From netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!netnews Wed Mar 13 19:56:16 1996 Xref: netcom.com alt.startrek.creative.erotica:1183 alt.fan.q:5132 Path: netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!netnews From: thegiff@ix.netcom.com(Ruth Gifford) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica,alt.fan.q Subject: NEW: "His Beloved Pet" Prologue (1/1) (TNG, P/Q, BDSM) Date: 14 Mar 1996 02:50:54 GMT Organization: Netcom Lines: 245 Message-ID: <4i81ie$mni@cloner3.netcom.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ont-ca3-14.ix.netcom.com X-NETCOM-Date: Wed Mar 13 6:50:54 PM PST 1996 Brace yourselves everyone; this is a collaberation between both Ruth *and* Atara. We had a busy holiday season, what with kids, overtime, visiting sisters, grading, revising articles, and our gifts to one another ("Seven attachments and two speeds? All for me . . .?"), but somehow we managed to start this TrekSmut. The fact that it's taken over two months to *finish* is a reflection on our busy . . . um . . . life. Those of you who have read our other stories shouldn't make any assumptions as to which of us wrote what (you'd be surprised); however, Ruth *is* solely responsible for the somewhat over-the-top Epilogue, if you don't like it, don't blame Atara. Being the pop culture junkies that we are, there are many quotes buried in this story. They are from such varied sources as Ruth's dad, a Star Wars character, Patrick Stewart (more than once, both from an iterview, and in a role that is not JLP), a "toy" catalogue, more than one rock band (including Atara's mandatory buried U2 quote), a totally private joke that Ruth got in a letter from Mercutio, and a few other odds and ends. Just some advanced Easter eggs for y'all, but remember, this is an exhibition, not a competition--no wagering please. The events in this story take place directly after "All Good Things..." Because we're screwing with timelines and such, assume that this is an alternate timeline that separates from canon after "All Good Things..." The events of "Generations," the subsequent posting of Worf to DS9, and Q's sudden fascination in a certain female (therefore *acceptable* as an object of his affections) starship Captain do not occur in this universe (hey, what's one more alternate universe amoung friends?). In fact, you have to discount "Death Wish" entirely when you read this, because we were halfway through the story when that episode aired, and our version of the Continuum does not match with current canon. The marks ***///*** indicate a dream. Any references to Captain Picard and Captain Janeway having had a fling are from Ruth's story "Forfeit; or The Captain's Game" but you certainly don't have to have read it to read this one (if you want to, it's archived). The story is split up into six parts; a prologue which has one section, Part One which has four sections, Part Two which has three sections, Part Three which has two sections, Part Four which has five sections, and an Epilogue which has one section. It will be archived in one complete chunk, but if you can't get it from there, write to Ruth and ask . . . nicely. This package contains the following: 1) Several characters and one starship owned by Paramount- Viacom, Inc. 2) A lot of sex (kinky sex at that) which should not be read by children (it’s the law), members of congress (shouldn’t you people be balancing the budget?) and the straitlaced or homophobic (get over it). Some settling of contents may occur. Enjoy, and do let us know what you think. Ruth Gifford (thegiff@ix.netcom.com) *** Hi, Atara here. With uncharacteristic modesty, Ruth is crediting this story to both of us equally, but after much arm-twisting, I talked her into letting me add a bit of clarification to this intro. In the interests of fairness, it should be noted that this is, essentially, Ruth's story. It was her idea, and she planned, plotted, and structured it, and wrote most of it as well. I wrote some bits and pieces here and there (and Ruth is correct that you might be surprised to know who wrote what :-) ), and I made some suggestions, but I want to give credit where credit is due. Umm . . . do enjoy, but be warned--it's not for the faint of heart. Atara Stein (ataras@covina.lightside.com) /*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/ His Beloved Pet; or A Dangerous Liaison by Ruth Gifford and Atara Stein (c) 1996 Prologue The multicolored swirls of light would have been impossible for the human eye to tell apart, if any human were present to observe them. One of their own kind would note that one swirl seemed more energetic, and resonated in a somewhat more purple band than the other. Their actual communication would have been incomprehensible to the human ear, but to one another they were perfectly clear. They hovered in the cold vacuum of space, which didn't seem to affect them in the least, and they were looking down at a starship. To be more concise, they were looking *through* the large, but unbelievably primitive (at least to them) ship to watch a poker game. "I suppose I should offer my congratulations," one swirl (the less purple of the two) said to the other. "He did much better than I expected, better than any of us expected." "Thank you so much," the energetic swirl said sarcastically. "*I* expected him to succeed, you know." "Yes, I'm sure you did." The first swirl's tone was mockingly soothing. "Honestly, I don't know why you bothered to help him." "I like to watch him scramble to keep up with me." "Yes, but now he *trusts* you, the fool." The swirl rippled with laughter. Deliberately using a human image it continued, its tone still mocking. "Imagine the great rebel angel, trusted by a Human of such fine moral character." The laughter resumed. "Yes, he does." The purple swirl tried to hide how much the trust of the Human in question bothered it. "If you knew anything about him, you'd know what an amazing leap of faith it is for him to trust me." "Well, it's probably the only leap he's capable of." The swirl waited to see if its companion would take the bait. "What do you mean by that? He's surprisingly capable, for such a limited creature." "Yes but how capable are *you*? Are you capable of getting him to really trust you?" the first swirl teased. "What do you mean? Of course I am!" "Trusting you to help him solve a puzzle is one thing. But these Humans of yours have different levels of trust. Could he call you 'friend'? Could you get him to trust you even further than that?" The second swirl shimmered with irritation. "You're truly tiresome when you're being obscure. What are you getting at?" "I imagine that even you would have a hard time truly breaking through his barriers." "I doubt it." "So confident, so arrogant . . ." * . . . so like *him*,* the calm swirl thought privately. "All right then, seduce him." "What??!!" The first swirl glowed smugly. "I knew you would balk." 'I'm *not* balking," its energetic companion replied, stung by the accusation. "What kind of seduction are you talking about?" "The only kind that matters to *him*. A physical seduction, can you lure him into--what's their phrase? . . . making love to you? And not just once, mind you; that would be too easy." "That is the most ridiculous notion I've ever heard." "What a pity that you won't take my challenge." The second swirl finally saw the doors of the trap, just as they closed with it inside. *Oh merde!* it thought, borrowing a phrase from the human in question. *I can't back down from this . . . but *sex* with him?* Heaving the mental equivalent of a sigh, it answered its companion's challenge. "Of course I can do it." "You haven't heard my conditions yet." The purple swirl glared at the other. "Well . . .?" "You have to do this as "yourself," or at least the self he knows as you; no disguising yourself as that doctor of his, or some other human woman. And no using your powers to *make* him want you." "Well, of course, *that* would be too easy. May I assume I can read his mind? And *when* he does give in, the gloves come off?" "Fair enough. If you can seduce him using only your telepathic abilities, then you'll have earned the right to do whatever you can with your fine captain afterward. So will you do it?" *Why does Q always get me into these situations? I have to do it, if word gets around that I turned down a challenge *this* easy, I'll be the laughing stock of the Continuum.* The purple swirl spoke to its more mellow companion. "Yes of course I will. Not without reservations, of course." "I *knew* it! You actually have feelings for your . . . project. You *care* about your pet." Angrily the purple swirl replied, "I do *not*!" The calm swirl shifted up the spectrum, preparing to depart. "Take as much time as you need, Q." "You're so gracious, Q." As the other swirl vanished, the remaining Q shimmered into its Human form, a big, handsome man with arresting dark eyes, and distinguished silver-touched black hair. He made a rude Human gesture at his departing friend, and then looked back at the starship. It was, of course, the USS Enterprise NCC-1701D, and its Captain was Jean-Luc Picard, the subject of Q's new dare. "Sorry, Jean-Luc," Q muttered to himself, "but I *won't* be laughed at, and anyway, you should know better than to trust *moi* so much." *************************************************************** "Go on take everything, take everything I want you to Go on take everything, take everything I dare you to I told you from the start Just how this would end When I get what I want Well I never want it again" "Violet" Hole -- ****************** Ruth Gifford "Update all information and pod into cosmos." Instructional label on a Fed Ex package (really) From netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!netnews Wed Mar 13 19:56:20 1996 Xref: netcom.com alt.startrek.creative.erotica:1184 alt.fan.q:5133 Path: netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!netnews From: thegiff@ix.netcom.com(Ruth Gifford) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica,alt.fan.q Subject: NEW: "His Beloved Pet" Part One (1/4) (TNG, P/Q, BDSM) Date: 14 Mar 1996 02:54:12 GMT Organization: Netcom Lines: 458 Message-ID: <4i81ok$pjm@cloner4.netcom.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ont-ca3-14.ix.netcom.com X-NETCOM-Date: Wed Mar 13 6:54:12 PM PST 1996 His Beloved Pet: Part One (1/4) "Tea, Earl Grey, hot." As Jean-Luc Picard took the newly materialized cup of tea out of the replicator, he was surprised to find that his hands were shaking. He managed to get to the sofa without spilling any tea, but it took some effort. He ordered the computer to dim the lights, trying to preserve the illusion of normalcy. As he sat on the sofa, staring at the steam rising from his cup, he began an all too familiar routine. After any crisis, he had a habit of playing the events back, trying to figure out how he could have better handled the situation. To his dismay he realized that he'd really made a mess of things this time. *What was wrong with me? I've dealt with more complicated temporal anomalies before; I've thought my way out of almost impossible situations; so why was I so dense?* He sighed. *And this isn't the first time I've been stupid around Q. I'm stupid around Q almost every time I encounter him. Why?* He couldn't help remembering the prior visit he had paid to his past, the time Q had returned him to his days as a green ensign. *I *know* better than to try to change history, and even if I didn't, it's against Starfleet regulations. Why on Earth did I think that I could make things different? Why?* He turned that problem over in his mind, and like all the other times came back to Q. Q . . . whom he had dismissed for so long as simply an omnipotent and annoying prankster, a dangerous pest who was nothing but trouble, and large-scale trouble at that. Well, there was clearly more to Q than that--that much was obvious. Q's last two visits had *not* been games. And it was undeniable that Q was . . . somehow . . . on his side. And without Q's help on these two occasions he, Jean-Luc Picard, would not only have been an utter failure, but would no longer be around to reflect on what an utter failure he had been. He sighed and sipped his cooling tea, not sure if what had just happened to him had *really* happened, or if it was some monumental illusion created by Q and his mysterious colleagues. On the other hand, did it really matter? If Q had the ability to create an illusion on that large a scale, then he clearly had the ability to manipulate time and space to an unimaginable extent. Why not admit it? Picard had had several encounters with the closest equivalent to a god that he had ever encountered, and he had had the unmitigated stupidity to try to kick that god off his ship. It wasn't surprising Q had no compunction about exposing the Enterprise to the Borg that time--compared to himself, humans were no more advanced than a species of amusing and occasionally clever animals. What was it Data had said? That Q regarded him as a master would a beloved pet? If so, from Q's perspective, Picard ordering him off the ship would be something like Data's pet cat trying to take over the Enterprise. *How have I managed to fool myself all these years? Why do I seem to think that I have *any* control over what happens to me when Q is around? My God, I might as well try . . .* His train of thought abruptly switched tracks. "My God . . ." he repeated, aloud this time. He laughed slightly, a laugh devoid of any humor. "What an appropriate phrase . . ." He buried his head in his hands as he tried to deny the unavoidable. In his mind, he heard that mocking voice again, "Welcome to the afterlife, Jean-Luc. You're dead, and I'm God." He had laughed at Q, arrogantly denying his adversary's words, assuming that Q was just joking. What if Q *hadn't* been joking? The evidence of this most recent encounter pointed to a simple truth: Q was a god. Picard shuddered as the enormity of it all washed over him. He hadn't simply been fighting to solve a riddle and save *Humanity*; the fate of the entire Alpha Quadrant had rested on his shoulders. He thought of *all* the lives; Humans, Vulcans, Andorians, all the races of the Federation, and so many others whose histories would simply never have been if not for his actions. He'd faced a test, a test set up by a race of . . . gods, and he'd been failing until Q stepped in and started dropping hints. He remembered Q's scorn, "The anomaly . . . my crew . . . my ship; I suppose you're worried about your fish too." *I deserved that,* Picard thought. *And my thank- you...he took it well, but now it seems so . . . trivial. But how do you thank a god for helping you accomplish the impossible?* Slowly he raised his head from his hands. Taking his cup to the waste slot, he then tidied up a little and headed into his bedroom. He dimmed the lights, even the soft blue running lights. *I will *not* kneel,* he thought. Instead he simply turned and looked out the window, as dazzled as always by the majestic panorama of the stars. "I don't know who or what you really are . . . but . . . thank you . . . Q." His voice shook slightly, but oddly enough, he didn't feel all that foolish. "I know I disappoint you, but for some reason you keep helping me and . . . well . . . I'm truly grateful." It wasn't enough, but it was sincere, and it was more than he'd said in the courtroom. As he climbed into bed, he decided to leave all the lights off, and so he drifted off to sleep looking at the stars. *Well,* thought Q. He was leaning back against the Enterprise’s primary hull, lounging near Picard's dark window. *This will make things a great deal easier for me.* He easily pushed aside his other reaction to Picard’s surprisingly heartfelt gratitude, ignoring the faint feeling of mingled unease and gratification. He thought of appearing right then, as if in answer to Jean-Luc’s . . . prayers, but thought better of it. He was busy planning his approach, when his own image appeared in Picard’s dreaming mind. *All without encouragement--this is getting better and better.* He settled down to share the dream with the dreamer. ***///*** It was the courtroom again. There he was, standing on the platform trying to look self-assured while Q loomed over him. Like lines from a well rehearsed script, the words he had said came out of his mouth. "Well, I sincerely hope that this is the last time I find myself here." Now Q would say, "You just *don't* get it, do you?" "Too little too late, Picard," Q said. Picard stared at him. This wasn't the way it had been. "For once you're right, and it won't do you any good. This *is* the last time you'll find yourself here." He stood, extending an arm and pointing at Picard. "Prisoner, hear your sentence. For the crimes of stupidity and ineptitude, I find you . . . guilty." The word struck Picard like a physical blow, and he took an involuntary step backwards. And he was suddenly in what could only be described as a dungeon. He was naked, standing in front of Q, who was dressed completely in black leather and was regarding him with utter contempt. "Judge and jailer too," remarked Q casually; "it's important to be well-rounded, don't you think?" Picard was frozen and speechless, his arms hanging limply by his sides. Q's tone suddenly shifted. "And you, you miserable specimen of a pathetic race, I was foolish enough to have some faith in you, some hope that you might be able to . . . I don't know . . . *learn* something, grow, evolve. You've disappointed me, Jean-Luc, and I *don't* like being disappointed!" Picard felt his chin being firmly grasped in one of Q's large hands, and then a harsh slap exploded across his cheek in a blinding, shattering crystalline burst of clarity. In one searing flash, he saw himself through Q's eyes--hopelessly weak, inept, stupid, and foolish, trying to prove a superiority and an ability he wasn't remotely close to attaining. When Q released his chin, he dropped to his hands and knees, his muscles too shaky to hold his body erect. "Very nice," said the mocking voice above him. "That position seems to suit you much better. Now let's see if you're good for anything else, since you're obviously incapable of any *intellectual* activity." Q did not touch his victim, but Picard felt a tempest of hard stinging slaps assaulting his entire body. They battered his buttocks, his thighs, his calves, the bottoms of his feet, his back, his shoulders, his arms. His penis was grasped and pulled by an invisible fiery hand, while his anus felt as though it was being stretched, filled, and burned by a red-hot phallus. He was frozen, paralyzed, too overwhelmed to move or make a sound. His eyes were fixed on Q's boots immediately in front of his face, which still throbbed from being struck, and he felt himself spiraling away into darkness. As he was about to pass out, the assault suddenly ceased, and Picard collapsed into a whimpering, shivering heap on the stone floor. As he lay there he felt a curious sensation around his neck, wrists, and ankles, and Q hauled him to a standing position by a leather collar that had materialized around his neck. Just at that moment a mirror materialized in front of him. "Look at yourself," demanded the irate entity. "Look at yourself and see what you *really* are, good for nothing but to be a mere pet, and not a very interesting one at that." Picard could not bear to look in the mirror, but Q yanked back on the collar, and he was forced to regard his reflection, a trembling, pitiful shadow of a man, wearing nothing but black leather cuffs and a collar, with the red imprint of Q's hand still visible on his cheek. Even more overwhelming was the sight of Q, looming behind him as he had so often in the past. The hand holding the collar shifted, and Picard stared in horrified fascination at the sight of that hand gripping the black leather. A sob rose in his throat, but in a flash his tormentor had disappeared, and he was spread-eagled against the dungeon wall, fastened to rings in the wall by his cuffs and collar, his feet resting on the cold floor. He felt a stinging, pinching sensation on his nipples, as if they were gripped by invisible clamps, and both his erect cock and his anus were burning and throbbing as before, while he felt the rough texture of the wall pressing into his raw, brutalized behind. Because his head was immobilized, he was forced to look straight ahead at the mirror strategically placed in front of him, to see himself with no masks, no defenses, without the psychic armor of his uniform, without the authority of his position. He tried to close his eyes, but they were firmly held open by the same supernatural force that was violating the most sensitive and private parts of his body. He couldn't avoid looking at himself, completely vulnerable, completely exposed, and tears began rolling out of his eyes. "Q, . . . please . . .stop . . . this," he gasped between sobs. "I . . . admit . . . it . . . I've . . . failed . . . you, . . . failed . . . myself . . . I'm . . . sorry." "SORRY?" echoed a booming, resounding voice. "THAT'S HARDLY ADEQUATE, JEAN-LUC. YOU HAVEN'T BEGUN TO REALIZE JUST HOW INSIGNIFICANT YOU ARE." If Picard had thought he was overwhelmed before, the sensations he had been experiencing were nothing compared to what happened next. Somehow, he was still manacled to the dungeon wall, spread-eagled, but simultaneously floating in the void of space. He felt even smaller than he had earlier, small and terribly aware of how much he depended on Q. Here, in the vast, empty, dark, all he was, all he knew, everything that made up his own image of himself, was gone. If he failed Q now . . . anything could happen. His emotions felt raw and ragged; shame, fear, a terrifying eagerness to please, an even more terrifying arousal, were all linked and knotted like threads inside his head. Hating the sound of his own voice, he whispered, "please . . . " without even knowing what it was that he was asking for. It didn't matter, because there was no answer. The terrible physical assault diminished slightly, his nipples were still painfully clamped, but although his anus was still stretched open and full, the thrusting had stopped. The attention being paid to his penis vanished except for a tightness at the base. ***///*** "Well, well, well," murmured Q, as he languidly reclined against the curve of the saucer section. "*This* is going to be like taking candy from a baby. Rather disappointing really, no challenge at all." He felt a slight concern for Picard, then brushed it away. "After all this is *his* imagination, not mine. I must say, he has a rather *vivid* imagination for a man who appears so repressed. I like the cock ring . . . truly a classic accessory." ***///*** Picard was drifting out of the darkness toward a great source of heat and light. His position was rotated slowly until he found himself dangerously close to an angry red star. A stream of light poured from the star into a nearby cloud of blue light; he could see a pinprick of blackness at the center of the blue cloud, and knew that he was looking at a black hole. He lost some of his fear as he marveled at the beauty of the scene, but that fear rapidly returned when a voice began reverberating from all around him. The voice wasn't merely audible, it was tangible as well, pulsing through every nerve like fire. "WHO ARE YOU?" It was impossible not to answer; the voice demanded obedience. He knew that his own voice (that same voice he was secretly so proud of) sounded terribly small and lost. "Jean-Luc Picard." "Six" the voice, Q's voice said. Before Picard could begin to figure out what his captor meant by that, Q spoke again. "WHAT ARE YOU?" Still trying to cling to some foolish notion of normal behavior, which wasn't easy in his current situation, Picard hesitantly replied, "Captain of the Enterprise?" "WRONG AGAIN. That's another six." There was a pause, during which Picard had time to reflect anew on just how vulnerable he was. The feeling of the dungeon wall behind him vanished, although he was still securely bound to . . . something. "WHY ARE YOU HERE?" Picard gave up. "I . . . don't . . . know..." "YES YOU DO!" There was another pause, and then the voice said, "that's eighteen altogether." Picard felt his insides knotting and twisting, and his breath grew ragged. He heard a sharp hissing whistle behind him, and then, with a crack like thunder, the first blow landed across his back--a searing slash of shrieking blue flame. He screamed, twisting helplessly in his bonds, trying at all costs to avoid the next blow. He couldn't, of course, the next landed, and the next . . . each blow in its turn, slicing down his back and ass like gouges from some great iron clawed bird. When it was over he hung, sobbing, his throat aching from the screaming. The scene abruptly shifted; he was in the swirling heart of a nebula, but the ribbons of purple and indigo gasses that surrounded him failed to catch his attention. "Who are you?" This time the voice was soft, a hissing softness from right behind him. In a way the softness was even more terrifying than the earlier voice, because he found himself straining desperately, hanging on each word as if his very life depended on answering the question. For all he knew, it did. Knowing that he was probably wrong, but clinging to his fading sense of identity, Picard replied, "Jean-Luc." "Wrong," Q murmured. He did not, however, mention a number, and Picard wondered what his punishment would be this time. "What are you?" "Your prisoner," Picard replied, hoping it was what Q wanted to hear. There was an amused chuckle in his ear. "Still wrong, but you're getting closer." Then, as Picard had known he would, the entity asked, "why are you here?" Picard felt a tiny surge of rebellion. "Because I can't . . . *leave*." Q didn't bother tell him he was wrong. Instead there was silence, a thick, cloying silence. Picard felt a slight touch along the inside of his elbow. It intensified, penetrating his skin and coiling around the sensitive nerve endings. It hurt and yet it didn't hurt; the nerve seemed to be directly wired to his penis, which had remained erect all through the earlier beating. Now it throbbed in time to the touch, and Picard began to moan, pleading wordlessly for release. Oddly enough, the excruciating touch stopped. He had a second to feel relief, and then it happened again, this time at the back of his neck. One by one, all of his nerves were set alight, the backs of his calves, the soles of his feet, the palms of his hands, his wrists, on and on, nerve by nerve. By the time the touch reached his nipples, Picard was struggling again. When every nerve in his aching nipples blossomed into fire, he began to scream. Even after the torment ceased, he continued screaming until that strong, large hand gripped his chin again. Once more there was a slap to his face, and once more there was that sudden burst of clarity. Picard *knew* the answers. "LOOK AT ME!" Again the scene had shifted; Picard was drifting near a vibrant yellow/white star. He could feel the heat and the solar wind against his abused body, and he realized that he was no longer bound in the spread-eagled position. Instead, he was on his knees, his ankle cuffs were locked together, and he was sitting on his heels, knees spread. His hands were cuffed behind his back, and there was a heavy chain hanging from his collar. He looked up slowly, looking past Q's boots, to his belt, from which hung a braided leather whip, and a heavy silver ring. He kept looking up, feeling smaller and more humiliated by the second. When he finally met Q's darkly glowing eyes, he was trembling, and his hands were clenched together in desperation. Amid all this fear, helplessness, and humiliation, he surprised himself by thinking, *this is where I belong.