Title: A Captain's Duty

Author: Jungle Kitty

Fandom: Star Trek, The Original Series

Pairing: Not revealed

Rating: NC-17

Status: New to this group

Archive: OK

E-mail address for feedback: kittyjungle@earthlink.net

Other websites: http://www.invisibleplanets.com

Disclaimers: (c) 1999 Jungle Kitty. Star Trek and its characters are the property of Paramount. This not-for-profit piece of fan fiction is not intended to infringe on that ownership. The author's copyright applies only to the creative content and her original characters.

Notes: This trilogy was inspired by Robin Lawrie, who identified that padd that a beautiful yeoman is always bringing Kirk for his signature. It's the spanking list. <wink>

Summary: This story is the first in "Duty, Pleasure, and Privilege," a very silly trilogy about one of Starfleet's least known and strangest traditions.

A CAPTAIN'S DUTY
(c) 1999 Jungle Kitty

*Anticipation.*

Counting the minutes since he'd received the notification early this morning. Grinding his teeth in happy agony as he took his place at the navigational console. Almost jumping out of his skin when the communications officer announced, "Captain on the bridge." Savoring each step of the journey from his duty station to this, his destination, his nirvana, the end of his quest.

And now...

Now, standing at the entrance to the sanctum sanctorum. Now, willing the seconds to pass until it was precisely 1500 hours. Now, knowing what awaited him on the other side of the double doors.

It was almost more than he could bear. He felt a nearly uncontrollable compulsion to burst into laughter. Or tears. Or both.

*Anticipation.*

He whispered the word to himself with a newfound appreciation of the alphabet. The sharp staccato of the T. The taunting hiss of the C. The explosive pop of the P. And the lingering caress of the sensuous N.

*Anticipation.*

His body was alive with it. His blood threatened to burst from his veins. His fingernails dug deeply into his palms. His ears rang with the jangling clamor of victory bells.

And as for his cock... Well, his cock was straining against his trousers like a very large dog on a very short leash. And his testicles were dancing in their sac like the balls in the lottery machine right before the final number drops.

*Antici--*

1500 hours. The final number dropped. Jackpot.

Squaring his shoulders, he stepped forward and pressed the signal button outside the captain's quarters.

"Come," said a rich voice from the other side.

The doors whooshed open with a hiss that sounded very much like a sharply drawn breath. A sound that he echoed at the sight of the man working at the desk computer.

Imposing, impressive, impossibly masculine. Every inch an officer. Every inch good and noble and admirable. Every inch capable of making his enemies crawl and his companions wish for the same privilege.

It was a picture etched with a sharp utensil, the same utensil that was carving a hole in the young man's belly.

He swallowed hard and said, "Lieutenant Kirk reporting as ordered, sir."

Captain Garrovick looked up and smiled. "Ah! Mr. Kirk. At ease. I'll be with you in just a minute."

Kirk tried to relax, but he might just as well have tried to grow a third eye.

*In just a minute. A minute. Sixty seconds. That's all.*

His hands were damp with perspiration. His mouth was dry. He was blinking far too often. His pulse was racing.

And the captain had only looked at him.

*Shit. What'll I do when--*

"All right, Mr. Kirk." Garrovick turned away from the computer. "You've been aboard nearly two weeks, haven't you?"

"Yes, sir, Captain." In attempting to forestall a nervous whisper, he spoke much too loudly.

"No need to shout, mister."

"Sorry, sir." At least his voice didn't crack.

"I apologize for taking so long to get around to you, Lieutenant. But we've had a lot of personnel changes lately. And I *do* have other responsibilities. So--"

Garrovick stood and pulled his chair away from the desk. Then he sat back down, spread his legs wide, and said, "Let's get on with it, shall we?"

Kirk stared at his captain as time stood still. Nothing could have prepared him for this. He had imagined the scene so often that he'd believed his thirst had diminished, at least enough to keep him from embarrassing himself with his obvious rapture. But nothing--nothing in the Great Bird's galaxy--could dull the sharp edge of his joy and disbelief as he realized that he had not been ordered to assume the standard position.

The knowledge crawled across his consciousness in seductive slow motion.

Captain Garrovick was actually going to take him over his knee and--

"Lieutenant? Is something wrong?"

Kirk licked his lips, blinked several more times, and looked into Garrovick's face, which told him nothing.

"No, sir."

Kirk took a step toward his captain, suddenly feeling more like a raw recruit than he had on his first day at the Academy. He hesitated, not wanting to appear too eager, and remembering the guilty thrill he'd felt upon first learning of this noblest of all Starfleet traditions.

