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	  THE DELIGHTFUL EDUCATION OF JULIAN BASHIR

Julian Bashir's fingers trembled slightly as he pressed the door
chime.  It was only a scant few hours ago since he had met her, when
she had come to the infirmary with a slashed hand.  At first, he had
been preoccupied with healing the cut -- obtained in Quark's after,
according to her, some of the other patrons had taken exception to
the fact that she cheated better than they did -- but after finish-
ing, he had looked up to see more.  They exchanged a few words, and
he learned that she was from Ishtar.  That had explained several
things to him: her skill with a knife (the other man had sustained
considerably more damage) and the way her eyes held him like a cat's
held a mouse.  Her gaze alone was enough to make him flush slightly.

He had turned to replace the protoplaser in the sterilization field,
and when he turned back around, she was no more than three inches
away from him.  Stammering an apology, he tried to edge past her but
could not; her hands were around his slim waist, and she had
positioned her hips directly in front of his.

"Have you eaten?" she asked him, her voice low and rich.  He had
managed to force a "no" past his lips, feeling more and more like a
mouse as her eyes roved over his face.

"My ship is called the Ariad.  It is docked at Bay 2," she had told
him.  "You are very lovely, Doctor.  Be there in two hours."

And then she had left, leaving him quite warm, with a thin film of
sweat on the back of his neck.  He sat down to collect himself,
feeling the slightly pleasurable ache between his thighs that always
signalled arousal.  I guess it's true, he had thought, what they say
about Ishtarian women.

The intervening two hours had passed slowly, with no incident, making
it hard for him to ignore the insistent throb that reminded him of
his appointment.  Finally, out of boredom and a desire to distract
himself, he asked the computer for information on Ishtar, the woman's
home planet.

When at last he looked up from the desk viewer to discover that the
rest of the two hours had passed, he wondered what would happen.  I'm
not going, he told himself.  I'm just not going to go.  I'll get back
to my quarters, get something out of the food replicator, and just
get to sleep early.  He sat back in the chair, leaning his head
against the headrest.  Though he tried not to, he couldn't keep from
looking at the last image on the viewer -- that of one of the twelve
Ruling Queens of Ishtar with six of her consorts.  Six of ten.

I'm just not going, he told himself again.  He got up, licked his
lips nervously, smoothed his uniform, and walked out of the infir-
mary, dead set on returning to his quarters.

Now, he stood before the docking entrance to her ship, unable to
restrain his curiosity and thinking even that, perhaps, she might be
something that he needed.  He remembered the way she had looked at
him after he had regenerated the skin on her palm, and how he had
felt like a rabbit looking up into the eyes of a sleek hunting bitch,
his throat tight and he barely able to speak.  It'll just be a nice
dinner, he told himself, but that thought died faster than Warp 9.
He knew how she had looked at him, and he knew after reading more
about Ishtarian culture why she had looked at him as she did.

He pressed the chime again, and the door slid back to reveal darkness
lit by firelight inside.  The same rich voice that had caught his
attention so completely in the infirmary told him to enter and swal-
lowing once, hard, he obeyed.

He saw nothing at first, his eyes still adjusting to the change in
lighting, but when they had, he nearly gasped in astonishment.  The
rich voice came again, from nowhere, "I told you I was good at
cheating."

The ship was opulent, and everywhere he looked, he saw beautiful
things to delight his eye.  Tapestries hung from the bulkheads, flame
lamps stood from the floor, lighting the deeply colored room with a
somber and quieting glow.  He moved forward, feeling as if he were
walking in liquid topaz light, looking for the source of the voice.
Nervous, he said nothing.

"I'm over here," the voice said, from directly behind him.  Julian
jumped and spun around -- and gasped yet again.  She walked toward
him, and he felt his chest rise and fall in little pants.  He swal-
lowed again.

"Are you nervous?" she asked him, raising her sharp, dark face in a
challenge.  She took a step toward him, the click made by the heels
of her boots audible against the polished hardwood floors of her
vessel.  She wore only them and a pair of dark fingerless gloves that
reached to above her elbows.  In one hand he could just see two
velvety blue cords dangling down to reach the floor.

Any reply he made would be a lie.  He tried to shake his head and
muster some bravado and failed, settling only for licking his lips
yet again.  He had only guessed at her physique earlier on in the
infirmary; now he was able to see what had previously been only
hinted at.

She was tall, nearly as tall as him, and muscles stood outlined under
her smooth flesh as she moved.  He was unable to take his eyes off of
her, but could only gaze.  Her breasts were firm, and as she breathed
their perfect rosy nipples appeared to point at him, over and over.
Her stomach was hard-looking, with the muscular outlines that spoke
of peak physical condition.  Under this were a set of very female
hips, and he could just see in the dark lighting the outlines of her
vulva, inviting and mystifying.  Then came the long, fit legs,
muscled and strong looking -- what he could see that was not hidden
under the boots she wore.  Only the barest hint of thigh showed; the
rest was covered in the black animal skin.  No elevated heels were on
these boots; this woman's feet were planted solidly on the ground.

She was directly in front of him now, reaching up to run her fingers
over his moist lips.  "I enjoy watching when you do that."  Her eyes
were riveted to his face, raking over it like nails.

"I . . . I . . . thought . . . we were going to have dinner," he
managed to stammer.  He felt lightheaded, and she started backing him
toward the massive bed in the far corner of the main room.

"I said nothing about dinner," she told him.  "I asked only if you
had eaten."  She reached out with leather-gloved hands and took one
wrist firmly.  "Have you?"

"N-no. . . "  He could only watch in fascination as she tied one of
the two soft blue cords firmly around his wrist, letting the ends
dangle down from his arm.  He did nothing to stop her as she repeated
this with his other wrist.  "What . . . " he began, but she placed
her hand very firmly against his mouth.

"No questions."  He felt her reach down and take his hips again, and
with a push, he was thrust backward to land on the bed.  She stepped
directly onto the bed until she stood over him with one foot on
either side of his chest.  He could make out more of her moist and
tantalizing vulva, but tried only to squirm his way into a sitting
position.

She would have none of it, and placed one booted foot directly on his
chest.  "You will not move until I give you leave to move," she said.
Stunned and wondering what this night would teach him, he said no-
thing, only looked up at this beautiful and dangerous woman standing
over him.  As he watched, he saw the undersides of her breasts moving
rhythmically, bouncing gently as the bed cushion rocked in response
to his attempts to get away.

"I saw you in the infirmary," she told him, still standing over his
supine form.  "That's when I decided I wanted to teach you."  She
moved her foot from off of his chest and descended on him hard, to
land sitting with her legs straddling his ribs.  He cried out in
surprise, and felt the bed roll under his back.

Taking his face in her hands, she looked directly into his wide eyes.
Her voice softened but lost none of its resonant quality.  "You are
so very beautiful, Doctor, with your large eyes which you use to melt
my heart.  I can't let you melt it, though."  She shook her dark
head.  "A teacher must be firm and disciplined with her pupils."  Her
dark, sharp-featured face dipped close to his until he could feel her
breath against his trembling lips.  "You, with your lovely mouth and
lips and soft voice, which you will beg with, but I can't let your
begging sway me."  She took two handsful of his hair and drew his
head back hard.  "Your long slender neck, which I will see bend and
arch as I will it . . . "  He turned his head, trying to get it free
of her grasp, breathing hard, and a puppylike whimper escaped his
throat.

"Please, don't hurt me . . . " he said.  His eyes were wide with
incipient fear.  "Don't hurt me . . . "  Immediately, her voice
softened, and she placed her hands on his smooth young cheeks.  He
could smell the rich leather and feel it against his skin.

"Beautiful child, I would never hurt you."  Her eyes became moist and
soft.  "I will teach you, not hurt you."  She ran her hands over his
chest and stomach.  "So beautiful . . . " she said with hunger in her
voice that frightened him.  No, he thought, not a rabbit.  And she's
no hunting bitch.  As he watched her tawny, muscled body over his,
with its cape of wild dark hair he realized what she was -- a lion-
ess.  That makes me the lamb, he thought, or the cub.  Maybe a ga-
zelle, after being run down and caught.  His breath came faster, and
he felt his mouth go dry.

"What is your name?" he managed to choke out.

"Why do you need to know?" he was told.  "You need only call me
Lady."  She took one wrist and pulled it away from his chest where he
had raised it to protect himself, and he turned his head to see her
fastening the dangling ends of the cord to one of the corner posts of
the bed.  He could not defend himself; before he knew what was hap-
pening, his arm was stretched out and he could not budge it.  She
slapped him lightly.  "Stop this ridiculous struggling."  Taking his
other hand, he was soon defenseless and completely vulnerable to this
woman atop him.  His heart contracted and he cried out in fear when
she rose from the bed and returned carrying a large, vicious looking
knife.  She saw his face, questioning and afraid, and her own expres-
sion hardened slightly.  "I am not going to hurt you," he was told.
Then, "Do you have another uniform?"  Confused, he nodded.  "Good."

