He leaned forward, fully aroused, trying to relieve the suddenly intolerable ache of his erection, and gasped. Fingers, coolly slick, were probing where fingers had never been before.

"Is he ready?" Uhura asked.

"Pretty much. I want him to really feel it. I want him to know I'm inside him."

"Remember, precious one. No talking." She sealed Chekov's lips shut with a chaste kiss and stepped away. Sulu's bare foot replaced her boot, pinioning the ensign again. A light pressure demanded entrance to his body and he arched his back away from it.

"Don't move."

The pressure increased, and he could begin to feel muscles yielding unwillingly. He closed his eyes and tried not to fight it, but his body seemed to have other ideas. Sulu gripped his hips and dug his fingers in, matching his will to penetrate against Chekov's instinct to resist.

The pressure relaxed, then redoubled. Tiny fissures of pain opened in Chekov's consciousness. He shook his head. Sulu withdrew, replacing the blunt pressure with a finger, then two, then three. They sank deeply into him and spread him open. A sudden surge of unexpected pleasure seized him and he helplessly pushed back, trying to prolong it. Sulu laughed. "Just a taste of what's to come, but not yet. First, I have to get all... the way... inside... Like... this."

It felt painful and precarious, and every time the discomfort receded, Sulu thrust forward again, sinking deeper within him. Chekov gasped with each advance. Each little retreat prior to the next thrust made him tense up, clenching the muscles that maximised both his own pain and Sulu's pleasure. He could hear just how much Sulu was enjoying this, and feel it too, in the hot pulse inside him, the unforgiving steel of Sulu's cock.

Little by little, Sulu advanced. Step by painful step, Chekov opened up to him, until he felt the warmth of the lieutenant's pelvis flat against his ass, and Sulu gave a grinding rotation of his hips to sheathe the last millimetre of his erection in Chekov's still resisting flesh.

The ensign had given up trying to rest on his toes, overbalanced by Sulu's insistent thrusting. He was hanging from his wrists.

"Mine," Sulu said. He slid his hands up from Chekov's hips to his nipples and toyed gently with them. His pelvis swayed back and forth, teasing the still tight ring of muscle at the entrance to his friend's body.

The early hint of pleasure returned, competing with the pain and drowning it. Chekov began to cooperate with Sulu's thrusts as they grew stronger, faster, turning and twisting his hips to find angles that maximised this new ecstasy, growing it, moving with it, magnifying it...

"Stop!"

Chekov opened his eyes, half expecting to see some intruder in the room. Uhura was standing in front of them, holding the whip. She held it up to Chekov's lips. "Spit."

He worked up a mouthful of saliva and spat it out onto the leather handle, then watched, mesmerised, as Uhura smoothed the moisture over the gleamingly rounded stock. "Thank you," she said lightly, and moved out of sight. He heard Sulu gasp, and felt him thrust forward, and come, pumping scalding seed deep inside him.

As Sulu stopped moving, every speck of Chekov's being focused on his own unrelieved erection. When Uhura came back in sight, he blinked at her in miserable disbelief.

"Don't worry, I just got tired of watching. I wanted to do this myself." She knelt down by his feet and leaned forward. He didn't dare move as she took the whole length of his cock into her mouth, sealing her lips around its base and swallowed.

He swore, but in Russian, and she didn't seem to notice. He was hardly aware of Sulu withdrawing from him and moving away. Uhura opened her mouth and drew in a slow, gentle breath. It chilled him, sending delicious shivers all through him. Then she breathed out and the heat of her body enveloped him at second hand. With long, slow strokes of her tongue she concentrated all his attention on the sensitive nerve endings in the ring at the base of his glans, and with delicate lapping and nipping, and puffs of cold air, drew the centre of his consciousness to the very head of his cock in an exquisite pin point of ecstasy. Just as he was convinced he would explode, she turned her head to one side. "Hikaru..."

"My lady?"

"He almost climaxed."

"I..."

"While you were having him, he almost climaxed. I told you to leave him able to please me. He'd hardly have been fit to clean my boots."

"I'm sorry, my lady."

Chekov, frustrated beyond caution, opened his eyes and realised Sulu was kneeling beside Uhura, head bowed. He didn't try to process the situation. He could only concentrate on his own overwhelming need. "Please," he begged through clenched teeth. "Nyota, I..."

She looked up at him, and her expression was diamond hard. "Did I give you permission to speak?"

He shook his head. "But..."

