Title: The 1000th Woman

Author: Jungle Kitty

Fandom: Star Trek, The Original Series

Pairing: Kirk/f (Brandt)

Rating: NC-17

Status: New to this group

Archive: OK.

Series/Sequel: This story is part of a series about the relationship between James Kirk and Suzanne Brandt.

Disclaimers: (c) 1997 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.

Summary: While attending the Academy homecoming dance, Kirk and Brandt live out "every commander's fantasy."

Warnings: Some Dom/sub content.

THE 1000TH WOMAN
(c) 1997 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.

Comments, praise, questions, and criticism are more than welcome.

[Back to Jungle Kitty's Lair]

This story is part of 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.

***

"Stop fidgeting with your collar," Captain Brandt pulled on Kirk's hand as they moved around the dance floor.

"This dress uniform is so damned uncomfortable."

"Uncomfortable? Mine is downright embarrassing."

"What's wrong with it?"

"It fits like it was designed in the twentieth century."

He chuckled. "That's what I like about it." He pulled her closer and brushed her cheek with his lips. "You know, we could leave right now and lose these get-ups."

"We just got here."

"Best time to duck out. Before anyone knows we're here."

"Let's stay for a while." She stood on tiptoe and put her mouth near his ear. "And I promise you something special later."

He pulled back and eyed her carefully, noting the mischievous glint in her eyes.

"It better be *very* special. I can't believe I let you talk me into going to the homecoming dance the first night of my leave."

"Excuse me, it's *my* leave, too, and I agreed to a camping trip, so let me have this."

***

Kirk was ordering at the bar when Suzanne saw a familiar figure crossing toward them. "Uh-oh. Finnegan at three o'clock," she warned.

"What!" Kirk almost spilled Suzanne's drink as he handed it to her. "Oh, shit," Kirk muttered in disgust. /After waiting all these years for the opportunity to kick the stuffing out of that bastard--Finally! At a formal dance with half the admiralty in attendance./

She looked at Kirk, pleadingly. "Jim, I know the two of you don't get along but he and I were friends and I would like to say hello. So promise me you won't let him get to you."

"Suzanne, that was years ago," he equivocated as he retrieved his drink from the bar. "I'm surprised you--"

She wasn't buying it. "Hold this," she said firmly, pressing her drink into his free hand. "It'll give you something to do with your hands--besides make a fist."

"Suzanne, me darlin'! How's the sweetheart of Special Ops?" Finnegan swept her into his arms.

Kirk remembered with dismay that Suzanne had dated Finnegan when they were cadets. He'd never asked her about it but--did she have to look so damn glad to see him? Kirk turned to the bar and set down the drinks, fighting the urge to drag her out of the man's arms.

"I thought you were stationed in the Antares sector." Her voice sparkled. "What are you doing here?"

Kirk turned back just in time to see Finnegan spin Suzanne and catch her in his arms. "I'm on leave--" He bent her into a low dip directly in front of Kirk. "--and I'm looking for the love of my life."

"She left an hour ago," Kirk interjected dryly.

Finnegan looked up and gasped in mock surprise. "Well, look who's here! Little Jimmy Kirk!" He straightened and released Suzanne. "And to think I was afraid the evening would be lacking in
entertainment." He put his hands on his hips and grinned malevolently. "How are you, boyo?"

"Finnegan," Kirk said evenly. "I see you made captain--again." He pretended not to see Suzanne glaring at him.

Finnegan chuckled and wagged his finger at Kirk. "If you're referring to my brief reduction in rank, laddie--"

"Well!" Suzanne said brightly, as she forced her way between them. "Good to see you again, Finnegan." She turned to Kirk. "Dance, Jim?" she said pointedly, as she took his arm.

"Not right now, thanks." He gently but firmly removed her hand from his arm, never taking his eyes off Finnegan.

"No, you mustn't run off," Finnegan chided. "Jimmy and I have a lot of catching up to do. That's what homecoming is for, isn't it, Jimmy-boy?"

Kirk's eyes narrowed as he said quietly, "Don't call me that." The air between the two men sizzled with tension.

"Look, guys," Suzanne pleaded. "Let's not--"

"Captain Brandt!" Commodore Kyoko's voice boomed out as he approached. "You still owe me a dance. Will you gentlemen excuse us?" He held his hand out to Suzanne.

"Of course, sir."

"Certainly, Commodore."

As Suzanne took the commodore's hand, she glared at the two captains. "Behave yourselves," she whispered fiercely.