Fascinated and unable to stop her, he watched as she straddled him
again, slid the knife under his tunic, and cut it away from his body.
He fought against the bonds she had placed him in, feeling the soft
cord cut into his wrist, but she had done her job well, and the knots
did not give a millimeter.  "If you don't stop struggling, you could
get cut.  You must stay completely still."  He did so, and could feel
the dull edge of the knife brushing against his skin as she cut away
the uniform shirt to expose his chest, rising and falling quickly,
and his slim stomach.  "My . . . " she said, and placed the knife on
the bed cushion.  "I see you're this beautiful caramel color all
over, Doctor," she whispered.  As her eyes devoured him, she placed
her hands on either side of his neck, drawing them down toward his
waist firmly.  He felt her touch, and writhed as her nails contacted
the sensitive skin on his sides and near his waist.  He could not
hold back a small sound of mixed distress and pleasure at the sensa-
tion that made his hair stand on end and lit up every nerve ending in
his body.

Her face lit up as well.  "Ah!" she said in the voice of someone who
has made a great discovery.  His eyes shot to her.

"No . . . "

"`No, Lady,' you mean," she instructed him, drawing her nails against
his smooth cafe-au-lait skin again.  His muscles tensed under her
touch as he bucked against her.

"Stop!"  His voice broke.  "Please . . . "

"Please WHAT?" she demanded, not letting up but intensifying what
seemed to him to hover on a thin and exquisite border between torture
and pleasure.  He cried out again.  Finally:

"Please, Lady!" was wrung from his quivering mouth.

"What?"  She did not stop.

"Please, Lady, stop!"  Instantly, the sensation ceased, and he threw
his head back, panting, eyes closed, the muscles in his arms aching
from his struggle against the cords.  His eyes jerked open again,
though, when he felt her gloved hand against his cheek again.  He
looked at her, saying nothing, only trying to get his breath back.

She was regarding him with a hunger that seemed to make her previous
appetite pale to nothing.  Her beautiful face closed in on him, and
she placed her mouth against his, but did not kiss him.  He felt her
own breath coming more quickly, and realized that she was becoming as
badly aroused as . . .

 . . . as he was.  He was very badly aroused now, he suddenly saw.
He could feel himself pushing against his uniform trousers, and he
wished with all his heart that she would cut them from around his
legs as well.  "I want you," he whispered to her, his lips brushing
over hers as he spoke.

"You beg . . . so beautifully . . . " she told him, and he could feel
her lips moving as well.  "But . . . " and she pulled back, "I will
take you when and if I decide that you have earned it."  He watched
with excitement as, after pulling off his uniform boots, she picked
up the knife again and slid it underneath the cuff of his trousers.
Slowly, slowly, he felt the edge brush against his skin as it rose
along his inner thigh, sending chills along his spine and making
goosebumps stand out all over him.  When progress would have endan-
gered him, she slid the knife up along his abdomen, making him writhe
anew as he felt the edge tickling him, his skin's sensitivity now
heightened with anticipation.  The same sensation met his other leg,
and as she then cut away his underclothes, he burst forth, ready and
aching horribly for her.  He was completely unclothed, and completely
at her mercy.

She turned and threw the knife hard; it thudded into the wall oppo-
site them, the Starfleet doctor supine and defenseless and the Ish-
tarian woman who had made him that way.  She was silent for a brief
moment, and then drove her hips down on his, plunging him deep inside
her.  He gasped and shuddered at the warm wetness that clutched at
him, and moaned in horror when he felt her withdraw and get up from
the bed.  "That is a taste," he was told as he moaned in frustration.
"IF you satisfy me, that is what you can win.  If not, you win
nothing."

"Lady . . . " he gasped, his voice soft and pleading.  She turned
back to face him, and he saw in her eyes what she saw: his bare body,
shining with the light sheen of sweat that had formed on him, long
legs stretched out along the bed with his rigid sex between them,
arms forced wide, face alive with a mix of fear and arousal.  She
turned away then, and he watched as she disappeared into another
room.  After an awful pause during which she was out of his sight,
she returned carrying a small silver jar.  He only watched as she
resumed her position standing over top of him.  This time, he could
see her sweet vulva more clearly, and he felt himself throb and
thirst to be inside her again.  "What . . . what is that?" he managed
to whisper.  She reached down quickly and grasped him hard, squeezing
tightly.  Julian's head swam.

"*What* do you say?" she demanded softly, in a voice of great affec-
tion and patience.

He could barely think for the roaring of blood in his ears.  "What is
that . . . Lady?" he choked out.  She released him, and he began
breathing again, not sure of whether he would want her never to touch
him like that again, or do so over and over until he was wrung dry.

She sat on the edge of the bed and stroked at his inner thigh idly as
she told him, and he could barely concentrate on her words.  "It is
called kamireh."  She removed the lid slowly, then resumed stroking
his thigh.  Not even addressing his body, twitching with every move-
ment of her fingers, she explained further.  "It is very sweet," she
scooped out a small portion on a fingertip and smiled at him a smile
he had been waiting to see all his life, "and VERY sticky."  Languid-
ly, she placed her finger in her own mouth, and sucked at it as he
watched, his large eyes riveted to her lips and how they draped
around her finger, how her cheeks pulsed as she sucked.  Allowing
this tension to mount, she then scooped out another little mound of
the kamireh and held it over his anxious mouth.  "Would you like
some?"

He parted his lips.  "Yes, Lady . . . please."  She withdrew her
finger slightly as his mouth rose for it.

"I should warn you that it has some . . . unusual qualities," she
informed him, pulling her hand back until it was directly between her
breasts.

"What . . . unusual qualities?" he asked, then added quickly, "Lady,"
at her budding expression of displeasure.  She was satisfied.

"Pleasure-enhancing qualities, or rather stamina-enhancing.  Are you
really sure you want some?"  She shifted her position slightly, open-
ing her legs just a bit so that he could see past the leather and be-
tween her firm thighs.  She saw him looking at her and her eyes be-
came hooded at the naked hunger on his face.  "That's for later, if
you do your job well."  Then, she held her hand over his mouth and
slowly placed her finger between his eagerly parted lips.  His eyes
closed in sheer pleasure as he sucked at the intensely sweet creamy
confection.  He could feel it making his blood pulse faster, and his
sex, previously beginning to surrender to frustration, bounded back
to stand at attention, thirsty and throbbing.  His appetite rebounded
with it, and he heard himself moaning in response to it.

He had never wanted anything so badly.

After a few moments, the silence in the room caused him to open his
eyes.  She was watching him, plainly taking great delight in witness-
ing his reaction to the kamireh.  "You are VERY responsive," she said
approvingly.  "Few men so young respond so well and so completely to
it.  Would you like another taste?"

He had to gather his breath.  "Yes, Lady, I would."  A chill swept
over his naked body, and he shivered.

"Very well."  She resumed squatting over him, painfully not such that
he would be able to be inside her, took another little mound of kami-
reh and, as he watched in growing excitement, placed it on her
tongue.  She bent over him and his lips parted again; his heart
knocked hard enough to burst from his chest in anticipation of . . .

He felt her tongue slide between his lips, the sweet cream at the
tip, and meet his own.  For a few moments, he felt nothing, was no-
thing, save the delicious sensations flowing over him like wet velvet
as he sucked at her tongue.  Her breasts touched lightly against his
chest as she bent over him, and for a time they were silent, toying
with one another's warm nimble tongues and delighting in the sweet-
ness of the kamireh.

Then, he felt another burst of hot fire run through and over him, and
the hard throb that pounded at him from his sex felt as if it could
drive him through the roof.  He was gasping now, and whimpering
lightly on every exhalation.  Finally, he found the consciousness to
open his eyes, and saw a similar hunger in her face, felt as her
breasts pushed rhythmically at him as she panted as well; the kamireh
affected Ishtarians, too.  "I must . . . " she began, then broke off
as a shudder ran through her; her felt her sex also twitch and pulse
against his naked belly.  "I must . . . be careful of the kamireh, or
I will not be able to," she looked at his shining body with greed,
"restrain myself long enough to instruct you properly."  For a brief
few seconds, she simply stared at him, grasped his upper arms, and
gripped them so hard that she left the imprints of her nails in his
skin.  "It's a pity you Starfleet types are so dedicated, and so
easily missed, or else I might never let you off my ship."  At his
expression, she patted his cheek.  "Don't worry, Doctor.  I have
every intention of allowing you to return to your duty, but," and she
traced her fingers along his sternum down to the hollow area between
his hips, "your duty lies with me right now."  Yet again, she drove
her hips down onto his, this time lingering a little longer.  He felt
her muscles contract as she squeezed at him, and felt rather than saw
her take two handsful of his hair and pull his head back until his
neck was extended completely.  Fleet doctor, brilliant specialist in
multi-species medicine, he was now nothing but a mass of raw nerve
endings, knowing and caring about nothing but the satisfaction of the
woman that had swallowed him up.  She was right; his duty was here
now.  She clutched at him for a few more times, her own face betray-
ing her excitement and desire as she watched his body arch under
hers, and then she withdrew, oblivious to his sobs, and stood over
him on the bed.