"Seven. That makes seven words in total. I can't believe that I have to teach the two of you to obey my orders. Hikaru, take over for me here, but don't let him climax. Understood?"

She stepped aside and slapped the kneeling helmsman right and left across the face. Sulu, without raising his head, moved sideways and took Chekov's erection very cautiously into his mouth.

Chekov couldn't help himself. He sighed and began to thrust, just a little, almost hoping this strangely authoritarian version of the communications officer wouldn't notice. She did. She leaned forward and caught hold of his chin. Her heels were high enough that they were looking into each other's eyes. "If you climax, Pavel, I will have Hikaru beat you until you scream. And then I will expect you to make love to me. And last, I will string you back up here and introduce you to a Curosian dildo. They're coated in sand. Do you understand?"

"Yes..."

"Eight."

He swallowed. She'd moved into the shadows by the bed, and when she returned, she was holding the whip again, and she was naked. Sulu was barely moving, keeping him teetering on the edge of orgasm. He was scared again, panicked by the little display of violence, not knowing what either of them might do, and he could feel her watching him, knowing how helpless he felt.

"I expect you're nice and slick now," she said conversationally, and forced the whip's handle inside him. Sulu clamped a hand round the base of his cock and squeezed so hard he screamed.

"Yes, you really are right on the edge. Let's see how long we can keep you there." She pulled the handle free and flicked the whip across his buttocks. It stung. "One. Hikaru..."

The helmsman worked a little magic with his tongue, drawing Chekov's attention away from the smarting pain.

The handle was reinserted, and twisted slowly. Chekov groaned. He'd never experienced a sensation quite like the friction of leather on those inner membranes. And he couldn't help thinking about sandpaper. He squeezed his knees together, fighting the rising crescendo of sensation.

The lash sliced across the tops of his thighs, killing the flood of feeling.

"Two. Mmmmm." He could feel Uhura leaning against his back. She was stimulating herself somehow. Her breath was coming in little impatient gasps.

Sulu rolled Chekov's glans in his mouth. The wave was mounting again. This time... this time...

"Three."

The backs of his legs again.

This time she used fingers instead of the handle, fingers that knew exactly where they needed to press and knead for maximum effect. Sulu didn't move. The two of them were somehow working in perfect unison.

"Four."

He yelled, he couldn't help it. She was laying each lash precisely on top of the one before. Sulu ran his teeth all the way down Chekov's shaft, swallowing at the same time.

More fingers. Knuckles. A whole slender hand forcing itself inside him, sliding easily over Sulu's seed, and out again.

"Five."

Sulu sucked, harder, and squeezed again, just in time, fingers digging in at the root of his cock. He heard Uhura laugh. "Good save, Hikaru. Six."

He gasped in surprise as his balls were suddenly sucked out of their hiding place and gently swallowed.

"Seven."

The whip handle rammed home again, hard and deep. He screamed, and 'eight' silenced him. Sulu caught hold of his hips and held him perfectly, perfectly still.

"Now."

He watched as Sulu turned aside and buried his face between Uhura's legs, bringing her to almost instant, shuddering completion. He looked back at Chekov, licking his lips, his face shining with moisture.

"Let him down now," Uhura said impatiently.

Sulu reached up and unclipped the cuffs from the bar. Chekov rocked onto his feet and staggered under his own weight. The cloth round his ankles tripped him and he crumpled on to the floor. His arms and shoulders were numb. He'd could barely stop himself rubbing his erection on the bare floorboards.

"Fasten his hands behind his back."

"What?" Sulu sounded genuinely surprised, but he obeyed, kneeling by Chekov and snapping the cuffs together. "Nyota... I mean, my lady, he's... uh... he's been waiting a long time..."

"Then he can have you."

Sulu swallowed. "Yes. Uh... how..."

"Here on the floor, on hands and knees. Now."

Sulu looked from her to Chekov. "Do you think..? Uh, yes. My lady." Chekov wasn't sure what the problem was. He was ready to fuck anything.

"Now."

Uhura helped Chekov to sit up. His erection was standing flat against his belly, weeping tears of readiness.

The helmsman moved until he was kneeling with his back to Chekov. He leaned forward onto his hands. Chekov thrust his cock forward into the only source of relief in sight.

He woke. Someone had freed his hands, and he was lying in bed. His back ached. His shoulders ached. His wrists, elbows, knees and ankles ached. More than anything, his ass ached. He slid a hand cautiously across the mattress, wondering if he was alone. It encountered warm, relaxed flesh. So, at least the game ended with the captive in bed with his captors, not outside in the stable with the horses, or chained to one leg of the bed.