Kirk and Finnegan stood side by side, intensely aware of each other's presence as they watched Suzanne and the commodore disappear into the crowd of dancers.

"So, Jimmy. I hear you're courting the fair Suzanne these days."

"I don't think that's any of your business."

"The poor woman." He clicked his tongue sympathetically. "Things must be worse at HQ than I thought. To think she's been reduced to scraping the bottom of the barrel."

"Actually, I believe her taste in men has improved since our Academy days."

Finnegan chuckled. "You'd like to think that, wouldn't you, boyo? Just remember--she was mine before she was yours." He tapped Kirk's chest lightly, just once, with his index finger.

Kirk stood a little straighter as he felt the hackles rise on the back of his neck. "I don't think Captain Brandt would appreciate being referred to as property."

"Oh, ho, aren't you the civilized one?" Finnegan said with mock admiration. "Or perhaps a better word would be--pussy-whipped."

"What the hell did she ever see in you?" Kirk growled as he felt something go click inside.

Finnegan rocked back on his heels, smiling knowingly as he taunted, "More man than you'll ever be, Jimmy-boy."

***

"Captain Brandt, I don't mean to pry but did I interrupt something back there?" the commodore asked.

"Oh, no, sir," Suzanne wanted desperately to turn her head back to where she'd left her two uneasy companions. "Captains Kirk and Finnegan just have--a lot of history."

"Well, I think they may be about to make some more."

"Sir?"

"Up until now, a lieutenant j-g was the highest-ranking officer to get into a fist-fight at one of these dances."

She stopped dead and turned. "They're fighting?"

"Not yet, but, from their body language, it appears imminent." At six-foot-two, the commodore could easily see over the crowd that blocked Suzanne's view.

"Will you excuse me, sir?" Without waiting for an answer, she began pushing her way through the couples, finally making her way to the spot where she'd left Kirk and Finnegan. They were nowhere in sight.

***

Kirk landed a very satisfying punch to Finnegan's jaw, sending the other man stumbling across the gymnasium floor. This was even better than he'd hoped it would be. He was closing in, smiling in
anticipation, when a sharp voice stopped him in mid-step.

"Atten-SHUN!"

He turned quickly and saw Captain Brandt in the doorway, blazing with anger.

"Oh, thank god," Kirk staggered with relief. "It's only you." He tasted blood in his mouth and felt his hand throbbing in pain. He savored both sensations.

"I thought--it was--Ciani." Finnegan scrambled to his feet, gasping.

She strode purposefully toward them. "Excuse me, gentlemen, is there something wrong with your hearing?"

"Ahh, Suzanne, sweetheart--" Finnegan began in a cajoling tone.

"Is that how you address a superior officer, Captain? I said attention. Now *snap to it!*"

Both men were surprised at how quickly the old reflexes kicked in. They were standing at attention before they knew what hit them.

/All right/ Kirk thought, smiling inwardly. /Suzanne wants to play drill instructor. Well, let her have her fun./

"What the *hell* is going on here?" She stood in front of them, the charged apex of the triangle. "I don't believe it. Two grown men--brawling like--like schoolboys. You're a disgrace."

She slowly paced the four meters that separated the two men.

"So--" she said finally, "which of you is going to tell me what this is all about? Kirk?"

She waited.

"No answer? Well, take your time. I'll get back to you." She crossed to the other man. "Finnegan, you're never at a loss for words. What was the purpose of this display?"

"Just a--friendly competition, sir."

"Don't bullshit me, mister," she said in a withering tone as she turned away from him. "Captain Kirk. Anything yet?"

"No, sir."

Kirk bit the inside of his lip uncomfortably. He wasn't sure anymore if he was playing along or actually feeling nervous.

Suzanne spoke calmly as she traced a slow arc back to her original position. "Gentlemen, let me clarify the situation for you. You can either explain this to me now, or you can spend the night in the brig and explain it to the base commander in the morning."

His heart sinking, Kirk recognized that tone. He'd used it often enough himself. A discomforting thought crossed his mind. Suzanne did outrank them and she was starting to sound like she meant it. The brig would be bad enough, but with Finnegan? Unthinkable. This had to be a joke. It just had to.

"Now this is the last time I'm going to ask before I turn your asses over to the MPs. What were you fighting about?"

Kirk swallowed hard and cleared his throat. "You."

"I beg your pardon?"

"We were fighting about you. Sir." He couldn't believe how much he sounded like a first-year cadet. /Damn you, Brandt./

"Me. What about me?"