He could restrain himself no longer.  "Lady!" he begged her.  "Lady,
please . . . "  His voice broke as he begged.  "Lady . . . "  But she
simply stood over him, looking down at him stretched beneath her, his
arms tense with their tendons standing out in clear relief as he
strained against the cords, fists gripping them.  "Please," he whis-
pered.  She stood still for long agonizing seconds, moving only as
the bed swayed under her from Julian's twisting and arching.  Then,
she squatted slowly over him, again not taking him in despite his de-
sire, and picked up the silver jar again.  This time, however, he
shook his head in fear.  "Please, no," he begged her.  "No more,
Lady.  I don't want that."  His soft voice caught.  "I . . . want
you . . . "

She was silent and removed the cap, and then her gloves.  Taking a
little kamireh out of the jar, she placed it caressingly on the head
of his sex, and with languid strokes, covered the shaft.  He watched
as she did this, thrilling to each touch of her hands, gasping as his
body reacted to them, heightened by the kamireh already.  "This," he
was told, "will intensify the experience.  For both of us."  She re-
placed the lid of the silver jar, and grasped him firmly, hard enough
to make his eyes squeeze shut.  He gritted his teeth, awaiting what-
ever would come next.  When nothing happened, he looked down and saw
only her face looking straight at him.  Then, with great delibera-
tion, she placed her sex directly over his and guided him into her.
He only stared and swallowed, not sure of whether or not she would
allow him to remain inside of her.  Her face gave him no clues; it
was expressionless, looking into his eyes, or rather through them.
"Your eyes are," she bent down until she was on top of him, her face
even with his, "most remarkable.  They are . . . like liquid . . . "
Then, she devoured his mouth, unable to control herself.  She was
whispering now, as she took his face in her hands.  "You will keep
your eyes on mine at all times."  She paused and put her lips over
his without kissing him, all the while maintaining eye contact.
"Even when you come."  Her voice was soft and delicious as she began
to squeeze at him and undulate herself against him.  He shuddered and
closed his eyes, and she stopped.

Nearly sobbing, he looked at her, his face a question between her
hands.  "You will keep your eyes on mine at all times," she repeated.
"Even when you come."

"Yes, Lady," he breathed, and she resumed, keeping her grip on his
head and keeping his face turned to hers.  More slow clutching, more
languid movement of her hips, becoming gradually more energetic as
the kamireh took effect on her as well.  She watched as he tried to
control his reactions, keeping his eyes locked with hers.  At one
point, he bit his lip to keep from crying out.  Her face tightened in
distress.  "No!" she told him.  "You may use your voice."  He nodded
slowly in response, his nods gradually taking up the cadence of her
muscles gripping him, her hips grinding into his.  Quietly at first,
but growing in volume, he moaned with each breath.  Every part of his
body, every action, became synchronized with the woman to whom he had
somehow come to owe his bodily allegiance.  He watched her head bob
as the kamireh took her, saw her wild hair drag over her wet body,
felt her spasm as the hot throbbing laid its grasp on her, saw her
sweat-filmed breasts move in little up-and-down circles as her body
became synchronized as well with the wave that had taken them both
over.  Together, they moved, together they moaned, together they
breathed -- all the while with their eyes locked.

He was tightening, becoming very tight, so tight . . . "Lady," he
moaned quietly.  He could feel himself nearing the peak as she re-
leased his head and slowly dragged her nails down his chest and sto-
mach until her hands were at her own hips.  He was beyond gasping,
felt only the first shuddering surge of energy; she saw it as well,
and her hands flew back to his cheeks to hold his head rock steady.
She bent again to him, focusing her eyes directly on his.  "Even when
you come," she reminded him, her voice a ghostly hiss.  He could not
respond, but only react as she clutched and thrust, finally feeling
the tightness build to the point where he felt that he could not
stand it any longer, to the point where he felt that the horrible
ache would remain with him all his life if he . . .

Then suddenly, with consuming thunder, he felt the first wave break
over his slick body.  Though she kept her hands around his head, he
managed to break her iron grasp and his eyes rolled back.  His voice,
inarticulate and wondering, gave way to such sensations that he never
imagined a human body could sustain without losing consciousness.
Over and over, he felt himself bucking wildly underneath the weight
of the woman who owned him; over and over, his hips thrust upwards,
driving himself so deeply into her that he felt he never wanted to
come out.  Oceans of cold water poured over Julian Bashir, drowning
him in icy fire.  The cords, wet with his sweat, cut against him,
rubbing the skin from his wrists, but the hot electricity of the raw
skin on his arms only added to the intensity of what was breaking
over him with the power of a tsunami.  All the nerves in his body
were nothing but hot wires, coursing with voltage that threatened to
burn out his mind.  The sensory burnout sustained itself until he
felt he could take no more; incoherent from pleasure, he could only
be buffeted about by the storm raging around and through him.  Mi-
nutes, hours . . . he did not count time.  When he at last knew him-
self again, the flame lamps were nearly dark, and his Lady was in a
state similar to his own -- asleep on top of him, covered in her own
sweat and his, exhausted.

His eyes took some time to adjust to the light level, and he wondered
how long he had been unaware of his surroundings.  A trickle of their
mingled sweat that had once seemed so hot drew a sensuous icy line
down his side, and he caught his breath.  Turning his head took every
ounce of energy he had, and he saw that his arms were still tied in
the cords -- cords that had become frayed and strained through his
thrashing.

Every muscle in his body was sore.  His stomach, his legs, his arms
especially.  His abdomen and thighs were stiff and refused to respond
to his orders -- particularly with the prone form of his Lady asleep
on top of them.  Still feeling the exhaustion, he sighed and dropped
back to sleep.

		    * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

When he woke, he was alone in the bed and completely unaware of how
much time had passed.  In a panic, he tried to sit up, and found that
he was yet bound.  Sounds issued at him from the next room, and he
called, "Lady?"  The sounds stopped, but there was nothing further.
"Lady, are you there?"  She appeared in the room, with no boots and
no gloves, but dripping wet, her muscular body glistening with water.

"You are awake," she observed.

"Yes, Lady."  His voice was gentle and quiet.  "May I get up?"

"Of course."  She reached to the knife, still stuck in the wall op-
posite the bed, and with two quick flicks of it over his head, he
felt the cords fall away.  Stiffly, he moved his arms back down to
his chest, trying to rub at them and finding that his hands were rub-
bery and weak.

"I was in my spa," she told him, helping him sit upright.  His head
swam and lights danced in his vision.  "Would you like to join me?"

Sheepishly, he replied, "Lady, I don't think I'm ready . . . " but
she shook her head at him.

"It's only a nice warm soak.  You could probably use it."  She helped
him to his feet and guided him into the next room, where a lavish spa
greeted him.  Steam hovered on the surface, swirling gently like fine
mist over a lake.  The spa itself appeared to be set into a lush
green lawn and was ringed with fragrant jasmine, and rolling fertile
hills stretched toward the horizon as far as he could see, some dot-
ted with trees in autumn colors.  A fresh cool breeze caressed his
tired face and washed the scent of the improbably flowering jasmine
over his bare skin.  "A holosuite, Lady?"

"Yes.  Expensive, but as I told you, I cheat quite well."  She
climbed into the water, and made a motion to him to follow.  He did
so, lowering himself gratefully into the steaming spa.  Slowly, he
felt the stiffness disappear from his muscles, to be replaced with a
weak lassitude.

"How long have I been here, Lady?" he asked.

"Only a few short hours," she told him.  "Six hours.  You are due
back on duty in six more."  Purring with pleasure at the gentle
breeze that tugged her hair and his, she told him.  "It is a slow
time now.  I will be finished instructing you by then."

His eyes widened.  "There is more?"

She laughed at his question.  "Of course there is more.  You didn't
think I could teach you everything in one lesson, did you?"  She
stretched like a contented lioness.  "As it is, I must leave tomorrow
and hence can teach you only a little of what I would like to."  She
opened her eyes.  "I can arrange to be back at this station in some
time, you know."

