Happy Birthday, JT

(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.

This story is one in a series about the relationship between James Kirk and Suzanne Brandt. The Kirk-Brandt Chronology lists all the stories, both in order of occurrence and order of creation.

Note

This story contains FS [freaky shit] as well as B [which could stand for bondage, or bummer, or Brandt, but in this case it stands for Birthday].

You'll probably get more out of this story if you've also read Visions of Sugarplums.



Happy Birthday, JT
By (c) 1999 Jungle Kitty

Kirk realized that the tingle he felt was from the transporter, but the warm glow...that was definitely a result of giving in to McCoy's encouragement.

"Oh, come on, Jim! It's your birthday! Live a little!"

So he had. Just a little. After all, it was his birthday. And a small celebration in a civilian bar near Starbase 11 couldn't do any harm. But when he'd been about to duck out of the party with a very friendly lady with whom he'd been flirting aggressively, McCoy shooed her off and murmured, "Don't do it, Jim. You'll thank me later."

*Sure, Bones,* he thought grumpily as he stepped off the transporter platform. *If there's one thing I've always wanted to do on my birthday, it's sleep alone.*

He walked steadily and carefully through the Enterprise's corridors, which were almost deserted at the late hour. Upon reaching his quarters, he allowed himself to slump and strolled loosely toward the sleeping alcove.

"Happy birthday, JT."

Brandt stepped out of the shadows, put her arms around his neck, and pressed her lips to his.

As he returned the fervent kiss, he made a mental note to thank Bones in the morning.

***

"What are you doing here?" he asked as she nibbled on his ear.

"Later."

"But--"

"*Later.* This way."

She took his hand and led him toward the sleeping alcove. Upon reaching the mesh divider, he stopped and stared. His simple Fleet-issue bunk was nowhere in sight. In its place was a very large, very inviting, non-regulation bed. So large that it filled every inch of the small space.

"What's that?"

Brandt looked at him wide-eyed and said patiently, "It's. A. Bed."

"You know what I mean."

"It's your birthday gift."

"I can't accept it."

"I can afford it."

"It's not about expense, and you know it. We've had this discussion before."

"So let's not have it again. Just say 'thank you,' and show me how much you appreciate my thoughtfulness."

"Suzanne, I don't want to cause the kind of talk that--"

"Jim, why don't you just bend over and let me remove the stick you have up your ass about this?"

"I'm not being unreasonable--" he responded snappishly.

"Yes, you are. You're probably the only officer on this ship--perhaps in the entire Fleet--who hasn't modified his quarters for personal comfort. And if you're concerned about causing *talk* that would damage your career..." She walked away from him with a carefully measured gait. "Let me point out that it's generally considered a bad idea to refuse a gift from a superior officer." She looked at him pointedly and dropped her voice to a more amenable tone. "Now let's try this again, shall we?" She moved in very close, put her hands on his shoulders, and kissed him softly. "Happy birthday, JT."

He glared at her. "One of these days, Brat, I'm not going to let you get away with that rank business."

"I *said,* 'Happy birthday.'" She stepped back and folded her arms across her chest.

After a moment's consideration, he replied, "Thank you, sir."

"Now that wasn't too painful, was it?" Her hands were once again clasped behind his neck.

"The bed goes back tomorrow," he warned.

"Let's see how you feel after the shakedown cruise."

She backed him up against the bed, and just before he fell onto it, she undid his trousers and pulled them down to his knees. Lying back on the pleasingly firm mattress, he closed his eyes and smiled as he felt his boots being tugged off.

***

Her hands were under his tunic, rubbing against his chest and stomach. Then the shirt was pushed up, exposing his chest to the air and her mouth. She worked rapidly and with determination, moving from nipple to navel to nipple to ribcage, over and over, all the while sucking and nibbling and making happy sounds of appreciation. He raised his hands over his head, and she pushed the tunic up, planting kisses of welcome on the newly revealed neck and shoulders. When his shirt was around his elbows, she twisted it quickly, pinning his arms in place, and kissed him hard. He moaned as she pressed into him and bit his lower lip. After thoroughly tantalizing his mouth with her tongue, she pulled back and said, "Open your eyes."

He did so and saw that her eyes were bright with a promising fire.

"Give me your word you won't move," she whispered.

"What do you have in mind?"

"I'll tie you up if I have to, but I think it will be more fun if you cooperate voluntarily."

"All right," he chuckled, suddenly feeling very...cooperative. "After all, you're the senior officer."

She whipped his shirt off and threw it behind her.

***

He watched as she moved in and out of the dim light, removing her boots and socks. She slowly wriggled out of her pants, revealing the smooth flesh of her taut thighs, but little else. Smiling coyly, she lifted her tunic with a calculated slowness that set his cock throbbing in response. His eyes were drawn to the golden brown patch of pubic hair, and then they followed the motion of the shirt as it was pulled upwards. Higher...higher...until he saw...