"Permission to speak, sir?" Finnegan piped up.

She crossed to him, her voice brimming with sarcasm. "Oh, by all means, Captain."

Finnegan smiled engagingly. "Well, sir, you could look at it as a--compliment--to you."

Kirk closed his eyes and stifled a groan. /Oh, shit./

Suzanne considered Finnegan's statement. Then she smiled sweetly. "A compliment. Oh, a compliment." She laughed lightly and continued in a soft, overly feminine voice. "Of course. Silly me. I must say you boys sure know how to make a girl's heart go pit-a-pat. I may just faint. In fact, I'm tempted to let you continue this battle, so the winner--" her voice dropped to a growl "--can drag me off to his *cave.*" She was right in Finnegan's face, her words clipped and intense. "Are you out of your fucking mind?"

A small snort of nervous laughter escaped Kirk. Suzanne turned sharply and snapped, "Did you want to say something, Kirk?"

"No, sir."

"I didn't think so." She turned back to Finnegan. "Captain Finnegan. When does your leave end?"

"At 1800 hours tomorrow, sir."

"Very well. At 0800 tomorrow, you will deliver to my office a formal, handwritten letter, apologizing for this *compliment.* And then you will report to Solar Chemistry and volunteer to
spend the rest of your leave cataloging the latest data on Aldebaran gaseous phenomena. Now clean yourself up and get the hell out of here. Dismissed."

Finnegan turned and headed for the men's locker room. Suzanne walked slowly toward Kirk.

"Well, Captain? Was it also your intention to flatter me?"

"No, I--"

"I don't want to hear it," she cut him off, eyes flashing. "I know exactly what happened here. I simply find it astounding that, after all these years, you would still allow yourself to be baited by him. What did you hope to prove?"

Silence.

"Not very quick with the answers, are you, Captain? Well, you think about it while you're cleaning the blood off your face. Meet me back here in five minutes. Dismissed."

She waited until Kirk was out of the room and then she inhaled deeply as she hugged herself.

"That felt *good.*"

She headed for the women's locker room.

***

Finnegan was standing by the replicator pulling on a clean shirt as Kirk entered the locker room. Ignoring him, Kirk went to the sink and examined himself in the mirror. His uniform was torn,
there was blood smeared across his mouth, and the beginning of a bruise on his left cheekbone.

As he turned on the cold water, he stole a look at Finnegan and had the satisfaction of seeing him holding his jaw tenderly. He leaned over and cupped his aching hands under the faucet, then drew them up to his face. When he straightened, he looked in the mirror and saw Finnegan watching him from the doorway that led to the corridor.

"She's beautiful when she's angry, isn't she, Jimmy-boy?" Finnegan laughed as he strolled jauntily out the door.

***

Kirk returned to the gymnasium in a fresh, albeit everyday, uniform. The locker room replicator had refused to provide anything else. He noted with relief that Suzanne had changed into a non-dress uniform as well. She had also taken advantage of his absence to retrieve her briefcase from the check-in. He had meant to ask her earlier why she'd brought it and now it was too late. Her ramrod-straight posture told him the game--if it was a game--wasn't over yet.

"Captain Kirk reporting as ordered, sir."

She waited a long time before she spoke to him.

"Kirk, I am going to give you a choice." She paced slowly around him. "You can either join Captain Finnegan tomorrow in Solar Chemistry or...you can come with me now." There was the faintest hint of a threat in her statement.

Kirk's stomach tightened. With fear or anticipation? He wasn't sure. Maybe both. "May I ask where we would be going, sir?"

"You may not." She stood behind him. "What'll it be, Captain?"

"I will take my punishment tonight, sir."

"Very good." She moved briskly to the door. "You're with me. And, Captain," she added as they entered the corridor, "from this point on, you will not speak unless I give you permission."

***

Kirk matched Suzanne's pace as they made their way across the quadrangle. It was typical San Francisco autumn weather--clear and cool with stars visible overhead.

As they turned a corner, he realized where they were heading. /The dorm. Of course./ He smiled to himself. /Trust Suzanne to find out which rooms were unassigned./ Any trepidation he had felt about his "punishment" was replaced by a warm feeling of anticipation.

As they entered the building, the cadet sitting desk sprang to her feet.

"As you were, cadet," Brandt said they moved past her.

"Excuse me, sir, but I have to sign you in."

"Not tonight, mister," Brandt replied, not unkindly. "This is an unofficial visit."

"Sir?"

"We were never here."