He looked back at her, the warm water lapping at his shoulders and
around his chest.  "I don't know if . . . "  He swallowed.  She
reached over and patted one shoulder.

"The first lesson is most involved, as it is then that I must teach
you proper submission and willingness to learn.  Subsequent ones
become more and more . . . leisurely.  There are only a few small
things further that I can teach you in the time we have at any rate,
and they should leave you considerably less . . . "

"Exhausted?" he finished.

"Precisely.  After all, you will have to go directly on duty from
here."

He swallowed again, wondering what would be required of him, and
settled for remaining quiet and lowering himself into the blood-warm
water until only his face was above the waterline.  Nearly an hour
passed with them like that, silent, simply content in each other's
company and enjoying the sensation of the water rippling against
their skin.  At one point, he felt a light tickling on his face and
opened his eyes.  He saw her hand over him, her face smiling at his,
as she sprinkled a handful of the tiny jasmine flowers over him.  He
could only return her smile, and closed his eyes again.

More time passed.  "Lady?" he said finally.

"Mmm?"

He hesitated.  "Lady, Quartermaster only gives us a certain number of
uniforms in a given period of time.  I can't have another one des-
troyed."

She laughed at this.  "Don't worry, you won't need your uniform, Doc-
tor."  She sat up.  "That reminds me."  She rose from the water.  "I
have something for you."  Julian watched as her sinuous shining body
moved to one of the trees lining the glade in which the spa was set.
He saw her pick something up but could not make out what it was.
When she returned, she bent down next to him and held the object out.

Dark blue, soft, and shimmering, it lay in her hands.  It was a col-
lar.  Attached to it was a long beautiful silver chain that glittered
in the holo-sunlight, and dangling from the end of the chain were two
more binding cords like those that had cut his flesh in the first
lesson.

Julian sat up at this, and looked up at her.  "This is . . . ?" he
began, but she cut him off with a finger against his lips.

"This is yours," she told him, "the only thing that will be recog-
nized as yours as long as you are on this ship."  He felt the soft
kid leather wrap around his neck, and heard the tiny click of the
fastening.  The chain and binding cords lay on the ground behind his
head.  He fingered the collar, mark of his bodily duty to his Lady
and watched her as she lowered herself into the water again.  "It is
your mark of allegiance to me.  By undergoing the initiatory lesson,
you've proved your worth to receive the collar."  He was silent at
this.  "It's actually a nice fit; I had to use a smaller one than
usual for you."  She leaned forward and touched his face.  "You have
such a lovely slim neck, you know."  Her hand dragged down his wet
chest, disappearing under the water that covered him.  Again, his
nerve endings awakened to her.

He knew then that he would have stayed, no matter what, and endured
even more exhaustion than previous, all for her and what she could
teach him.  He moved his hand under the warm water, taking hers in
it, and said, "Lady, I'm yours," and felt it with all his heart.

She looked directly into his dark eyes.  "I knew you would be," she
whispered to him, and kissed him, the first and only kiss they had
shared while he was free, and the last.  He returned it, gently, and
felt his own sincerity and dedication to her filling him like wine.

Then, she pulled away from him, one hand firmly on his chest to keep
him from following.  He held her eyes with his own, gazing up at her.
"Enough informality," she said softly.  "This could compromise your
disciplining if it continues."  Julian was crestfallen but under-
stood.

"Yes, Lady," he said, and could not keep the disappointment out of
his voice.  He shivered as he felt her fingers brush against his skin
one last time and withdraw.



From cortese Mon Feb 27 20:53:20 1995
Return-Path: <cortese>
Received: by netcom19.netcom.com (8.6.9/Netcom)
	id UAA25645; Mon, 27 Feb 1995 20:53:20 -0800
Date: Mon, 27 Feb 1995 20:53:20 -0800
From: cortese (Janis Maria C. C. Cortese)
Message-Id: <199502280453.UAA25645@netcom19.netcom.com>
To: aleph@netcom.com
Subject: DEoJB ptII
Status: O



He knelt on the bed this time, sitting on his heels and facing the
bronze headboard between the sturdy wooden posts at the corners.  His
Lady was reaching past him to lock the chain of his collar to a ring
at the center of the headboard; he wondered whether it had been
placed there for that purpose.  "Give me your hands," he was told.
He complied silently, for she had instructed him that he was to make
no sound whatsoever during this lesson.  That order alone was enough
to unsettle him, and he wondered with some trepidation what she would
teach.  He asked no questions, though -- he was not to do so.

His wrists were once again bound, this time to the end of the chain
at the headboard so that they hung in front of him, mimicking the
curve of the hanging chain itself.  Wordlessly, he awaited her ac-
tions.  He was unprepared for her to get up without a sound and walk
out.  Turning his head, he saw her disappear into the next room, and
she did not return for some time.  He waited nervously, wondering
what she was doing, until he saw her return with a tray of food.  The
aroma tantalized him, and he remembered that he had not eaten before
coming there.  His stomach awoke, and he stared at the tray with ob-
vious hunger, hunger that his Lady saw.

"Would you like some?" she asked, taking a small piece of meat from
the tray, a piece which dripped with juices, and putting it with very
deliberate movements into her mouth.  He started to say yes, but re-
membered her injunction against talking and only nodded, his eyes
riveted to the tray.  "Very well."  She walked toward him and sat on
the edge of the bed to his left, placing the tray next to her.  On
it, he saw all sorts of delicious things, each cut into pieces.
There were meats of all textures, crisp-looking vegetables of every
color under any sun, and pieces of fruit that glistened with sweet-
ness, as well as a number of delicacies which he had never seen be-
fore.  Saying nothing, his Lady picked up a piece of tender meat and
held it to his eager mouth.  Saying nothing, he opened his lips and
took it, feeling the rich juices of the flesh coat his throat.  With
a feeling of great satisfaction and great awakening of hunger, he
swallowed, closing his eyes in pleasure.  When he opened them, he saw
that she had taken another piece and held it out for him.  He took it
from her again, languidly sucking the meat's juices from her fingers.
Over and over she held out some tasty morsel for him, and over and
over he wished he had the power to thank her for doing so.

The melon, however, she saved for last.  Holding his gaze with hers,
she picked up a royal blue piece and ran it sensuously down his back,
leaving a sticky trail of sweetness from the back of his neck to the
base of his spine.  He inhaled sharply at the delight of the cool
glistening melon running down him, and even more so as she traced up
the sweet trail with her tongue.  With a small smile, she popped the
piece into her mouth.  Then, picking up another, she teasingly traced
two slow circles around her rosy nipples, enjoying the anticipation
in his eyes as he watched.  With an expression of triumph, she held
her breasts together and nestled the little morsel of blue heaven
between them.  This she offered to him, who took the piece between
his lips and marvelled at its sweetness, licking every drop of nectar
from her when he was finished.  Again, he wanted to tell her how de-
licious this was, but could not.

"Your expression tells me that you are enjoying this," she remarked.
The tray was deposited on the floor next to the bed, and she placed
herself behind him, her hands on his shoulders, her knees around him.
He felt her breath on his neck as she came close, and shivered once,
all over, at the thrill of anticipation that ran through him.  He had
no idea what she had planned.

She waited, doing and saying nothing, merely sitting there with her
hands on his shoulders and her mouth against his neck.  For many long
minutes, they sat like that, he unsure and nervous with anticipation,
she silent and knowing, enjoying the gentle curve of his back and how
his skin was lit by the faded flame lamps, their glowing topaz light
pouring over him like melted butter.  He felt as her slow hands ran
down his sides, her fingers flickering over his skin, making his sto-
mach muscles twitch.  She was content to do this, experiencing his
body under her hands, tracing his spine with her fingertips, tracing
the curve of his neck and shoulders, the smooth clean shaven skin on
one cheek, the line of his brow, teasing her fingers through his
hair.  Julian sat quietly, wordlessly, simply listening to her
breathing and his own, and feeling her hands brushing and sliding all
over him, gentle as birds' wings, making him gradually aware of the
entire surface of his body.  With a jolt of excitement, he felt her
fingers brush over his genitals, but they lingered there only for a
moment.  "Patience," she said lovingly, for she had seen his start,
felt it as she pressed herself softly into him, heard the soft clat-
ter of the chain against the headboard.  He turned his head, wanting
to apologize, but could not.  "I know," she told him softly.

Then, almost unnoticeably at first but with more conviction, he began
to feel her nails also sliding over him, just as before, all over.
Again, he started and writhed, inhaling sharply, but became quite
still when he felt the collar tugged back firmly.  "Not a sound," she
told him.  "I want complete silence."  Then, she resumed, and Julian
fought for all he was worth not to gasp or cry out as he felt her
nails exciting his skin, in his most sensitive places -- his sides,
the hollow between his hips, his waist, his inner thighs, his neck.
He could not suppress his body's reaction totally, though, and she
felt him buck against her at her every movement, though he was fight-
ing not to.  "Yes," she whispered into his ear as he battled to re-
main still and quiet, "it's hard, isn't it?"  He nodded, and could
not help a light whimper from low in his throat; she did not seem to
mind.  "It will get easier, I promise you."