*Lace? On the Brat?*

She tossed her tunic aside and pinched her nipples through the flimsy black lace of her brassiere. Remembering his promise not to move, he stopped himself from reaching for her.

She knelt beside him on the bed and held him in her gaze for a very long time. Then she took his hand and drew it to her mouth. She moved it slowly over her lips, kissing and nibbling gently. As her teeth began pulling at the skin on his knuckles, he sighed, "Suzanne..."

"Have you been good this year?" she murmured as she licked the crooks of his fingers.

After a judicious pause, he said, "Define good."

She chuckled softly. "That bad, eh?"

"Well..."

She dropped his hand and rolled him over. "I guess it will have to be the full measure. How many is it?"

For a moment, he thought she was asking how many *women.* "I...uh..."

"What birthday is this, Jim? How old are you?"

"Oh. Thirty-five."

"Thirty-five," she repeated thoughtfully. "I'll have to pace myself." She slapped her hands together and said, "On your knees."

"Suzanne--"

"You're always telling me how important tradition is. I'd hate to disappoint you by skipping a crucial birthday tradition. And I don't mean cake and ice cream." She patted his ass affectionately. "On your knees."

He obediently pushed into position, thinking, *Thirty-five. You better pace yourself, Brat. I have to be able to sit in the command chair tomorrow.*

"Now will you count, or shall I?"

"I will."

"Good. Happy birthday, JT."

He felt a sharp slap against his ass. Not too hard. In fact, the sensation was quite pleasant.

"One! Two! Three!"

"You know, JT--"

"Four!"

"I'm really glad we're doing this."

She was working a little harder now and he was beginning to squirm. "Five!"

"It doesn't seem fair that I always get the pleasure--"

"Six!"

"Of being spanked--"

"Seven!"

Now she was getting serious about it, cupping her hand and applying it forcefully to the fleshiest part of his ass.

"While you have to do--"

"Eight!"

"All the work."

"Nine! Brat--Ten!--Please shut up--Ow! Eleven!--and just--Twelve!--get on with it! Thirteen!"

"Get on with it? Very well."

Her hand landed resoundingly on his ass and stopped.

"FOURTEEN!"

"After all, you *are* the birthday boy," she whispered as she gently caressed his burning cheeks. "What was the count?"

"Fourteen," he gasped.

"Hmmm. Twenty-one to go. And you want me to 'get on with it.' Greedy, aren't you?"

She scrambled off the bed, leaving him waiting in suspense and very much aware of his throbbing buttocks.

***

"Do you remember this, Jim?"

She dangled a tiny, multi-stringed whip in front of his face.

"Yes." He'd laughed at her for buying it, saying that its soft strands couldn't possibly do anything, pleasurable or painful.

"You were wrong. It has its uses. Spread your legs."

When he obeyed, she knelt between his knees and gently swung the whiplet upwards, letting the strings lap softly at his balls before dropping back down.

"You see? Isn't that nice?"

"Yes." She did it again. "Ahhhhh. Does this--count?"

"As part of your birthday spanking? No. Think of it as...intermission."

She closed her hand around the strings and brushed the ends along the length of his cock. Such a light touch should have tickled, but it didn't. It felt...good. It was...inviting. It was...

She dusted the head of his cock with the soft tips, and he felt a surging rush and leaned into the sensation.

"You said you wouldn't move," she reminded him and snapped the whip down hard against his ass, quickly rekindling the fire he'd almost forgotten.

"AH!"

"What was that?"

"Fifteen!"

"You were wrong about this, weren't you?"

"Sixteen!"

"Weren't you?"

"AH! Yes--seventeen!"

"Applied properly--"

"Eighteen!"

"It can deliver both pleasure--"

"Nineteen!"

"And a very little bit--"

"Twenty!"

"Of a sting."

"Twenty-one!"

"Almost painful, wouldn't you say?"

"Twenty-two!"

"Happy birthday, JT."

"TWENTY-THREE!"

***

Kirk lay on the bed, panting, as he listened to Brandt moving around in the outer room, muttering, "What the hell did I *do* with it?"

*Twelve more to go. And she's looking for another...utensil...*

"Ah!" She returned to the sleeping alcove, swinging her duffle happily. "On your knees again. Thank you. Sorry about the delay." He felt the mattress shift as she knelt behind him. "Organizing a birthday surprise is a lot of work, and I had limited time." He heard a splat and felt a well-greased finger slide into his asshole. "I didn't know the Enterprise was going to be here until yesterday and trying to sneak that bed aboard without you knowing--" The finger was removed and quickly reinserted, gooier than ever. "Your chief engineer drives a hard bargain, did you know that?"