As they strode down the corridor, Kirk tried to remember if he had been that easily intimidated as a cadet. He glanced at the woman next to him. He was beginning to feel that way now.

They entered the turbo lift at the end of the hall. "Basement," Suzanne commanded.

He frowned. /Basement? What the hell is in the basement?/

The lift stopped and they stepped out. As the doors slid shut behind them, Suzanne said, "Halt."

He stopped and she stepped back. He started to turn.

"Eyes front."

He obeyed and heard her open her briefcase. Then a dark cloth was drawn over his eyes and tied tightly behind his head. He heard the briefcase snap shut. His elbow was grasped firmly.

"Move."

***

She took him quickly through the underground passages that connected most of the Academy buildings. He had rarely used the tunnels and soon lost all sense of direction. He was also fairly
sure that Suzanne was taking a deliberately roundabout route. Finally, another turbo lift, moving up. He hadn't been able to hear the destination she whispered. As they stepped out of the lift, he was assaulted by a not-quite-forgotten smell. One of the classroom buildings.

His pulse quickened as she silently led him through a maze of corridors. They stopped and he heard her punch in an access code. Doors whooshed open and she guided him through.

"Stay here."

He stood very still, listening, trying to get a sense of where they were. She was moving, pressing buttons, clicking switches, as she said, "Take your shirt off. And don't remove the blindfold."

He obeyed. She took the shirt from him and he felt fabric being pushed into his hands.

"It's another shirt. Put it on."

He fumbled with it until he found the neck opening and figured out front and back. He pulled it on over his head.

After a long moment, he heard Suzanne's voice about two meters in front of him.

"Take off the blindfold."

He did so and blinked in the bright light. Suddenly the room came alive with beeping and humming. He focused and took in the all-too-familiar sight.

/The bridge? Impossible./

Then suddenly it all became clear. The simulator.

"Welcome aboard, Mr. Kirk." Suzanne swiveled in the command seat to face him.

The blindfold slipped from his fingers as he looked down and noticed the absence of stripes on his sleeves. She'd busted him down to ensign.

***

With a smooth, professional air, Captain Brandt guided the new ensign around the bridge, carefully describing the function of each position. After explaining the various monitors at the science station, she said, "Look into the viewer, Mr. Kirk, and tell me what you see."

He bent down and pressed his forehead against the visor.

"The data from the sensors--" He felt a thrill of anticipation as her hand brushed casually against his buttocks.

"Yes, ensign? The sensors?"

"Uh--the sensors indicate nothing unusual, captain."

She leaned forward, pressing her body against his. Her mouth was very close to his ear as she reached around him and stroked his hardening cock.

"Very good. Then we won't worry about being interrupted."

***

As she explained the helm and navigational functions, Kirk silently congratulated himself on his luck. /This has got to be every commander's fantasy. A close encounter on the bridge. Of course, in *my* scenario, I'm the captain but--this is a start./

Captain Brandt eased into the command seat and crossed her legs. "Ensign."

It took him a moment to realize that she was addressing him. "Uh, yes, sir?"

"Am I keeping you from something?"

"No, sir."

"Good." She smiled. "Get down on your knees."

"Sir?"

The smile faded. "Don't you recognize a direct order when you hear one, mister? On your knees."

"Yes, sir." He obeyed.

"Remove my boots."

"Yes, sir." He tried not sound too enthusiastic.

As he slipped the second boot off, she leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes.

"And socks."

He did so.

"Rub my feet, ensign."

/Well, I knew that was coming./ Having her feet rubbed was one of Suzanne's greatest pleasures and it usually paid off in spades. He worked slowly, cupping her ankle with one hand while the other stroked the bottom of her foot and pinched the toes. As he switched to the other foot, he couldn't help admiring her control. She was usually moaning by this point. He bent down and kissed the top of her foot.

She pulled away from him suddenly and he almost fell over. She stood, picked up her boots, and stepped around him, moving purposefully to the helm. She set the boots down and pulled off her outer shirt, dropping it casually to the floor.

He was sitting on the step now, unable to take his eyes off her as she turned toward him. Clad in black from neck to ankles, she exuded confidence, power, and complete control. Then, as if it
were the most ordinary thing in the world, she calmly removed her pants and draped them over the back of the helmsman's chair. The deliberate lack of seductiveness was having an amazingly arousing effect on Kirk. She sat down at the helm and turned away from him as she pulled her boots on. Then she stood and faced him. He almost gasped at the sight. The line of the shiny black boots led his eyes up to slender, muscular thighs and then a hint of golden brown, partially concealed by the hem of the black shirt. She put one foot up on the helmsman's chair and rested one hand on her knee, the other on her hip.