And this continued.  Slowly, slowly, he began to control his body and
his involuntary reactions, only biting his lower lip -- until she saw
this, and placed her hand on his mouth.  "No."  He parted his teeth,
and she smoothed the reddened skin.  "Gently, gently.  Relax."  He
tried to still his panting, aware of the sound of it.  "Relax."  He
felt the nearly unbearable sensation of her skittering nails lessen
somewhat, but they did not stop entirely.  "Do you have control of
yourself?" she asked him.  He nodded completely silently, and she
resumed.  This time, although he was still fighting hard, she saw
that he was fighting himself better, managing to remain for the most
part completely still and silent -- except for his light panting.
She could feel his chest rise sharply with each pass of her hand over
the insides of his hips, but even his reflexive bucking had lessened
until it was merely a tightening of his back, a slight rhythmic
pressure as she felt his round buttocks seat more firmly between her
thighs.  "You're doing very well," she told him approvingly and
kissed the back of his neck.  "You learn very quickly, and try very
hard."  She rose at this point until she was standing on her knees
and, with one finger under his chin, tilted his head back until he
was looking directly up at her.  The kiss they shared then was as
deep and complete a kiss as Julian Bashir had ever experienced; she
was as far into his mind as she was between his lips.

Then, it was over, and she was once again looking down at him.  He
saw in her eyes a glimmer of wonder, and until she spoke, he truly
thought it was only the wonder in his eyes reflected back from hers.
"How I wish," she said in a voice so soft he had to strain to hear
it, "that I could keep you always."  Her fingers were on his brow,
and he gently shook his head back and forth like a cat under its
keeper's hand.  "How I wish . . . Goddess . . . what a consort you
would make."  She bent down to his upturned face and brushed her lips
against his, not kissing.  As they caressed one another's mouths, she
reached down to his genitals, taking them gently in her hand, and
felt him inhale.  Opening her eyes, she saw that his entire face was
a pleading question.  "Yes," she replied.  "Soon."  Then, she resumed
kissing him for a time -- she kneeling superior to him holding him in
her hand, he kneeling before her with his head upturned.  He felt
fluttering fingers as she traced out the lines of his throat and
sighed in pleasure as he felt her other hand caress and excite him.

Thus, all the more vivid was the jolt he received when she raked her
nails down his back hard enough to raise welts.  His head flew up-
right and he started to twist away from her before remembering that
she still gripped him firmly enough to keep him still.  An expression
of shock and surprise flew out of his mouth before he could shut his
lips around it.  Belatedly, he realized the breach he had committed
-- his voice and the clattering of the chain dropping into the si-
lence like a stone -- and his eyes shot to her face.  He did his best
to quiet his panicky breathing and still his body, yet trembling in
surprise and shock.

She felt his trembling, could feel it through her own body, close as
she was to him, could feel his shaking on her own bare skin, but did
not let it show on her face; she was impassive.  Before he knew what
was happening, she had clamped her left hand over his mouth and drawn
his head back hard until it was against her shoulder and he stared up
at the ceiling.  For a time, she merely held him that way, silently,
and waited for his breathing to slow and the film of cold sweat on
him to dry.  His eyes looked up at her from over her hand, filled
with apprehension; her other hand still held him.  Nothing moved, and
not a single thing stirred.  Only his breathing, slowly regulating,
disturbed the quiet.

Then, painfully, she shook her head.  Her disappointment nearly
crushed him.  "I thought you were relaxed sufficiently to begin, Doc-
tor," she said sadly, her lips against his ear.  "I see I was wrong."
He started again at this, and tried to shake his head.  This time he
was able to suppress the beseeching noise that he almost made, but
wished he had not.  "I was trying to teach you . . . " She shook her
head again, released her hold on him, and relaxed her hand over his
lips.  Frantically, he turned his head and pressed them into her
throat, not saying a word, silently begging her to continue teaching
him.  His hands were fists, his arms taut against the cords that held
them.  The hanging chain alone was slack and relaxed, swinging slowly
as she watched and as she felt his breath against the skin of her
neck.  "I should not offer you another chance," she told him, and
felt as he pressed his mouth into her neck harder, fondling the skin
there with his tongue, pleading wordlessly.  Firmly, she pushed him
away, ignoring the straining in his body to remain close to her.
"You are here to learn, Doctor," she stated.  "You are beautiful, but
I cannot allow you any more breaches in discipline."  Her expression
appeared to soften as she looked into his large eyes.  "If you were
any less beautiful, I would already have put you out and ended the
lesson."  At her words, his face became anguished and he bit back
each word, wanting to throw himself at her and beg her not to stop,
wanting to feel her warm skin against his, her lips on him, even her
nails, the raw touch of which was delight compared to the empty
coldness he felt.

"My time away from my home world has eroded my ethics," she finally
remarked, almost conversationally, and she stroked his face.  She
said nothing for several seconds, then whispered to him as if she
were afraid the walls would hear her, "I find that I cannot put you
out.  It appears that I am the one in chains, Doctor."  The glimmer
of joy in his eyes pleased her, deep within herself.  "But, I must
insure that discipline be maintained.  If you remain, you must be
punished for this breach."  Again, she felt his lips against her neck
in silent gratitude -- silence not counting his eager breathing, the
soft liquid sounds of his lips and tongue against her skin.

She stood, and walked out into the other room again, leaving him to
wonder what form his punishment would take, leaving him to tremble in
mixed joy and fear at being allowed to remain in her care at a price.

The flame lamps went out, leaving him in complete darkness.  He
looked around himself wildly, the metallic noises from his chain
dropping into the stygian darkness like tiny bits of broken glass.

A glimmer of flickering yellow light ran over the bronze headboard,
ruddying it and him, and making his kneeling shadow jump and cavort
over the walls with a freedom which he did not now possess.  He
turned his head, and saw his Lady return, and his heart leapt.  He
tried to move toward her, but the collar restrained him and he felt
it tug him back into his place.  He could see only the barest portion
of her -- her face and hair, her hands, the upper crescents of flesh
of her breasts -- from the long red taper she held, lit and
flickering like something alive.  She was wearing her boots again,
and her gloves, and he could hear the cool tapping of her heels
against the wood floor as she came wordlessly to the bed, to where he
was waiting, apprehensive and unsure of what was to come.

"You will be silent, Doctor," she told him, placing the taper down
aside the bed, and he saw her take something out of the thigh of her
boot.

It was a gag.  He swallowed at the sight of it.

"I would not wish to use this, but evidently, it is needed," she told
him.  "It will be tight but not uncomfortably so."  She knelt behind
him once again, and he felt the band of cloth go around his mouth --
saw it only by the jumping dark shapes on the wall where a shadow
woman reached around the neck of a defenseless shadow man and fasten-
ed the cloth over his lips.  The ends were tied firmly, and he was
silenced.  Again, Julian swallowed and felt himself begin to sweat.
He shook once, all over.

She saw it.  "This will be slightly painful, but may not be unplea-
sant."  He turned his head at her words, and saw her pick up the ta-
per and kneel again behind him.  "Lean forward," he was told.  He did
not, but tried instead to twist away from her, looking with fear at
the flaming candle.  From over the gag, she saw his eyes, lit by the
candle flame, watching her -- awaiting her actions.

"Lean forward," she repeated, taking a handful of his dark hair and
pushing his head toward the headboard.  He could not resist, and was
gradually pushed until his bound hands pressed against his brow.  He
was shaking.

A sparkling spot of heat awoke the nerves on the skin of his lower
back; he jumped and inhaled sharply at it, but before he could react
to it, the heat was gone.

Another little stab of heat sprang to life on his left shoulderblade.
He tried again to squirm away from it, but his Lady held him fast by
his hair, and he could not move.

Another -- this time on the back of his neck.  It was quickly follow-
ed by yet another in the middle of his back.  As the bed undulated in
reaction to his starts, little hotspots began tickling and alighting
all over him, dancing like fingertips all over his supple, trembling
body.  He was inching his way closer to hug the headboard, but then
felt a finger inserted into the band of cloth around his lips, and
his head was pulled back roughly until it rested in the crook between
her shoulder and neck.  The little fingertips danced all over him
once more -- punctuating the skin on his jumping chest, running down
his neck, tracing lines along his tense belly and thighs, running all
over him, running their heat all over his skin.  He felt an unbear-
able line of liquid heat trickling down his shoulder, and bucked and
squirmed in his Lady's arms.  She pulled his head back ever more
firmly, and he felt a line of heat drawn down his neck, from chin to
sternum.  It continued down his chest and over his belly, and he
twisted in panic, not wanting it to go further.  He gasped as he felt
it gently touch his tightly curled ebony hair, and then it was else-
where, drawing hot thick lines against his hips and waist.