Kirk moaned in response as the busy finger slid out and spread the excess lubricant across his burning cheeks. And then...something other than a finger was pushed into him. Something hard...and round...and...

"Jesus, Brandt, what the hell is that?"

"What do you think it is?"

"Feels like a billiard ball!"

"Not quite. Anal beads." The first was joined by a second. "And nowhere near as big as billiard balls. I guess it's true that men have an exaggerated sense of proportion." And a third. "It's lucky for you I'm such a dedicated researcher." A fourth. "I never would have come up with this on my own." A fifth. "Rather unusual way of celebrating a birthday, I thought." A sixth. "But who am I to question tradition?"

He felt a sudden movement and realized she was gently tugging on the string that held the beads together.

"How's that?"

"Just--dandy," he grunted.

And it was. Every one of those beads seemed to be pressing against something that really needed pressing against. And they were stuffed up so far that he thought he would choke. And now if she would just--

"Uhf!"

--put her hands on his ass and massage it--

"Aaaaaahhh..."

--forcing his cheeks open and closed--

"Oh, gah--gah--*god*!"

"Happy birthday, JT."

He moaned very loudly and consequently didn't hear the gentle swoosh of air. So he was quite surprised when a smooth, flat surface smacked his tingling bottom.

"TWENTY-FOUR!"

Tears sprang to his eyes even though the blow hadn't been that hard. But the way he clenched under the impact and the resulting pressure from the beads were enough to bring any man to tears. Tears of ecstasy, of course. The desperate hard-on rubbing against his stomach was testimony to that.

Twenty-five through thirty went by very quickly, and he leaned into them in a hard pumping motion. And when thirty-one failed to fall at the anticipated moment, he collapsed to the bed, moaning, "Thirty-one...thirty-one...thirty-one..."

"Jim. Jim."

He gulped on hard-swallowed air and gasped, "What?"

"Are you all right?"

"Yes--god--yes--*finish it!*"

"I will, don't worry." She leaned over and placed a tender kiss on each stinging cheek. "Four more, right?"

"Five."

"Why don't you just relax for this last part? Stay down. You can rub against the sheets if you want. They're 100% cotton--"

"Brandt, *please*!"

"But don't come. Agreed? This isn't the end. Jim? Don't come, all right?"

"Yes--yes--anything--"

The paddle swatted him sharply, and he released a long, drawn-out moan.

"Thirty-onnnnnnnnnnne..."

As the pulsing heat spread, he writhed against the sheets--

"Thirty-TWO!"

--a part of his mind appreciating her thoughtfulness at purchasing soft, lightly textured cotton--

"Thirty-three!"

--as his cock throbbed joyfully--

"Thirty-fuh-fuh-four!"

--and his balls tightened--

"Thirty-faaaaiiiiieeeve!"

--and he was *this* *close* to exploding when...

"And a pinch to grow an inch!"

He howled as each fiery cheek was squeezed between thumb and forefinger. She correctly interpreted his response as "god, this is the best thing that's ever happened to me!"

So she did it again.

"Happy birthday, JT."

***

"Roll over."

"Ohhhhhh..." he moaned as his enflamed ass met the lightly textured 100% cotton sheets.

"Oh my. I must say, Jim, that is...impressive."

Her hand curled around his erection, sending a bolt of lightning through his system. Then her fingers began slowly tracing the engorged veins, and he arched from stem to stern, completely strung out on bliss.

"I think it's time to light the candle," she purred.

At the tip of his cock, one finger began a game of tag with a drop of pre-cum, while her other hand lovingly cupped and caressed his aching balls.

"Do you have a birthday wish?"

"Yes--ah!--just--"

She straddled him, and his words died in a sharply drawn breath as she positioned his cock at the opening to her body. He pulled his hips off the bed, searching for the enclosure that was just out of his reach, but she refused to admit him.

"Yes? Is there something you wanted to say? Just what?"

"For god's sake, Brat!" he roared. "Shut up and fuck me!"

She impaled herself on his erection, and her voice quivered as she sighed, "Happy birthday, JT."

***

Pleasure. Pure, undiluted, all-encompassing pleasure. With each stroke, she rode him up a steep hill of desire, until he was blind to all but the shattering release that would be his at the top.

A juicy heat enveloped his cock, the insistent beads stretched his asshole, her hard pumping hips crushed his flaming cheeks to the bed, and he felt it all in every limb. His fingers, his face, his shoulders, his knees--every part of his body knew what it was to be fucked. Or at least the urgent messages of "yes yes yes" that swept through his nervous system convinced them that they did.

And then a new sensation was introduced, and he almost came as she leaned into him and he felt rough lace rasping against his nipples.

