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Resubmission

by Skazitelnitsky

    "Mind if I join you, boys?"

    Sulu, recognizing the communication officer's familiar voice, didn't bother to look up from his coffee and entirely missed the expression that crossed his helm partner's face.

    "Certainly, Lieutenant," the ensign said, springing up immediately to offer her his chair.

    There was nothing terribly unusual about the action, Chekov tended to be scrupulously polite in his dealings with women. However Sulu did think it was a little strange that the ensign remained standing after Uhura had been seated.

    "Aren't you going to sit down, sugar?" the communications officer asked, patting the empty place beside her.

    Chekov went a little pink around the cheekbones. "Oh, of course," he said, smiling and shaking his head as he obeyed. "How stupid of me."

    "Looks like some of us are in worse need of shore leave than others," Uhura replied, rolling her eyes.

    "It looks like you got a head start on us," Sulu said, nodding towards the bundle the lieutenant placed on the table in front of her. Whatever was inside was wrapped in thick red tapestried cloth and made a faint jingling sort of noise when it was moved.

    "Oh, just a little scouting expedition," she said, smiling mysteriously. "Getting the lay of the land. Doing a little shopping."

    Knowing the sort of shops that Curos IV was famous for among shore-leave minded Star Fleet personnel, Sulu grinned. "Find anything good?"

    "Honey," she said, leaning forward and giving her bundle a little pat. "Goodness has nothing to do with what's in here."

    Sulu laughed, but poor Chekov nearly choked on his coffee.

    "You all right, sugar?" Uhura asked, solicitously patting him on the back.

    "I'm fine," he quickly struggled to reply between coughs. "Thank you for inquiring, Lieutenant."

    "Well, I'd love to sit here chatting with the two of you all afternoon, but if I'm not mistaken..." Uhura glanced to the wall chronometer. "...Your break is over."

    "Slavedriver," Sulu accused genially as he rose.

    "The two of you heading planetside as soon as your shift's over?"

    Sulu nodded. "Barring galactic emergency."

    "Maybe I'll see you two tonight then?"

    "Sure." Sulu noticed that Chekov was being very quiet. He wondered if the ensign was still choked or embarrassed or both. "Try not to have too much fun before we get there, okay?"

    The red wrapped bundle made a soft "clink, clink" noise as Uhura smiled and ran her fingers over it, "Oh, I won't."

    Sulu noticed that Chekov was still being very quiet as the two of them made their way to the turbo lift. "Is there something going on between you and Uhura?"

    The navigator's eyes widened. "What do you mean by that?"

    "I mean all this 'yes, lieutenant,' 'no, lieutenant,' 'thank you for inquiring, lieutenant,' stuff," Sulu replied, pressing the call button. "What's that about?"

    "It's the correct form of address," the ensign replied defensively. "She outranks me."

    "And what am I?" The helmsman crossed his arms. "Chopped liver?"

    "What?"

    Sulu tapped the extra stripes on his sleeve.

    "Oh, yes," Chekov dismissed his objection with a gesture. "But with you, it's not the same thing..."

    "In what way?" Sulu asked as the lift doors opened. "I'm not a lieutenant? I don't outrank you?"

    "No, it's just that... that..." Chekov paused and then shrugged as he followed the helmsman into the compartment. "Well, as a female officer in a predominantly male hierarchy, she sometimes feels that she isn't treated with proper respect."

    Sulu smiled and shook his head as he set the controls for the Bridge. "Sounds like someone's had his consciousness forcibly raised."

    "What do you mean by that?"

    "She chewed you out, didn't she?"

    "No, no," Chekov replied, but for some reason he seemed suddenly more comfortable making eye contact with the floor. "She... spoke to me about the matter..."

    "Oh, I see," the helmsman suppressed a grin as he leaned back against the wall. "She merely corrected your error."

    "Uh... yes," the ensign agreed uncomfortably.

    "Firmly and unequivocally?" Sulu persisted, trying to see if the glow in the navigator's cheeks could grow even more rosy than it already was.

    Chekov shot him a pleading look.

    "I think she's having a little fun with you now," Sulu relented with a grin.

    The ensign frowned. "What do you mean?"

    "It's obvious that she's already forgiven you for whatever boneheaded thing it was that you said to her," the helmsman explained. "Now she's just enjoying seeing how long she can make you squirm."

    The navigator made no comment as the lift doors opened onto the bridge.

    "Don't let her get to you, buddy," Sulu advised, giving his helm partner an encouraging thump on the shoulder before heading to his station.

    Chekov allowed the helmsman enough of a lead to render inaudible his muttered reply of, "Too late for that."

    "Sulu!" A single familiar voice rang out over the babble of Curosian merrymakers.

    The helmsman quickly located the source and made his way across the crowded floor to the end of the bar where Uhura was sitting. "Have you seen Chekov?"

    "Not yet," she replied, signaling the bartender to bring another glass.

    "Damn." The helmsman scanned the crowd anxiously. "He ducks out on me saying that he's got an appointment and then ten minutes later Deela McCain tells me she saw him going into this place."

    "Well, honey," Uhura said, handing him a Saurian Sling. "He's a grown-up. He can go where he wants to."

    As distressed as Sulu was, he still couldn't bring himself to turn down a free glass of his favorite local concoction. "I know but..." While he paused to take a sip, he gestured with his free hand at the crowd whose fabulously multicolored garb tended to be cut a little lower, or higher, or cinched in a little more tightly than was merely fashionable. "You know what sort of things go on here..."

    Uhura batted her eyelashes at him with over affected innocence. "In the bar?"

    Sulu frowned at her levity.

