Deep Space Nine – Delightful Education of Julian Bashir part 1.

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
signaled 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 handfuls 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 puppy-like 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
goose-bumps 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.