"You want something to do with your mouth, ensign?" It was both a threat and an invitation.

His breath caught in his throat as he started to his feet.

"No." She pointed to the floor. "Crawl."

He approached her on his hands and knees, his heart pounding, his cock achingly hard.

As he closed in, she leaned back and sat on the edge of the console, one foot still resting casually on the chair. She raised the other and stopped him by pressing it gently against his shoulder.

"I think you need to start a little lower, ensign."

The tip of her boot tapped him ever so gently on the chin, then slowly pointed to the floor in front of him. He looked up at her and she nodded.

"I believe there's a smudge on my boot," she whispered.

***

Kirk slowly worked his way up her leg, licking, kissing, nibbling, sucking. The heat and smell rising from her swirled around him, making his entire body ache with wanting. He longed to release his cock from pants that felt way too tight, but he didn't dare make a move until she ordered it.

/I can at least try to move things along./

As he planted biting kisses on her thighs, he raised his hands and pushed her knees apart.

She grabbed his hair and pulled his head up sharply. Cool, thoughtful eyes stared into his.

"You enjoy your work, don't you, ensign?" Her voice was throaty and amused.

"Yes, sir." It came out a rough whisper.

She held his gaze a beat longer.

"Carry on."

He pressed his hands against her thighs and felt them give, as he revealed the glistening folds surrounding the hard little button of her clitoris. He leaned forward and put his mouth on her. The tiniest sigh escaped her lips. The sound went straight to his groin and he moaned in reply as he kissed the soft, swollen lips of her sex.

He slipped his tongue inside her and tasted the dark, smoky musk. She was very wet and he thrust his tongue forward, lapping hungrily, eagerly. She leaned back and quietly murmured, "Yes."

/I'll make you say yes./ He slowly dragged his tongue upwards, savoring the way she pressed against it. Then he touched the head of her clit, just once. She jerked as though as electric current
had gone through her.

"Again," she said. Her voice was still calm and assured, no pleading in it. He was so surprised that he stopped and looked up at her. "Again," she said, more sternly.

He obeyed. One touch. She pressed her hands against his head, rested her heels on his shoulders, and said harshly, "Don't stop."

He began working his tongue in earnest, licking that tiny, demanding erection. At first she moved with him, but then her entire body tightened, frozen on the verge of climax. He moved in closer and sucked. Suddenly, he was thrown violently to the floor. He looked up in confusion, stunned at this unexpected change. She moved towards him, put one booted foot on his chest and bore down until he was flat on his back. She stood over him, icy and untouchable.

"You are not in charge here."

The blood pounded in his veins. He had never been so aroused in his life. He tried to catch his breath and failed.

Finally, she withdrew her foot, said, "Strip," and turned away.

Kirk was so relieved to get out of his clothing that he didn't hear the briefcase being opened. So it came as a complete surprise when he found himself naked, bent over, and handcuffed to the navigational console.

***

Brandt had passed the security restraints behind one of the front legs of the console. No escape was possible. Suddenly, Kirk was jolted by a hard slap against his buttocks and he shot to his
feet, pulling the restraints tight. Her hand pushed down firmly on the back of his head until his face was pressed against the controls. Then a quick flurry of sharp, stinging slaps to his ass.

Kirk swallowed hard as he felt the leather toes of her boots push his feet apart. A hand reached between his legs and grasped his cock, which throbbed in response to her touch. He heard her
chuckle softly and murmur, "Good."

Her fingers explored his genitals, tickling his balls, tracing the engorged veins of his penis, pinching the head. Then her hand wrapped around his cock and began slowly massaging it with long, confident motions. He was on the verge of completely giving himself over to this pleasure when she began spanking him again. Both hands worked in tandem as she struck his ass with each
downward motion on his cock. He fought the urge to moan, lost the battle, and a short, soft "Oh" escaped him. Then he was building, building, breathing in shallow gasps as his mind chanted, please, let me come, please, let me...

He was teetering on the edge of release when she stepped back from him, leaving him shaking in deprivation. There didn't seem to be enough air in the room and what there was felt chilly against his tingling buttocks. He waited, listening to her moving behind him. Then a hand--still burning hot from spanking him--spread his cheeks and he felt a lubricated finger stroke the tight opening. Involuntarily, he raised his hips and the finger began moving inward.