    "Honey," she said, sitting back and sipping on her drink. "You know they don't let people just wander into the private rooms."

    "That's what has me worried." Sulu made another scan of the bar room. "He said he had an appointment and wouldn't say what kind of an appointment it was. And I know you have to have an invitation from a member to get into one of the bondage rooms here... which probably means there'd be a set time that he'd have to..."

    The helmsman stopped dead as his gaze came back to rest on the individual who he suddenly realized was the only person in the place that Chekov knew very well and who could quite conceivably be a member of this particular club.

    Uhura only smiled and signaled the bartender to bring him another drink.

    Considering the fact that he was a person who had more than enough personal experience to render him quite blasé‚ about such things, Sulu spent what most reasonable observers would agree was an inordinately long interval in utterly complete, slack-jawed amazement.

    "Should I even ask?" he said when he finally regained control of his facial muscles.

    Uhura shrugged as she handed him his much needed second drink. "Only if you want to know."

    Only after fortifying himself with the remainder of his first glass was the helmsman able to muster the requisite cool to inquire, "So, how long has this been going on?"

    "A few weeks ago I was making arrangements to come here in a time and place which was a little too public for doing that sort of thing and our favorite Russian happened to overhear," Uhura paused to sip from her drink. "Of course, he was shocked and tried to pretend he wasn't. The next day I could tell he had questions so I had lunch with him and answered them. He was even more shocked and did an even worse job of pretending he wasn't."

    In a less benumbed state, Sulu would have laughed at this very accurate description of typically chekovian behavior.

    "The third day," the communications officer continued, rearranging her coaster primly, "he had more questions, so I invited him to my quarters, handcuffed him to the bed, gave him a good spanking, and fucked him until his nose bled."

    Sulu decided it was easier to take another drink than to attempt a response.

    "The nosebleeds worry me a little," Uhura admitted calmly. "I sent him to Sickbay about them, and I told him to make it clear that they tend happen after he comes for the fifth or sixth time in a night, but apparently he was too shy to say so..."

    "Oh?" Sulu said politely. "Imagine that."

    The communications officer tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Of course, I have had him in some positions that would tend to...."

    "I..." the helmsman interrupted. "I think I have more information than I need. A lot more."

    "Suit yourself, sugar," she agreed amiably, checking the chronometer behind the bar. "I've got a little appointment that I have to be getting to myself."

    Sulu put a hand on her arm. "Uhura..." he began without taking the time to plan any more words for the sentence.

    The communications officer smiled and gave his hand a gentle pat. "Are you concerned, honey?" she asked, then added devilishly, "or jealous?"

    "Concerned," he answered, ignoring any part of him that might argue otherwise.

    "If you're really worried..." She reached into her belt and drew out a square key made out of an iridescent metal. "They've got rooms here for people who want to watch."

    Sulu drew his fingers back adamantly. "I couldn't... I just... I really couldn't..."

    Putting an arm around his shoulder, Uhura slid off the barstool and slipped around behind him. "Just remember, Sugar," she whispered into his ear as she dropped the key into the empty glass on the bar before him. "Curiosity killed the cat."

    Pausing only to kiss his neck, the communications officer melted away into the crowd leaving her fellow officer to study the sparkling piece of metal.

    Sulu wasn't sure exactly how long he sat there staring at the key. However, when a busboy attempted to collect the empty, he impulsively grabbed the glittering object.

    "But satisfaction brought him back," he said, finishing the quote for himself, while turning the key slowly over and over between his fingers.

    Chekov nervously turned the iridescent key over and over between his fingers as he paced the two steps available to him in the tiny curtained chamber they'd placed him in. He could hear the clink, clink, clink of chains as the occupant of the booth just down the row from him was ushered to the admitting area. He supposed it was really rather sensible for the management to keep them in these little dressing room-like compartments. Waiting so long in line with other... clients... could prove quite awkward...

The ensign closed his eyes. "What am I doing here?"

He opened them again to glance at the red bundle sitting on the little ledge on the opposite wall. Stealing a peek at the contents of that bundle hadn't done anything to ease his anxiety. On an electronic pad beside the bundle was a very daunting document that listed in frightening detail the sort of things for which his signature guaranteed he would not be able to take legal recourse in the event any -- or all -- of them happened to happen to him during his stay in this establishment.

    Bolting seemed more and more like a supremely sensible alternative with each passing moment.

    "Ready?"

    Chekov nearly jumped out of his skin at the unexpected sound of the Curosian attendant's lightly accented voice.

    Ignoring his lack of response, the attendant went straight for the notepad. "Signed and positively identi-printed. Good."

    It was somewhat difficult to tell male Curosians from female Curosians. Although definitely humanoid and mammalian, both sexes tended to have long, horsey faces and relatively flat chests. This particular one was small and high-voiced like a female, but was broad-shouldered and narrow hipped like a male. He -- or she -- clipped the notepad to his -- or her -- belt and opened the red-wrapped bundle. The Curosian's professional demeanor dropped for a second as it paused to finger the ornamental embossing on the padded collar and cuffs.

    "Lovely," it commented briefly.

    Chekov opened his mouth to reply before realizing he didn't know of any appropriate response to being complimented on the appearance of his chains.

    "Key," the Curosian demanded with a snap of its fingers. "And the shirt."

    The ensign was momentarily confused about which to surrender first, but the Curosian went quickly to his aid, plucking the sparkling metal square from between his fingers with one hand while tugging the neck of his singlet over his head with the other. Before the ensign had enough time to brush his hair back in place, the attendant had snapped on the heavy metal handcuffs and was reaching behind him for the matching collar.