He opened one eye. A faint morning light was falling through a window. Someone was almost snoring. He sat up, very slowly and quietly. He spotted what he suspected was either his uniform or Sulu's, on a chair close to the door. If he was careful, he could probably leave without having to talk , and that would be a good thing. Of course, he still didn't know where he was, or have any idea what he'd say to any Curosians he might meet on his way out of the building.

"Uh, the people who paid you to kidnap me last night..."

"You might have heard me screaming, but it's all right..."

"Don't you people call the fucking police when your guests start torturing each other?"

He realised with a shock that he was angry.

Even if it had been the best climax he'd ever experienced, by several orders of magnitude.

"Wake! Up!"

Sulu bolted upright, flailing. "What? What the hell? Where..."

He fell silent, blinking at Chekov through eyes that didn't want to stay open. "Oh. Hi."

"Where is Lieutenant Uhura?"

Sulu was obviously recalling last night in indigestible chunks. "She... uh, she... she's on duty this morning. She must have gone a while ago... She meant to talk to you before she went, but... uh, I guess you were pretty out of it and she didn't want to wake you."

"How considerate."

"She said last night to tell you she'd see you for lunch if she wasn't here this morning. Or whenever. Whatever you wanted. She said to tell you..."

"In sick bay, perhaps." Chekov twisted to try and look at his shoulder. He was too stiff to see the brand.

"You're not burned. It wasn't real..."

"It felt real. What else wasn't real? And what was?" Chekov peeled the sheets away and pulled his knees up to check the backs of his thighs. Thin red lines were fading to purple. His cock wasn't enjoying its regular morning erection. It looked, frankly, as if it was trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, in the hope of sneaking out of this place unnoticed.

"We brought a regenerator..."

"That is not really the fucking point," Chekov said, as coldly as he could. "I am sure Doctor McCoy can treat most of these injuries without assistance. Is there a transporter station in walking distance?"

He heard Sulu swallow, and fidget. "Five minutes away. I'll call you a cab if you want..." The lieutenant's voice was very tentative, very worried. "I didn't think you'd be this mad..."

Chekov didn't answer. He went to look for the cuffs. They were lying in the middle of the floor, along with various items of clothing and a few other things Chekov wasn't in the mood to recognise. He picked them up and brought them back to the bed.

"What are you going to..."

"Evidence," Chekov answered curtly, examining the fur linings.

"Oh."

"How easy are they to unlock?"

"Well... if you're not wearing them..."

"Show me." Chekov clicked one on to Sulu's right wrist.

Sulu sighed. "You couldn't have taken them off yourself, but if you'd asked... if you'd asked at any time..."

"I'd have been beaten for talking, right? If I wasn't gagged at that point."

"We assumed... that you'd trust us not to hurt you... really hurt you. We didn't do anything to you that we weren't willing to do ourselves...

"Show me how you unlock these."

As Sulu brought his left hand over to trip the latch Chekov slapped the second cuff into place. He pushed the two together.

Sulu looked up at him, obviously unable to decide if he should be terrified or relieved. "And now?"

"What do you think Nyota will do, when she finishes her shift and we haven't come back to the ship?"

"I..." Sulu stopped and thought. "I suppose she'll come looking for us. Pavel..."

"Yes?"

"Are you really angry? We didn't mean to upset you. We thought you... you'd..."

"You thought I would like being abducted by strangers?"

Sulu shrugged unhappily.

"Thrown over a horse and ridden through a river?"

"Perhaps..."

"Strung up and sodomised?"

"Well..."

"Whipped, threatened, subjected to forced oral sex, forced to sodomise a superior officer..."

"No, I can see that... we should have talked it over with you a little more thoroughly before we... What are you doing?"

Chekov had taken one of the handy cord ties off the bed posts. He threaded it between Sulu's wrists and looped it round the bar across the head of the bed, then pulled it tight. Sulu rolled over helplessly, ending up with his face buried in the pillows. "Wha..? Paff..?"

"I calculate that Lieutenant Uhura will not arrive here for another four hours," Chekov announced, replacing Sulu's chronometer on the bedside table. "Her punishment for the way you treated me will be to experience almost hysterical anxiety for the last hour of that time. Your punishment will be a little more physical." Chekov smiled. "She can bargain for your release when she gets here."

The End.