/Please, please, please.../

She leaned across the console, her body close to his, and kissed him deeply as she pressed a finger into him. A harsh sound came from his throat. She drew back from the kiss and studied his face as her finger moved insistently. He knew she could read the agony of wanting in his eyes and, seeing only cool observation in hers, he turned his head. The finger slowly withdrew and he groaned. Relief? Disappointment? He didn't know.

More indistinct sounds behind him. Then she walked around the console so he could see her. She had removed her shirt, naked now except for the boots. Her nipples were drawn tight and he could smell her arousal, but she still maintained an air of amused detachment. Both hands were behind her back.

She slowly displayed one hand and held it out to him so he could see the small mound of clear lubricant on her fingertips. Then her other hand revealed a large, double-ridged phallus. His heart
leaped into his throat.

***

Suzanne held the phallus up and gave it her full attention as she coated it with lubricant, consciously and obscenely mimicking the actions she'd performed earlier on his penis. Finally, she looked at him and asked, "What do you think, Mr. Kirk?"

He couldn't speak, frozen with fear and desire. She bent down and rested her chin on the console, her face very close to his. She gazed at him for long moments. He prayed she couldn't read what
he knew was in his eyes. Then she sighed, stood, and turned away from him. His prayer had not been answered.

Viewing her from the back, Kirk saw one hand grasping and twisting the sandy curls at the crown of her head. He'd seen the gesture countless times--confusion, frustration, sometimes anger. He could almost hear her thinking, Now what the hell do I do?

He watched her rib cage expand and contract several times /Her heart can't be beating as fast as mine/ then saw her straighten decisively. He heard the click of her heels as she moved behind him once more. Her hand reached between his legs again and he quivered with passion, almost before she touched him.

She began lightly slapping and pinching his cock. He writhed with wanting, each touch a new shock. He was on the verge of begging for--what? What did he want? Then he felt something hard resting against the tight opening between his buttocks and he knew what he wanted.

/No I don't, I don't, not that.../

She began massaging his swollen cock. Over and over, her hand pulled away from the head and began again, each stroke fresh, new, complete.

"Have you ever had a male lover?" she asked softly.

His pride almost drove him to lie. But that gentle, vulnerable voice, the voice he'd heard only rarely, the voice of the tender lover he cherished, said more than words. No matter what game
they were playing, she was still Suzanne. He had never lied to her before and he wasn't about to start now.

"No." He choked out a truth that had not seemed humiliating until this moment.

For a long time, the only sound was her hand moving slickly against his arousal.

"Kirk."

Again a soft voice, but this time underscored by the implicit authority of command. Which made the words all the more shockingly intimate.

"I want you to be happy under my command."

Stroke, stroke.

"I will stop if you want me to."

Stroke, stroke, stroke.

"If you want me to stop..."

Stroke.

"...just say so."

Stroke.

"You may speak freely..."

Stroke.

"...at any time."

Stroke.

"Understood?"

Stroke.

"Understood," he grunted through clenched teeth. He would have struck her if he could, for shaming him with that offer of mercy. His pride would never let him ask her to stop.

Then his cock was grasped tightly as a hardness that exceeded his own entered him. He fought the urge to pull away as an inner voice moaned, No please no please no please. He bit down on his lip to keep from saying the words aloud. It was almost unbearable, he wanted it to stop, he wanted, he wanted...

Then, through the pain of that most intimate invasion, he became aware of the intense pleasure her hand was sending through his cock.

/No, don't, don't make me/

The unrelenting pressure moved in further, more pain, more pleasure, both radiating from a hitherto unknown center.

/Ah, god, so good/

So good despite the pain.

/So good *because* of the pain/

His face contorted and he sobbed silently.

/I don't want to do this, I don't want to know this, don't,
don't, don't.../

Now the unforgiving hardness was actually fucking him, moving steadily in and out, and again both her hands kept a steady rhythm. He fought the urge to come, forcing himself to pull back, knowing that the tension of an impending orgasm, the tightening of every muscle in his body, would be agony. Twisting in a confusion of overloaded senses, he clutched the edge of the console. He felt a new moisture and realized the slippery fluid of his pre-ejaculate was being rubbed against his cock. He shuddered, arched upward, consumed by a deep wanting that blocked out everything else.

/No no no no no/ An unending mantra that had lost all meaning.

"Do you want me to stop?" A far-off whisper. Had she asked it or had he conjured up the question from the whirlwind of pain and ecstasy?