* Q looked down at him silently, and Picard struggled to keep his eyes open. Finally the god asked the first question. "Who are you?" "johnny," he replied, knowing that Q knew the story behind the nickname that Picard had first heard as a sneering insult from an upperclassman at the Academy. He had stubbornly accepted it while silently hating it, but now he *was* johnny, no full name, no capital J, no title of rank. Q nodded gravely, and Picard cautiously let out the breath he'd been holding. One down. "What are you?" "Your pet." This one hurt, but it was supposed to hurt, and Picard welcomed the humiliation. "Why are you here?" "To . . . amuse you . . . to try to . . . to please . . . you . . ." Picard managed to stammer out the words. " . . . to . . . to serve . . . You . . ." Q said nothing, but he reached his hand down to his belt and removed the ring. He snapped his fingers and Picard felt his wrist cuffs separate. He kept his hands behind his back, and Q nodded approvingly. "Hand me your chain." Hands shaking, Picard obeyed. Q took the end of the chain; there was a flash of bright light, and the ring was joined to the last link. Another flash and the ring was locked to a stone pillar which had suddenly materialized in front of Picard. Q was now behind Picard, and his voice suddenly lashed out. "I wanted to see if you were good for anything . . . knees and elbows!" His ankle cuffs separated and Picard went down, resting his weight on his elbows and his head on his hands. Instinctively, he shifted his knees wider, and Q chuckled. "So eager for it, pet?" The question demanded some kind of response, and Picard lifted his head to nod, somehow knowing that he was not allowed to speak. "No johnny, you *can't* talk. You can moan, you can gasp, you can cry and scream, but there's only one word you have the right to say. If you're not sure, keep silent, because I've only accepted your...service conditionally. Disappoint me again and . . . " Picard responded by lowering his head once again, and arching his hips. Q was not gentle. Picard had not expected him to be, and would probably have been disappointed if he had been. There was lubrication from somewhere, but Q thrust all the way in with the first thrust. It was hot and it hurt, and Picard wanted it more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. He had wanted this forever, needed this wonderful, agonizing, bittersweet pain. He hesitantly moved, and Q's hands cruelly gripped his hips, pulling him into the hard driving rhythm. Picard *was* moaning, gasping, crying and screaming, and he wanted to ask for even more, but he knew that wasn't the word. Letting his entire body speak for him he begged without words, giving over all physical control to Q. With each savage, pulsing thrust, the light from the nearby star grew brighter, the heat grew more intense, the solar winds whipped around him with greater force. Q was relentless, and the heat and the motion and the fucking built up and then built higher. Picard was blinded by the brightness--the brightness of the star before him, the brightness of the god behind him, the brightness of his own need to give everything he was to his . . "Master!" he cried out. The word pushed them both over the edge. Picard felt more than heard Q's roar. It washed over him and his own ragged cry of ecstasy was but a pale echo. The star before his eyes grew even brighter and then, it exploded. Picard could see colors that he didn't even have names for; he could feel each gas particle strike him, and felt the shock wave rushing toward them. Q's hand grabbed his collar, and the god spoke once more. "Say it again, pet." That voice again rolled over and through him, caressing, stinging, burning each word into Picard's brain. He would give anything to remain in this place, to continue this feeling of absolute certainty. He was small, helpless, and fit only for this service, and yet there was pride, pride in his humiliation, pride that he *could* serve. It had hurt, emotionally, and physically, and he had broken under the assault, but still there was some strength in the surrender. Knowing that Q would hear all of this in his voice, he whispered the word again, "Master," and then once more, "Master . . ." ***///*** *************************************************************** ********** "I feel happy, and I also feel bad I've never been here before, but somehow I think I have But I'm getting used to it I've never been lost like this I've never been lost like this But I wouldn't be happy anywhere else" "Lost Like This" Boingo -- ****************** Ruth Gifford "Update all information and pod into cosmos." Instructional label on a Fed Ex package (really) From netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!news Wed Mar 13 19:56:23 1996 Xref: netcom.com alt.startrek.creative.erotica:1185 alt.fan.q:5134 Path: netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!news From: thegiff@ix.netcom.com(Ruth Gifford) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica,alt.fan.q Subject: NEW: "His Beloved Pet" Part One (2/4) (TNG, P/Q, BDSM) Date: 14 Mar 1996 02:56:39 GMT Organization: Netcom Lines: 501 Message-ID: <4i81t7$1u6@dfw-ixnews5.ix.netcom.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ont-ca3-14.ix.netcom.com X-NETCOM-Date: Wed Mar 13 8:56:39 PM CST 1996 His Beloved Pet Part One (2/4) ***///*** ". . . Master," Picard was whispering as he . . . woke up. He was trembling, shaking even, and his pajamas were drenched in sweat. And not just sweat, he realized, more terrified than he had been in a very long time. For a long while he simply lay in his bed, unable to think or to stop the shaking. When he had finally calmed enough to do anything, he got out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom. Avoiding the mirror, he stripped hastily and stepped into his shower, hitting the controls that allowed the hot water to pound over him. He remained there for a long time, his mind wrapped in the comfortable thick cotton of numb shock. When he was done and had dried himself; he looked in the mirror and felt more than naked--something was missing. His hand rose of its own volition to touch his neck, and then his cheek. When he realized that he was looking for a collar, trying to feel the imprint of a hand on his face, his knees shook, and he braced himself on the counter, closing his eyes in a feeble attempt to hide from himself. How he managed to get back into the bedroom, he didn't know, but soon he was sitting cross-legged in his bed, trying to think. *Fear . . . it has to be fear . . . that's the only answer . . . Q . . he terrifies me . . . I know its all right to be afraid . . . but I'm the Captain . . . I can't show it . . . have to hide the fear . . . but . . . I can't hide it forever . . . and so this . . . * He sighed. *It's not like I didn't know this about myself . . I've wanted to be dominated . . . hurt even . . .by someone . . that I could . . . surrender to . . . I've wanted to . . . find someone . . . who would somehow *know* . . . who could *take* from me . . . all I could give . . . I've never been able to . . . ask for it . . . but now this . . . my putting Q in that role . . . it was inevitable . . . I'm surprised that it took this long for me to have a dream like this about him . . .* He buried his head in his hands. *Why do I think Q would . . . want *me*? . . . do I really want give away that much of myself . . . that much of my control . . . to be that small? . . . to be told *that* brutally that all I am is . . . a pet?* The other word that applied, the one thing that Q hadn't called him in the dream, burned his mind. Angry, confused, afraid, and lonely, he brought his knees up and wrapped his arms around them. *I have to be The Captain again soon . . . Oh God . . . what's wrong with me? How can I command when I'm . . . so . . . such an imbecile? . . . why does anyone take me seriously . . . when all I am is . . . is an 'obtuse piece of flotsam?'* "Well, perhaps that was a bit . . . harsh, Mon Capitaine." Picard shrank back involuntarily, hating himself for doing so. The memories of his dream were all too vivid in his mind, and he fought down an urge to prostrate himself before his godlike tormentor. He was certainly unable to muster his usual arrogant defiance of Q, and continued to huddle in his bed, fearing to move or expose himself further in any way. Q sat down on the edge of the bed, keeping a careful distance from Picard. His voice was uncharacteristically gentle, retaining only a tinge of its usual mocking tone. "Jean-Luc, Jean-Luc," he purred soothingly, "don't you think you're being a tad hard on yourself? After all, you did much better on our little test than anyone could reasonably expect. For a limited human you acquitted yourself rather well, I think." "I . . . don't . . . know . . . what . . . to . . . say," stammered Picard. "You . . . helped . . . me, . . . and . . . I . . . don't . . deserve . . . your . . . concern." He paused, unable to control the shaking in his voice and also unable to repress the question that was battering him from inside: "Are . . . you . . . going . . . to . . . hurt . . . me?" "*Hurt* you?" asked Q. "Now where would you get such an idea?" Q, of course, knew perfectly well, and he was still astonished at the depth of perversity the Captain had revealed in his dream. *What *is* it with these humans anyway?* he thought to himself. *They go scurrying around pathetically trying to attain power and position, and when they have it, all they want to do is find someone to dominate them. It's truly remarkable they've gotten this far.* Q continued aloud, "You've clearly gotten *entirely* the wrong impression of me, Captain. You know so little about me; I'm not nearly the monster you imagine." Q had to be careful here; despite the fact that he was trying to seduce Picard merely to fulfill a dare, and despite the emotional damage he was vaguely aware that he would cause, Q was unwilling to lie outright. He operated in a realm of half-truths and subtle shadings of possible interpretations of the words he spoke, but he did not like to issue an absolute lie. It just seemed so crude . . . so *gauche*. To manipulate his victims without lying outright just seemed so much more skillful. Still, this reassuring mode he was in was beginning to feel rather cloying; Humans were just *so* pathetic. "You can still count on your hands the number of encounters you've had with me, Jean-Luc. Do you think it might be possible that there might be other sides of myself that you haven't seen? Did it ever occur to you that I'm *not* out to get you?" He looked at his hands, trying to convey a slight amount of uncertainty. "You've sparked my curiosity, and I've been trying to get to know you better. Maybe I'm just not very good at it." At this, he looked up, and reaching out his hand, he carefully traced a line with one finger along Picard's jaw. "And for a human," he added lightly, "you're not bad looking." Picard was beginning to relax ever so slightly as Q spoke to him. As Q reached toward him, he flinched, but Q pretended not to notice, and the gentleness of his touch was such a relief to Picard he could have wept. Because he was still fighting the pull of the dream, he said nothing, afraid that *that* word would come out of his mouth. Q’s hand remained gentle on his jaw, and in spite of his fear, Picard could feel the heat radiating from that touch. He was still too nervous and frightened to relax, however, and the muscles in his shoulders and back were tensing up. He shifted slightly, and Q instantly pulled his hand away. "I’m sorry," said the entity. This was actually harder than expected. Q wasn’t any good at acting hesitant, or, even worse, shy. But Picard had to come to him willingly, and that was that. *Maybe I should have brought roses.* "No . . . it’s my back . . ." *Hold the roses, I believe I‘ve just been handed a line. Saying ‘Are you trying to seduce me, Captain Picard?’ wouldn’t be a good idea, but is he *really* that stupid?* He raised his hand, fingers ready to snap. "I could take care of it . . . no wait . . would offering a backrub be out of line?" "A backrub?" Picard couldn't help his surprise from coloring his voice. What did Q know about backrubs? "I wasn't trying to . . . I didn't mean . . ." "Oh I know," Q replied loftily. "But I've had experience with back pain. Not to mention the fact that I once spent half a year as a Mathifi; the backrub is an art on Mathif. Of course it would be; they have four arms and very long backs." He paused. "I don't have to actually *touch* you." Picard felt a pair of hands at his neck. They were slippery with warm oil and in spite of his wariness he couldn't help relaxing a little. A pair of strong thumbs found just the right spots at the base of his skull, and he felt the tension begin to flow out of him. There was something in the oil, not only did it feel like it had been heated, it also stayed warm against his skin as Q moved to his shoulders. "Try lying down," Q suggested. "It'll feel better that way." The hands stopped and Q turned slightly to give him some privacy as he got comfortable. As soon as Picard was lying on his stomach, with the sheet covering his lower half, the invisible hands were back. He remained somewhat tense as they rubbed and pulled, pushed and prodded at his aching muscles, but as Q found a particularly nasty spot in the small of his back, he let out a soft sigh. He couldn't help it, the feeling was wonderful, and the gentle eroticism of the massage began to affect him. *Keep taking the bait, little fishy,* Q thought. *Some challenge *this* turned out to be.* He regretted the thought almost instantly, for Picard's alarm chose that moment to go off. "Merde!" Picard mumbled. He waited for his back to tense up again, but some force was gently keeping him relaxed. *Forced relaxation, how very odd.* "Off," he said aloud, and the alarm became silent. "What are you doing to my back?" He rolled over and then sat up, keeping himself covered with the sheet. "Oh . . . sorry," Q said. "I could feel you start to tense up." He sighed, making what was really a sigh of boredom sound apologetic. "I . . . was trying to help. It's not something I do very often." *And *that's* no lie,* he thought. He expected Picard to make some sort of dry remark along the lines of "Well maybe you should try it more often," but the Captain simply sighed. *I liked him better when he didn't think that I'm God,* Q thought. He was not given to self analysis, and it didn't occur to him that his last thought was in any way significant. He was simply irritated, and since his irritation couldn't possibly be *his* fault, it had to be Picard's. "Look, I know you have to go to work, but you're really wound up." *In more ways than one, my fine captain. Just because you've got that sheet over your lap, don't think I don't know about that erection of yours.* "I can . . . sort of screen you off, so that Troi will just think you're preoccupied. After all it's been a tough week at the office." He smiled somewhat conspiratorially. *Why is he doing this? Is he actually interested in *me*?* Picard set the problem aside for future mulling, and smiled hesitantly at Q. "I think I could use a little screening. I have an awful lot to think about." He didn't feel any different, but Q nodded. "There! Now, your nosy Ship's Counselor will just think that you're thinking about your trip to the past and me." "Which is true in a way," Picard said. He realized that he still had to work at trusting Q; the automatic trust that he would have for a friend was just not there. He wanted to ask, almost did ask, if Q had been reading his mind. It was a question that Picard had wanted to ask many times. The thought of Q knowing everything there was to know about him still made him extremely nervous. There were parts of himself that he didn't like, or that (like last night's dream) downright frightened him. So he shrugged the question off; deciding that it didn't really make a difference. Either Q was or he wasn't, and there was little Picard could do about it. *Hummph!,* Q thought. *You're so . . . irritating Jean-Luc, such a typical Human. 'Oh I can't handle *that* , so I won't ask the question.'* The alarm sounded again, and Picard frowned. Q snapped his fingers as Picard said, "off." Then he looked at Q in surprise. "What? Oh . . . thank you." Picard suddenly felt as though he'd had about ten hours of uninterrupted sleep, a decent breakfast, and a long shower. He was dressed in a crisp clean uniform. "I can be a useful entity to have around." *Yech! The depths to which I'll go to avoid being laughed at by Q. 'I can be a useful entity to have around.' Q, who writes your dialog?* Picard stood up, tugging his uniform tunic down. "Well, Q," he said, a little more assuredly. "You certainly are an entity of many talents--I never figured you for a masseur." *Oh, now that we have our uniform on, we can be The Captain again. I'm looking forward to seeing you on your knees and begging for it, *johnny*, it might *just* make this worth it. Still I have to give you points for poise, and for offering me the chance for a return engagement.* "If you like, I can give you a demonstration of more of my talents this evening--in the massage department, of course." When Picard nodded hesitantly, Q smiled his typical sardonic smile. "Naturally, I have only *honorable* intentions." His voce had its accustomed edge, and to Q's surprise, Picard fell into his usual dry response. "Why do I doubt that?" He then walked out the door, leaving Q thinking, *another point to you, mon Capitaine. Pity you're still going to lose.* *** At the end of his shift, Picard approached his quarters a little warily. His easy acceptance of Q's offer in the morning didn't make a lot of sense now. *Oh Johnny,* he thought. *You should know better than to think when you've got an erection.* He had thought about Q for most of the day. Some of those thoughts had been serious, but he had to admit that most of them had been sexual. Not that, in this case, the thoughts about sex weren't serious, not at all. Picard had given up on trying to figure out *why* Q wanted him. That the entity apparently *did* was enough for right now. The true question before him was did *he* want Q? He hadn't really come up with an answer yet. There were just too many uncertainties. His better judgment was telling him "no," while his curiosity and his vanity (after all, being pursued by a god was nothing if not flattering) were definitely piqued. As the doors to his quarters hissed open, Picard hesitated before walking in. Q was waiting, leaning on a massage table, his arms folded and with a slight smirk on his face. Even without his powers he could detect Picard's hesitancy, and he immediately walked around behind Picard, running his hands slowly up and down the Captain's arms while speaking with his lips immediately next to Picard's ear in a voice that was somehow soothing and menacing at the same time. "Come on, Jean-Luc, you know you want it; you've wanted it for a long time." Picard stiffened, but did not move or reply, while Q's insistent and large hands kept travelling up and down his arms. "Don't worry, I won't rape you, Johnny; that's not my style. All you have to say is 'Stop,' and I'll stop." Here Q's hands moved up to Picard's neck, his thumbs expertly massaging it in slow circles. "But you don't want me to stop, now do you? You know, you seem rather tense," he continued, as his fingers began lightly rubbing Picard's shoulders. "I can give you a massage you'll never forget." **That* I believe,* thought Picard to himself. As soon as Q had approached him, his mind began working frantically. He knew somehow that letting himself be seduced by Q was a bad idea, and he should should just ask Q to leave--permanently. But as Q's hands stroked his arms, and that irresistably compelling voice insinuated itself around all his nerve endings, he couldn't bring himself to say 'Stop.' Still, something was nagging at the back of his mind as Q told him "you know you want it." Something he couldn't put his finger on, some thought that was trying to break through to his conscious mind. There was something he needed to know, a question he needed to have answered, but he couldn't articulate it, and it was bothering him like a pesky fly that kept buzzing around his head. This bout of soul-seeking was rapidly being superceded by something that was even more compelling to his attention--a soon-to-be-evident-and-embarrassing stirring in his groin. Lying down on the massage table was starting to seem pretty appealing if only to conceal his growing erection. It should be obvious to anyone that Picard wasn't thinking too clearly at the moment. He knew vaguely that Q would be aware of every nuance of his physiological condition, but somehow there seemed to be safety in lying on his stomach. He was mentally exhausted, having been racking his brains all day with the question of what to do about Q's obviously dishonorable intentions, and the image of feeling a pair of strong, capable hands working the tension out of his body was irresistably appealing. A massage couldn't hurt. After that, well, he'd deal with that when it came up (so to speak). "A massage sounds wonderful," he said to Q in a strained voice. Q was all too aware of both Picard's nervousness and growing arousal. He had guessed right for this evening's approach; Jean-Luc did want to be menaced a little. *No surprise really, after that appalling dream,* Q thought. *I should probably back off a little now, though. I don't want to scare my little prize too much.