    "Chin up," it ordered, placing the fetter securely around his neck.

    Chekov closed his eyes against the very permanent sounding click of the collar locking into place. For a moment, he felt perilously close to tears. In all his life, he'd never felt so powerless, so vulnerable... so stupid.

    The Curosian couldn't resist running an admiring finger along the padded edge of the collar. "Excellent fit as well."

    In a blink of an eye, the attendant was once more all business, collecting the bundle and fastening the lead chain to the ensign's collar. "Don't worry," it confided briskly. "You're obviously in very experienced hands."

    Chekov felt less than comforted as he was led down the corridor to a tall counter. Waiting before that counter perusing a notepad was a very tall Curosian. Because this Curosian was shirtless and wearing very tight pants, his gender was in not at all in question.

    The first attendant placed his notepad and key on the counter and handed the ensign's lead to the tall man who commanded him to do something with the bundle in their native language.

    Chekov, once again feeling the need to speak without knowing what to say, opened his mouth.

    "You're not to talk until questioned," the big Curosian instructed him sharply in Standard.

    Without allowing time even for a "yes, sir," the ensign was pulled forward through a set of heavy sliding doors and down another corridor. The bland, hospital-like appearance of the corridor was poor preparation for the chamber that opened off it. It was a narrow high-ceilinged room lit only by torches. The heavy drapes of tapestry and the glassy black stone walls didn't do as much to create a sort of medieval torture chamber atmosphere as did the impressive collection of whips and other instruments of correction mounted on the wall. There were other disturbing things in the room as well -- padded furniture of uncertain function and other leather covered items whose purposes seemed distinctly unsavory.

    The ensign was so mesmerized by the distracting sight of these decorations that he almost failed to notice that the Curosian was pulling his arms up over his head in order to link his handcuffs to a convenient chain dangling from the ceiling.

    "There are a few details that must be attended to before you're sent to your mistress," the Curosian informed him. He gestured to a fellow native, one of the several attendants present whose presence Chekov had entirely missed until this point. "First, a medical scan for our records..."

    The smaller Curosian traced a rough outline of the ensign's body with a metal wand that chittered and beeped erratically. They briefly discussed whatever results had been obtained. The big attendant pressed a series of buttons on his pad before gesturing his assistant to another task.

    "And then," the Curosian said, unhooking the ensign's chain and leading him to the padded furniture, "we need to find a few items of the correct size."

    The piece looked like a misshapen weight bench, but as the Curosian and his assistants gently but firmly bent the navigator over the device, he quickly lost all doubts about its true function. Below the flat padded surface upon which his upper body rested was a clamp that secured his hands in place. Clamping rings were also fastened in two locations around each of his thighs. After the Curosians brought the plates for his knees to rest on into proper alignment, the ensign was introduced to the fact that each leg support could be moved independently, allowing them to spread his thighs as much or as little as they deemed appropriate. The attendants then tinkered with the height of the device and the tilt of the section supporting his hips. There was even a little chin support that could be extended from the front. Obviously, a very thoroughly thought out design...

    The tall Curosian stepped into the ensign's restricted field of view. "Your mistress has requested our lightest, most flexible paddle," he said, displaying the leather-covered, dread-inspiring object. "However..."

    A few seconds after the Curosian crossed out of sight, something landed resoundingly across the Russian's buttocks.

    "...It still does the job effectively," the big man finished passionlessly. He signaled his assistants and Chekov's bonds were clicked open. The Curosian waited patiently for the ensign to struggle to his feet before leading him back to the hook for his wrists. "The last item we must deal with is security related. For reasons you can well imagine, recording devices are not permitted in these chambers. All members and their guests must submit to a search. While voyeurs or those assuming the roles of masters or mistresses are searched by..."

    "Voyeurs?" Chekov repeated.

    "You are not permitted to speak," the Curosian informed him.

    "Sorry," the ensign apologized, scanning the room.

    The Curosian frowned. "You are not permitted to speak."

    Remembering that the paddle was still in the attendant's hand, Chekov prudently decided to nod.

    "But to answer your question," the Curosian relented. "Yes, there are patrons who pay to view the proceedings in these chambers. You may or may not be being observed as we speak... This was all in the agreement you signed."

    Chekov twisted his mouth and wondered just how fine that fine print had been.

    "As I was saying... Masters, mistresses, and other invited guests are searched by conventional modern means, but slaves are subject to strip search. The remainder of your clothing will now be removed."

    The ensign tensed as a half dozen Curosian hands reached for him, but their leader took the young man's chin into one of his large hands and tilted Chekov's face upwards.

    "You are not permitted to resist," he was informed firmly as hands removed his boots and loosened the fastenings on his pants.

    A hot wave of rebellion flashed through the ensign, but held as he was, he could do little more than squirm in their grip as his underwear was pulled down to his ankles. Even that much earned him another stroke of the paddle, though.

    After administering the correction, the Curosian stepped back and let his team go to work in earnest. There were suddenly fingers crawling over every inch of Chekov's exposed flesh -- probing, prodding, and even caressing. He struggled but could not escape their overly intimate grasp. It was maddening. He wanted to scream, but when he opened his mouth, fingers flooded in like squirming vermin.

    At the point where he didn't believe he could take anymore, the torture was abruptly discontinued. The tall Curosian unhooked his wrists and pointed to the disciplinary bench. "Over there now, please."

    The ensign shook the hair out of his eyes defiantly. "What for?"

    "You are not permitted to speak," the attendant reminded him impassively, "but to answer your question, you are to bend over the bench to facilitate the completion of the search."

    "Oh, no," Chekov said, backing up warily. "No, that isn't at all necessary."