Then, the pressure on his neck was gone, and the presence of his Lady
was gone with it.  She was gone, vanished, into the mysterious other
room after having placed the burning taper at the bedside.  He looked
down at himself as he tried to catch his breath and saw spots and
trickles of the scarlet wax all over his body, but could think only
of the return of his Lady.

She did so, peeling one glove off with slow and deliberate movements.
Before he knew what was happening, she leapt onto the bed with him
and pushed him flat into the headboard, the engraved and hammered
metal cold as ice against his bare skin.  He did not have time to
react before he felt a stinging crack against his buttocks, one that
pushed him even harder into the hard metal.  A gasp and sound of
shock squeezed itself past his gag, closely followed by another as
the same harsh sting radiated from his buttocks and ran up his spine.
It was joined by another, and another, and soon he was gasping and
moaning -- trying desperately to quell the moans -- in time with his
Lady's punishment.  With a jolt, he realized that he was beginning to
grow hard and stiff, realized that he wanted her to swallow him yet
again, even while she drove her hand over and over into his soft
skin, even while the crimson wax now solidified on him cracked and
splintered with his gyrations.  It went on, seemingly forever, until
he felt raw and the once icy headboard seemed like fire against his
chest.  The pounding had taken on a rhythm of its own, until his
entire being resonated with her every stinging blow, until every
movement he made -- even the beating of his heart -- had become
synchronized with her punishment.

And then it was over, and she was gone from behind him yet again,
leaving him to slump against the headboard, exhausted and trying to
catch his breath.  After a time, her voice came from a far corner of
the room.  "Have you learned?"  With effort, he turned his spinning
head to look in the direction of her voice.

In a regal-looking plush chair, high backed and covered in the ubi-
quitous dark leather, she was seated with her long black-encased legs
crossed, regarding him like an ephemeral judge in the dim halflight.
For several moments he could not muster any reply at all, could only
imagine what she saw when she looked at him like that; again he was
the cub or the gazelle, shivering and defenseless, and she the pre-
dator.  He looked down at himself again -- his skin in the dim can-
dlelight the same color as the metal headboard -- and saw the broken
traces of wax all over his body.  Closing his eyes, he took a deep
breath and nodded, still feeling the tingling aftereffects of her
blows.

"You have?" she asked, idly running her index finger up and down her
sternum.  Julian tried to read some emotion, some hopeful sign, in
her face and failed.  "I hope you have.  There is little time left
for us now until you must return to duty, Doctor, and I can't afford
to waste any more trying to teach you to hold your tongue."

He lowered his eyes, wanting to convince her that he could be trusted
to keep silent and learn.

She bounced one leg forward a few times, considering his kneeling
form.  "I think," she said as she unfolded herself and got up, "that
we will retain the gag.  Just to be on the safe side."  At the sight
of her walking toward him, Julian felt his heart leap.  For the thou-
sandth time, he cursed the bonds that held his wrists fast to the
bed, wanting to take her and hold her, plunge himself into her as
deeply as he could -- soul to soul.  He was not to be put out; she
would continue!

She saw his happiness, and it stopped her for a few moments.  His
Lady only looked down at him as he gazed up at her; she could read
the joy in his face, and it appeared to touch her.  The ungloved hand
raised and patted his cheek over the gag, and her expression became
infinitely tender.  "None have been so eager before . . . " she told
him quietly, her voice gentle.  She stroked his hair.  "Perhaps I was
too harsh with you.  None have ever wanted to please me so much."
She smiled at him, and her other hand moved to the gag.  He felt it
loosen slightly, and it dropped to his chin.  "Only for a few mo-
ments, dear Doctor."  His beautiful Lady leaned forward then, saying,
"I wish I could keep you," and kissed him as tenderly as he had ever
been kissed.  He tasted her sweetness and wanted very badly to match
it with his own.

The kiss deepened, and he lay himself mentally bare to her as she
probed into him, threatening to touch the secret sensitive places in
his mind and soul, the places he had barely dared to recognize him-
self.  She was everywhere, all things to him, and he fervently wished
she could take him into herself -- physically and mentally -- for-
ever.  Then contact with her lessened, and the gag slid back into
place over his lips.  Without a word, he understood.  The lesson must
continue, and he would not breach protocol this time; he would die
before disappointing her again.

She stepped back from him and stood silently, appearing to consider
something.  "Maybe we need a . . . brief rest."  Her hands were on
her hips, and she looked down at him with great affection -- watching
his eyes over the gag and the way they caught the spare candlelight.
Light and shadow flickered over him, coating him in a neon
butterscotch glow that jumped like a live thing, skittering all over
his bare skin -- illuminating first the nestling space between his
beautiful neck and shoulder, then the gentle S-curve of his back,
then the taut and graceful arms and legs, folded under him as he
knelt.  She watched as it ran itself through his dark hair, casting
fiery highlights in its depths, sketching out the waves and the
tight, damp curls that ringed his face and neck.  For a moment, she
almost loosed the gag completely, so badly did she desire to see his
fine, delicate lips in the halflight of the candle, but she restrain-
ed herself, knowing that the gag must remain, and that her own train-
ing as an Ishtarian teacher would be too severely compromised were
she to follow this impulse.

She chuckled to herself, low in her throat.  "You would make me cast
aside my training, Doctor, all for your beauty and my own desire."
She placed one flat palm against his hard, healthy belly and sighed.
He made no reply to this, with voice nor eyes but only remained
looking at her, awaiting her.  "I must finish instructing you in
relaxation and control first.  After that," and she toyed with the
tightly curled jet hair between his hips, "I will be able to instruct
you only in one more technique, one in which every man should be
well-versed."  An enigmatic smile.  "After all, when the time comes
for you to please your next partner, you may not have access to
kamireh." 

Next partner?  With a shock, he realized what she meant.  His head
whirled at the thought.  How could he have, or want, a next partner?
He looked at her, lit by the flickering flame, and shook his head.
You are my partner, my owner, he told her silently.  You possess me
now -- and always.  His deep eyes were transparent and honest, and
she read everything she had to in them, and was dismayed by it.

"No," she whispered gently.  "You must take others, my beautiful
Doctor.  You must."  Her statement was met only by slow shaking of
his dark head.  She saw his slim chest rise in a sigh, and saw the
devotion and fear at her departure shining out of his eyes.  "You
cannot remain here, and I cannot have you wait only for me.  I am
your teacher, not . . . " and her expression softened.  "I am sorry,"
she told him.  "I cannot take your fealty."  His fists tightened.  "I
cannot," she repeated urgently.  Her hand went to him then, alighting
on his sharp smooth cheeks like a feathery fan.  "Doctor," she said
with great intensity, "how could I keep you from others?  How could I
live knowing that you were not my consort but would take no other?"
Her fingers fluttered down to his jaw.  "There will be others,
Doctor.  And I cannot live knowing that I have taken you from them."
He tugged fiercely at his bonds, desperately wanting to tear the gag
from around his mouth and give voice to what he was feeling, take her
and disappear in her, inside her moist enveloping flesh -- thrust
himself into her as deeply as he could and never come out, never
leave the deepest embrace he had ever known.  He leaned his head back
and moaned, agonized at his inability to tell her this.

And her eyes dropped at this moment, as she regarded the devotion she
had inspired.  For a brief time, she leaned forward and forgot
herself.  Julian saw the opportunity and took it.  Throwing up his
left arm, he brought it down over her shoulder and caught her at
last, feeling his tortured muscles cry out as he pulled her tightly
to him, so tightly.  Her back was to the headboard, and she was
between his arms, her own wrapped around him as they pressed their
bodies together, feeling flesh against warm flesh, moistened by
excitement.  Her hands ran over him, all over him, and she could feel
the outlines of the tense slender muscles and tendons over his back
and shoulders as he clutched her, feel as well the spots and curls of
wax all over his skin.  Her face was against his neck, and she felt
as well the tickling damp curls of his hair, moist with his sweat,
running over her cheeks.  Wordlessly, she moved her right leg around
his hips.  Wordlessly, she embraced him thus.  "You are yet in your
bonds, Doctor," she said, almost to herself.  "I do not break
training.  You are yet in your bonds."  And she pulled her head back,
to see his eyes, his large amazing eyes, shining clear and intense
with all he was feeling -- dedication, arousal, smoldering desire.

And he plunged himself into her.