* He moved back away from Picard. "Go ahead and get comfortable. I promised you a massage, after all. If that's all you want..." He let his voice trail off, making it clear that the ball was in Picard's court now. Picard was still bothered by that nagging feeling, that missing question, but the fact that Q had backed down somewhat reassured him. Q turned slightly, giving him privacy to undress as he had this morning. That helped too, and Picard carefully stripped out of his uniform. When he reached his briefs, he hesitated; to get completely naked seemed to be an admission that Q was right, that he did want it. Then again, he was a grown man, and his own hesitancy was annoying him. He slipped out of his briefs, and settled himself face down on the table. Q moved over and casually tossed a towel over Picard's rear and then looked down at the Captain. "Relax, Jean-Luc. I can't do anything to your back if you're all tensed up." Picard forced himself to relax and managed to smile slightly at Q. The entity's casual manner made him feel a lot better, as did Q's choice of clothing. For once, he wasn't in a Captain's uniform, having opted instead for a pair of simple black pants and a short sleeved dark purple shirt. *Dark colors suit him,* Picard thought. It was a mistake, the vision of Q in the black leather of his dream flashed through his mind and he tensed up again. Just then a pair of large hands began rubbing his shoulders lightly. The hands were once more covered in warm oil, and they seemed to radiate their own heat. It *was* soothing and Picard felt himself relaxing again. The hands moved to the base of his skull, and Q's thumbs began to push firmly at the tense knot of muscles there. "Good thing you don't have much in the way of hair; it would only get it the way," the entity remarked lightly. "Hair is a bloody nuisance," Picard replied, grateful for a neutral topic. "I've always wondered why you let yourself go bald." Q had moved lower now and was starting in on Picard's shoulders. He seemed to be able to find every single tense or sore spot, and the heat and the pressure felt incredible. Picard began to relax more, getting caught up in the feeling of Q's slick hot fingers sliding over and pressing into his muscles. "Q, the last thing I want to have to do is worry about hair." *Ha! That JAG captain of yours told you that you looked better without it. You're as vain about your looks as I am, Captain.* Aloud he said, "true, I suppose. Heavy is the burden that rests on these shoulders." He emphasized his point by moving both hands to Picard's right shoulder, and began to exert more pressure. "Now you're mocking me," Picard said. His dry delivery was hampered somewhat by the muffled, "mmmm," that he couldn't keep from escaping. It just felt so good to lie here and let go. "Well, yes I am. I'm sorry Jean-Luc, but being the Captain of a starship seems a little trivial to me. Of course I've never done it, so what do I know?" He worked on the shoulder in silence for a little while and then asked casually. "Why do you do it? I've only known you for seven years, but it seems to me that those have been a hard seven years< for a Human." Oddly enough, Q was genuinely curious about Picard's answer. In a way, of course, he had known Picard all his life. Once Picard had become the focal point of Q's "project," the entity had gone back and examined the Captain's past with a fine toothed comb. He knew things about Picard that Picard had long forgotten, but it would be interesting to hear what Jean-Luc chose to say. He moved over to the left shoulder and began to work on it. "Come on," he teased gently. "If you can't talk to your masseur, who *can* you talk to?" *Who indeed?* Picard thought. This *was* Q after all, and although it hadn't come up, Picard knew that in some way, Q was either studying Humanity, or was responsible for its development. That wasn't the most comforting thought, but right now, with the relaxation Q was providing beginning to wash over him, Picard decided that he could try to explain himself. "I do it because I *have* to," he said after a moment. "Not because Starfleet put me here, or because the Federation depends on me, but because *I* have to--*need* to do it. I quite literally cannot imagine myself doing anything else with my life. Ohhh . . ." Q was working on his upper arms now, and Picard was beginning to feel boneless. "You're right, the past few years have been very hard, but . . ." He struggled to find the right way to explain. "What we, Starfleet I mean, do is important . . . it *matters*." He paused, moaning as Q's fingers dug into the nerves above his elbow. "God, that feels good." He tried to recollect his train of thought. "I know it seems trivial to you, but that's the best way I can describe it. Ahhh . . ." Q had finished with his arms, but instead of going right back to Picard's back, he slid his hands slowly back up Picard's biceps. The sensation was powerfully erotic, and Picard caught his breath, once more becoming aware of his growing arousal. He shifted slightly to adjust his position, and tried to remember just what he'd been saying. "So command itself isn't all of it, then?" Q asked, his fingers now working steadily against the middle of Picard's back. That was the biggest difference, Picard realized, between *this* massage and any other he'd ever received. Q never stopped, not to shake his hands, or to get more oil; there was just this steady relentless strength. The odd combination of impersonal casualness, and the occasional erotic touch was slowly wearing down Picard's resistance. "Well . . . I suppose command is part of it. I'm . . .well . . . " He paused, aware that his face was hot. "I'm *good* at it. By Human standards, I mean," he added with a faint touch of sarcasm. He moaned and actually arched his back a little under Q's hands. His skin's sensitivity was increasing; he could feel the faint burn of whatever was in the oil, and each of Q's fingers as the entity fanned them outward from his spine. "Oh . . this is . . . wonderful..." "Thank you," Q replied. He fell silent again, letting his hands work their way slowly down Picard's spine. It was helpful of Picard to be both sensual and controlled. The Captain's iron control of himself meant that when he *did* allow his libido off its leash, the results usually tended to overwhelm him. *How lucky for moi.* "Captain at 28, " Q finally said aloud. "That had to have been rough." "There wasn't anyone else. When Captain Wantanabe died, we were under attack; I just did what any first officer would do." He fell silent as Q's hands moved on to work at his lower back for a while. What would happen next, and what was he going to do about it? Oh...he was going to relax again; Q had moved on to his feet. "Mmmm . . .that's perfect . . ." "For a man who just told me how good a commander he is, that remark smacks of false modesty," Q said, somewhat astringently. He had never understood the cultural bias that led Humans to downplay their accomplishments. "Well . . . I suppose . . . mmm . . . but I was so damn scared . . ahhh . . ." Q's hands dug into Picard's calves. The Captain was getting less and less self-conscious about talking through his sighs of pleasure. This was so wonderful, and so unlike his dream, that he was losing his fear of whatever it was that was going to happen when this incredible massage was over. " . . . if I hadn't taken . . . ohh . . . command, I would have . . . just panicked . . . mmm . . ." "Ah," Q said lightly. "Fear as a motivation." "Mmm hmmm," Picard sighed. "It's one of our . . . stronger motivations . . . mmm . . . *you* know that . . . ohhh . . ." *That and your damned sex drive,* Q thought. Picard had given up on talking, and was moaning rather steadily now, as Q combined strong pressure to the backs of his thighs with a light stroking of the sensitive skin on the insides of those thighs. Judging the moment to be right, Q thought the towel out of the way. His timing was perfect; Picard didn't tense up at all as Q's fingers began to dig into his buttocks. Instead, he sighed and seemed to relax even more. *Not too bad,* thought Q looking down. *At least I didn't lie when I said he's good looking . . . for a Human.* He lightly slapped Picard on each buttock and declared, "There! Now tell me that was the best massage you ever had." *************************************************************** *** "And time goes round and back again Only your name in my head And thoughts will pass Sleep well tonight I know your demons And . . . delight" "Aqua" Claire Voyant -- ****************** Ruth Gifford "Update all information and pod into cosmos." Instructional label on a Fed Ex package (really) From netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!news Wed Mar 13 19:56:27 1996 Xref: netcom.com alt.startrek.creative.erotica:1186 alt.fan.q:5135 Path: netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!news From: thegiff@ix.netcom.com(Ruth Gifford) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica,alt.fan.q Subject: NEW: "His Beloved Pet" Part One (3/4) (TNG, P/Q, BDSM) Date: 14 Mar 1996 02:59:38 GMT Organization: Netcom Lines: 456 Message-ID: <4i822q$216@dfw-ixnews5.ix.netcom.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ont-ca3-14.ix.netcom.com X-NETCOM-Date: Wed Mar 13 8:59:38 PM CST 1996 His Beloved Pet Part One (3/4) "No question about it," murmured Picard. His muscles felt like jelly, and the thought of getting up seemed quite beyond his capabilities, but there was a growing tension coiling in the pit of his stomach. "You're not getting up, Captain. Is there something else you want?" demanded the entity. "I . . . well . . . Q . . . I don't . . . I'm not . . . " Picard trailed off miserably. "You seem to have misplaced your usual verbal facility, mon Capitaine. I know what you want; you know what you want--is it so hard to admit?" Picard remained silent, his mind whirling with the activity of trying to figure out what to do. "I'll make it easy for you, Johnny, since words seem to be failing you. All you have to tell me is 'Stop!'. As long as you don't, I'll assume I have carte blanche to do whatever I like with this manly physique of yours." Picard buried his face in his arms. All he had to say was 'Stop,' but the word was not coming to his lips. Q's hands returned to his ass. They were covered in oil again, and instead of massaging him, they were sliding around and circling in an undeniably tantalizing manner. Once more he felt a familiar stirring beneath him and pressed himself deeper into the massage table. Q slid his thumbs between Picard's cheeks, spreading them, then slipped an oiled exploratory figure inside. "Aaaahh . . . " moaned Picard. "That didn't sound like the word 'Stop' to me," observed Q, beginning to slide his finger in and out of Picard's ass. Picard uttered something that sounded roughly like "Ergggh . . ohhh . . . ergggh . . . ." "What was that?" asked Q. "I didn't quite catch what you were saying." If Q had kept quiet (which was not very likely, and true to form he didn't), Picard might have been able to surrender himself to the sensations that were coursing through him. Q's finger in his ass was radiating heat, which spread throughout his groin, and somehow at the same time he felt an inexplicable tingling in his nipples, and part of him just wanted it to go on and on, to let himself be fucked no matter how. But Q's light mockery wound Picard's acute self-consciousness up to a nagging pitch. *I'm lying on a table, naked, with Q's finger in my . . . Ohmigod! . . . My God, what *have* I done?* Picard's body went rigid, the tension radiating out from that tight coil expanding in the middle of his stomach. "Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, " sighed Q, while withdrawing his finger, "you're putting a perfectly good massage to waste. Perhaps a slight change of scene would help?" Q lazily flicked his wrist, and he and his companion instantly reappeared on Picard's bed, in much the same position. Q was now kneeling on the bed next to Picard, and he was resting a warm oily hand on Picard's rear. *Oh God . . . oh God . . . what do I do? Stop . . . I've got to open my mouth and say . . .* "Mmph . . ." "What?" Q looked down at his victim. The back of Picard's neck was red, and his shoulders were rigid. Q could feel Picard's conflicting emotions, need, a greedy painful need, struggling with the terror of letting go. Q wanted to just *think* the man into letting go, but he couldn't of course. Picard hadn't said 'Stop' yet, although he was close. *I've got to get him relaxed again, dammit.* He moved his hand to stroke Picard's hip, a gentle comforting caress. "Is it that I appear male? Is that it Jean-Luc?" With his knowledge of Picard's past, Q knew full well that the Captain had never made love to another man. Q was also skirting the truth here; he *wasn't* male, or female for that matter. However, he was stuck; he had to seduce Picard in *this* form. "Oh for God's sake, Q," Picard snapped, his verbal facility returning somewhat. "What the hell do you think I am, a homophobe?" He was actually quite insulted by Q's suggestion. *An idiot more likely,* Q thought. *You're going to go through with it now just to prove that you're enlightened. Well that, and because you really *want* it.* "No, Johnny," he said, working to keep his voice gentle. "But what is it?" *Try to sound a little hurt, here,* he thought. It wasn't difficult, he *was* hurt, or rather, he was insulted. This idiot had a *Q* in his bed and he was balking? That Picard had plenty of reasons not to trust the Q in his bed was beside the point; the man *should* have been pathetically grateful to be so lucky. "You want this, don't you?" *He's reaching out,* Picard thought. *And I'm rejecting him . . but . . . why should I trust . . .?* The thought was cut off by the sensation of Q's breath on the back of his neck. The tip of his tongue lightly brushed across the sensitive skin there and Picard's already strong need jolted up another notch. "It doesn't have to be like *this*," Q whispered softly. "Would *you* like to be on top?" "Uhh . . . no . . . I wouldn't . . . know . . . " *. . . what to do,* he finished off silently. *Gotcha!* Q thought about turning Picard over; something a little more familiar might make things easier. But then he remembered Picard's dream. *Well, I'm not going to hurt him, at least not yet, but he wants that illusion of surrender, of giving in to someone who is far more powerful than he is. Well Johnny, my boy, that would be me.* For some reason it didn't occur to Q that Picard's need to be dominated, or at least controlled, dovetailed perfectly with Q's own need to dominate. He had conveniently pushed aside the realization that Picard's willingness to surrender had been what had caught his attention in the first place. "Well, don't say I didn't offer," he said aloud, while tracing one finger down Picard's spine. Picard shivered slightly, then gasped when the finger made its way inside him, circling and moving in and out in slow teasing strokes. "Never had much of a fetish for virgin territory," Q remarked, "but I can see the appeal. I like the idea of initiating the great Jean-Luc Picard into the joys of being *fucked*," he concluded with particularly mocking emphasis. Picard groaned but didn't move. He wanted this, all right, wanted it in the worst way. At the same time, he felt a perverse need to assert himself, despite his awareness of the futility of such an attempt. As Q continued probing, the entity continued chatting, "This is all very enjoyable, Johnny, but if you want the full treatment, you're going to have to tell me. I want to hear it, and in your own words . . ." Picard exploded, "If I tell you I want it, will you get on with it and SHUT UP?! If so, then YES, I want it!" "Very well then," said Q evenly, then with a sharp slap to Picard's behind with his free hand, he snapped, "On your knees, boy!" Picard surprised himself with the haste with which he complied. How long had it been since someone had given an order to *him*? There was something perversely liberating in giving himself up to Q's control, although he had no idea that he hadn't yet begun to explore even the margins of that sense of liberation. As soon as Picard got up on his knees, Q began probing more seriously, remaining thankfully quiet, while Picard moaned and trembled beneath him. After Picard became more or less accustomed to the sensation of a long finger purposefully fucking him, he felt the finger withdraw. As was inevitable, he tensed up momentarily, but caught his breath and forced himself to relax as he felt the tip of Q's cock press against him. It was well-lubricated, and Q pushed in slowly, knowing he could save the terror tactics for a future time. Such precautions notwithstanding, it hurt considerably, as Picard felt the narrow opening stretching and burning around its invader. He felt exposed and vulnerable in a way no previous sexual experience had prepared him for. His own erection pressed insistently against his belly, and he became aware of a spreading, tingling, aching warmth that radiated from his ass through his groin, into his stomach, and down to his toes, producing a notable weakening in the knees along the way. His fingers bunched into fists around the sheet, and he groaned, a long drawn-out groan of mingled pain and pleasure. Q had stopped, letting Picard become used to the sensation of being filled, but now he began to slowly move. "Ohhh . . . " Picard breathed out softly. He was still tensed against the pain, but after a moment or two, during which Q continued his slow deliberate movements, Picard began to relax. He shifted his knees slightly, spreading his legs wider and allowing Q to press further inside him. He could feel the warmth in his fingertips now, and in the pit of his stomach, a warmth that smoldered, and yet refused to burst into flame. The pain was almost gone, and he began to move slightly, trying to urge Q to pick up the pace. *Oh ho!* Q thought. *That didn't take long. You *like* this don't you, my fine captain?* Q had indulged in Human sex a great number of times, figuring that since "his" race seemed spend so much of their time pre-occupied with it, he had better try to understand it. He found most of it enjoyable, as long as it didn't hurt. When it did, he simply blocked the pain, and faked his way through the rest of the experience. While, he had never *really* experienced what Picard was experiencing right now, he had been on top many times. Q liked being on top (no real surprise, of course), and he had never had to fake his way through *this* particular act. And so while, a part of his consciousness was involved in monitoring Picard's responses, another part was truly enjoying the heat and the tightness that surrounded his cock. And this was Jean-Luc Picard, the Captain who had defied him, who had mocked him, who had tried to dismiss him . . . *And now look at you, moaning and gasping, wanting more, while I fuck you in the ass. I should have done this *years* ago.* *This is driving me insane,* Picard thought. It felt so *good* now, but it wasn't enough to take him over the edge. He liked a certain amount of build up, but this was getting to be too much. If Q had insisted that he lie on his stomach, at least he would have been able to press his aching cock against the bed, but in this position there was no relief for his ever-increasing need. His fists began to clench and unclench around the sheet, and he was biting his lip, trying to keep from . . . asking for more. *I'm going to have to ask,* he realized. Even though this wasn't at all like he'd imagined (or dreamed, or expected) it would be, he was still acutely aware of who was behind him. For some reason Q was being gentle, and while Picard greatly appreciated that gentleness, he knew that it was double edged. By his very concern, Q was forcing Picard to participate more thoroughly in what was happening. *He's not Human,* Picard suddenly thought. *He could stay like this all night.* "Q . . ?" he breathed. Q stopped moving, and Picard groaned. "What Johnny?" Q, of course, had perfect control over his voice, and it was a good thing too. If he started laughing at Picard now, this would be over immediately. But he was laughing silently, laughing in triumph. Not only had he managed to seduce Picard according to the parameters of his dare with Q, but he was also enjoying himself immensely. And now Picard was going to beg. This was perfect; it felt wonderful. "Ohhh . . . I . . ." *need more,* was what Picard meant to say. But he couldn't do it, he couldn't let that wall down far enough. He felt himself begin to tense up again. In a desperate, almost angry gesture, he pushed back against Q hard. Mercifully, Q took the hint and, grabbing Picard's hips, began to move again. "Oh God!," Picard yelled. The wall that he hadn't been able to let down crumbled before Q's driving rhythm, and Picard began to beg. "Oh . . . yes . . . please . . . oh . . . God . . . fuck me . . . please . . ." As he got closer and closer to release, a quick thought flashed across his mind. *This is *Q*; I'm on my knees and elbows, and Q is fucking me!* He let go, with loud wailing cry. He was dimly aware of a few last hard thrusts and a loud groan from his partner, but almost every fiber of his being was concentrated on the orgasm that rushed through him. It coiled around his nerves, and when it was over, he collapsed in a heap, not minding that he was shivering, and covered with sweat and semen. *Oh God . . . what's happened to me?* For a long moment, Picard remained still, not knowing what to say or do. When he felt Q gently slip out of him, he shivered again, and bit his lip. He realized that he was close to tears, and in spite of everything, he didn’t feel ready to share that vulnerability with Q yet. Q snapped his fingers, causing Picard to jump slightly, but all that had happened was that he was cleaned off. "Thank you," he said softly, not sure just what he was thanking Q for. *Wonderful,* Q thought. *Now I have to deal with post-coital depression. Idiot, you just had one of the best orgasms of your life, and here you are, agonizing over the whole thing.* Q actually knew that he was being a little unfair, but Picard’s moral dilemma bored him. *I’ve got to do *something* to ensure a return engagement.* Aloud he said, "Are you all right? I didn’t hurt you, did I?" "No, it’s just . . ." Picard’s voice trailed off. "I don’t really know what to say," he admitted. Q sighed. "Johnny," he began. Picard felt a return of that need to assert himself. "I *hate* that." "What?" "Being called ‘Johnny.’ I hated it at the Academy, and I really hate it now." He rolled over and sat up. Q was sitting cross- legged on the bed, looking at him curiously. Picard shrugged. "It was originally an insult, you know. One that I had to put up with because I was a freshman." "I actually do know that. I’m sorry, Jean-Luc, I can’t help it, it’s just the way we . . . the Q I mean . . . interact." Picard looked at him, distracted from the situation by his curiosity. "We tend to dig at one another all the time. Being a Q is a constant struggle for dominance." *There, think about that for a while, *Johnny*. Will you take the bait, or do I have to be more overt?* Picard looked aside. He still hadn’t had time to process the dream he’d had last night, and he still couldn’t help wondering if Q’s extremely timely arrival had had anything to do with that dream. "Q . . .," he began. Q looked at him, a ghost of a smile playing around his lips. "Q . . . what made you decide to show up now?" "You thanked me," Q replied. This was rather awkward; he wasn't going to tell the truth here and ruin the dare, but he really didn't want to lie to Picard either. "In the courtroom?" "Well of course," Q replied. "Did you do it somewhere else that I wasn't aware of?" Without thinking about it, Picard settled back into the same position Q had found him in, knees drawn up and his arms wrapped around them. "Well . . . yes," he admitted, his voice small. "Jean-Luc, what *is* your problem? I'll admit that I'm not the most well behaved entity around, but you act like you expect me to physically injure you." "No, it's not that . . . it's just that I had this . . . dream right before you showed up . . ." "Ah, a nightmare about me. How touching." Picard actually smiled faintly at the sarcastic remark. Some things about Q would never change, and he suddenly realized that he didn't want them to. "Not exactly . . ." He started to say. *No I just can't tell him.* "I can't explain," he finished off lamely. "Look Q . . . I'm sorry . . . this has been . . . incredibly hard for me . . . I think I need some time to think." He said the last in a rush, afraid that Q would take offense, but the entity smiled wryly. "Once you've thought," he asked teasingly, "maybe I could give you another . . . massage?" Picard nodded, and Q surprised him by leaning forward and running an appreciative finger along his jaw. Picard couldn't help it, he leaned slightly into the caress, and then Q was gone. *Oh merde! What was I thinking? You weren't thinking, idiot! Oh God . . . it felt . . . incredible . . . that's putting it lightly . . it hurt . . . of course it did . . . you wanted it to hurt . . . but why? Oh back to that are we? (and why not; I always come back to that) So I'm a closet masochist . . . so the burdens of command make me want to find a strong lover to surrender to . . Come on Jean-Luc, you've agonized over this one for years. And now . . . what now? . . . you have (on the one hand) a lover who could give you all you want . . . who (if his past attitude is correct) would probably enjoy giving you what you want . . . then again (on the other hand) it's *Q* for God's sake! I can't believe that I was right here, on my knees letting Q . . . fuck me in the ass. Oh and did he ever! God that felt great . . . like I always wanted it to be . . .* Picard's thoughts chased themselves in circles for quite a long time without actually resolving anything. He really only had a few choices; he could tell Q "Stop" and have that be that, or he could see Q again and find out where this affair, or relationship, or whatever it was, was going. Of course if he chose to continue, there was the question of what to tell Q about himself. Picard had a nagging feeling that Q already knew some of it; for all he knew that could be the very reason Q had decided to change their relationship. When he thought about their past history in the light of what had just happened, Picard realized that Q was quite the dominant. *Maybe I never noticed before because I was afraid to notice . . . afraid that then I'd be where I am now.