    "I'm afraid it is." The Curosian signaled his assistants to circle in.

    "It most definitely isn't," the ensign retorted as he tried to keep and eye on all of them at once. "I can assure you that you aren't going to find any recording devices there."

    The Curosian frowned and consulted his notepad. "Hmmm. Your file predicts that you may be stubborn, skeptical, and resistant to unfamiliar experiences, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to consult your mistress for a directive on this." He punched a series of buttons. A combination of beeps answered his query almost immediately. "Your mistress says to tell you, 'That's one.'"

    This statement was so patently in the lieutenant's idiom that Chekov looked around for a viewport. "She's watching?"

    The Curosian's notepad emitted another series of beeps. "Your mistress now says to say, 'That's two.'"

    The words prompted a discernible weakening sensation in Chekov's stomach and knees, but the ensign stood his ground.

    "Two and a half..." The Curosian raised his eyebrows as both a question and a warning.

    Chekov braced for a fight and shook his head adamantly.

    Although the notepad in his hand beeped immediately, the Curosian generously waited several more seconds for any sign of attrition before signaling his co-workers.

    "And that's three," he concluded at last. "Very well."

    Considering that he was unarmed, chained, and outnumbered, the ensign was able to put up a very valiant forty-five seconds of resistance. The end result, however, was -- barring a few extraneous bruises on both sides of the struggle -- exactly the same as if he had walked over the the bench and laid across it under his own power.

    "Actually," the Curosian said as he massaged a light coating of oil into the leather covering of the paddle, "I'm pleased to have the opportunity to discipline you."

    Chekov, who was in the midst of being fitted with a padded gag, could not voice the reply that sprang to mind.

    "I, like your mistress, favor this particular instrument of correction." The Curosian caressed the black hide fondly. "With a whip or a strap of any size, there's always the chance of excessive injury to the recipient. The possibility tends to divide my focus. Always I'm a little nervous, a little restrained -- despite my years of experience."

    The ensign struggled against the bench's built-in restraints as his hips were tilted upwards and his legs were spread.

    "With the paddle, however..." The Curosian moved out of his line of sight. "I feel much more at ease."

    Chekov felt anything but at ease as a large, masculine hand began to massage warm oil onto his very exposed buttocks.

    "There's something in the nature of the instrument, as well." The Curosian continued his preparations in a leisurely manner despite the obvious displeasure of the receiver of his attentions. "It has a harmless, juvenile quality that makes the subject's inevitable submission to its powers all the more humiliating for him."

    Chekov concentrated all his energy into one massive, but futile jerk at the chain between his wrists.

    "And, of course, when the subject has proved himself to be as obstinate and obstreperous as you have..." The Curosian leaned in close to the ensign's ear as he patted the young man's bare rump. "Then that makes my job even more pleasant."

    Chekov bit down on the gag as the attendant went to work on his backside. Each stroke of the paddle was placed with professional exactitude -- alternating attention to each cheek with an almost mathematical precision. After two or three blistering minutes of this treatment, the blows ceased to fall. Even through the tears of pain he blinked away, the ensign was relieved to conclude that he'd been on the receiving end of worse -- much worse.

    But it wasn't over.

    "Now that the area has been warmed sufficiently," the Curosian said as the ensign's thighs were cranked slowly further apart, "we refine our technique."

    This time the strokes of the paddle landed evenly across both buttocks at once. The positioning varied with each blow and the pace was slow and deliberate, as if the Curosian was gauging his subject's reaction. A spank from the paddle landing at the very bottom of the curve of his rump unexpectedly rocked the ensign's entire body like a jolt from an electric current.

    The Curosian paused and adjusted the tilt of his subject's hips so that more of this sensitive area at the top of the thighs was available to him. As the paddle was once more vigorously applied to his upturned bottom, the ensign realized that only now had his punishment truly commenced in earnest.

    Each crack of that paddle was fiery agony. Uncontrollable tears flowed freely with every stroke. Only the gag muffled the cries of pain that he could no longer stifle. The worst aspect, however, was that as his rump danced obediently to the rhythm of his spanking, the sensitive flesh of his penis rubbed against a velvety padded support. It hardened rapidly -- and he imagined quite noticeably -- as his punishment progressed.

    It was quite stiff and throbbed as most as much as his aching backside by the time the Curosian finally suspended his strokes. To remove any doubt as to whether or not this condition had gone unobserved, a hand reached between his legs to rub in a generous coating of oil.

    "And that that you are in a more receptive mood..." the Curosian began as the ensign's buttocks were treated to a more intimate application of oil.

    Chekov was glad the gag was in place to quiet the groan he uttered as the attendant's finger entered his anus.

    "As you surmised," the Curosian said, pushing past constricting muscles to explore his subject deeply. "This part of the search isn't necessarily practical. We use it primarily because it promotes pliancy and submissiveness." The attendant purposefully elicited another groan from the ensign. "And, of course, there are pleasurable aspects at well... Here, let me show you a trick I've learned..."

    With his free hand, the Curosian tickled the uppermost part of Chekov's thigh, causing the ensign's hips to jerk involuntarily and further impale him on the attendant's finger.

    "Surprising, isn't it?" the Curosian asked, casually inserting a second finger as he repeated the action at intervals, making it look as though the ensign were thrusting eagerly in response to the intrusion.

    From the forgotten notepad, a series of beeps sounded.

    Mercifully, the Curosian's fingers were withdrawn. "Your mistress reminds me that there are limits to how much I can indulge myself with you." The attendant's voice seemed tinged with regret as he unlocked the restraints holding Chekov in place.