She only inhaled at this, her own very dark eyes wide.  Fiercely, she
tightened her legs, embracing him in the leather and her own body as
she felt him in her, deeply.  Against her own skin, she felt his
stomach tensing and relaxing, pulsing as his hips drove into her,
thrusting.  Her hands flew to his head once more, her fingers
tightening in his hair.  He felt her tugging urgently at the knot at
the nape of his neck, then felt only her mouth on his, her tongue
between his lips, thrusting as deeply into him as he was into her.
Her hands were around his neck, around the collar, pressing him into
her as she devoured him madly.  The chain from his collar cut into
her shoulder; she barely felt it such were the hot fiery sensations
exploding all over her.  Her lips which Julian's own tongue had
parted, the skin of her breasts and stomach as she felt the slick
wetness of his taut body against hers, his round lovely buttocks soft
between her thighs, and the folds of her flesh, wet and sensitive and
embracing, that took him in, feeling his every movement, his every
frantic thrust as he lost himself in her.

She felt icy metal at her own back and his fists at her neck and
realized that she had been backed into the headboard, pressed into it
as Julian pressed into her.  At first, she tried to push him away,
her hands at his driving hips, but then told herself -- He is yet in
his bonds.   He is yet bound.  Her head fell back, and his mouth was
at her neck, then her shoulder.  I am not breaking training, his or
mine.  He is bound.  His hands grasped her hair firmly, tightly; she
could not move her head.  He is yet bound, she told herself again.
He is still in his bonds.  She felt the pounding as he drove himself
into her, wildly.  Opening her eyes, she saw him -- eyes closed, jaw
clenched, his body shining and taut as wire, unreasoning, unthinking,
and realized the horror she was allowing to occur, the damage she was
doing to him.  Firmly, she placed her hands against his hips to hold
them away from her, hold them still, but such was his energy that he
easily overpowered her with his wild thrusting.  "Doctor," she whis-
pered but he did not hear.  The only response was a sound low in his
throat as he buried his face in her damp hair, a sound halfway be-
tween moan and howl.

His thrusting continued, and she realized that she had to stop him
now, before his training was ruined forever, before his wild im-
patience to unite with her overrode his tenuous training in control.
"Doctor!" she cried, and this time got a wordless inarticulate reply.
She finally grasped his pounding hips with a grip of iron that took
all her strength, stilling them completely.  For the first time since
the initiatory lesson, she felt him seriously struggling against her,
pushing with all his might to overcome her hands and drive into her
harder and further.  His eyes were wild and unreasoning as he looked
at her; were he coherent they might have been incredulous.  As it
was, he could only stare at her, fighting her hands, tightening his
embrace around her, trying with everything he had to be inside her
again.  After a time, he found his voice.

"Lady . . . "  It was urgent, its inherent softness obliterated by
his mad desire.  "Please, Lady, no . . . "  The words came faster,
tumbling out.  "Please . . . please let me be inside you again . . ."
Panic began to surface.  "Please!" he cried and began fighting her
strong hands again, pushing his hips forward as his body strained to
be close to hers.  "Lady, please . . . " he begged.  She shook her
head.

"Not like this."  Her voice was a whisper, edged with her own frus-
tration and desire, and anger at herself.

"But Lady, why?" was all he could ask, all he could plead.  His fists
became ironlike rocks.

"Doctor, I can't!" she hissed.  "I already nearly destroyed your
training with my stupidity.  I've nearly thrown away all my own
training because of my own shortsighted desire for you."  She paused
to get her own breath back, fighting her own wanting, wanting that
she hadn't felt since she had completed her training as teacher.  "I
can't let that happen!"  His skin was slick and wet; one more thrust
would wrench his hips out of her hands, and he would be in her again.
She tightened her grip on him until her nails dug into his soft skin.
"Doctor, I have my vows to think of . . . "

"I want you," he whispered back to her, his eyes roving over her
face, his mouth closing on hers until she felt his breath.  "I just
want you . . . "

"You are here to learn control," she replied.  "This," she nearly
waved to indicate both of them until she remembered that she dare not
move her hands, "is not control . . . "

"But Lady," and his voice dropped until she felt she would melt from
its sensuous intensity, "I don't want control right now . . . "  He
ran his mouth over her neck, so lightly and exquisitely that her hair
began to stand on end.  She felt his tongue at her throat, at her
pulse, and shivered.  "I want you . . . "

"You'll have me, and I you," she told him.  "But slowly, slowly."
She inhaled.  "Please, Doctor.  This is not as it should be."

"It should be . . . I should be . . . inside you, Lady."  If she had
thought his eyes burned before, it was as nothing compared to the
fire in them now.  "Forever."

Her heart convulsed.  "Would you leave the Fleet, your position?"  He
was silent at this.  "Would you give up all that you have now for
something you do not understand?  You do not know what a consort is,
or does.  You do not know life on Ishtar, among my people.  You
barely know daily life on my ship, Doctor!"  Her voice nearly broke.
"I cannot accept your fealty.  Please do not ask me again!"  There
was silence, and then --

"Must it be as consort?" he asked, and his defenselessness almost
paralyzed her.  He lowered his eyes, and his lashes looked long
enough to brush his cheeks.

Her head shook once.  "It must, with my vows.  Teachers such as
myself may not bind themselves to a man unless it be as consort."
She closed her eyes.  "And to be consort, you must leave the Fleet."
He said nothing, only bowed his head, nestling it against her
shoulder.  "I will be back, Doctor, my beautiful pupil."  She lifted
one hand to clasp his dark head to herself.  "I will return to this
station, I promise."

"How long?" he asked, after a painful silence.

"What with the independence on Bajor, the market for traders such as
myself has grown.  Normally, I would only pass by here once in a
lifetime.  Now, it may be as soon as four or five months."

Five months . . . !  It wasn't until she stroked his hair and toyed
with its waves, making a comforting shushing sound, that he realized
he had spoken aloud, and with all the despair he felt.

"Until then," she said gently, "we have the time we have, Doctor.
Two more hours."  She kissed his head softly.  "Let us make the most
of them."

"I know . . . I know that I said this before," he began, "but, Lady,
I'm yours."  His gentle lips caressed her cheek.  "Yours."

"Then," she smiled, "let us resume the lesson . . . my lovely pupil."
Again, they kissed deeply, and the room was silent but for the sounds
of their mouths against one another.  The scent of their desire hung
heavily in the fading candlelight as the taper finally burnt to its
socket, leaving them in darkness together for long moments, a dark-
ness they shared in a simple comforting embrace, saying and doing
nothing, but merely sharing the closeness of warm bodies, each feel-
ing the other's rhythmic breathing.  Then, "Lamps on low," she said
finally, managing to make it sound sensuous.  Immediately, the flame
lamps rose from their slumber, casting shadows on the walls and turn-
ing Julian's dark rich hair into a jet cap ringed by a halo of gold.
His face was in shadow, but his features were still highlighted by
shadows on shadows, sharp and smooth and beautiful.  His Lady caught
her breath in amazement.  One hand rose to his cheek, and he leaned
into the caress.  His eyes were in shadow; all that she could see was
the devotion that shone from them, from out of their velvet depths.
He turned his head, placing his lips against her wrist until he could
feel her pulse, rapid even for one of her race.  They drew together,
led by the tether that had sprung up between them, until they met in
warmth and lost themselves, each in the other.

Her hands moved at his hips, hands that had recently left nail marks
in his skin.  They now slid gently over him, languidly sliding over
the soft skin, feeling the curves and textures of his body.  They
wandered to his waist, his slender waist, then to his back and shoul-
ders, now dry and velvetly.  She felt the muscles there moving under
the skin as he lifted his arms -- still bound -- around her and drew
her even more tightly against him.  Her mouth once again found his
pulse, and her tongue traced it out to behind his jaw.  Against her,
he shivered.  His hips moved forward, and she whispered only one word
to him: "Patience."  She felt him nod.

Again, he entered her -- slowly, gently, with easy grace.  Their
bodies met, and Julian understood her desire, her wish to keep this
as it was.  The frantic grasping he had nearly given in to was as
nothing compared to the electric unity he felt now -- in each instant
of this togetherness, there was something to delight in, nothing to
rush through.  In each movement of hers and his, there was a new
sensation -- every part of her was a part to take individually, in
his mouth, his fingers, with his tongue, and experience.  He felt her
doing the same thing to him, taking each part of him, the entire
surface of his body, and devoting long slow minutes to it.  As she
moved, he was acutely aware of his body against hers, her legs around
him, her breasts pushed against his bare chest, their gentle softness
and the strength of the muscles underneath.  Gently, he began to
thrust back and forth, back and forth.  He could feel the excitement
build in him, and he forced himself to retain the slow, easy rhythm.