* He thought some more about his various encounters with Q. *There's that thing he does . . . appearing right behind me and menacing me . . . that time in the shuttle . . . and then when Vash was aboard . . .* He remembered being in his pajamas and having Q fully dressed (in uniform, which somehow made it worse, or better depending) standing behind him. At the time he hadn't even considered (or maybe he had tried not to consider) the sexual connotations of the situation, but now that he did, a shiver raced across his skin. *I *want* this . . . but is it a good idea? . . . can I really trust him that much? Oh come on, you've trusted him to help you save the Quadrant (and a good thing too, given the job I was doing up to that point) . . . you just trusted him enough to let him fuck you . . . but this is different . . . this isn't *just* sex . . . this is *me* . . . the me I don't know very well . . . the me that I hide so carefully, because I've been The Captain for more than half my life . . . the me I'm afraid of . . the me with something to prove . . . Maybe that me should just stay where he is . . . safely locked behind the walls of fantasy . . . after all, I'm old enough (and that's no lie) to know that bringing fantasies out into the light can be a bad idea . . . I can't believe it! I'm thinking of taking the safe, easy course. Just who was it who reminded me that taking serious risks were what made me who I am? Q of course. And now, here he is . . . a chance to take the big risk . . . but what if he's not serious . . . he seemed serious . . . he even sounded hurt when I hesitated . . . I've got to trust him . . . but what was that question? . . . the one I need to ask? . . . well, Johnny (I don't actually hate that from him . . . what would it sound like if he were *really* on top? . . . what would he call me? . . .) you have to decide . . . at least *part* of you wants to tell him everything . . .* He looked down, and shook his head; he was definitely interested in Q being "really on top." He sighed and moved down into the bed. *Got to get some sleep . . . this might make more sense in the morning . . .* As he went to pull the covers up, he smelled something odd. Turning, he looked at his bedside table to see a glass and a note. He picked up the note, reading: "Warm milk is disgusting, Jean-Luc, at least until you put brandy in it. Enjoy, and maybe it will help you sleep." The note was signed with an elaborate Gothic Q, and Picard couldn't help the fond smile that crossed his lips. He actually liked warm milk, but Q was right in that it *was* better with brandy. He drank the entire glass, dimmed the lights, and drifted quietly off to sleep. *** The next day passed in a blur of meetings, a surprise inspection of Engineering, and a long session with Riker as they planned an emergency drill. Picard was able to pay attention to everything without the activities of the night before getting in the way. He supposed that this was some by-product of Q's screen and he was extremely grateful. During his lunch (which he ate alone in the ready room) he mulled over his personal dilemma, but he realized that he had already decided not to say "Stop" to Q. Whether he would actually reveal his darker fantasies to his new lover . . . well he wasn't sure yet, but that he wanted the affair to continue was now a given. It had been too long since he'd taken any kind of emotional risk, and after all, there wouldn't be the problems that he'd had with Neela (he certainly wasn't Q's commanding officer) or Beverly (there were no lingering guilt feelings to work around with Q). He thought about Beverly for a while. The trip to his possible future had been a warning that his romantic notions of someday marrying her deserved rethinking. His memory of the future was blurred by the effects of the Irumodic Syndrome, but he knew that a deadly combination of changed ambitions, stubbornness (mostly on his part), and the fact that both he and Beverly had had too many years of independence, had finally killed their marriage. Knowing the pitfalls in advance might help, but now any relationship between them would start with the probability of failure hovering over their heads. The conversation he'd had with her after his little adventure had been incredibly difficult for both of them, and she had gently suggested that they take some time to think things over. Under the circumstances, he was glad that she had also suggested that they not eat breakfast together for a while; it would have been difficult (to say the least) to see her first thing this morning. *************************************************************** "The only comfort is the moving of the river You enter into me a lie upon your lips Offer what you can I'll take all I am given Only a fool's here to stay" "Ice" Sarah McLachlan -- ****************** Ruth Gifford "Update all information and pod into cosmos." Instructional label on a Fed Ex package (really) From netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!netnews Wed Mar 13 19:56:30 1996 Xref: netcom.com alt.startrek.creative.erotica:1187 alt.fan.q:5136 Path: netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!netnews From: thegiff@ix.netcom.com(Ruth Gifford) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica,alt.fan.q Subject: NEW: "His Beloved Pet" Part One (4/4) (TNG, P/Q, BDSM) Date: 14 Mar 1996 03:03:37 GMT Organization: Netcom Lines: 527 Message-ID: <4i82a9$721@ixnews2.ix.netcom.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ont-ca3-14.ix.netcom.com X-NETCOM-Date: Wed Mar 13 7:03:37 PM PST 1996 His Beloved Pet Part One (4/4) Finally the day was over. He headed toward his quarters with that coiling knot of tension and anticipation in his stomach. When he walked through the doors and saw what was waiting for him, he began to laugh, the knot disappearing almost instantly. His table was covered with all the elements of a formal dinner; dazzling white linens, fine china, glistening sliver, and . . . "Roses?! Oh for God's sake Q!" he managed to get out around his laughter. The entity shrugged. He was dressed at the height of current fashion, and Picard wondered if Q ever looked bad in anything. He felt a change come over his own clothes and looked down to see that he was suddenly wearing clothing that reflected Q's attire. The colors were bolder than his usual off duty earth tones, but from what he could see, the deep blue suited him. Remembering shopping with a flamboyant Academy friend, he struck a pose. "Can I *do* this?" Q was startled into genuine laughter. He tended to forget (it was an easy enough thing to forget) that Picard had a sense of humor. Still laughing, he replied, "you look wonderful. It's quite wasted on your quarters, would you like to go somewhere else? Anywhere, Jean-Luc; L' Auberge d'Ill, Cianci's, TychoView maybe?" *He'll say no, of course. Must think of the ship, and all.* "Thank you Q, but I think I should stay here. I don't think I'd like to explain my absence to Will or the rest of the crew." He walked over to the table, and Q handed him a glass of wine. The brush of his fingers across Picard's made the Captain shiver slightly, a motion that he tried to disguise by taking a sip of the wine. "How . . .what . . .?" he stammered out, looking at the glass. "Hey," Q replied airily. "It's *me*. I grabbed a bottle from Robert's cellar. After all, a third of it does belong to you." He gestured to a chair and Picard sat down, still looking appreciatively at his glass. When Q snapped his fingers and an elegant selection of appetizers appeared on their plates, Picard shrugged and decided to relax. *You're *so* French,* Q thought. *Give you wine from your own estate, excellent food, and the possibility of wild sex later on, and you settle right down. Then again, I suppose that's so *Human*.* They ate in silence for a while, Picard feeling surprisingly at ease. He watched as Q effortlessly took over the duties of a host, making sure that Picard's glass was never empty, that the food appeared at the right time, all the little things that Picard had done countless times while trying to impress someone. "You know all about me, don't you?" Picard finally asked. "That depends on what you mean," Q replied. This was going to be a dangerous conversation, and Q found himself looking forward to the challenge. "You know that a third of the estate is mine, for example. You're obviously acquainted with my Starfleet record." "That's true. Does it bother you?" "A little." Picard ate a few bites of lamb, raising an appreciative eyebrow at the subtle hints of garlic and rosemary. "You know what I like to eat." 'That's easy," Q replied. He took a bite of his own lamb. He actually liked eating on occasion, provided he didn't have to bother with the rather repulsive details of actually *digesting* the food. "You have rather broad tastes when it comes to food. As long as I stayed away from gagh, I couldn't go wrong. As for the rest . . . It's all done with mirrors." He smiled as Picard sighed in exasperation. "Sorry Jean-Luc, I couldn't resist. I've researched you fairly closely." As Picard opened his mouth to speak, Q raised his hand. "Don't ask me more, I can't tell you. I know it bothers you, but even *I* have duties." *Not to bad, that. It makes me seem more *Human*, more honorable, and on top of it all, it's true.* "It bothers me because I . . . " Picard took a quick sip of wine. ". . . well, you know me. I like to have the advantage." *Now where the hell did that come from? It's certainly true, but why am I telling him that? And why do I feel so damn comfortable with him?* *Go ahead, hand me an opening large enough to fly the Enterprise through. Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, you are so dense!* "Don't you ever get tired of having the advantage? I'm serious here, Jean-Luc. You always have the upper hand-- with your friends, your lovers,*most* of your adversaries--can't you let go?" *Tell him, open your mouth and tell him how much you want to let go. NO! I just *can't*!* Picard shrugged, trying to make light of the conversation. "Easier said than done." He drank more wine, noticing that his glass was full again. *Careful,* his brother's mocking voice rang in his memory. *You're not used to the real thing.* "I suppose," Q said. He looked at Picard, and the Captain looked away. Q was smiling at him, that familiar, mocking smile, and in spite of himself Picard felt himself responding to the implied challenge of that smile. "But sometimes don’t you need to just let someone else take care of things?" "Oh, delegating responsibility," Picard replied casually; "of course I can do *that*." "You’re being deliberately obtuse, Jean-Luc. *Don’t* insult me like that." Q reached out and grabbed Picard’s wrist, pinning it to the table. Picard froze as a powerful wave of need rushed over him. Forcing his face to calmness, he stared at Q as the entity continued. "Is this what you want, Johnny? I will go as far as you want me to, but you have to give me your consent." Picard continued to stare at him. "Tell me that you want it, Captain." Picard pulled his wrist away and lurched to his feet, turning to stare blindly out the window. This was it, and he couldn’t fool himself into thinking that he had no choice. Aware that his face was hot, he leaned his forehead against the window. When he finally spoke, his voice was a hushed whisper. "You have to understand, Q . . . this is so hard . . ." He clasped his hands behind his back, and squared his shoulders. "I *do* want it . . want you to . . . to control me, dammit!" The words were barely out of his mouth, when Q was right behind him. A pair of strong hands gripped his wrists, and Picard was instantly aroused. He twisted his wrists, trying to escape, but Q’s grip was impossible to break. "Struggle all you want, Johnny. Unless you tell me ‘Stop!’ I’ll do exactly what you want me to." "How do you know exactly what I want?" Now that Picard was in the situation he'd always wanted to be in, he once more needed to assert himself. Q laughed, a low menacing laugh. Pressing hard against Picard from behind, he leaned to whisper in Picard's ear. "I told you I researched you. I'm *very* thorough." Keeping Picard's wrists secure with one hand, he brought his other hand before Picard's face. "The things people read . . . they say *so* much about the person." With a small flash of light, he materialized a handful of isolinear chips. They could have been anything, but Picard knew what they were. He could feel his face grow hot. "Quite the collection you have, Johnny. Classics and moderns, fiction and non-fiction . . . It's a pity these aren't actual books; it would be instructive to see where they fell open, don't you think?" Then, more gently, "Want to tell me about it?" Picard winced, almost oblivious to the hand still holding his arms pinned behind his back. Well, he should have known that Q would have ferreted out his fascination with certain types of reading material, a fascination he had managed to keep concealed from almost everyone who knew him. Despite his embarrassment, he felt a curious easing of the tension in his chest; here was an opportunity for confession. Given what he had already revealed to Q, what did he have to lose? Picard began to speak in a low tone. "I'm not as devoid of self- knowledge as you think, Q. I've long ago reconciled myself to my . . . ah . . . predilection for that kind of reading. It used to bother me, of course; I wondered what was wrong with me that I was driven to read about domination and sadomasochism. It didn't seem appropriate for someone in my position. But I'm as human as the rest of my crew, rumors to the contrary notwithstanding," he added with a wry laugh. "What you said at dinner was right, and these stories offered me a kind of release . . . and I don't mean a merely physical one," he noted with a slight smile. "I have to be in control--not just in command of my ship and crew, but of my emotions as well. I can't lose my temper with an intransigent crew member or alien ship captain or planetary leader . . . unless I conclude that a properly timed display of temper would suit my purposes. I need to avoid showing fear or weakness. And my position makes romantic attachments difficult as well--my choices are crew members or long-distance relationships, both of which have their disadvantages. There is something very compelling in reading about people simply acting on their desires, no matter how extreme." "I can see why you'd like the idea of giving up control," remarked Q, while tracing patterns on Picard's back with his free hand. "Yes, usually," answered Picard, feeling increasingly comfortable. There certainly wasn't anyone on his crew he could discuss such matters with--he didn't imagine Beverly would approve of his fantasies--but there was something exhilarating about revealing himself to Q. "Sometimes I put myself in the place of the dominant," he continued. "I occasionally enjoyed the idea of simply having my way with someone, no holds barred, giving orders for my own satisfaction, not as part of my position. But, I will confess that . . I . . . more often imagined myself submitting my will, surrendering all control to another." He paused. "I haven't actually read any of those since my capture by the Cardassians." His voice trembled slightly. "I never found rape fantasies very appealing, and actually to be violated the way I was . . . ." Q, in a rare display of sympathy, squeezed Picard's shoulder, but did not release Picard's hands. "It was horrifying, unimaginably horrifying. My fantasy had always been one of willing surrender, an offering of myself to someone else's control. . . . But only as a fantasy; I was sure it was much too dangerous to attempt in real life. And yet, here I am . . " he trailed off, his attention shifting back to Q's hand effortlessly holding his wrists and Q's taller figure looming over him. Q felt a nagging unease at Picard's candor. But of course he *had* to take advantage of it; what Q wouldn't? In a voice that simultaneously stung and soothed, he murmured into Picard's ear, "For a Q, there is no distinction between fantasy and real life. Whatever I can imagine I can realize. *And* whatever *you* can imagine, I can also realize." "Real are the dreams of Gods," murmured Picard, "and smoothly pass / Their pleasures in a long, immortal dream." "Keats," noted Q, "a poet who had a fine understanding of the blending of pain and pleasure. Yes, you want to give up that control, Johnny; you want that fantasy to be made real. Well, today's your lucky day. Just remember, I won't force you--say 'Stop,' and I'll stop, no questions asked. I require only your absolute submission." Picard felt the impulse to yield even more strongly than before. That unarticulated question that had been nagging at him before flickered briefly in the back of his mind, but he dismissed it. He felt himself immeasurably strengthened by his confession, and he craned his neck around to look Q in the eye, saying firmly, "You have it. I want this. I'm putting myself in your hands." Q's lips parted slightly in surprise at Picard's forcefulness; he had thought he knew the captain inside out, but Picard was revealing a strength Q hadn't anticipated. *It's a pity it will backfire on him,* Q thought to himself; *he'll regret those words.* He actually had to make a small effort to muster his usual casual heartlessness. "Where you'll put yourself, Jean- Luc, is on your knees. I want to see if that mouth of yours is good for anything besides making speeches." Picard felt a tantalizing thrill of fear and arousal at Q's words. As Q released his wrists, while simultaneously whisking away Picard's clothes in a flash, Picard turned and knelt in front of his companion. Q was suddenly wearing an open, purple silk dressing gown. Picard felt his hands being held invisibly behind his back, while Q's long fingers grasped his head. "You can't imagine how much I enjoy seeing you like this, mon *Capitaine,*" said Q with a particularly mocking emphasis. "Make it good, Johnny." *How am I supposed to make it good?* thought Picard, somewhat desperately; *I've never done this before!* He knew better than to expect much in the way of help from Q. Still, he had been on the receiving end and remembered what he liked. *Slowly,* he thought, *do it slowly.* He leaned forward and began lightly circling the tip of Q's cock with his tongue. An odd thought flickered across the back of his mind. *God, I hope he's not going to compare me with Vash.* *Not likely,* Q thought to himself, reading Picard's thought effortlessly. *She knew what she was doing.* That was hardly fair, and even Q had to admit that what Picard was doing felt good. Besides, what he'd said a moment ago was still true, the sight of Picard on his knees like this was truly enjoyable, regardless of the rest of it. Picard seemed to be gaining a little confidence, and the movements of his tongue were growing bolder. Q moaned slightly in encouragement. *I must be doing something right,* Picard thought. He hesitated slightly, drawing a deep breath, and then slid his mouth down over Q's erection. After a little more hesitation, he figured out what he was doing . . . he hoped. Q's hands were still on his head and when those hands helped him find a rhythm, Picard began to feel a little better about the whole thing. This wasn't so bad, and the sheer eroticism of the act began to have its effect on him. Drawing Q's cock further into his mouth, he moaned slightly as he thought about where he was. *I'm on my knees, sucking Q's cock, with my hands pinned behind my back . . . God, I've wanted something like this for so long.* Q tightened his grip on Picard's head, surprised at how quickly Picard had figured out what to do. *He's actually not half bad for a beginner,* he thought. He silently encouraged Picard to pick up the pace and when the Captain did so, Q began to get closer to that edge. Picard could tell that Q was getting close, and as he continued sucking, he tried to caress Q's cock with his tongue. It was apparently successful; Q emitted a strangled groan, and pulled Picard's head down harder. Seconds later, he came, and Picard managed to stay with him, although he was more than a bit breathless when Q finally let go of his head and pulled away. Q casually tied the belt to his dressing gown, remarking, "Not too bad, Johnny, for a beginner. And I like to take the edge off. You, however, won't be coming for a *long* time. Now, stand up!" Picard got up as quickly as his knees would allow him and followed Q's pointing finger to two rings that had just materialized and were suspended from the ceiling. Understanding Q's unspoken command, Picard reached up and gripped one ring in each hand. Q issued another unspoken command by lightly slapping Picard's thigh, and Picard immediately spread his legs apart. "Verrry nice," commented Q. "Now, tell me, before I go any further, is this somewhat along the lines of what you want, mon Capitaine?" "Yes," whispered Picard. "That's 'Yes, Sir!'" snapped Q, delivering a sharp spank to each of Picard's buttocks. "Yes, Sir," answered Picard, with a slight wavering sigh in his voice. This was what he wanted, all right, but saying "Sir" to Q was not easy. Q smiled to himself. He had worried that this position might be too much, might be too painful a reminder, and had decided not to tie up his victim this first time. To fufill his dare he had to keep this up for a few weeks, and anyway, he was enjoying himself immensely. Q began circling around Picard like a vulture, not touching him, but affecting the exaggerated demeanor of someone who was trying to decide what to do next. "I'm going to hurt you, you know," he said in a thoughful tone; "that *is* what you want, isn't it?" "Yes, Sir," answered Picard, his voice still shaky. Reading material and fantasies notwithstanding, this was *real*, and he had no idea how much he could take. But he was providing ample evidence of his arousal--there was something about standing outstretched and exposed in front of Q that was utterly thrilling. It seemed fantastic, surreal; he couldn't believe he was actually holding onto these rings, displaying his naked body for Q, who was still restlessly pacing around him. "That's better," said Q; "now just remember, all you have to say is 'Stop.'" He moved in immediately behind Picard, in his trademark move, then whispered in his ear, "Now brace yourself, Johnny." Q whipped around in front of Picard, grasped one of the captain's nipples and gave it a sharp twist. Picard gasped, feeling an immediate burning and pinching sensation that did not go away when Q removed his fingers. His other nipple was similarly twisted into an invisible clamp, and then Q proceeded systematically to deliver one pinch after another, each time leaving another invisible clamp gripping Picard's flesh--along his upper arms in two rows, one underneath where the skin was at its most tender, along the backs and inner thighs, up along Picard's waist, along his shoulders, and covering every bit of the territory on his ass. Each spot was burning and throbbing, and Picard could feel each one sending a distinct and separate stream of painful nerve impulses to the brain. Q was returning to the front, and Picard swayed involuntarily. He raised his head and asked breathlessly, "Please . . . Q . . . I mean, Sir . . ." "What is it you want, Johnny?" "Please . . . bind . . . me . . . I . . . don't . . . know . . . if . . I . . . can . . . hold . . . on . . . " "My pleasure," responded the entity, genuinely pleased and surprised. In an instant, ropes had firmly tied themselves to each ring, wrapped around Picard's wrists several times, and tied their free ends to the rings again. Picard's ankles were similarly secured to small metallic loops that had appeared on the floor. "Feel better?" asked Q. Picard answered with a heartfelt "Yes, Sir!" As soon as he felt his wrists and ankles securely bound, a wave of warmth and relaxation had washed through his body, despite the continuous pain from the invisible clamps. It felt right to be bound like this for Q, and Picard felt a delicious conviction that now he could truly let go, give himself up to Q's ministrations completely. This was what he wanted, and he could be himself, that dark secret core of himself, in a way that he had never felt possible with anyone else. Q turned his attention to Picard's erect penis, pressing it between his thumb and forefinger, again leaving a row of invisible clamps. Although Picard gasped and swayed with the pain, he felt a deep calm form in his chest like a small pool, steadily spreading with each jolt of pain he received. His cock throbbed with need and desire and agony, his body burned and stung in countless places, and he was bound and helpless before the most powerful being he had ever encountered, and he felt a tranquillity and peacefulness unlike any he had ever experienced. The desire to come was countered by an equally strong hope that Q would draw this out as long as possible. "Look at me, Johnny!" snapped Q suddenly. He didn't understand Picard's sensations at all, and he felt himself growing angry. *You fool, Jean-Luc!