    The other Curosians helped the ensign to his feet. One wiped his face with a moist cloth, while others steadied him and still others wrapped him in a pair of leather pants. The pants fastened up the sides for easy access and laced up the back to insure a revealingly tight fit.

    Chekov couldn't bring himself to meet the Curosian's eyes as the big man stepped forward and refastened the lead chain to the collar around his neck.

    "Come along," the attendant commanded, pulling him forward and through the door to the next room.

    The adjoining chamber was more ample, but decorated in the same dark red and black scheme. A huge four-poster bed stood in one corner, hung with heavy red drapes. Next to the room's large, crackling fireplace was a chair large enough to be a small sofa. The ensign was led to a figure wrapped in a fur rug who reclined in this chair.

    "Thank you," Uhura dismissed the Curosian after he had knelt the ensign on the hardwood floor before her.

    Only after the alien had left did Chekov dare look up at his mistress.

    "Come here, baby," she said, opening the furs to admit him.

    He could see she was wearing her black leather corset. Chekov momentarily envied the anonymous Curosian who had been lucky enough to help her into the garment. The ensign had grown nearly as fond of the ritual of helping the lieutenant into her costume as he was of helping her out of it. He obediently crawled beside her, resting his head on her shoulder as she wrapped the furs around them both.

    "Little boy," she said, tilting his chin up, "you don't look like you're having fun."

    Chekov kept his gaze downward as he shook his head.

    "Well, we can't have that." She pressed slow comforting kisses across his face and neck as she unhooked the chain from his collar as well as the one between his wrists. "Now, can we?"

    Chekov breathed a sigh of relief as he was allowed to put his arms around his mistress and return her kisses.

    "But..." she said, pulling away from his lips. "You were instructed to be very docile and do exactly as you were told without hesitating or asking questions, now weren't you?"

    The ensign lowered his eyes and nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

    "And you were warned about what happens to naughty little boys in places like this, weren't you?"

    "Yes, ma'am."

    The lieutenant slid her hand down to his leather-clad rump. "Mmmm, still warm," she commented, squeezing one tender cheek lightly. "That whipping should be enough to keep you on your best behavior for a good long time, shouldn't it?"

    Chekov winced, but didn't struggle in her grip. "Yes, ma'am."

    "All right, then." She smiled and leaned back. "Be a good boy and help me out of this."

    The pressure the already too-tight pants were putting on his erection increased as the Russian leaned forward and carefully took one end of the leather thong that laced up the front of Uhura's corset between his teeth. Keeping his hands around her waist, he used only his mouth to pull loose the bow securing the thong. He paused to kiss each firm brown breast in turn before taking the thong in his teeth again to further free them from their restraints.

    There was a soft sound from the other side of the room -- a faint noise from the vicinity of the bed. The sound caused a thought that had been troubling the ensign earlier to re-occur. He quickly decided, however, that it would be best to pretend he hadn't heard anything.

    He failed to account for Uhura's uncanny ability to read and interpret his nonverbals, though. She abruptly tilted his face up to hers and studied him intently.

    "You little shit," she concluded. "You peeked, didn't you?"

    "What?" Chekov asked, trying to make his eyes as round and innocent as possible.

    Unfortunately, that tactic rarely worked on the lieutenant. She stood up, pursing her lips angrily. "You snuck a peek into the package I left at the front desk for you, didn't you?"

    Knowing the consequences of lying to her aloud, Chekov dared only to shrug his shoulders as if he had no idea what she was talking about.

    "You saw the extra set of chains, didn't you?" she accused, putting her hands on her hips.

    He didn't risk denying that one even with a gesture.

    "You know I've got someone here and you've probably even guessed who it is," she deduced.

    The ensign lowered his eyes and bit his lip.

    "Baby boy," she said, hooking the lead chain back into his collar. "What am I going to have to do with you?"

    This very question troubled the ensign considerably as she led him back towards the center of the room. The thought of another trip to the disciplinary bench in the antechamber was quickly diminishing the problem of his pants being laced too tightly.

    With a tug of the lead, she directed him to follow her to the bed. When she pulled back the four-poster's heavy curtains, the person under the covers blinked his eyes at the sudden change in lighting.

    "So much for the element of surprise," she grumbled, removing the the gag from the mouth of the bed's occupant.

    "When you offered to let me watch," Sulu said accusingly when his lips were finally freed for use, "this wasn't what I thought you had in mind."

    "Best seat in the house," Uhura commented, reaching up to turn off the now uneventful view of the antechamber displayed on the viewscreen installed in the bed's canopy.

    The ensign's mouth had fallen open. "You... you wanted to watch?"

    Sulu frowned generously on both of them. "When I heard that you'd booked an appointment in an S&M club, I was afraid you were going to get hurt and -- silly me -- I thought I might be able to do something to prevent that from happening."

    "But you.. you.." Chekov gestured to the viewscreen. "You watched while... while..."

    Sulu rattled the chains binding him to the headboard since they seemed to have escaped the ensign's notice. "This bed is a lot heavier than it looks," he informed his colleague sarcastically.

    "Gentlemen, gentlemen." Uhura raised her hands to quiet them. "There's no need for debate. I am the one who saw to it that both of you have ended up here. End of discussion."

    Both of her fellow officers looked as though they could think of a lot more things to discuss.

    "I am responsible," she continued before either could voice an objection. "I rented the room. I am in charge. I am making the rules... And the first and most important rule is this: Less talking. More fucking."

    Before the helmsman could respond to this, the communications officer drew back the blankets covering him. Part of his unclothed body was already responding strongly to the situation.