Part plea, part demand, the shattering truth spilled out of him and he heard the unmistakable sound of raw desire, as he cried out at the top of each devastating stroke.

"No--no--no--no--no--"

***

"NO!"

The abrupt emptiness, the sudden absence of sensation forced an angry shout up from deep inside Kirk. Captain Brandt had made a tactical error, her first of the evening.

She had stopped.

Kirk struggled frantically against the restraints, twisting in searing frustration. He heard the phallus clatter to the floor and he collapsed across the console, panting and moaning, eyes wide and over-bright.

He heard Suzanne moving nearby and he turned his head, blinking quickly to clear his vision. Her every motion was filled with hot urgency as she swiveled the helmsman's seat so that its back
rested against the edge of the helm. Then she came quickly around to the front of the navigational console and made her second error.

She released him.

Only for a moment, just long enough to free the restraints from the console, but something in the back of his mind vaguely registered that he now had some mobility. But before he could react, she slapped the cuff back onto his aching wrist, pulled him to his feet and dragged him stumbling to the helm.

She pushed him into the chair. "Put your hands on your head," she ordered harshly.

He realized that, for the first time, she was breathing fast. Her body glistened with sweat and a tiny river traced its way between her breasts and down her belly. Her hair clung damply to her face and her gaze was unfocused. He could feel the heat rising from her, knew how much she wanted this, and that, too, was noted. There was no submission, no defeat in his movements as he obeyed her command.

She straddled his outstretched legs, put her hands on his shoulders, and lowered herself onto him. He shifted and almost came as his cock was surrounded by wet, tight darkness. Then she made her third and final mistake.

She began riding him. Slowly.

Kirk was too far gone to tolerate this agony of prolonged seduction. Driven beyond the point of control, he would not, could not be used--not like this, not as if he were nothing more than the obscene object lying on the floor. Release did not even begin to describe what he needed, this was something new, and if she would not give it to him, he would take it.

Passion and fury exploded in a swift torrent of motion as he brought his hands down behind her and roughly grasped her buttocks. Then he roared to his feet, hoisted her higher on his hips, turned and slammed her down on the helm. He grabbed her flailing hands, pressed them to her chest and pushed down until she lay flat against the controls. Then he pulled her hands up over her head and crushed them with his, the hard metal of the restraints grinding against both their wrists. He stared into her eyes, relishing the angry shock he found there.

"What the hell--!"

"This is a mutiny, captain." And he thrust deep inside her.

***

He meant to fuck her hard and fast, three, at most four quick strokes to reach his climax, but she fought him and that was too sweet not to be savored. He felt her heels kicking against the backs of his legs and a thrill of malicious delight sang through him.

"That's right--" he snarled, smiling grimly.

Thrust.

"Fight me."

Thrust.

"Harder."

Thrust.

"Because you're not getting away--"

Thrust.

"Until you hate me--"

Thrust!

"For making you want this."

*Thrust!*

"You bastard!" she spat.

Rejoicing in his own strength, he grunted out the punishing words, punctuating them with pounding strokes. "Yes!--I *am* a bastard!--and you're a bitch!--and we both knew that!--when you brought me here!"

He was very close now, a dark pressure lifting him, driving him forward.

"You--bastard--bastard--bastard--" she panted as they assaulted each other.

He knew that voice, knew what the desperate, mindless repetition meant, knew that victory was his. He felt her legs close around his waist and push him in deeper, and her sobbing cry of "Yes,
damn you--*yes!*" sent him hurtling into an indescribably sweet ecstasy of freefall.

***

When the feeling of soaring had passed, Kirk realized he was slumped on the floor, his face resting against the top of one of Suzanne's boots. She was still sprawled across the helm, legs
spread above him, limp as a ragdoll. She moaned quietly and he didn't know if it was the aftermath of pleasure or pain. He felt an icy sharp fear in the pit of his stomach.

"Are you all right?" he asked in a trembling whisper.

She rolled away from him and tried to stand, but her knees buckled and she crumpled awkwardly to the floor. She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and, after a dangerously frightening moment, muttered, "Specify."

He cupped his hands under her chin, cradling her face gently, awash in relief and guilt and fear. She opened her eyes and he almost wept when he saw the same emotions reflected there.

"I'm all right." She ran her fingertips along his jaw. "You?"

"If that was 'something special,'" he whispered, "I never want to hear your definition of extraordinary."

Embarrassed, she silently unshackled his hands. As the security restraints fell from his wrists, something inside him shattered, the final tension was released, and the whole scenario suddenly
struck him as comical. Irrepressible mirth bubbled up and he began chuckling.