* Q thought to himself, *relaxed are you? Well, I can put the fear of God in you!* "Look at me, boy! And hold on." Picard looked straight at the entity, and for a moment their eyes locked. Picard's eyes were clear and serene, and Q glanced away before flicking his wrist in a light airy motion. The invisible clamps twisted themselves off in backwards order, one after another, in a cascading series of excruciatingly painful, searing jolts. Picard howled as the torture began at his penis and kept howling at the piercing lightning bolt that shot through each nipple, and as his nerves danced with pain, he felt himself spiralling away into a dark abyss. He was no longer conscious of his room around him, and he was barely conscious of who he was. All that he was aware of was his body's sensations and Q's overwhelming presence. *Oh, why not let him have this?* thought Q to himself. *He'll pay for his gullibility later.* He began drawing his finger is looping, spiralling patterns around Picard's back, but the sensation it conveyed was that of a sharp pin, being trailed just along the surface of the skin. This time the residual feeling was a needle thin line of icy cold. Picard felt the sharp point trace circles on his buttocks, move up and down his inner thighs, travel from his neck down his spine, etch stinging lines of cold around his nipples, and trail along the underside of his still-erect cock. His sense of reality was intensified, with each sensation occupying almost his entire consciousness. Nothing existed but this whirling darkness in his head and these excruciatingly overwhelming physical sensations. Somehow each touch of Q's continued to reverberate, so that Picard's body was experiencing icy pinpricks and burning pinches all at the same time. Although Q had not taken him out of his room, he began to feel as though he was floating through space, legs and arms outstretched, his body permeable and translucent, each pinprick or pinch a star. He knew somehow that he was in his quarters, and Q was touching him, but at the same time, he felt as though he had merged and fused with the universe around him. He felt two explosions at his hips and realized that it was Q's hands gripping him hard. Q was then pushing inside him, stretching him, filling him, burning him, and each thrust sent a shuddering quivering warmth coursing through his entire body, from his anus down through his legs to his toes and up through his arms to his fingertips. An invisible hand grasped his cock, moving up and down it in long strokes, each one timed with a thrust from behind. Picard's ears were filled with a drawn out groaning wail, which he realized was his own voice. He still perceived himself as floating in space, and each thrust into his ass and stroke along his cock set off a cascade of exploding stars through his body. After an almost unendurable build up of pressure and pain, a burst of liquid flame shot through him, and he strained against his bonds in shuddering spasms that shook his entire body. As he gasped and panted and trembled and shivered, he only very slowly became aware of who and where he was. As he slowly opened his eyes, the stars outside his viewport seemed one with the stars inside his head, and as he felt his bonds being released and his body collapsing in a flash on his bed, he had to grip the sheets to convince himself of their physical reality. When Q spoke, it took Picard a moment to focus on the words. "I'm impressed; I really expected you to ask me to stop." For some reason Picard was annoyed. "Why," he asked somewhat breathlessly, " would I . . . want you to stop? That was the last thing I wanted." "Oh?" Q was waiting to see if Picard had any idea of what had just happened to him. "That was . . ." Picard rolled onto his back, lacing his fingers behind his neck. Looking through his window at the stars, he tried to explain. "I've never had that happen to me. I don't mean what you did," and he glanced at Q with a smile on his face, "obviously no one has ever done *that* to me, but I'm trying to describe how I felt." He sighed. "It was like I wasn't really here . . . I *knew* that you were hurting me . . . I *knew* that I was really here in my quarters . . . but it seemed like I was . . . out there . . ." He gestured at the window. "I know I sound like an idiot, but I can't find the words . . . I felt almost transparent . . . no not transparent, but permeable . . . part of the . . . universe I suppose . . ." He shook his head, annoyed with his inability to describe the sensation. "It all sounds so . . . stupid . . ." To Q it didn't sound stupid, not at all. *I had no idea that they could feel *that*,* he thought. For some reason that he couldn't quite put his finger on, he began to be a little uneasy about the whole dare with Q. *This is not going the way it should, and I don't like that.* Aloud, all he said was, "no, it doesn't sound stupid. You've just had a very intense experience, one you've never had before. I would be surprised if you *didn't* feel different." Picard opened his mouth to say something, but Q forestalled him. Lying down next to Picard, he said "Come here, Johnny." Picard moved over to rest in Q's arms. Feeling a deep sense of contentment and peace, he leaned his head against Q's shoulder. Exhausted from his experience, he was drifting off to sleep, when he heard Q speak again. "When you get off duty tomorrow, I want you to eat dinner and take a shower. Then I want you to wait for me, naked and on your knees in front of your desk." That thrill of fear and arousal rushed through Picard again. "Yes sir," he murmured. "Good boy. Now go to sleep, Johnny." *************************************************************** "You hurt me more than I ever could have imagined You made my world stand still And in that stillness There was a freedom I never felt before" "Plenty" Sarah McLachlan -- ****************** Ruth Gifford "Update all information and pod into cosmos." Instructional label on a Fed Ex package (really) From netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!news Wed Mar 13 19:56:33 1996 Xref: netcom.com alt.startrek.creative.erotica:1188 alt.fan.q:5137 Path: netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!news From: thegiff@ix.netcom.com(Ruth Gifford) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica,alt.fan.q Subject: NEW: "His Beloved Pet" Part Two (1/3) (TNG, P/Q, BDSM) Date: 14 Mar 1996 03:07:29 GMT Organization: Netcom Lines: 416 Message-ID: <4i82hh$pb3@dfw-ixnews6.ix.netcom.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ont-ca3-14.ix.netcom.com X-NETCOM-Date: Wed Mar 13 9:07:29 PM CST 1996 His Beloved Pet Part Two (1/3) After that night, Picard’s life began to take on an almost surreal quality. During the day watch, his life was as beige as his surroundings. He did his job with his usual efficiency, attending meetings, writing reports, and handling all the routine business that made up his days, but he felt oddly distanced from it all. He knew that Q's screen (as he continued to think of it) was shielding him from Troi’s helpful but intrusive talents, and he remained grateful for the help. After all, it would hardly do for his Ship's Counselor to know that he spent a good deal of his time thinking about how it felt to be on his knees begging for Q's touch. In contrast to Picard’s placid days, his nights were edged in knife-bright colors, pulsing with hot white fire. There were times when he would have sworn that he could see sounds, and feel colors; he was so completely overwhelmed, transfixed and enraptured by the things that Q did to him. Lying exhausted, and more satiated than he had ever felt in his life, he was occasionally troubled by that nagging question, but to tell the truth, he didn't work too hard to figure out what it was. And if he did look a little troubled, Q would simply touch him, and it would start all over again, the need, the longing, the intense sensations like none he’d ever felt, and in the end, the almost painful ecstasy that touched every nerve with flame. He would be lost then, adrift in a sea of sensations. The situation remained the same for three unbelievable weeks. It seemed to Picard that each night he learned something new about his own needs and desires. From gentle sex to violent sex, from detached psychic sex to tactile sweaty human sex, Q gave Picard sensations he hadn’t even thought he would want. When he thought about life before the affair began, it seemed unbelievably empty. But now . . . the nights stretched out like pearls on a necklace, each different, each incredible . . . and he became accustomed to things he had never had before. He became accustomed to the sound of his own voice pleading... *** Q had asked for Picard's riding crop. In spite of the fact that they had just had sex an hour ago, Picard felt a feeling that was fast becoming familiar; fear and desire coiled so tightly together that he couldn't tell where one let off and the other began. The riding crop would hurt far more than anything Q had used on him yet, but he wanted it. Aware that he was being watched, he walked slowly to the trunk in the bottom of the closet that he kept his tack in. As he dropped to his knees to open it, the bathrobe he was wearing vanished. Catching his breath sharply, he managed to locate the crop. While he closed the trunk, he heard Q speak from the direction of the bed. "Don't *walk* back, johnny." As always, Picard could *hear* the difference in the nickname, and knew that Q had once again reduced him to the level of a pet. Then Q's words sunk in, and his heart began to pound. *I *can't* . . . I just can't . . .* His bedroom wasn't all that large; it would only take a second or two. He closed his eyes, trying to deny that he wanted to . . . crawl to Q. "Please . . . " he whispered. "Is it too much?" Q asked, somewhat condescendingly. *You're so easy, Mon Capitaine; now you'll have to prove yourself to me.* *I wanted this,* Picard thought. *I actually *told* him that I wanted things like this. So why is it so hard?* Q's assumption that he couldn't do it--wasn't strong enough to do it---stung. Aware that Q was manipulating his pride in order to humiliate him, Picard looked down the crop that he was gripping tightly. "You know what to do with it, pet." He did, indeed. In all the stories and books he had read about playing these kinds of games, the protocol in this situation was clear. *I'm a starship Captain, how can I *do* this?* That thought was followed by one that was as equally important. *How can I *not* do it?* His face burning, he put the riding crop in his mouth, trying not to bite down too hard, and dropped to his hands. Suddenly the distance from the closet to the foot of the bed looked vaster than the Alpha Quadrant. Oh God, it was even worse. Q wasn't at the foot of the bed anymore. He wasn't in the bedroom at all. Picard remained still for a long moment, not sure that he could do this after all. Maybe Q was right, maybe it was too much. *Open your mouth and say 'Stop,'* he thought. *NO!* He watched, amazed as one hand moved, and then the other, followed by his knees. Knowing that Q was watching, he tried for some dignity (no easy feat when crawling on your hands and knees with a riding crop in your teeth) holding his head up, and moving steadily. *I rather like this,* Q thought smugly. *This is the same man who quoted "Hamlet" to me to prove that Humans were special. Now look at him, crawling on his hands and knees, because he thinks his lover wants him to. Pathetic.* He tried to ignore the fact that Picard was exhibiting a truly amazing strength of will. Q knew that this was incredibly hard for the Captain, but that he was doing it to prove to both himself and his lover that he *could* do it. Q didn't quite understand the feeling that came over him briefly; a touch of pride and an odd tenderness for the man who was now kneeling at his feet. Without being told, Picard came up onto his knees and put his hands behind his back. His chin high, he offered the riding crop to Q. Q had to glance aside; for a second he couldn't stand the look in Picard's eyes. Picard waited, perfectly content to remain here all night if that was what Q wanted. He had never felt this way before; he was terrified of the crop, humiliated to be kneeling next to his own desk while Q sat in his chair looking down at him, and yet he *wanted* to be here, to prove to his lover just how far he would go, how much of himself he was willing to give up. He was in that space that only Q had been able to take him to, and he tried as well as he could to silently convey his gratitude. "You're learning, pet." Q took the crop out of his mouth, but held it until Picard kissed it. Picard was finding that he loved the ritual aspect of being dominated; there was a strange comfort in the formality of it all. He wasn't sure how Q knew all the right things to do (although he assumed that Q had simply read the same things he had), and in this space he didn't care. Outside this space, he simply avoided thinking about the situation, half afraid that he would wake up and find that it had all been a dream within a dream. "Up over the desk!" Q snapped, breaking Picard's reverie. His contentment vanished, replaced by growing need. Rising quickly to his feet, he bent over the end of the desk that Q gestured to with the crop. The glass was cold against his skin, but it didn't seem to affect his erection. Q stood; as Picard turned his head and caught sight of him, the Captain gasped. Q was wearing an exact replica of Picard's dress uniform, not the Starfleet uniform, but the one that he wore on the holodeck Enterprise of 1812. It suited the entity perfectly, and Picard wasn't surprised to suddenly feel the room roll. The desk he was over was made of wood now, and smaller, as was the room. As it sometimes did in the clarity that these moments provided, Picard's mind grabbed at a silly little detail; the riding crop was no longer appropriate. Remembering the brutal discipline that *was* appropriate to this time, he said nothing. "We'll start with twelve," Q said crisply. "You will count each one and thank me for it. Ask me to start when you're ready, but if you wait too long, I'll add another six." Picard was relieved that Q was following conventions. This was the first time Q had done such a thing, but Picard didn't think he could stand the crop unless he had ample warning. *A dozen of the best,* he thought, with grim amusement. "Please Sir, I'm ready, Sir." He was pleased that his voice was steady, maintaining his dignity was important, at least in the beginning. Later, of course, even that would be gone. His musings were cut brutally short by Q laying down the first hard punishing stripe. It hurt far more than Picard had expected and he grunted in spite of himself. After a second, he managed to stammer out, "One . . . Sir . . . thank . . . you . . . Sir . . ." "Good boy," Q said lightly. Picard could feel a hot blush of humiliation wash over his face; this was going to be a *long* scene. *Thank God for that,* he thought. The crop landed again forcing a yelp from him, and he clung to the edge of the desk as he thanked Q. He tried to relax into the pain, having discovered that it was much easier to take a beating if his buttocks weren't tensed. The next stripe landed and then the next; Q was merciless, leaning into each blow with pitiless strength. Picard's world had narrowed down to the searing lines of pain and the ragged sound of his own voice. In spite of the pain (or indeed *because* of it), he was sincere as he thanked Q; if he hadn't been ordered to, he would have done it anyway. He made it through twelve, knowing that he wasn't anywhere near his limit. "Well, that was too easy for you," Q said. Picard shivered in delicious anticipation; Q's tone of voice was biting. "Twice twelve." The crop whistled through the air again, and the brief respite made it feel worse. Picard made it through the second twelve fairly easily even though Q increased the strength of the blows. The last twelve, however were sheer agony, particularly as the crop began to find earlier welts. Around thirty, tears began to form in Picard's eyes, and at thirty four, he began to sob in earnest, barely managing to choke out his thanks for the last two. He was, however, still utterly and painfully aroused. After he had stammered out his final thanks, he slid off the desk and knelt before Q, once more kissing the crop that was held out to him. When Q reached down and brushed a hand across his head, Picard was ridiculously grateful and he leaned into the caress eagerly. *This is *so* right,* he thought. *This is what I am; this is where I'm supposed to be. Isn't it strange that the only other times I feel like this are when I'm on the bridge?* He was brought back to the moment by the sound of Q snapping his fingers. Suddenly they were in a bedroom, but one Picard had never seen. He recognized the Empire style of the furniture and decor; it perfectly suited Q's uniform (of course). The room was lit only by candlelight and the warm glow of a fire somewhere behind Q, and Picard could see a large bed to one side. He looked up at Q, waiting for the next order. Q said nothing, but he tapped the tip of the riding crop against Picard's thighs and Picard shifted into the desired position, sitting back on his heels while he spread his knees. As he clasped his hands behind his back, he marveled at how little time it had taken him to learn what to do. *Maybe it's not so odd . . . after all, I've wanted this . . . studied this . . . for a long damn time.* The tip of the crop moved upward and inward to slide slowly along his erection. Holding himself as still as he could, he moaned. "Do you want something, johnny?" Q asked. As always, Picard marveled at the way Q's voice surrounded him, wrapping all his nerves in fire. "Please . . ." Picard began to ask, but then he caught himself. "Whatever pleases you, Sir." *Why is he so *good* at this?* In spite of himself, Q was impressed with Picard's willingness to throw himself into the submissive role. Apart from the occasional directive from an Admiral, or Starfleet Command, Picard hadn't had to obey a direct order for years. For no reason that he could put his finger on, Q's irritation with Picard grew more intense. *Idiot,* the entity thought. *I'm going to push those lines of yours.* "'Sir' isn't good enough anymore!" he snapped. He almost laughed as Picard bit his lip; the Captain was obviously struggling with his pride and his image of himself. Picard clenched his hands together behind his back. This was impossible, he couldn't *really* call Q *that*. Then again, an hour ago, he would have said that he couldn't really crawl across his own bedroom floor with his riding crop in his teeth. *I can do this for him.* In spite of his resolve, however, his voice was a little shaky when he finally spoke. "Whatever pleases you . . . Master." He closed his eyes, breathing hard now that he'd cleared that hurdle. He suddenly gasped, there was a hand, a slippery hot hand, slowly stroking his cock. "Remain still!" Q ordered, tipping Picard's chin up with the crop. "Open your eyes." Picard obeyed, forcing himself to meet Q's hard stare as the invisible hand continued to stroke him. He was soon shaking with the effort to remain still, and Q smiled down at him, a cruel edge to the smile. "You know better than to come without permission, don't you, johnny?" "Yes Master," Picard whispered. As he twisted his hands together, he could feel them growing slippery with sweat. He was soon gritting his teeth in an effort to keep from begging for release. This was unbearable, if that hand didn't stop touching him he was going to . . . The hand stopped, and he breathed out a careful sigh of relief. Nothing happened for a moment and then the hand was back. This time it merely ran its fingers ever-so-lightly along the extremely sensitive skin of his penis. Picard began to shake again, wondering how much more of this delicious agony he could stand. A split second before the point when the need for release would override the need to obey, the hand stopped. Q tossed the crop onto the bed, and unbuttoned his trousers. "Go ahead, pet. You know what to do." As Picard moved forward and began to slowly run his tongue along Q's cock, the entity sighed and rested a hand on Picard's head. *And do you ever,* he thought. Without even thinking about it, Q simply let his adopted Human form take over, gasping as the warm mouth of the man kneeling before him moved down over his erection. This was one more thing Picard had proved surprisingly good at, and Q began to moan as Picard began to suck in earnest. Although he was perfectly happy to make Picard wait all night for an orgasm, Q had no sense of restraint about his own pleasure, and he soon found himself coming. Grateful for the fact that Picard had been holding on to his hips and was now able to steady him, Q staggered slightly before he regained his footing. Once Picard was sure that Q was able to stand, he returned to his prior position, waiting for whatever Q wanted next. Looking down at him, Q fought off a surprisingly strong wave of tenderness. *He is *just* a pet, after all, and this is just a game,* he told himself firmly as he refastened his pants. Picard was not surprised to find that his own need had hardly abated. *Why did I ever think that I wouldn't like doing that?* he wondered silently. *And God knows I've gotten better at it.* His smug thought was cut off by Q's caustic voice. "You could still stand some improvement, johnny." Picard didn't know if Q had been reading his mind; the remark might have just been spontaneous. He bowed his head; here in this space the thought of Q violating his mental privacy didn't bother him as much as it did at other times. Q tapped his chin with the crop again and he looked up again. The hand was back, teasing his cock, and two pairs of fingers toyed with his nipples, while a yet another finger traced patterns across the back of his neck. There were more fingers pinching along the insides of his thighs and one finger slipped easily inside him. All of the fingers seemed to reach right through to the nerve endings buried beneath Picard's skin. It was excruciatingly wonderful, and he wanted it to go on forever. More fingers came into play, teasing his ears, the insides of his elbows and knees, and all the other secondary errogenous zones. In spite of all this contact, the only visible connection to Q was the riding crop that still held Picard's chin up. That and the heavy, palpable pressure of Q's intense stare. Picard fought to remain silent, forcing down his need to break down and plead. It was a struggle he was fated to lose. "Please . . . " he moaned. "What do you want, johnny?" "To . . . come . . . oh please . . . Master . . ." The fingers that tormented him vanished, and Picard groaned in acute frustration. He saw Q raise his hand and he braced, having no idea what would happen when Q snapped his fingers. When it came, the transition wasn't as surreal as some of the ones Q had put him through. He was now lying on the bed, the embroidered covelet rough against the welts on his ass. Q was still standing by the side of the bed. "Well . . ." he drawled. "You've been on your best behavior tonight." He leaned forward and ran a finger gently along Picard's erection. "Should I let you? . . . what would you do for it?" "Anything, Master," Picard promised, meaning it. "Well, frankly, I want to see *you* do it." When Picard just stared at him, not sure if he understood, Q continued. "Really, I don't know what your problem is. After all, you've been doing it on an amazingly regular basis since you were twelve." He paused and Picard felt that familiar warm oil cover his own hands. "Now johnny!" Q snapped. Picard's hands seemed to move of their own accord, and as they reached his erection, he closed his eyes. "No, I don't think so," Q said. Picard froze. "Look at me, boy! I won't let you pretend that I'm not here." The entity's dark gaze seemed to look right into Picard's soul, and comforted by that, Picard bit his lip and ran a hand down over the head of his penis. "Slowly," Q ordered. "Don't rush it." "Yes . . . Master," Picard gasped out. He slowly began to stroke himself, his slippery hand moving across the taut skin of his erection. It had *never* felt this good, and he had to struggle to keep his eyes open. He also had to struggle to keep to a slow rhythm; the need was so great that it was almost painful. But Q was watching him, and pleasing Q was all that mattered, for there was no one else in Picard's universe. He was gasping now, his unoccupied hand closing and opening rhythmically. Finally he could stand it no longer. With what little control he had left, he managed to get a few words out. "Please . . . Master . . . may . . . I . . . ?" "Go ahead, johnny." Picard felt like he was falling into the depths of Q's dark eyes as his climax rushed over him. Wanting to prolong the moment as long as possible, he continued to move his hand, shuddering his way through the aftershocks. Finally he lay still, his breathing ragged. Q smiled at him, a tiny aloof smile, and Picard breathed out a sigh of relief, somehow *knowing* that he had pleased Q. He closed his eyes then and relaxed for a moment. Q was relieved when Picard closed his eyes. More and more, in these situations, he was becoming aware of some kind of *connection* between himself and his "pet." When Picard had forced himself to keep his eyes open while masturbating, Q couldn’t help absorbing his thoughts. It was gratifying, if somewhat unnerving, to discover that he, Q, was firmly at the center of those thoughts. Picard’s eagerness to please Q, and his willingness to humiliate himself for that purpose felt somehow . . . right to Q. Annoyed, he snapped his fingers, returning them to Picard’s bedroom. Picard opened his eyes at the transition, and moving carefully, slid off the bed to kneel at Q’s feet once more. Looking up into Q’s eyes again, the Captain whispered, "thank you, Master." And then, making the movement look natural and graceful, he bent and gently kissed the toe of each of Q’s boots. "Good, johnny, very good." Q couldn’t take any more of this. He shimmered out of view, unable to help whispering as he disappeared, "I’m proud of you, pet." And then he fled, leaving the Enterprise and her captain far behind. Picard actually guessed at Q's confusion as he straightened up. Under these circumstances, it didn't bother him when Q disappeared like this. He had felt *something* from Q during the scene, and figured that, like himself, Q was trying to understand why they both seemed to need to do these things. In a way Picard was right, but not in the way he thought. He smiled slightly and climbed to his feet. As he headed for his bathroom and the shower there, that nagging question flickered across the edges of his mind. He tried once more to pin it down and then shrugged after a moment. *When you’ve got it this good, Jean-Luc, don’t question it.