    "Ooooo," she cooed, stroking his erect member delightedly. "We seem to have piqued your interest."

    "Uhura," Sulu protested weakly as she unfastened and discarded the black thong panties she'd been wearing.

    "Shhhh." The communications officer put a silencing finger over his lips as she quickly straddled and mounted him. "Oh, yessss. I can tell you had a very stimulating viewing experience...."

    Chekov, realizing that he was staring, belatedly turned away.

    "And just where do you think you're going, little boy?" Uhura asked, reaching out to grab his arm without changing her position on his moaning helm partner.

    "I.. I.." the ensign stammered, trying to keep his eyes averted.

    "You haven't finished undressing me," she reminded him as she rocked gently on Sulu's rock hard erection.

    "But... I..."

    The lieutenant's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You talking back to me, baby?"

    "No, ma'am," he assured her reluctantly.

    "Then do what I tell you."

    "Yes, ma'am," he answered, but was completely unsure as to how to proceed.

    Sweat was beginning to bead on Uhura's forehead. "Get behind me," she ordered, nonetheless. "I want you to reach around and unlace the front."

    The instructions were straightforward enough, but....

    "Bozhe moi," Chekov breathed softly to himself as he crawled onto the lightly bouncing bed on his knees. He gingerly positioned himself behind the communications officer, leaving as much room for the helmsman's legs as he could. Uhura would have none of this, though, and pulled him in close so that her pulsating back rested against Chekov's bare chest and Sulu's shuddering thighs touched his. She guided the navigator's hands to her breasts.

    Those breasts were irresistible to him. His hands couldn't help but caress them -- to explore the points of her large nipples as they strained against the material of the corset. His fingers, almost with a mind of their own, began work to free them of their leather prison. He sighed and kissed the sweat off her neck while she throbbed to the rhythm of another man's penis.

    Eagerly, he liberated her glorious body from the confining corset and pressed himself against her. His hands cupped her beautiful breasts while his hips rocked against her lusciously bare backside.

    He imagined that he knew almost as soon as she did when her orgasm began to approach. He could feel her muscles tighten in readiness and the pace of her breathing go into high gear. Sulu was nearing a climax as well. His thrusts were becoming savage efforts to plunge deeper into the woman atop him. The handcuffs holding him jingled and banged madly against the headboard.

    Uhura's training prompted Chekov hold himself in check, however. Her strict tutoring left no doubt in his mind that if she was going to allow him to climax with the two of them, he would have been informed of this fact beforehand.

    The ensign bit his lower lip and watched jealously as his lover achieved shuddering satisfaction only a few seconds out of sync with the person he had previously considered his best friend.

    Uhura collapsed backwards into his arms with a full-throated sigh of contentment. Her first comment upon opening her eyes, however, was, "I sure hope you didn't come."

    "No, ma'am," he assured her, taking the opportunity to kiss her full lips.

    "That's good," she said, after the kiss, "because you're in enough trouble as is."

    He sighed resignedly. "Yes, ma'am."

    "Now get up and get that bowl of water and the cloth beside it," she ordered.

    "Yes, ma'am."

    As he crossed to the little table that held the basin, he could hear Uhura chuckle and Sulu groan ecstatically as she finally dismounted him. Returning to the bed, he sullenly held out the bowl for his mistress while keeping his eyes contemptuously averted from the naked body of his rival.

    Uhura was lying on her side next to Sulu, relaxed and gloriously naked. "Wash him off," she commanded.

    "Oh, don't make him do that," Sulu protested as the ensign froze.

    "I guess you'd rather see him get another paddling, then?" she asked cruelly.

    "Well, no, but I..."

    "Do you want another whipping, little boy?" the communications officer interrupted to address her slave directly.

    Chekov lowered his head. "No, ma'am."

    "Then I guess you'd better be doing as I tell you, right, Mister?"

    "Yes, ma'am." Chekov slowly dampened the cloth and applied it to the helmsman's nearest leg.

    "Oh," escaped Sulu's lips as he made contact.

    "Water too cold, sugar?" Uhura asked.

    "No, it's nice and warm," the helmsman replied, making and effort to remain still as the navigator rubbed his thighs. "I'm still not sure that he wants to..."

    "You can be sure he wants to get out of another whipping like the one he just had," the communications officer asserted. "And he's earned one for snooping around and ruining the surprise I worked my butt off to arrange for him."

    Chekov wrung out the cloth and chose to concentrate on the helmsman's chest next. He silently noted that Sulu had a good body -- nicely defined muscles, a broad chest, and a flat stomach.

    "You see," Uhura continued, "as part of my very special officer training program for our ensign, I have encouraged him to talk about things -- things he's done, things he hasn't done, things he'd like to do." She casually reached out and tapped the navigator's hand which had suddenly frozen mid-wipe. "Keep moving, honey."

    "Yes, ma'am," Chekov mumbled, hoping beyond hope that she wasn't about to divulge what he thought she was about to divulge.

    "I require my little boy to tell me everything -- all his fantasies." She traced a lazy circle around Sulu's nipple with her fingertip. "Most of which are private -- just between me and him -- and are going to stay that way. However, I am going to tell you this much. Even though he's never had sex with a man, he has speculated about it... You're not moving again, sugar."

    Chekov closed his eyes against the burning blush in his cheeks. "Sorry."

    "Uhura..." Sulu pleaded on his behalf.

    "When I asked him who of all the men he knew he would prefer to have his first experience with, he made what I thought was a very sensible choice..."

    "Me?" the helmsman concluded disbelievingly.

    "Sulu, I only said it because... because..." Chekov tried to quickly to explain.