It was the duty of a starship captain to welcome each one of his officers. And the day Kirk learned that had been the day he had promised himself that he would go straight from graduation to starship duty.

The stars, the discovery, the adventure--Ha! All of it paled alongside this, the only prize worth attaining, the only conceivable reason for young men and women to hurl their fragile lives into the fury of a vast and unforgiving universe.

To be spanked by the captain of a starship, a man of strength and authority, a man who understood discipline, a man who *knew* how to give a good spanking...

And Captain Garrovick was obviously such a man. Could the call to duty be any sweeter?

"Kirk, I can't do this if you stay on the other side of the room."

"Sorry, sir, I..."

He took another step.

"A little nervous, son?" the captain asked kindly.

*Son. Oh my god. Son.*

"No, sir, just--" A hint of a smile from the captain. Kirk felt the color rise in his face and corrected himself. "Yes, sir. A little."

"Well, don't be. I haven't lost one yet."

Kirk's stomach lurched as he suddenly thought of all the other officers Garrovick had welcomed during his tenure as captain of the Farragut. His skills as a commander and a leader had been honed until there was none finer in the fleet. Kirk knew he couldn't be in better hands.

He took another step, and then he was in front of his commanding officer. Who reached forward and began unfastening the young lieutenant's trousers.

*Oh god.* Kirk closed his eyes and trembled as he felt the waistband loosen. *Oh GOD.*

Any second now, the captain would unzip his fly. And, any second now, Kirk would die of humiliation. Because, any second now, his stiff cock would jump out and probably smack the captain right in his captainly nose.

*OH GOD.*

"Turn around, Lieutenant."

Sensitive as well as strong. Was there ever a better commander?

Exhaling a ragged breath of relief, Kirk obeyed. As he felt the captain's hands reach around him and tug on his zipper, he bit his lip and tried to think of something else. Anything except what was happening. Because if he thought about what was happening, he would come right in his pants.

As the zipper came down and his cock thrust forward and tented the front of his underwear, his eyes moved frantically around the room.

*Focus, Kirk. On ANYTHING.*

And then he noticed something that knocked every other thought right out of his mind.

There wasn't a paddle or a switch in sight.

Kirk knew that some commanders mocked this tradition, insulted its history by not even granting a bare-assed welcome. Some casually gave each new officer a salutary swat on the butt and a gruff "Welcome aboard." And a few--a very few--tried to dispense with it altogether.

Couldn't they see how important this was? To be personally and privately welcomed by the CO? To be made to understand your place in the scheme of things? To have your ass warmed and reddened by the man whose every order you were sworn to obey?

Thank god Starfleet Command knew a good tradition when it saw one. Thank god Captain Garrovick respected tradition. Thank god for granting Kirk this posting.

Because Kirk knew--everyone knew that Captain Garrovick wasn't slovenly or reluctant about his duties. And Kirk had come here, quaking, rejoicing, knowing that his ass was about to receive a maximum of three blows from the instrument of his captain's choice.

And there wasn't a paddle or a switch in sight.

*He must intend to get it out of a drawer or somewhere. He can't mean to--I couldn't be that lucky--*

"Over my knee, Lieutenant."

Kirk's heart did not stop. It did a fucking back-flip.

"Yes, sir."

He turned and dropped to his knees, grateful for the command. His shaking legs could not have supported him much longer. As he lowered himself onto the captain's lap, his cock sought and found the pressure of Garrovick's leg and sent his mind swirling in a dizzying frenzy.

He felt the captain's thumbs hook under the waistbands of his trousers and underwear. He felt the fabric being dragged over his flesh. He felt--he felt a tug and realized--he realized--even the inner demon that was transcribing the entire experience held its breath as he realized--that his briefs were caught on the head of his cock.

And Garrovick knew exactly how to handle it.

"Lift up, please, Lieutenant."

The captain reached underneath Kirk and slipped the soft fabric over the impediment, which bobbed happily in response. And all of it was done without skin ever brushing skin.

The man was the epitome of grace and certainty. The man was a master of every military art. The man was everything Kirk admired and wanted to be.

And then the captain's hands were moving again. Kirk felt them gently slip under his briefs and trousers, and slowly--oh, slowly--deliciously slowly--slide them down, down over the curve of his ass, down below his cheeks, down to his thighs.