* *************************************************************** "I can exist being caught by your kiss Willingly Or grant you control Of my body and soul Ask it and so it shall be" "So It Shall Be" k d lang -- ****************** Ruth Gifford "Update all information and pod into cosmos." Instructional label on a Fed Ex package (really) From netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!news Wed Mar 13 19:56:36 1996 Xref: netcom.com alt.startrek.creative.erotica:1189 alt.fan.q:5138 Path: netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!news From: thegiff@ix.netcom.com(Ruth Gifford) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica,alt.fan.q Subject: NEW: "His Beloved Pet" Part Two (2/3) (TNG, P/Q, BDSM) Date: 14 Mar 1996 03:09:11 GMT Organization: Netcom Lines: 404 Message-ID: <4i82kn$g28@dfw-ixnews2.ix.netcom.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ont-ca3-14.ix.netcom.com X-NETCOM-Date: Wed Mar 13 9:09:11 PM CST 1996 His Beloved Pet Part Two (2/3) *** Picard also became accustomed to the sound of his voice crying out in wordless ecstasy . . . *** It had been a long day, and Picard was tired. Q hadn't been waiting for him when he reached his quarters, and as the entity had left no instructions, Picard decided to take a shower. As the hot water poured down over his head, he sighed in appreciation, tilting his head back to let the water stream over his face. His time with Q was sensitizing his whole body, and he was re-learning the joy of indulging *all* his senses. There were times that he felt as if he'd been sleepwalking all his life and had only now woken up. He turned again and let the water splash against his back. *God, that feels good.* As he arched his back, he felt a strange sensation . . . a sensation of proximity. Q was *here* watching him, he was suddenly sure of it. A second later, he was face to face with his lover. "Decided to drop in, did we?" "Impossible to resist." Q ran his finger in a delicate line along Picard's rapidly hardening penis. "You're so easy," he remarked lightly as Picard moaned. As the Captain opened his mouth to reply, Q pulled him into a hard embrace and began kissing him. Picard returned the kiss eagerly, twisting his tongue against Q's as the water poured over them. Picard ran his hands over Q's back, before bringing them up the entity's side. Pushing Q away slightly, while not breaking the kiss, he began to run his thumbs over Q's nipples. Q moaned into Picard's mouth and the kiss intensified, Q biting at Picard's lips. A few moments later, Q broke free, and began kissing and biting at Picard's neck. As his teeth found all the right spots, Picard could feel his knees getting weak. He leaned against the tiled wall, no longer sure that he was even in his own shower. The water seemed to be coming from everywhere, pouring over him as Q's mouth moved lower and lower. He gasped sharply as Q began to worry one of his nipples with his teeth, while at the same time, Picard felt a tongue lightly flicking at his cock. As he was learning to do, he surrendered his concept of reality, closing his eyes and moaning louder as another set of teeth began to work on his other nipple. Picard wasn't sure how much time--minutes, hours, even days-- he spent leaning against the wall before Q's hands turned him around. The teeth were still nibbling his increasingly sensitive nipples, and the tongue was still licking his cock, as Q pushed him hard against the wall. Now there was a pair of hands roaming over his ass, grabbing him, fingers occasionally pinching him, and Picard's groans and gasps grew louder, blending in with the sound of the water and Q's heavy breathing. Bracing himself as well as he could, he spread his legs, wondering if Q would make him beg as he so often did. Instead of a long wait, however, he immediately felt the hands spreading him open, and Q's hard cock sliding slowly into him. At the same time the mouth that had been teasing Picard's cock moved down over it, sucking with a wonderfully intense rhythm. He could feel Q's breath against his ear, and the entity began whispering to him. "I love the sounds you make, Jean-Luc. Where's the restrained, reserved Captain now, hmmm?" Surprising himself, Picard managed to reply, his voice breathless with pent up need. "Shoved up . . . ohhh . . . against a shower wall . . . ahhh . . . getting . . . fucked in the ass . . . " Q's response was a pleased chuckle and he picked up the pace, moving with rough urgency. "Oh God, Q!" Picard cried out, no longer sure if they weren't one and the same being. Q was slamming into him, and Picard was moving back to meet each hard thrust, as the mouth continued to suck his aching cock. When Q bit his ear hard and shoved into him one last time, Picard howled with complete abandon. As his climax rushed over him, he would have fallen if Q's strong arms hadn't held him up. It went on for moments, wave after wave of hot pulsing pleasure, and Picard was dimly aware that he was making more noise than he ever had during sex. When he finally quieted and began to come down, he felt Q turning him once more. As Q continued to hold Picard up, he kissed him again and again; they were deep rough kisses, and Picard felt as though his mouth was burning under the pressure. He leaned against his lover until he finally felt able to stand on his own. Pulling away, he opened his eyes and smiled at Q. "You're . . . incredible," he murmured quietly. "And you, Jean-Luc, are not too bad yourself." Q pulled him close for one last hard quick kiss. "Get some rest, Johnny," he added afterwards, as Picard tried to catch his breath. "You'll need *all* your strength for tomorrow night." Then, he was gone, and Picard was alone in his shower again, the hot water still pouring over his back. *** The Captain was even allowed to become somewhat accustomed to the sound of his voice snapping out orders of a private nature . . *** Picard walked into his quarters one evening, not sure of what he would find behind the door. He found that he liked the mystery, liked not knowing what to expect from his lover. Tonight he wasn’t really up to anything truly intense, he hoped that Q wouldn’t want a major scene. Instead he was in a more playful mood. The alpha watch had just performed up to--in some ways above--his high expectations during a drill, and, truth to tell, Picard felt rather on top of the world. He grinned as he entered his quarters and found that Q had once more provided dinner. The entity was dressed casually, and he smiled at Picard. "You’re in a fine mood," Q said lightly. "I could feel you smiling all the way from the bridge. The drill went well?" "Damn well," Picard said proudly. Q held out a glass of wine, and Picard took it absently. "Sometimes they manage to surprise me. I like it." He shook his head. "So what have you conjured up for dinner tonight?" he asked in a teasing voice. Q shimmered slightly, reappearing in an odd white jacket. Picard frowned, trying to place the costume, and then laughed; Q looked for all the world like a steward. Q bowed slightly, and gestured toward the table. Picard hadn't looked at it closely, but now that he did, he noticed that it was set for one. Feeling a little odd, he sat down. Q topped off his glass, and began serving the meal. He was silent, deferential, in short, the perfect steward. Deciding to go with it, Picard had him fetch a padd, and the Captain worked on his drill evaluation while he ate. The food was, as always, perfect, everything to Picard's taste, and Q made sure that his wine glass was always full. They had, in fact, had a discussion about the wine shortly after their first meal together; Q had assuring Picard that if he did get "under the influence" it would take a mere snap of Q's finger to sober him up. A Frenchman to the core, Picard had been delighted, and now there was wine with their evening meals. He sighed as he finished his dessert; Q had discovered his weakness for strawberry tart. "I'm going to put on weight if you keep feeding me like this." "I'm sure you'll manage to work it off somehow, sir," Q replied as he cleared the table, and set a snifter of Armagnac in front of Picard. As the Captain picked up the glass and swirled it, he hoped he was successful at hiding his surprise. Being called "sir" by Q seemed somehow . . . not exactly wrong, but definitely strange. He remembered telling Q that he had occasionally fantasized about having his way with someone, giving orders for his own pleasure, and he could only guess that he was about to have that fantasy fulfilled. He turned in his chair and stretched. "Will there be any thing else, Captain?" Q asked quietly. Picard smiled at him. "I need a shower," he said casually, rising from his chair and heading toward the bedroom. Q stopped long enough to pick up the snifter and then followed him. As he entered the room, Picard, who was sitting on the bed, stretched out his leg. Q quickly set down the snifter and knelt in front of the Captain. Working quickly, he deftly removed Picard's boots. When he was done, it seemed only natural that he should help Picard get the rest of his uniform off. *I rather like this,* Picard thought as he watched Q carefully remove the communicator and the rank pips from his uniform tunic. *It certainly makes getting undressed more interesting.* "I want you waiting with a towel when I get out of the shower," he said aloud as he headed for the bathroom. "And Q . . .?" "Sir?" "You won't need clothes." Q bowed again, and, feeling rather smug, Picard made his way into the bathroom. *You're not very good at this, Johnny,* Q thought. *You've passed up a dozen opportunities to humiliate me. Amateurs . . * When Picard stepped out of the shower, Q was waiting for him on his knees, naked and holding a large towel. Picard took the towel and as he dried off, he looked down at Q. He had done more in the shower than just get clean, he had also tried to figure out what to do. *I'm even more of a novice at being on top,* he thought wryly as he tossed the towel back at Q. *Then again, I've been in command for over half my life. So, what would I do if I didn't have to pay attention to the regulations regarding harassment?* The answer was easy: be selfish. Grabbing Q's arm, he hauled the startled entity to his feet. "Bedroom," the Captain snapped. "Leave the damn towel on the floor." He dragged Q into the bedroom and sat down on the bed again, pulling Q down to kneel in front of him. Bending, he kissed Q roughly, enjoying his lover's uncharacteristic passivity. Their tongues tangled and twisted; Picard pausing every once in a while to bite at Q's lips. When he finally pulled away they were both breathing heavily, but Picard had no idea that he was the only one who was serious. The first time Picard's teeth had closed on Q's lip, the entity had cut himself off from his adopted body, effectively letting the physical form Picard thought of as Q run on autopilot. Knowing Picard as he did, he could guess what the captain had in mind. It would be nothing like what Q had done to Picard, but there was the possibility of discomfort, and Q was not interested in discomfort. Picard was gripping his hair and Q bent his head obediently. *May as well show him a good time,* the entity thought with the mental equivalent of a yawn. Picard let go of Q's hair and leaned back on his hands. When Q's mouth slid down over his erection in one hot smooth motion, he gasped. *Of course he's better at it than I am,* he thought wryly. *He's fucking omnipotent.* He really couldn't think clearly after that, although he managed to gasp out one instruction. "Make it . . . last . . . Q." Q slowed down and for the next ten minutes or so the only sound in the room was Picard's heavy breathing and occasional gasp, as Q wound him up tighter and tighter. But coming now was not what Picard had in mind. Reaching for Q's hair again, he pulled Q away. Looking down and seeing Q on his knees made Picard smile. *I could learn to like this.* *You won't get a chance to learn to like it, *Johnny*.* Q thought. He did not like being on his knees in front of Picard, it was embarrassing. *Oh well, it's not like this will go on for too much longer.* Whether he meant the current scene or the affair itself, he wasn't sure. Picard, who was blissfully unaware of Q's internal musings, sat for a moment, thinking. "I think we need to move this into my ready room." "What?!" Q was absolutely stunned. "Or a reasonable facsimile thereof. I do believe I've managed to surprise you, Q." Q's eyes met Picard's. "As a matter of fact, you have. How do you know we won't be in your *real* ready room?" "What's real?" Picard asked. "Ready room Q! Now!" *'What's real?' Jean-Luc, you weren't supposed to have figured *that* out. If you've decided that reality has no bearing . . .* Q didn't want to think about the implications of Picard's casual statement, either for the relationship, or (more importantly) the "project." He was simultaneously impressed and annoyed, but let none of his feelings show as he made the transition. *I can't believe that I actually suggested this,* Picard thought to himself. He knew *why* he had asked for this location, and he wondered if Q was reading his mind. This was, of course, one of his own fantasies, only reversed. It was a very recent fantasy, and he had no doubt that if Q decided to fulfill it, he'd do better than Picard was doing. *That's why *this* is a game, but when he's on top it's real.* Q had deposited them in suitable positions; Picard was in his chair, and Q was kneeling in front of the desk. Picard smiled, Q had also seen fit to provide him with a clean uniform. Moving confidently, Picard rose from his chair and paced around Q. "Did I ask for a uniform?" "No sir." Q replied. "I'm sorry sir." "You should be. Now that it's here, I'll leave it on, but you really shouldn't try to anticipate like that. I'm the Captain; I'll make the decisions." "Yes sir." Q was not enjoying this, and so he assigned a small portion of his attention to Picard and the scene (they weren't *really* in the ready room, of course), and used the rest to mull over the implications of Picard's earlier statement. "Up over the desk!" Picard snapped. "Spread your legs!" Q obeyed and Picard rested a hand on Q's ass. "This is nice, " he said. "I like the way you look." He began to trace patterns on Q's skin; his fingers roaming up Q's back and down to the insides of Q's thighs. This was the first time he'd had much of a chance to really touch Q, and he found himself liking it. When he slid a hand in between the desk and Q's cock, Q arched his back to allow him greater access. He was surprised at how much he liked teasing and touching Q; it was something he'd always liked to do with women, but now to do it with a man was new, and rather interesting. Q started to groan and Picard smiled. "Want something?" he asked. "Please," Q whispered. "What would that be?" As Picard asked the question, he began stroking Q's cock slowly, enjoying the gasps that were the result of his ministrations. When Q didn't reply, Picard let his hand go still. Q pushed against it and Picard slapped him slightly with his free hand. He didn't think that he was ready to actually *hurt* Q; the thought just seemed wrong for some reason. *Because, in spite of your posturing, you're still his . . pet,* he told himself. *Still this *is* fun.* "Please, sir . . . I need you to . . .want you to . . . fuck me." "Really? Is *that* what you want?" Picard had in fact noticed, just a few days ago, that his desk was at the right level for this sort of thing. Resisting the urge to instruct the computer to lock the doors, he slid both hands over Q's rear, before unfastening his uniform pants. Not too surprisingly, he was almost painfully aroused, and he decided that one of the advantages of being selfish was not having to wait for an orgasm. He ran his hand along Q's hip, and then down, following the curve of one buttock. "I'll need some lubricant." A bottle appeared on the desk instantly, and Picard didn't even blink, having gotten used to everyday things appearing out of thin air. He smiled again as he slid slippery fingers over his cock. *This is so . . . surreal.* Carefully, gently, he slid a finger inside Q's ass, and then another, listening to the moans his actions produced. In spite of his intentions to be selfish, he teased Q, enjoying the idea of his omnipotent lover draped across his desk moaning. After a few moments of this, however, he decided that enough was enough. Grasping Q's hips, he leaned over and whispered, "Brace yourself," in Q's ear. As he felt himself slowly moving into Q, he closed his eyes, moaning slightly at the feeling. To be *inside* his lover, to feel that snug warmth surround his cock, was wonderful. Wishing to prolong the feeling of closeness, he moved slowly, teasing both himself and Q. In spite of his distance from the physical act, Q could still pick up on Picard's feelings. As happened all to often lately, those feelings bothered him, for Picard had gone beyond infatuation into a much deeper emotion. *I have to end this soon, or he's going to break past that barrier and say those words. I don't want him to do that.* But whether it was the fact that Picard cared or just that Q might be caught out in a lie that bothered the entity, he wasn't sure. That he was being unusually obtuse didn't occur to Q, who was not in the habit of analyzing his thoughts. Self-analysis and moral agonizing were for lesser beings. He became aware that Picard was reaching his climax and he faked his way through one of his own. Picard let himself rest against Q for a moment. He wasn't thinking about roles, or games, or even the fact that he and Q were bent over his ready room desk . He was just enjoying the closeness, both physical and emotional. He opened his mouth to say . . . what? What was he going to say? The words were there, hovering on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't get them out. *Give it time,* he thought. *It's only been a few weeks.* So what he said instead, was, "Thank you." "Oh, don't mention it," Q replied. He snapped his fingers and they were in Picard's bed, with Q now curled around Picard. The Captain smiled as he realized that he was naked again, his uniform having not survived the transition. *What is *real*?* he wondered. "Q?" he said quietly. "Hmmm?" "Were we *really* in the ready room?" Q sighed. "What's real?" Before Picard could answer, Q moved, pushing the smaller man over onto his stomach. He bit at Picard's shoulders, and heard the now familiar moan as the pain began to work its magic on Picard. "This, of course *is* real." As he spoke, he used his legs to spread Picard's legs open. "Tell me, mon *Capitaine*, tell me that you want it. Tell me how much you want it and how hard you want it." His voice wound its seductive coils around Picard, pulling him down into the abyss again. Q's cock was poised to enter him, but Q remained still, waiting, and Picard gladly gave him what he wanted. "Please, Master . . . please . . . fuck me . . . use me . . ." He was *there* again, in that space that he needed to be in, that space Q took him to *so* easily. "Please . . . make it hurt . . " "You're a slut, johnny," Q breathed into his ear as he thrust hard. "Yes . . . oh God . . . yes . . ." Picard cried out. *This is so right.* *************************************************************** "Your kisses are as wicked as a F-16 And you fuck like a volcano nd you're everything to me . . . You're a (human) supernova A solar superman You're an angel with wings of fire A flying giant friction blast" "Supernova" Liz Phair -- ****************** Ruth Gifford "Update all information and pod into cosmos." Instructional label on a Fed Ex package (really) From netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!news Wed Mar 13 19:56:40 1996 Xref: netcom.com alt.startrek.creative.erotica:1190 alt.fan.q:5139 Path: netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!news From: thegiff@ix.netcom.com(Ruth Gifford) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica,alt.fan.q Subject: NEW: "His Beloved Pet" Part Two (3/3) (TNG, P/Q, BDSM) Date: 14 Mar 1996 03:12:34 GMT Organization: Netcom Lines: 445 Message-ID: <4i82r2$2m1@dfw-ixnews5.ix.netcom.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ont-ca3-14.ix.netcom.com X-NETCOM-Date: Wed Mar 13 9:12:34 PM CST 1996 His Beloved Pet Part Two (3/3) *** Picard simply became accustomed to Q's presence in his life. As the days went on, his emotions became more and more wound up in what was happening to him. He had *never* felt this way about anyone; had never felt this odd combination of infatuation, awe, and gratitude, and later a deepening of all of those feelings into something far more profound. It was all as emotionally overwhelming as the sex was physically overwhelming, and he moved closer and closer to telling Q just how he felt. Q, of course, was aware of all of this. What he tried *not* to be aware of (and being a Q, he was quite successful at not being aware of things) were his own feelings. It seemed that Picard was always surprising Q. That, in and of itself, wasn't a problem; one of the reasons Q had chosen Picard as a representative of Humanity and the Federation was that the Captain had surprised him in their first encounter, and had continued to surprise him. The problem now lay in the ways in which Picard surprised Q. For one thing, Picard talked. When the sex was over and the lights dim, Q found that if he stayed with Picard, the barriers that he had broken down stayed down. In these late night frequently drowsy conversations, Q learned how Picard perceived himself, his friends and crew, and the times and culture in which he lived. When in a light, humorous mood, the Captain was capable of truly wicked (and outrageously accurate) impersonations of his senior staff . . . *** "You know, I'm really glad you're shielding me from Troi," Picard said, chuckling. He was lying half on his side and half on his stomach, while Q traced lazy patterns on his back with gentle fingertips. "What, you don't want Ms. Empathy to know that you like being bent over your sofa and fucked?" Q drawled, pinching Picard's waist. He had in fact bent Picard over his sofa and fucked him only a half an hour ago. "Stop that! I'm . . ." the Captain trailed off in a burst of laughter. ". . . ticklish. I'll have to remember that." Q stopped tickling and went back to the earlier subject. "That woman is so . . . concerned." "It's her job Q." Picard paused, and then laughed. "And yes, she *can* be really annoying." He moved to sit cross-legged on the bed, his face a mask of concern, and his eyes dancing with suppressed amusement. "Tell me, Captain," he said, forcing his voice higher and affecting an accent. "Why do you want your lover to humiliate you?" Q began to laugh, Picard was dead on. "Is it the burdens of command, or just the intoxication of letting your guard down?" "She should know about humiliating lovers," Q said through his laughter. "I mean really, Jean-Luc, she fell for Riker." Picard leaned toward Q, his expression guileless. When he spoke, his accent was pure American. "Your eyes are as mysterious as the stars." Then in the Troi voice, "Lieutenant, I sense that you want to have sex with me." He shifted back to the Riker voice, sounding amazed, "How could you tell?" Q was practically rolling on the bed. "You're a . . . bitch, Johnny." Picard did his best to look offended. "You should know," he snapped. "Are you saying that I'm . . .?" When Picard nodded, Q reached up and started tickling him again. "Don't . . . do . . . that . . ." Q noticed with amusement that Picard did not say "stop." He shoved Picard over and kept on tickling him. It led to a rather breathless wrestling match, which led (not surprisingly) to more sex. *** Other times Picard was much more serious, talking about his career . . . *** "Well yes," he said one night in response to Q teasing him about his ambition. "I think I've always been quite ambitious. In fact, I used to be worse." He laughed. "I *wanted* so much. Not just to be a Captain, but to be the best. You asked me why I do it, and I told you the truth, but only part of it. I'm really rather greedy . . . I want to be able to say, 'this is the Enterprise, and it's *my* ship; these people are the best at what they do, and they're *my* people.'" He paused. "I do *have* to do it, have to be out here, like I said the other night, but I also have to be better at it than everyone else." "Why?" Q surprised himself by asking. He found that he was truly listening to Picard, amazed that the Captain could be so honest about himself. "Now you sound like Deanna," Picard teased. He paused, thinking for a moment. "It's funny, she (and other counselors for that matter) thinks that I don't know myself very well. She's so young . . . You can't reach my age and not know yourself. You know my life, Q; you know that I failed the Academy entrance exam the first time I took it. Do you really know what that did to me, how hard that was?" Q remembered watching a teenager who had always been the best at everything, try not to cry as he told his parents that he had failed that exam. He had endured his mother's sympathy, his father's assumption that he had gotten the notion of Starfleet "out of your system," and his brother's viscous teasing without letting any of them know how shattering the experience had been. Q knew all of this, but he didn't, *couldn't*, really understand it. "I'm not sure that I do," he replied, wondering how he'd gotten into this conversation. "I've *never* failed at anything." "Somehow I'm not surprised," Picard replied dryly. "If it hadn't been for Aunt Adele and Jacqua, I would never have gotten over it." Jacqua, Q remembered, had been Adele Gessard's business partner. A tall, beautiful, auburn-haired 35 year old, she had taken care of young Jean-Luc's "education in the things a Frenchman should know," during his stay with Adele. "But when I did make it into the Academy, I had to be the best, break as many records as I could, finish at the top of the class, get the best ship assignment . . ." Picard let his voice trail off, and then, laughing slightly, added, " . . . had to almost get killed by a bunch of Nausicans." He reached out and pulled Q close. "Thank you so much," he whispered, and Q knew what he was referring to. "It was a reminder I needed, even if your way of conveying it was a little rough." "Oh," Q replied airily. "That's just part of my unique charm." He had exerted his powers then, causing Picard to doze off. *I don't want to go in that direction,* he thought. *It's too dangerous.