    But not quickly enough. Uhura interrupted him with a stern snap of her fingers. "You're missing a spot," she pointed out firmly.

    "Yes, ma'am." Hoping the floor would open and swallow him sometime very soon, the navigator reluctantly applied the damp cloth to the helmsman's loins.

    "He said that," the communications officer explained in his stead, "because he knows that you're experienced... and because you seem like you would be gentle ... and because he feels you would be discrete ... and because he likes you very much."

    "As a friend," Chekov hastened to add. "I swear that's all I meant -- I like you as a friend."

    The ensign quickly withered under his mistress's heated gaze and returned to his task without having to be reminded to do so again.

    "I don't know what to say," Sulu replied slowly, but Chekov could feel a stirring under the cloth as he ran it quickly over the helmsman's groin.

    "I expect you to do a better job than that, Sugar," the communications officer informed her charge.

    Taking a deep breath, the ensign wrung out the cloth again then wrapped it carefully the perceptibly growing muscle between the helmsman's legs. Sulu grew even harder as Chekov tentatively guided the cloth up and down. He jumped in surprise when the wet rag was suddenly pulled from his fingers.

    "I want it completely clean," his mistress ordered firmly. "Use your tongue."

    "Uhura..." Sulu remonstrated weakly.

    Chekov looked into her eyes for any sign of reprieve. There was none.

    "Do it now," she instructed unequivocally.

    The ensign knelt slowly and touched the tip of his tongue to the upright flesh. He could tell immediately that he'd done a rather poor job of cleaning because he could taste Uhura's distinctive musk on the head. This familiar taste eased the unfamiliarity of the rest of his task somewhat. The way Sulu's penis moved and twitched under his lips and tongue was still fairly disconcerting, though. As he moved methodically down the shaft, he wondered how long he'd be required to keep this up.

    Uhura stroked his hair comfortingly. "See, baby boy," she purred. "It's nothing to be afraid of, now is it?"

    "No, ma'am," he answered, assuming his task was complete and carefully suppressing a sigh of relief.

    "The balls, too," she ordered, gently directing his head downward again.

    Only after she was satisfied that every inch of the helmsman's groin had received the attention she expected did she tilt her slave's face back towards her own.

    "I think you're ready to lose that cherry now, aren't you?" she asked seriously.

    While Chekov was taking a moment to decipher this idiomatic phrase, Sulu cleared his throat.

    "Listen, Uhura," he said. "I know I've got a hard-on like a retro rocket right now, but despite appearances, I'm not at all sure about this."

    "If you're not ready, you can say so," she instructed the ensign, ignoring the helmsman. "But if you lie to me now, you're going to get the ass-whipping to end all ass-whippings. Understand?"

    Chekov lowered his eyes and nodded.

    "All right." She patted his face. "Unlace your pants and lay across the foot of the bed."

    Chekov rose numbly, as if he were in a dream. He could hear Uhura unfastening Sulu's restraints as he slowly untied the criss-crossed thong holding the back of his pants together. His buttocks still tingled from the paddling he'd received as he let the flaps fall open carelessly. Bending over the soft mattress, he reflected that his bottom was probably going to do more than tingle after this.

    "Uhura," Sulu was saying. "I really don't know about this..."

    "Sugar, be real," she replied impatiently. "You want it. He wants it. You're holding up the process."

    "I don't know if I'm entirely behind the 'less talking, more fucking' policy you've established," the helmsman argued.

    "There's a jar of oil behind you. Here, baby, you can put your head in my lap."

    It took Chekov a minute to realize that the last was directed to him. As she settled in next to him, the ensign rested his cheek on her thigh and put his arms around her hips. The familiar scent of her and feel of her steadied him.

    A man's hand rested on his hip. "Listen, Chekov, if you don't want to do this..."

    "Sulu, sugar," Uhura answered before the ensign could even begin to nourish a doubt. "You are missing an essential part of the special officer training program. Our little boy here is a little on the shy and careful side about some things. He is also bright enough to talk you and himself out of anything if you give him half the chance. So sometimes in order to get him to try something new --even if it's something he may end up liking a lot -- you sometimes have to take away his option of saying 'no'."

    The helmsman still hesitated.

    "Right now, his actions are speaking louder than words," the communications officer argued. "And if you don't get to it soon, I might be tempted to start a little discussion on just how long someone else I know has fantasized about this."

    The lieutenant's last cryptic remark seemed to have its desired effect. Warm hands parted the ensign's buttocks and gently massaged lubricating oil into the crevasse. Chekov held his breath as a soft knobby object pressed against his anus. The head of the helmsman's penis seemed three times bigger than it had under his tongue.

    Massaging fingers quickly replaced it. First one, then two fingers gently eased the tight muscles blocking entrance. Chekov moaned under their gentle insistence.

    "Relax, baby boy," his mistress crooned into his ear. "Go with it."

    The entrance of a third stroking finger began to convince him that was both ready and willing to do just that. After a few moments, his helm partner also seemed satisfied with his readiness to continue. His buttocks were spread once more. Sulu entered him smoothly. The helmsman's progress was slow and careful. Gentle thrusts coaxed stubborn muscles to relax.

    As Uhura lovingly stroked his hair, Chekov came to the abrupt and blunt realization that for the first time another man's cock was up his ass.

    Both helm partners cried out in almost in unison as the ensign's muscles constricted with a vengeance.

    "Relax, sweetie," his mistress instructed him firmly. "Relax."

    "He's... he's.." Sulu gasped. "He's fine... He's doing fine. Don't worry about him. It's all good."