The lace--the enticing, scratchy lace--the antithesis of her personal brand of femininity--somehow it fit. It more than fit. It intensified the moment, drove and deepened the encounter until lace against skin became a sexual milestone in itself. This occasion, this instant, all that she'd done to make his birthday unforgettable--Hell, anyone can put on lace, but the knowledge that she'd done it for *him*--so that he would have the pleasure of--

He reached behind her and unclasped the hooks of the brassiere, relishing her cry of joy as her breasts were exposed to the air and quickly covered by his hands. She arched away from him, pressing her nipples, hard as hailstones, into the gentle hills of his palms. And that, too, was felt in the blood that pounded jubilantly through his veins.

She grasped his shoulders and insistently ground her hips into his, and now her mouth was near his ear, and he didn't know which he found more provocative--the sound of her desperate panting or the rush of hot breath against his fevered skin.

And then he felt it. The relentless squeeze that threatened to force his cock from her as she approached her climax. He grasped her hips and thrust up into her, hard, and suddenly everything turned inside out, and the grip of her body on his cock was inescapable.

He felt the hot rush of liquid sliding down his balls as she collapsed against his chest. As she writhed and moaned against him, he urged his passion into her, building toward his own climax, almost there, yes, soon, yes, now--

"Jim--no--" she gasped as she struggled out of his embrace.

He grabbed at her desperately, but she eluded his grasp, flailing at his hands as she tumbled off the edge of the bed. Then she staggered quickly to her feet and stood beside the bed, swaying unsteadily.

"I--have to--blow out--the candle," she panted. "Happy--birthday--JT."

***

Oh. *Oh*. Damn, she was good at this. Damn, damn, damn... *Damn*! So...*good*.

Her tongue seemed to be everywhere at once, her lips teased and pleased, and the wet suction pulled all the way down to his toes. His cock lunged into her mouth, bruising her lips, raking her tongue, seeking completion in her eager welcome.

Her tongue swirled around his shaft again and again, inciting a riot of conflicting desires. Yes. No. More. Not so much. There. Here. Soon. Wait. Now.

Then the turbulent sensations moved slowly upward until, finally, after an endless journey to the head of his cock, he disappeared into wanting, lost in the soft slurping of her tongue against his slit.

It went on...and on...and on...and...

He was seized by a sudden, almost hysterical urge to laugh. She'd said no ice cream, but he felt like the flavor of the week at the Deltan Creamery.

That thought was shattered as he felt his cock being taken all the way in, the sensitive head going down her throat. His balls were dancing wildly in their sac and--

A sharp tug pulled one of the beads through his tightly clenched and totally unsuspecting anus.

"AAAH!"

Her head bobbed insistently as another bead was dragged out of his body with unhurried perverseness.

"Su-ZAAAAAH..."

"Uuhghn?"

She tugged teasingly on the end of the string, setting the two newly freed balls dancing against his own.

"UH! UH! You--aaa--"

"Eheeurrayehee," she gargled as she swallowed his cock and liberated another bead.

"GOD!"

"Eheeurrayehee."

Her garbled sounds were drowned out by the deafening rejoicing of his cock as it was spit-shined into a high gloss.

"Wh-wh-whaaaat?"

The last three beads burst out of captivity, and so did his semen. The fireworks that danced before his eyes were perhaps more fitting to the birthday of a nation than that of a man, but no matter. Their glorious spurting was stunningly spectacular, and they were gratifyingly slow to fade as they drifted to the ground.

When the room stopped spinning, he became aware of his sticky cock resting languidly against his thigh, his toes protesting against pins and needles as they slowly uncurled, his skin tightening from sweat that was functioning as a facial mask, his ass pulsing with the ache of remembered fire--in short, the full inventory of gritty, nasty, and oh-so-wonderful sensations that constitute the afterglow of the well-fucked.

With a supreme effort, he opened one eye and saw Brandt kneeling beside him. She was resting on her haunches, wiping her mouth with cat-like delicacy.

"I *said*--" Her face glowed with a triumphant pride that he could not begrudge her. "Happy birthday, JT."

With a groan of pleasure, gratitude, and several other feelings too complicated to express in any other way, he pulled her down into his arms, kissed her salty mouth, and fell asleep to the beating of her heart.

***

The next morning, Kirk groaned happily as he stretched and pulled the blanket up under his chin. Hanging one hand off the edge of his narrow bunk, he plunged his face deep into his pillow, as his internal timepiece told him that he had only minutes to enjoy the warm laziness of not-quite-awake-yet.

*I must remember to thank Bones,* he thought dreamily. *No sniffling, no sneezing, no coughing, no aching, no stuffy head, no fever. That Tri-Nyquil 2200 really did the trick.*

And in time for his birthday, too.



[The End]