* But if it was too dangerous for himself, or Picard, or both of them . . . of that he wasn't sure. *** Picard could talk about the Federation and its politics far more objectively than Q would have guessed . . . *** "I *never* said that our system is perfect," the Captain said around a mouthful of salad at the end of dinner one evening. "Can anything Human be perfect?" "Oh no," Q replied, shaking his head. "I'm not touching that one." "I had to try." Picard smiled. "The Federation works, probably better than any of the Founders expected it to, but its such a mishmash of ideas that I'm constantly surprised when we get *anything* accomplished." He paused to gather his thoughts and drink more wine. "Think about it, here we were, Humans I mean, bursting on to the scene with all our brash idealistic philosophies, trying to convince the Vulcans that we were right, that because we managed *not* to annihilate our world and because the UN Fleet essentially won the Battle of Cheron, everyone should listen to us, we had *the* answers. Most of the Vulcans just wanted to isolate their planet; the Andorians just wanted to keep the Orions at bay . . . well, you know the history of it all. But out of this, somehow, they managed to create a system that has worked for two hundred years. In the scope of galactic history, that's the blink of an eye, but to me, it's an accomplishment." He shrugged, a little embarrassed. "Sorry, as you have so eloquently pointed out in the past, I will go on." "You should go into politics when you retire." "You must be joking, I'd be a terrible politician. In case you haven't noticed," he added dryly, "I'm rather autocratic. You can't say 'make it so' to the Federation Council and expect them to hop." "But politics is the art of compromise," Q argued. "You're a diplomat; you're good at compromise." "No, I'm good at *appearing* to compromise. Diplomacy is manipulation, not compromise. When you manipulate people too much, particularly if you're good at it, you start to feel that you're somehow . . . superior. If a politician starts to feel superior to his constituents, the results can be disastrous." "Do you feel superior to the people around you?" Q asked, expecting Picard to answer in the negative. "Far too often," Picard replied with frightening honesty. Q stared at him, amazed. "You look surprised," Picard said with a smile. "You shouldn't be; you know damn well that arrogance is one of my greatest faults. What did you expect me to do, lie to you? What would be the point, you'd know instantly." He leaned back in his chair, sipping his wine and posing for his lover. "I'm rather vain too." In the blink of an eye, Q created a new environment, a room furnished in black and lit entirely by candles. He was lounging on a black divan, looking at the center of the room, where Picard stood, naked, the warm light gleaming on his pale skin. "Pose for me, pet." Glad that he had managed to distract Picard from a discussion about manipulating people, Q watched with a satisfied smile as the Captain dropped to his knees. This was going to be fun. *** Picard even managed to surprise Q by his reactions to the sadistic games Q played with him . . . *** One morning, Picard woke up, and, stretching, rolled over on his back . . . and winced. His rear end was a mass of bruises and welts from the night before, when Q had, with diabolical relentlessness, alternated between the riding crop and a heavy leather strap while beating him. Picard then blushed, for he heard a voice hiss into his ear, "On your hands and knees, Captain--I want to admire my handiwork." Although Q was nowhere to be seen, Picard obeyed instantly, while wondering, as he often did, why he felt so compelled to do so. He was as anxiously eager to obey as a new Ensign in his or her first assignment--just brimming with a puppy-like desire to make a good impression. Q made Picard wait on his hands and knees for a few moments. Then with invisible fingers, he began lightly probing and exploring Picard's sore buttocks. "Very nice, Johnny. You know, I could heal those for you, but I'm *not* going to. I want you to feel them all day--just a little reminder of what I did to you." Picard snapped back, with an obviously wounded dignity, "What makes you think I *wanted* you to heal them, Q? If I. . . ," he paused, then forced himself to continue, "if I didn't want to be marked, I wouldn't have . . . submitted in the first place." "Gooood boy, johnny," cooed Q mockingly. Then hastily, he added, "You can get dressed now, Captain." Had he been in a bodily form, Q would have frowned. Picard kept surprising him, and in ways he was feeling increasingly uncomfortable about. *** Picard wasn't the only one who surprised Q; Q was beginning to surprise himself. He would find himself looking forward to his evenings with Picard. He looked forward to the time they spent together, enjoying the banter and the conversations, as difficult as they sometimes were. He looked forward to the way it felt to dominate someone as strong as Picard in such an open (and sexual) manner. Q had never had anyone *voluntarily* submit to him the way Picard did; the Captain's fantasy was made a reality as he made, "a willing surrender, an offering of myself to someone else's control. . . . " The implied trust was awe- inspiring, and Q did not like feeling awe for anyone, least of all a mere Human. And Picard was *proud* of himself for being able to do everything that Q demanded, regardless of how difficult or painful it was. Q couldn't understand the concept of being proud of one's own humiliation, and he didn't like not understanding things. With every night that passed, his anger at Picard grew. How could Picard have been so foolish as to fall for him in the first place? And now to trust him as the Captain so obviously did--clearly, he was as stupid as Q had believed him to be when they had first met at Farpoint. And yet . . . there was something so amazing about Picard’s willing vulnerability; he knew that his lover was capable of almost anything and still, night after night, he let Q crash through his barriers. *Like everything that's important to him,* Q thought one night, as he watched Picard catch his breath after an intense encounter, *he throws himself into this without reservation. He gives his whole attention, all of his *self*. . . * Suddenly, Q’s building anger and confusion reached the boiling point. He snapped his fingers, and was abruptly standing next to the bed in his Starfleet Captain's uniform. Picard looked up at him in surprise, a slight smile on his face. "Well," Q said, his voice curt. "I think *this* has gone on long enough. I’m sure I’ve sufficiently fulfilled the challenge." "What are you talking about?" Picard sat up, looking confused, and Q suddenly wanted to lash out at him even more. "Surely you don’t think I was doing this out of any affection for *you*? I had a . . . well a dare, I suppose you would call it, with a fellow Q." Q smiled brightly. "I won." He raised his hand, fingers poised to snap, then added, "you really shouldn’t play with matches, boy, you'll get burned." Q would have said more, but the sight of Picard struggling to keep from saying the things that were running through his head affected him more than he had expected it to. He could see that Picard wanted to fall on his knees and beg him to stay, wanted to plead for Q to love him, but he was desperately trying to maintain some sense of dignity. Picard was silent, he didn’t even cry, but his aquiline features were drawn tight with pain, and his mental anguish was so great that Q could hear it without even trying to read Picard’s mind. The entity shrugged away both the tiny feeling of guilt brought on by Picard’s unspoken feelings, and his surprise at the courage and strength of will it took the man to repress them. What Picard felt was of no consequence, Q told himself. He repeated that thought firmly as he snapped his fingers and disappeared. Almost as an afterthought, he healed the vicious stripes from the cane he had used on Picard earlier. *** "NO! Please! I'll do anything! DON'T GO! Please . . ." "Deanna!" "Don't . . . oh please . . . don't leave me . . ." "DEANNA!" "NO! . . . oh . . . my God, Worf." The big Klingon sat still as his lover clung to him, sobbing. He held her gently, his hands moving reassuringly across her skin. After a moment, she stirred and prepared to leave the bed. "Where's my robe?" "Where are you going? Deanna, it was only a bad dream." Troi looked at Worf, tears still in her eyes. "Yes it was, but it wasn't *my* dream." "And you must go to everyone on the ship who has a bad dream?" "It was the Captain, Worf." Worf said nothing more, he merely leaned over and found Troi's robe on the floor. As she took it from him, she smiled. "Thanks for not asking." "There would be no point in asking; you would not answer my questions." Troi leaned over and kissed him. "Please, will you be here when I come back?" "Of course." As Troi hurried through the corridor toward Picard's quarters, she sighed. She hated having to lie to anyone, particularly someone she was sleeping with. The strong emotion that had trapped her and pulled her from her sleep had *not* been a dream. She knew the Captain's dreaming mind, better than she knew any other dreaming mind except her mother's and Will's. She knew enough to know that he was awake now and had been awake. As she neared his door, she blinked back tears, feeling a wave of black hopelessness roll over her. She tried to erect her best defenses against it, but they could not hold against the utter emptiness and bitter betrayal she felt on the other side of the door. *If I can't help him, I may have to declare him unfit for command.* The thought steadied her, and she overrode the lock on the door, moving through the living room into the bedroom. The room was dim, the only light coming from the running lights. Picard sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. "I know the question . . ." he murmured. Troi wasn't even sure if he knew she was in the room. Seeing that he was naked, she looked around, and saw his robe hanging over the back of a chair. Wordlessly she handed it to him, turning away as he put it on. "What question?" she asked softly. He took a deep breath, obviously on the verge of explaining, then caught himself. When he finally spoke to her, his voice was flat, empty of the emotions that still pressed against her mind. "What can I do for you, Counselor?" The absurdity of the question angered Troi. "No," she said firmly, turning back to look at him. "I won’t let you get away with that. Not this time." Even as she spoke, she felt his mind steadying. His ability to force his emotions down had always amazed and (to tell the truth) annoyed her. It was a technique he must have picked up from his mind meld with Ambassador Sarek. The fact that he was *not* a Vulcan, and that those suppressed emotions had a habit of building up, never seemed to occur to Picard. The problem right now was that now that he had a grip on his feelings, he was once again in control. He was still in pain, but there was no way that she could justify ordering him into counseling, let alone declare him unfit for command. *Dammit, Captain, don't *do* this to yourself!* "Do you have a *professional* reason for being here?" he asked. She sighed in defeat. "No, sir," she said, allowing her anger to color her voice. "But you can’t keep shoving your feelings aside." "I assure you Counselor," he replied, his voice distant. "If I feel the need for counseling, you’ll be the first to know." And that was that. Troi knew from long experience that the discussion was over. "If *I* feel that you need counseling, Captain, I’ll make sure that *you* know." She left, and made her way back to her warm bed and the comfort of a new lover. The feeling of despair stayed with her though, and she clung to Worf long after he had fallen asleep. *Don’t go . . .* *********************************************************************** "I disappeared in you You disappeared from me I gave you everything you ever wanted It wasn't what you wanted The men who love you, you hate the most They pass through you like a ghost They look for you but your spirit is in the air Baby . . . you're nowhere" "So Cruel" U2 -- ****************** Ruth Gifford "Update all information and pod into cosmos." Instructional label on a Fed Ex package (really) From netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!netnews Thu Mar 14 20:28:48 1996 Xref: netcom.com alt.startrek.creative.erotica:1223 alt.fan.q:5146 Path: netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!netnews From: thegiff@ix.netcom.com(Ruth Gifford) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica,alt.fan.q Subject: NEW: "His Beloved Pet" Part Three (1/2) (TNG, P/Q, BDSM) Date: 15 Mar 1996 03:52:14 GMT Organization: Netcom Lines: 348 Message-ID: <4iaphe$8np@reader2.ix.netcom.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ont8-27.ix.netcom.com X-NETCOM-Date: Thu Mar 14 7:52:14 PM PST 1996 His Beloved Pet Part Three (1/2) Picard's feelings of abandonment and loneliness became a constant in Troi’s life. They radiated from the Captain, but never got in the way of his duties. The joy he had taken in performing those duties was gone, however. In the days and then weeks that followed, the captain’s attitude became apparent to all of his senior staff. The whole atmosphere of the Enterprise began to change, almost as if the ship herself mourned for some unknown reason. Troi tried to dig into the hazy confused memories of what she had felt that one night; for some reason it was tied up with Q, but how, she didn’t know. Beverly Crusher began to look worried, Will Riker stopped joking, Worf seemed much more edgy than usual. Everyone on the ship reacted to Picard’s melancholy. As Troi had expected, Riker finally came to see her. It had been about a month and a half since the night it had all started, and things hadn’t changed. "What’s wrong with him, Deanna?" Riker asked. He had declined her offer of a chair and instead paced her office restlessly. The counselor shook her head. To Riker’s surprise, he saw a few silver strands among the raven black of her hair. There were faint lines at the corners of her eyes that hadn't been there before, and she looked tired. "I don't know," she answered his question. "I've tried; honestly Will, I’ve pried as much as I can. He won't budge, and it's not actually impairing his command. He's sane and competent." She shrugged. "Of course, he also depressed and miserable." "What about his physical health? If I know you, you've talked to Beverly about this." "She pulled him into sickbay for a complete physical right after his trip through time. *She* thinks he's depressed about his neurological disorder, but that's not the problem. What I feel . ." Here she paused. She was skirting the edge of her professional responsibility, but Riker, as First Officer, had a right to know. "I feel great loneliness, abandonment and a sense of having been betrayed from him, and somehow Q is involved, but that's all I know. I don't know if it's fall-out from his trip through time, or something that we don't know about." The counselor sighed, and Riker realized that she was far more worried than she let on. For her to tell him what little she did know was surprising, and he appreciated the confidence, even if it just bothered him more. He felt sorry for her; this had to be hard on her new relationship with Worf. "Are *you* all right?" "No, not really. Oh, things are fine with Worf, but I'm awfully busy these days. I wish *he* realized how his mood affects the whole ship." She shook her head again and smiled, a slightly false professional smile. "All we can do is wait and see. Either he'll get over it, or the pressure will become great enough that I'll have grounds to demand that he go into counseling." What she didn't say was that if Picard refused his counselor's demands, he could very well be declared unfit for command. Troi wanted to avoid that at all costs, for she sensed that the only thing that kept him sane was his sense of duty to his ship and crew. *** A week or so later, Crusher finally tried to break through Picard's wall. Early one morning, she showed up for breakfast as she had so many times in the past. She found the Captain sitting at his desk, going over the newest watch schedule. When he saw her, he raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Doctor?" he asked, his voice distant and formal. "Don't even start that formal crap," Crusher snapped. She stepped around to lean against the desk, pulling the padd out of his hands, and putting it aside. "It's me . . . you know . . . your friend?" Picard merely looked at her for a long moment. He knew that his stare could be intimidating, and he used it to full advantage. He didn't like to have to remind Beverly that she was one of his officers as well as a friend, but he was quite willing to do so if he could avoid discussing his problems with her. She was the very last person on board that he wanted to talk to about Q. Not easily intimidated, Crusher stared back. "Tell me." "There's nothing I can tell." "No, of course not," she snapped sarcastically. "You've simply decided to become an automaton, no feelings, no emotions, no . . nothing. Jean-Luc," and here she leaned over to take his hand, "you have friends that are very worried about you. *I'm* worried about you. Please . . . let me help." Picard couldn't help lashing out. "Oh," he said, his voice bitter, "I only interest you when I'm in pain." He pulled his hand away, avoiding the hurt he could read in her eyes. "Thank you for your concern, Doctor. I'm sorry to have caused you or any of the crew any worry. I am quite all right." He retreated into his distant command persona, wanting to apologize, but afraid to let any emotion out. He couldn't cry on her shoulder, he had only himself to blame for his pain, and he had to get over it on his own. "Aye sir," Crusher said, her voice as distant and as formal as his was. Gathering the tattered remains of her dignity around her, she left. How she reached Sickbay and her office, she never knew, but she sat at her desk for a long time, staring at nothing. "Beverly? Beverly!" She looked up to see, not Troi, whom she'd subconsciously expected, but Riker. "Are you . . . no that's stupid. Of course you're not all right. Want to talk about it?" "I can't help him," she said. "Maybe he's right; maybe he is only interesting to me when I can help." "He said that to you? That's . . . an awful thing to say to a friend." Riker had never been sure what to make of Picard and Crusher's relationship. He knew the bare bones of the story and knowing the people involved, had guessed at a fair amount of the rest. But, for the Captain to say something that vicious would have been unthinkable two months ago. "Oh, he's obviously angry at something else; I was just someone to lash out at." "But what is it?" The question burst out, and Crusher shook her head. "I don't know . . . Deanna says he feels betrayed, and that Q has something to do with it, but until he decides to tell us, there's nothing we can do." She sighed and looked down at the hands she was twisting together. Riker reached over and covered them with one of his hands, and they sat quietly for a moment. "If you ever need to just talk . . ." he said gently. "Thanks Will, I'll take you up on that." *** Time passed. Things settled, the missions continued, but the ship still had an . . . unhappy feeling. Riker found himself thinking of his own plans for the future, perhaps a command of his own, and he knew from his increasingly frequent talks with Beverly that her thoughts were moving in the same direction. However, neither of them, or indeed *any* of the senior staff, left. They all drew closer together, fighting the pain of the captain's slow withdrawal. Even Worf and Deanna's wedding, which occurred six months after Picard's trip through time, couldn't bring him out of his shell. He performed the marriage, which was an eclectic mixture of Klingon, Betazoid, and Starfleet traditions, with a grave solemnity, and stayed long enough to dance with Deanna (*after* she put her clothing back on) at the reception. He then left, fearing that his presence would put a damper on the affair. The one thing he *was* happy about, was that Deanna's mother was involved in a complex trade negotiation and could not be at her daughter's wedding. The newly-weds departed for Betazed the morning after the wedding, and the ship returned to its survey mission. Crusher and Riker continued to draw closer. Picard's increasing distance from the crew meant more work for the First Officer, who found himself running interference between the Captain and the rest of the ship. Although it only seemed to further Picard's withdrawal, it was the only thing Riker could think of to do. He found himself relying more and more on Crusher, as both of them figured that Troi was already doing more than her share. From friendly discussions to working meals, they found themselves spending more and more time together. The first time Riker canceled a date to work out a personnel problem with Crusher, he didn't think much of it, but the next time he went on a date, he found himself bored. Crusher, for her part, was lonely. She came to realize that she had taken Picard's friendship and their time together for granted. "In fact," she said one day to Troi. "I think we both took it for granted. We each assumed that the other would always be there. Even if there was no 'there' there." She sighed. "Did I do the wrong thing--walking away that night after KesPrytt?" She held up a hand to silence the Counselor. "I know, do I think I did the wrong thing?" "Psycho-babble or not," Troi said with a gentle smile, "it is a valid question." "I can't help but think that if I had stayed that night, this . . whatever this is . . might not have happened. Or if it had, he wouldn't have to face it alone." "He doesn't *have* to face it alone. He has friends here." "I know, but obviously this is too much to share with his friends. It's odd, sometimes I feel like he's afraid . . . no not afraid, but almost like he won't let himself *trust* any of us." "Are you sure you're not at least part Betazoid?" Troi asked. "That's exactly what the problem is. Oh, he trusts us to do our jobs, and he trusts the people he comes in contact with, ambassadors and the like, but he won't let anyone get close." She paused and then decided that she could go on. "Ambassador Keltari's aide, for example. She was obviously interested, and very much his 'type', but he didn't even look at her that way. He's never been one for casual affairs, but normally there would have been some interest, certainly enough for me to pick up on." "And there wasn't?" "None." Again Troi hesitated. "Beverly, you and Will . . . it's obvious that the two of you are spending a lot of time together, and once that would have gotten some response from him. Not real jealousy, but a wistful feeling, as if he wished that he could spend more time with you. It used to happen when you started a new production, for example. Now, again, nothing." "I know." It was Crusher's turn to hesitate. "Deanna, about Will . . ." "Beverly, please, don't worry about it. All we've wanted in the last few years was for the other to be happy. I'll admit that I'm surprised, but I'm happy for both of you." "Well, there's not a whole lot to be glad about, yet. We're taking things very slowly. I suppose that shows how important it is to both of us." *** And Q? What was Q doing? During the months that passed after it terminated the affair with Picard, the entity had gone back to its life, meddling with other races, annoying its fellow Q, teaching its protege, all the myriad things that had made up its life *before* its involvement with Picard. The Q who had challenged it had expressed its admiration at Q's ability to seduce Picard, but there had been an amused smirk about its tone of thought that made Q wonder just *who * had won the challenge. The thing that was the most annoying to Q was that it kept thinking about Picard. *Damn the man! Why does he stay on my mind so much?