    The helmsman's thrusts quickly re-established his authority. Chekov had never felt so completely submissive in his life -- another man inside him, stretching him, instructing him, possessing him through-and-through. There was no option other than total surrender. Sulu probed him more and more deeply until the ensign realized with a jolt that he had achieved full penetration.

    "Ah!" Sulu's normally low voice rose a full octave as the navigator clamped down on him forcefully once more. This time the unanticipated delicious pressure catapulted him unexpectedly into full and unconditional orgasm.

    "Sorry... sorry.." he gasped, still shuddering as he hastily withdrew. "Thought I could... hold on longer... than that..."

    "Don't worry about it, sugar," Uhura soothed. "It's all good."

    She brushed tears that the ensign hadn't noticed yet from Chekov's eyes. "You're okay, aren't you, baby?"

    The navigator nodded, although he wasn't entirely sure yet.

    "Come on up here." She patted the bed beside her. "I'll finish you off, sweetie."

    Chekov was in the midst of automatically obeying when Sulu caught him by the foot.

    "It's okay," the helmsman said, sounding a little groggy. "I can finish him."

    Both of his fellow officers regarded him dubiously.

    "No, no," Sulu insisted as he turned Chekov over and pulled aside the front of the ensign's pants with all the grace of a barroom drunk. "I started, I can finish."

    Before Chekov could object, the helmsman took the ensign's fading erection completely into his mouth. Ecstasy-fogged as he might be, Sulu knew what he was doing. There was nothing of Chekov's earlier tentative approach about him. With quick, confident pulls, he sucked the ensign back to full hardness in record time. His tongue caressed the navigator's shaft as if it were the most delicious candy ever invented.

    As Chekov's eyes widened in surprise, Uhura decided to get into the act, too. She leaned across him so that as her fingers caressed his arms and chest, one lush nipple would be available to the ensign's lips. He immediately seized upon it, treating it to the same greedy attention being lavished on his erection below.

    The navigator moaned around the breast in his mouth as Sulu began to massage his balls, building him slowly and expertly towards what promised to be a supernova-class climax. Uhura guided the ensign's hand to rest on the helmsman's neck. He assumed this was only so he could more fully enjoy the rhythm of the other man's head bobbing rapidly up and down upon him. However, Chekov soon discovered to his surprise that he was being allowed to exert some control. But applying a little pressure to the helmsman's neck, he could signal his desire to quicken or slacken the pace.

    After many hours of being completely at the whim of other people's desires, this seemed like a marvelous innovation to the ensign. He reached down and gratefully squeezed his friend's shoulder. In response, the helmsman treated him to an astonishing display of his flexibility, taking the young man's entire erection into his mouth and adroitly licking the base.

    As Chekov neared climax, Uhura moved so that she could put her arms around him and put her lips next to his ear.

    "You are so precious to me, baby boy," she whispered. "To both of us."

    The ensign loved the way she would time saying such things so that as he ejaculated he would be absolutely melting inside as well. He held on to both of his friends as he climaxed. The stunningly complete perfection of the moment brought him near to tears.

    Uhura kissed and stroked him as he lay trembling in the wake of the moment. After a minute, Sulu eagerly crawled up to join them. He was grinning as irrepressibly as a kid at Christmas.

    "So, buddy," he said, tousling the navigator's hair. "What did you think of that?"

    "Yes, little boy," Uhura said in a mock scolding tone, resuming her best strict mistress aspect. "I certainly hope you've learned a lesson from this."

    "Yes, ma'am. I think I have." Chekov sighed deeply and put his arms around his friends. "A good officer should always be open to new experiences."

    "So, lieutenants," Kyle asked jovially as the trio stepped off the Enterprise's transporter pads. "How was your leave?"

    "Pardon my French," Uhura replied, tucking a red bundle under her arm, "but it was fan-fucking-tastic."

    "The best ever," Sulu agreed readily.

    "And what about you, Chekov?" the transporter chief asked the ensign who was lagging a little behind his two shipmates.

    "Oh, well..." The Russian's cheeks glowed pinkly. "It was very interesting."

    Kyle's laughter at this reply followed him out into the corridor. His fellow officers were waiting for him there.

    Uhura had her arms crossed and her eyebrows lifted. "Interesting?" she repeated.

    Sulu clicked his tongue. "I'd say that lacks a certain amount of enthusiasm."

    "I'd say, that's one," the communications officer pronounced darkly before setting off down the corridor.

    "But I... I..." Chekov stammered as he hurried to follow her. "I didn't mean to imply... I simply was concerned that he might conclude that... that..."

    Sulu shook his head as he fell in pace behind them. "Now I'd say that almost sounds as if he's ashamed of us."

    "And all I'd say is..." Uhura pressed the call button for the turbo lift, then turned to the ensign with a killingly sweet smile. "That's two."

    "Lieutenant..." Chekov began. Immediately seeing that was going to get him nowhere, he turned to Sulu with a nervous laugh. "She is just joking now."

    "Oooo," the helmsman winced. "'Fraid that's going to put you at two and a half, buddy."

    Chekov tried to laugh at this, but quickly sobered when he saw the look the communications officer was giving him and noticed that the expression was creeping into the helmsman's eyes as well. "Please, lieutenants, let's be reasonable about this," he appealed. "All of us have barely two hours before we have to report for duty..."

    Although he had no telepathic ability whatsoever, the ensign got a very clear mental picture of the sort of activities his fellow officers were imagining to fill those two extra hours.

    "I know, I know..." Chekov sighed resignedly as he accepted the red bundle Uhura handed to him and felt Sulu's hand upon his shoulder guide him into the 'lift car. "That's three."

Da End!

(Or is it....?)