Kirk knew full well that it was highly unlikely that this experience would ever be repeated. Among a crew of over four hundred, the chances of any individual somehow getting to the top of the spanking list--

*Please go slow, sir. Please make it last, sir. Please, please, please, sir.*

He felt one arm rest lightly across his back. He heard a deep intake of air.

And there wasn't a paddle or a switch in sight.

Kirk made a choked sound as he finally allowed himself to believe that he was about to receive the greatest honor that could be given to a newly berthed officer.

Unlooked for and unearned, he was about to be spanked by Captain Richard Garrovick of the USS Farragut with his very own, bare, commanding hand.

Kirk squeezed his already taut muscles and tipped his naked ass upward, seeking completion in his captain's chosen instrument of discipline.

"Welcome aboard, Lieutenant Kirk," Garrovick said.

He didn't whisper, he didn't growl, and god knows he didn't sound bored. He used the same tone--the exact same tone--that he used on the bridge, the calm, matter-of-fact tone in which he'd ordered Lieutenant Kirk to set a new course only hours earlier.

Kirk almost sobbed with joy.

He felt a rush of air against his ass, propelled by the captain's hand, and in that split second before contact, he thought, *Oh my god. It's going to happen. It's actually happening.*

And it did.

Garrovick's hand met Kirk's tightly clenched ass with a resounding smack. The breath Kirk hadn't realized he'd been holding exploded from his lungs. His legs shot out from under him, and he collapsed against the steel of his commanding officer's thigh. But he didn't cry out. He didn't struggle. Why should he? He'd waited so long for this.

And then Captain Garrovick--may god curse him and bless him--waited. Waited until Kirk recovered himself, until he pushed up and supported his own weight in that fantastically vulnerable position. Waited until Kirk once again presented his tingling ass in eloquent supplication. And then Garrovick waited a few moments longer.

Captain Garrovick knew what he was doing, and tears of pleasure sprang to Kirk's eyes because it was being done to him.

Finally, the broad hand, cupped to precisely match the curve of its target, was lowered again. The sharp crack of flesh meeting flesh was deafening.

Kirk bit his lip and hoped that there would be more. Listening to his own raw breathing, reveling in the throbbing of nerves that were alive with electricity, he *prayed* that there would be more. Greedily hoarding each sensation, savoring the subtle differences between the first blow and the second, he brazenly *demanded* the singular desire of his soul.

"More, sir, please!"

And then the heart- and butt-warming sound of sweet discipline filled the room.

Again. And again. And again!

The mounds of Kirk's ass were licked by flames and then scorched by them and then--

*Jesus!*

Captain Garrovick wasn't stopping.

*Jesus Christ!*

How many was that? Six? Seven?

*JESUS H. CHRIST!*

And then it stopped.

Eight. The maximum for a hand-delivered, bare-assed welcome. Was ever a junior officer so blessed?

"You can get up now, Mr. Kirk."

Gulping down hard swallows of air, Kirk pushed up to his feet and felt the head of his cock brush against the captain's trousers. He barely managed enough self-control to restrain from spurting all over his CO's lap. He turned away quickly, knowing that it was a lapse in military courtesy and more than half hoping that the captain would consider such rudeness worthy of further discipline. But Captain Garrovick had risen and was putting the chair back in its original position.

Kirk watched the captain resume his position at his desk. Garrovick was completely calm, relaxed, unperturbed. And Kirk was a sweating, disheveled, moonstruck mass of gratification.

"Lieutenant?" Garrovick said, jolting Kirk out of his splendiferous reverie.

"Sir?"

"You can pull up your pants now."

"Oh! Yes, of course, sir. Thank you, sir."

The captain turned his attention to his computer screen as Kirk pulled up his trousers, covering the fireworks display that had been his bottom.

"Captain?"

"Yes?"

Garrovick looked up, and Kirk burst into a wide grin, exploding with boyish delight. But as the captain's eyes met his, his lips straightened into a solemn line. Then the captain stood and studied Kirk. After a moment, Garrovick's eyes warmed with--Amusement? Reassurance? No. Something new.

Something similar had existed before, between two uniforms, but this was more. This was between two men. Two sentient beings. This was the reason for the discipline of the service.

Respect.

"Thank you, Captain," Kirk said steadily.

"You're welcome, Mr. Kirk. Return to your station."

"Yes, sir!" Kirk replied smartly.

Lieutenant Kirk left the captain's quarters--not quite as young as he had been when he entered them--and started toward the turbolift. The fire that had been kindled in his ass spread throughout his body until he was consumed by one thought and one thought only.

Come hell or high water, he was going to get to the top of the spanking list.

[The End]