"Jim?" The look of surprise on Suzanne's face only made the situation funnier and soon the room resounded with his booming guffaws.

"Jim!" Now she was seriously concerned, even scared.

He looked at her and lost all control, laughing raucously in short, frenzied bursts. He rocked back and forth, gesturing helplessly, unable to stop or catch his breath. Suzanne seized his shoulders and shook him.

"Jim! Jim, please! Don't make me slap you!"

Roaring with glee, he grabbed her shoulders and shook her right back.

"Why--the hell--not?" he gasped. "You've--done--everything--
else!"

And then she saw how ridiculous it all was and they fell against each other, howling with unexpected hilarity, laughing until they cried.

***

After punching her address into the cab's locator, Suzanne leaned back into Jim's arms, surprising him, as she did every time, with how smoothly and easily she fit there.

"Suzanne?"

"Hmm?"

"Am I a captain again?"

"Well, I don't know..." she said, coyly.

"After that performance, I think I deserve some sort of promotion."

"All right." She started officiously, "For meritorious action above and beyond the call of duty--" She turned her face up to his and suddenly he didn't want to hear the rest of the commendation so he kissed her. She sighed happily and rested her head against his chest.

After a thoughtful silence, he said, "The simulator." He sounded slightly surprised. "I never thought of the simulator. And believe me, I've wanted to do that for a very long time."

She frowned. "JT, I only used the simulator for sentimental reasons."

"What do you mean?"

She pulled away and whispered incredulously, "Are you telling me that you've never gotten laid on the bridge of your own ship?"

He mustered his dignity and said evenly, "Captain Brandt, I don't know how things were on the Wozniak, but aboard the Enterprise, the bridge is always fully manned."

"Not in space dock," she chanted in childish sing-song.

"Where it is monitored by security computers," he finished. He knew--he'd checked.

She threw her hands up in disbelief. "Do you mean to tell me that the cadet who reprogrammed the Kobiyashi Maru so he could *win* hasn't figured out how to break into the space dock computers to make it look like no one's aboard?"

His eyes narrowed. "And I suppose you have."

"Hell, yes. Why do you think they wanted me in Special Ops? They practically give out merit badges for that kind of thing."

He studied her carefully. She wasn't lying. An uncomfortable thought crept into his mind.

"Who did y--" He stopped himself. "I'm not going to ask that question."

"I'll answer it anyway," she said with gentle condescension. "At least in part." She met his eyes steadily. "It wasn't Finnegan."

Embarrassed, he muttered, "You know me too well."

Then, suddenly, he held her at arm's length, eying her suspiciously. "And speaking of Finnegan--" he accused, "you told him to pick a fight with me, didn't you?"

"No," she chided him. "The two of you came up with that all on your own."

"Really?" Kirk was dubious.

"Yes, really. It just happened to fit very neatly into my plans." She saw how pleased he was with himself and decided to puncture that vanity, just a little. "However, there *is* one thing you should know."

"What's that?"

"I stood in the doorway for some time before I stopped the fight."

A slow, smug smile lit his face. "You wanted to see who'd win."

She rolled her eyes in disgust. "No."

"Then why?"

"Well, he was so awful to you when we were cadets and you'd waited so long to get even... so...as long as no one else was around...I thought the least I could do was..." She grinned.
"...let you get in one really good punch."

Kirk preened in triumph. "Did you see him go flying? God, that felt good!"

"Down, boy."

For the second time that night, he congratulated himself on his luck.

"Suzanne," he said warmly. "You are a woman in a thousand." He drew her hands to his mouth and tenderly kissed first one, then the other.

The silence was filled with possibilities, unspoken and unacknowledged.

Finally, Suzanne spoke with quiet amusement. "Well, I guess we don't have to worry about running out of conversation on the camping trip." She was playing with his hand, intertwining their
fingers.

"Hmm?"

"I want to hear about each and every one of the nine hundred and ninety-nine women to whom I'm being compared." She bit down playfully on his knuckles.

"Ow!" He pulled his hand away. "I have a better idea."

"I'll bet you do."

"Let's postpone the camping trip for one day."

"Because--?"

"You're going to be very busy hacking into the space dock computers, while I go...shopping. And then...we're spending tomorrow night aboard the Enterprise." He looked her straight in the eye. There was no mistaking his intent. "Yeoman."

A sharp intake of air. Blue-green eyes sparkling.

"Yes, sir," she purred.

[The End]