Patience, she had said.  He looked into her eyes, large and tip-tilt-
ed and no color he had ever seen before, and had no problem maintain-
ing the languid tempo.  All of her was something to be treasured, and
he would die rather than rush any part of it.  He would die rather
than keep this time with his Lady from lasting one minute longer than
it might.  It would not be forever, but he would make it seem so, and
with the discipline and control she had taught him.

Again, her nails went down his back, but this time he did not start.
Only a softly voiced sigh broke between his lips, trembling against
hers.  His spine arched, pushing his body yet harder into her own,
and his head fell back as far as the collar would allow.  With elec-
tric sensitivity, he felt her arm around his waist, holding him to
herself, and her other hand against his chest as she watched his
supple body curve away from hers in the liquid lamplight.  Lazily,
she leaned with him, drawing whirls and spirals with her tongue
against his chest.  He was beginning to shine once again, the hot
thin sweat of wanting, and as she looked down at herself -- at her
own breasts rising and falling, at her hard stomach, at her hips
joined to his -- she saw that she was as well.  Her eyes remained at
their paired hips, and she could just see the barest edge of him
entering and pulling away slowly between her muscular thighs, could
just hear the faintest liquid sounds of friction between their skins.

She looked up then, into his deep eyes, to see him watching her as
she watched.  His arousal flared, and he pressed himself against her
even more firmly, all the while maintaining the same slow rhythm, the
same lazy pace.  All the time in the universe . . . for the next
two hours.

She buried her fingers in the dark waves of his hair and pulled his
face against hers, softly thrusting her tongue between his delicate
lips.  Gradually, she began to mimic his rhythm inside her until they
were swallowing one another in time, in slow time.  With a jolt, she
realized that this was the first time she had ever followed any man's
lead, the first time she had not directed action.  The thought was
rapidly chased away, however, by the dizzying sensations she was
drowning in.  Maiden, Mother, and Crone, she thought hazily, what a
consort he would make.

He pulled away from her suddenly, stilling their undulations.  His
eyes were closed.  "Lady . . . " he trailed off, his gentle voice
holding onto the word.

"Control," she whispered back to him, fondling his jaw lovingly as
she saw his jet lashes fluttering.  They were both silent for long
agonizing moments.  Then, "Are you ready?" she asked him.  He nodded.

"Yes . . . " he replied with sensuous sibilance.  And he resumed, for
a brief time -- only a scant few minutes.  He pulled away from her
more urgently this time, his jaw clenched.

Through trembling lips, he breathed, "Lady . . . I don't think . . ."
His eyes were wide, filled with despair and pleading.  She caressed
his soft skin, his beautiful buttocks, with her gentle hands.

"Doctor," she replied, her voice feathery and light, filled with
understanding, "this is only your second lesson."  She leaned forward
and kissed his cheek.  "You have done far more . . . progressed
further than I would have imagined possible for a novice."  He only
swallowed at her words.

"But, I . . . "  He broke off and a chill took him, making his slick
body stand out with goosebumps.

Her mouth moved against his skin.  "You have pleased me, Doctor."
She paused.  "More than any other pupil, or any other man."  She took
his hips then, and pushed them against her own, rocking back and
forth as she thrust for him.  "I give you this."  Her rocking became
more and more forceful, her strong arms taking over for him, giving
him what he meant to have, what he deserved.

He shuddered under her hands, and gasped.  Overcoming her own rhythm,
his body pressed into hers as the wave broke over him.  Like iron,
she felt him slamming into her, saw him as he lost control finally --
as he must -- heard his wonder and peaking pleasure expressed in his
beautiful voice.  Again, his head was thrown back -- this time by a
force beyond him, and his spine whipped, throwing him into her over
and over.  She clasped him to her fiercely, feeling his taut, slim
body shuddering with the seizures that had taken him, crashing into
her with a strength which he did not normally possess.  She felt him
driving into her as deeply as anyone had ever been, filling her as
she took him in, stretching her sacred gateway deliciously.  With
sudden passion, she clutched at him, her arms tightening around his
back and she wished that he need never leave.  Doctor, she thought
silently, how I wish you could remain in me . . . for all time.
Nearly weeping, she buried her face in the warm skin at his neck,
moistened with his excitement, and clasped his body to hers even
harder.

		    * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Here."  She handed him his other uniform.  "I took the liberty of
retrieving it from your quarters while you were sleeping."

He took it without a word.  They had spent the last three quarters of
an hour in the warm spa, his head nestled against her chest, her arms
cradling him while the water lapped at them both and the synthesized
breezes carried the jasmine past their intertwined bodies.

Conversation had been sporadic.  He had tried so hard to convince
himself that it would last forever, and had failed.  And now, here
she was, handing him his Starfleet uniform, about to leave on a
voyage that would take her away from him for months, take her away.
Closing his eyes, he recalled the bloodwarm water, the feel of her
wet skin under his cheek as he lay against her, the feel of her body
against his as she held him.

As he pulled on his uniform, his eyes found the bed, rumpled from his
past lesson.  From the headboard, his collar still hung, limp and
empty.  Without a word, his Lady walked to the bed, her body covered
for the first time since he had originally seen her in the infirmary
-- years ago.  Without a word, she unlocked the ring that held the
collar to the headboard, walked toward Julian Bashir, and silently
held it out to him.  He took it as well.

"This should remain on board my vessel," she told him.  "Custom."
She took his hands in hers.  "But sometimes customs are meant to be
broken."  She paused, regarding him.  "It belongs with you.  When I
return . . . bring it with you.  Perhaps," she smiled wryly, "we may
determine next time how it fits me."

His eyes shot to her face, the wing brows raised in a question.

"There are, after all, other lessons to be taught, dear Doctor."  Her
hands ran over his smooth cheeks.  "Dear beautiful Doctor."

He attached his rank button to the collar of his uniform shirt and
only looked at her.  Suddenly, on an impulse, he knelt before her,
and his eyes -- those eyes that had touched her so deeply, been late-
ly so filled with excitement, with fire -- gazed up at her.  He took
her hands.  "Lady," he said, his voice filled with such measureless
devotion, and he could not continue.  His gaze dropped.

Her hand touched his dark head gently.  "I understand," she said to
him, and, after a moment's indecision, she knelt in front of him,
faced him as an equal.  He moved to kiss her, but she put her hand
against his chest, against his uniformed chest, and stopped him.
"Not without your bonds, Doctor," she said sadly.

"I understand," he echoed, dropping his arm from around her waist.
He held the collar against himself like a talisman, clutching it.
Together, they rose.

"You're due in the infirmary in ten minutes," she told him.

"Yes."

"And I'm due to depart in ten minutes as well."  She regarded the
docking plan on the viewer near the entrance to her ship.  "There is
a Vulcan ship due to dock in this very place then, and I must be gone
for them to do so."  She took him in her arms, then -- and again he
felt the closeness, the unity, he had felt while his body had been
against hers, inside hers, touching completely and not through awful
clothing.  They did not kiss.

After long minutes, they released one another.  "I . . . " he began,
but trailed off.

"I know."

His hands tightened around the collar, still damp with his sweat.
His legs felt like lead as he walked toward the docking entrance, his
Lady behind him.

"Five months," she said to him.  "It will pass."

"Like five centuries."  She shook her head.

"No.  Your life will continue, Doctor.  You will find things with
which to occupy your time.  Dangers, adventures, the things you came
here for."  She shrugged.  "I . . . I will find opportunities, worlds
for trading," a sly smile, "and gambling halls for cheating."  This
brought the smile she longed to see to his lips.  "And when I return
here, I will find you, and you me.  And the lessons will resume."

"Lady," he whispered, his voice colored with urgency as the bay door
rolled back, presenting the lonely and silent corridor to him.  "I'm
yours." 

"I know," she replied and touched his face, his brow.  She turned
then, and walked back into her ship.  The entrance slid open, and she
turned back to see him standing in the airlock bay entrace, framed by
the door, holding the collar in his hands.

"Five months," she repeated.

"Five months."  And the entrance closed over her, cutting her off
from him with a pain that was nearly concrete in its intensity.  He
stepped back from the airlock as the door rolled back into place with
formidable solidity.  He heard the faint clicks of the safeties
loosing, then the rumble of her engines.  As he watched, the Ariad
shot away from the docking ring, its aft end glowing with the power
of her warp drive.  He would have stood there longer, watching until
her glowing ship, her presence, was gone from the sky, but his duty
to the station, his job, was once more present in his mind.  Checking
a chrono set into the wall, he saw that he had two minutes until he
was due in the infirmary.

His fists tightened on the collar again, and he looked down at it in
his hands.  Still shimmering blue and silver, it was yet damp.  His
eyes closed in memory, and he swallowed.  One last glance out the
port was all he allowed himself, and he turned away.  His steps
echoed in the silent corridor.

Five months . . .

THE END