* Q had looked in on the wedding, but decided that it just couldn't bear contact with Picard's limited mind. It *did* notice that Picard looked somehow different . . . older, and tired. But then, Humans were mortal, they aged, and eventually died, never having *really* lived. For some reason that thought, in regards to Picard, was rather depressing to Q, and it left without making its presence known. It wandered off, somewhat at a loss. Truth to tell, Q was bored, but didn't quite know what to do about it. At odd moments it would think, *oh I should mention that (whatever had caught its attention) to Jean-Luc,* and then stop short when it realized that it was not likely to have any more contact with Picard. It began to groom its protégé (the Q who had been Amanda Rogers) to take over the Humanity project, even though Amanda was nowhere near ready for such a responsibility. *** A few months later, the Enterprise put in at Starbase 173 for routine maintenance. Picard paid his respects to the base commander, and then wandered the base. He felt much as he had felt for the past nine months or so, which was to say numb. The Vulcans had the right of it he had decided; emotions *were* too dangerous, even for Humans, whose emotions were pallid compared to those of the Vulcans. If you pushed them aside long enough, they ceased to bother you, and that was all to the good. He didn't realize that constantly congratulating himself on how well he was recovering was just another way of dwelling on the problem. He stared out a window in one of the base's lounges, watching as the rotation of the base slowly brought his ship into view. The sight did not stir him as it once had, and he told himself that it was better that way. "Buy a woman a drink?" The voice was familiar and he looked up to meet the eyes of Captain Phillipa Louvois. "I heard you were in. Why didn't you look me up?" Her smile was warm and inviting as she sat down next to him and, like the sight of his ship, it utterly failed to move him. "Hello Phillipa. What are you up to these days?" She looked at him oddly, but answered readily enough, and for a time they talked about old friends and the business of Sector 23. "...and so the Romulans have been *very* quiet lately. Too quiet for my tastes, and I'm not the only one that feels that way." She leaned forward and put her hand over his. "So . . dinner?" *How odd,* Picard thought. Phillipa had always been one of the most exciting women he'd ever known. Their affair had been stormy, punctuated by wild arguments and even wilder sex. He had disagreed with her politics, her interpretation of the law, even the books she read (20th century science fiction, which Picard found to be boring beyond belief) but he had always wanted her. They could be arguing over anything, yelling at one another passionately, and she would touch him or look at him *that* way (the way she was right now, as a matter of fact) and they would be at it again. Now . . . nothing. Her touch failed to arouse him and the thought of making love to her wasn't actually repugnant, it was just not at all interesting. *Oh Q,* he thought. *How could I ever want *anyone* after you?* To his amazement, the tears he had thought long buried threatened to surface. Pulling his hand away, he mumbled a lame apology and practically ran toward the door. As soon as he was in the corridor, he requested the Enterprise to beam him back. During the brief walk from the transporter room to his quarters, he successfully battled his emotions back into submission, grateful that Troi was on the planet below. *************************************************************** "What a wicked game you play To make me feel this way What a wicked thing to do To let me dream of you What a wicked to say You never felt this way What a wicked thing to do To make me dream of you" "Wicked Game" Chris Isaak -- ****************** Ruth Gifford "There is water at the bottom of the ocean" "Once in a Lifetime" Talking Heads From netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!netnews Thu Mar 14 20:28:53 1996 Xref: netcom.com alt.startrek.creative.erotica:1224 alt.fan.q:5147 Path: netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!netnews From: thegiff@ix.netcom.com(Ruth Gifford) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica,alt.fan.q Subject: NEW: "His Beloved Pet" Part Three (2/2) (TNG, P/Q, BDSM) Date: 15 Mar 1996 03:55:17 GMT Organization: Netcom Lines: 485 Message-ID: <4iapn5$848@ixnews3.ix.netcom.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ont8-27.ix.netcom.com X-NETCOM-Date: Thu Mar 14 7:55:17 PM PST 1996 His Beloved Pet Part Three (2/2) That night he was plagued by dreams . . . ***///*** "What would you do if you *really* fell in love?" Ari asked. She snuggled up against him as they lay on a blanket in Golden Gate Park. "What do you mean?" Picard turned his head to avoid a mouthful of long dark hair. "I *am* in love . . . with you, remember?" "Oh please Johnny, you know better than that. What if I asked you to marry me? What if I started talking about the future? All I would see would be your afterburners, you'd be out of here so fast." "Ari . . ." Not wishing to have this conversation, Picard bent to kiss her. It was a successful distraction, and she was soon moaning into his mouth. It was a good thing that they had found this convenient secluded cave here at Pescadero Beach, he thought as his hands made their way to the buttons on her shirt. After the shirt, he removed her bra, bending to kiss her dark red nipples. He was troubled by . . . something, but then it was gone. "Oh Johnny," she sighed as his teeth nibbled at her gently. She rolled so that he was looking up at her, her blond hair falling over his face and brushing the pillow. "What happens when you get your new assignment?" she asked. "Oh God, Jenice, I don't know." He sighed as he turned to look out the window, thinking that he had seen a face reflected there. There was no one there, and he looked up to the night sky. Here in Paris it was impossible to see the stars at night, and he missed them. Turning back to the woman he thought loved, Picard smiled. "Let's just make as much as we can of this time, all right?" His hands were already caressing her hips as he pushed her back on the bed. Kissing his way down her flat belly, he parted her legs, and began brushing her curls with his lips. As his hands roamed her buttocks, he brought his tongue into play, teasing her with light flicks to her clitoris. As she moaned, he increased the pressure of his tongue. "Ohhhh . . . Jean-Luc . . . oh God!" She thrashed under him, almost throwing him off with the strength of her orgasm, and in spite of the fact that he shouldn't be here, wasn't supposed to want her, he felt a surge of pride at having made her feel so good. As he slid up her body to kiss her, the strong light of Pacifica's sun caught the red highlights of her hair, and caressed her lovely face, causing him to catch his breath. "Mmmm . . . " she murmured. "You know, I've wanted you to do that for the longest time." "Should we really? . . . what if . . . .?" The unspoken name of her husband died on his lips as Beverly leaned toward him. He thought he saw someone out of the corner of his eye, but chalked it up to guilt. "Shhh . . . " she murmured. She kissed him then, her tongue parting his lips easily. After a moment her mouth wandered further down, her teeth closing against his neck. "Just let . . . me . . . taste you . . ." She teased his nipples with tongue and teeth until he was moaning and then she moved even lower. As her tongue began to lick its way around his cock, one of their commbadges buzzed. "Damn! Louvios here." "Captain, the data you requested from Rigel is here. It's coded Priority . . ." "Oh for God's sake, Lt. Margin. Log it in and leave me alone." "Aye sir!" "Do they get younger and stupider every year? She's got a legal mind that'll dazzle you, without the common sense the Great Bird gave a cabbage." Phillipa smiled at Picard, licking her lips. "Now where was I?" "Don't you think you were a little harsh, Phillipa?" She glared at him. "Oh excuse me, *Captain* Picard! I'm sorry; maybe I should just pull my uniform on and go apologize to the kid. Jesus, Jean-Luc, do you have to criticize *every* detail?" He glared back and she shook her head. "You know what? You're beautiful when you're angry." Her hands moved to his shoulders and she pushed him onto his back. As she straddled him, and he moved into the hot, wet smoothness of her, he could hear water dripping somewhere in the cave complex. "I knew there was something under that cool exterior of yours," Vash said, leaning over to kiss him. He couldn't trust her as far as he could throw her, but as she began to move over him, her muscles tightening around him with exquisite strength, he didn't care. After a moment, he rolled until he was on top, enjoying the way she looked, all wild and abandoned--quite out of place in his neat bedroom. "I missed . . . you," he admitted. Vash wrapped her legs around his hips, and met him thrust for thrust. "Missed . . . you . . . too . . ." she breathed. Picard was close to losing himself in the heat of her, but he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching them. They rolled again, his hands gripping Kat's slim waist. To one side the surf pounded against the shore, and he could vaguely hear one of the horses wuffing. He looked up at Kathryn's strong face and wondered if she knew how exciting he found it to be on his back under her. What if he asked her to hold his wrists against the blanket? No better not, this woman was a fellow Captain, someone he hardly knew. Besides, what would the watcher think? He slid his hand in between them, caressing her swollen clitoris, and smiled as she closed her eyes. Then she opened them again and her hands came down hard on his wrists, pinning them against the mattress. "I could tell that *this* was what you wanted," Kamala whispered. "There's nothing wrong with this at all. All you have to do is obey me." "Oh yesss . . ." Picard hissed. *Why are *you* watching me?* "We . . . should . . . change positions . . ." Eline said breathlessly. She paused, and Picard groaned as she moved off of him. "No really . . ." his wife laughed. "They say the chances are . . . better . . ." She put her hands on his shoulders, pulling him down. "You know . . ." Neela said, as he moved back inside her. "This is the fantasy . . . of every woman . . . on this ship . . ." She spread her legs wider as Picard began to move with rough urgency. He was so close, and knowing that the watcher *knew* every feeling that he was having pushed him even closer. "I've been watching you your whole life," the smooth voice hissed in Picard's ear, as he lay on his stomach. "I'm the only one who will give you what you *really* want." A pair of warm oily hands spread him open . . . "NO!" ***///*** "NO!" Picard sat up suddenly. "Oh God no . . ." He fell back against the pillows, his breathing ragged. When he had calmed down, he made his way to the bathroom, and splashed cold water on his face. As he headed back to bed, he firmly told himself that it had just been a dream. A dream that had the elements of so many of his other dreams wound together. After all, he *hadn't* made love to Beverly, on Pacifica or anywhere else. And knowing the difficulties she faced, he had not accepted Kamala's offer on the night before her wedding. *Just a dream . . .* He rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. ***///*** "Sir," Picard said to Captain Kathryn Janeway as he faced her after she won the Captain's game of the poker tournament. "As your final opponent, I owe you a forfeit." Janeway tucked a slim rattan cane under her arm, and looked him over. "Yes, you do." She smiled, a predatory smile, and leaned forward. "I'll take payment," she said, her voice soft but clear, "in my quarters on the Voyager." She turned to Captain Tsu, and then abruptly turned back to Picard. "23:00 hrs exactly. Don't be late." He stood in front of her door at 23:00 and the door hissed open. "Step inside and get rid of your clothing," her distinctive voice rasped out. Trembling, Picard obeyed. He had wanted something like this for so long, and for some reason, this woman had known. He dropped to his knees, hoping that he wasn't presuming too much. "Nice move," she said. She moved over to look at him, and then nodded sharply. "Bedroom," she snapped. "Don't walk." His heart racing, Picard did what was expected, crawling into her bedroom. She gestured to him and he moved up onto the bed, draping himself over the stack of pillows in the middle of the bed. "Have you ever been caned?" "Yes, Sir." *But no, I haven't . . . not yet . . .* "This is *not* Starfleet, Picard! Call me ma'am or Mistress. For the error, I'll give you an extra twelve." "Yes Ma'am. Thank you for the correction, Mistress." "Well, you do have *some* manners. You know to count and to thank me?" "Ma'am, yes, Ma'am." The whistle of the cane through the air, the agonizing cutting slash, the humiliation of counting and thanking her for the pain . . all of this was familiar, and welcome, while at the same time, his mind told him that this hadn't ever happened to him . . at least not yet. When she was done, he was tremendously aroused, and eagerly scrambled off the bed to kneel before her, begging for the chance to please her. "Oh you will, Johnny. I want to see if that mouth of yours is good for anything besides making speeches." Picard stared up, aghast as he met Q's dark eyes. ***///*** " . . . stop," the sleeping man mumbled, as he tried to find his way out of the dreams . . . ***///*** "Let me tell you a secret about what you just did." Jacqueline Plaget's husky voice was relaxed as she leaned back in the wide bed, and smiled at her friend's 17-year-old nephew. "You liked it, didn't you?" "Yes I did," Picard replied, licking his lips. "I was just afraid that I wouldn't be able . . ." She shook her head, cutting him off. "Enthusiasm will always make up for skill. Anyone can learn the mechanics, but your lovers will always be able to tell if you don't like what you're doing." She smiled again. "Trust me, *I* liked what you were doing." "I'm glad you did." He leaned forward to brush a finger across her cheek. "You're so beautiful, I just want to make you happy." "Oh my dear, you will do *just* fine with women. . . . and men for that matter." She laughed her husky laugh again. "Now, I should return the favor. Here, come up here and lean back." She bent her head and began by kissing his thighs. Her dark red hair brushed across his cock, followed by her warm breath and then her tongue. To his embarrassment, he came only moments after she took him into her mouth. "I'm sorry . . ." "Don't be. You're young, trust me, you'll bounce right back." As if to make her point, she lowered her head again. As she teased him with her tongue and lips, she surprised him by sliding a finger up to gently tease his anus. He moaned and closed his eyes, shuddering at the wave of heat that rushed over him. The motions of her tongue grew bolder, and her finger went into him, stretching him open. Sure that he was harder than he had ever been, he reached blindly for her head. When his fingers encountered short hair, he opened his eyes and looked down. "NO!" ***///*** Picard moaned as he turned to find a new position in which to sleep . . . ***///*** "But I'm your friend. Let me help you." Beverly leaned over him as he sat at his desk. She brushed a hand across his scalp, something he'd wanted from her for so long. Moving even closer, she kissed him, a gentle kiss that quickly got more intense as they both opened their mouths. As her fingers moved to the collar of his uniform, he waited. Waited for *something* to happen, but nothing did. She broke the kiss, pulling the uniform tunic over his head and sliding off her perch on the desk to sit on his lap. Even the warm promise of her weight, and the feel of her hands against his back as she nibbled his neck wasn't enough. If she were to suddenly become . . . Q . . . then maybe he could manage . . . ***///*** As he woke up, Picard practically leapt out of bed. *This has got to stop. I'll be a wreck if I keep this up.* He decided to give up on sleeping and forced himself to read every line of LaForge's maintenance reports several times over. Finally he fell asleep again, and mercifully, dreamed of nothing. *** And so, time and then more time passed. From a distance, Picard watched as Riker and Crusher became more open about their relationship. He wasn't sure when they started sleeping together, although once he would have known the morning after. He experienced none of the jealousy he'd felt when Riker had hosted Odon, feeling instead a dim sort of relief. Beverly had tried, on more than one occasion, to talk to him about personal matters, but he had brushed her off with that coolness that was becoming second nature. Will had even tried, very hesitantly, to break the ice and assure himself that Picard didn't object to the relationship. "Why should I have a problem?" Picard had asked in answer to Riker's awkwardly posed question. "I don't own her, Commander. Just don't let it get in the way of your duties." "That's all there is with him," Riker said to Beverly that night. "Duty. Damn it, Beverly, where *is* he?" "Lost somewhere," she replied. "Oh Will, don't you ever get . . " She paused, a stricken look on her face. "I can't believe that I was going to say that." "Say what?" When she shook her head, he insisted. "Beverly, please . . ." "Don't you ever get tired of it? Of always having to do *everything* that involves any of the crew? Don't you get tired of having a Captain who might as well be made of stone; who does his duty and no more?" "Of course I do!" he snapped, and then he thought about what had just been said. "Oh God . . ." "Exactly," she sighed. "He's our friend; we love him, and he's hurt somehow. Every time I want to leave, I feel so . . . guilty." "I know." He drew a deep breath and asked the question that he'd been afraid to ask. "*Do* you want to leave? I'm sure one of us could wrangle a command." "Is that what you want?" "I . . . I don't know any more, Beverly." There was a long silence, which she finally broke. "Neither do I, Will, neither do I." She leaned against him, and he bent to kiss her, trying to lose all the uncertainties and doubts. It worked, as it usually did for both of them, and they shoved the worries aside as they had so many times before. *** Shortly thereafter, Troi announced her pregnancy, and seven months later, delivered a large, healthy baby girl that was named Jeanne by her proud parents. Picard was touched by the gesture and held the baby during her Ceremony of Naming, but as at Troi and Worf's wedding, he left the subsequent party early. He had no place on this ship any more, he realized as he walked back to his quarters. He had always been distant from the crew, feeling the barriers of his age and rank, but now there was an even harder wall to surmount. The crew simply assumed that he didn't want to be included in anything that fell outside shipboard duties. The social life of the ship now seemed to focus on the new family and Will and Beverly. Watching Beverly at the party that she and Data had arranged, he had realized that she reminded him of Captain Wantanabe's partner, Allison Li. Li had been the Chief Engineer of the Stargazer; she had been very much a professional, but she had also been very much a part of the command structure as the Captain's wife. It happened on ships where the Captain was married; there was always a different *feel* to the social structure of those ships. On the Enterprise, Picard had always relied on Troi to act as "hostess" when there was a need for someone to fill that role. Now, as Will's partner, Beverly had moved quietly into the role. It bothered him vaguely. *They don't need me . . .* he thought that night, as he drifted off to sleep . . . ***///*** The lift doors opened on to the bridge and Picard stepped out, ready for another watch. As he approached the command chair, he waited for Will to notice him and turn the watch over to him. Nothing happened. "Commander," Picard said quietly. Riker paid him no mind and Picard heard the lift doors open again. Data stepped out, and Picard blinked as he saw the android's uniform. It was the red and black of command. Picard looked back at Riker, only now noticing that Riker's collar had four pips instead of three. "Morning, Number One," Riker said casually to Data. "Good Morning Captain," Data replied moving to sit at Riker's right. *They can't see me at all. I'm not here. But . . . what happened to me?* In confusion, Picard went into the ready room, noticing that he passed right through the doors. It looked completely different, the model of the Stargazer had been replaced with one of the Hood. The fish tank and Livingston were gone; in their place was a hanging that Picard remembered seeing in Beverly's house on Caldos. He looked for his volume of Shakespeare, and came up short. Instead of the book, there was a frame on the low table. It held a portrait of himself, a pencil drawing that looked very much like Data's work. Written below the face were the words: Captain Jean-Luc Picard, 2305- 2370. ***///*** *** A few months after Jeanne was born, Picard realized that it had been two years since Q had left him. The thought brought on a fresh wave of pain, which he once more battled down. In all that time, he had discussed the affair with no one, had made no journal entries regarding it, and had not shed one tear over it. He had met a few women that were interesting, spirited and who obviously found him attractive. He accepted none of their implied offers, not only because making love to Q had utterly spoiled his taste for any one else, but also because he couldn't muster up the trust that went along (at least for him) with physical intimacy. Deep inside, he knew that he was emotionally damaged, and that in hiding from the pain, he was like a small boy hiding under a pillow from the monsters under the bed. He just couldn’t bring himself to open up to anyone about anything. That led to pain, loss, and betrayal, and he had vowed to never again be hurt the way Q had hurt him. The occasional dream continued to trouble him now and again, but he managed to function in the pursuit of his duties. Those duties had brought him to R’thel Prime to negotiate a peace treaty between the two space faring races of the R’thel system. The negotiations were long and complicated and Picard threw himself headlong into the task of trying to get the two sides to find *some* common ground. It wasn't easy; both races were quick to anger, and had a long mistrust of one another. Their conflicts were starting to spill over into the neighboring systems, and the Federation was concerned that one or the other might drag the Cardassians into one of their frequent wars. Picard was supposed to help them negotiate some sort of lasting peace, *and* try to get them to consider the benefits of membership in the Federation. It was an ideal task for him, even though it was close to impossible. He had no emotional connection to either race; in fact he really didn't think that either of them were ready for membership, although he knew that their location made them important. He was able to be quite objective, and managed to get diplomats from both parties to begin talks. "Impossible!" Matriarch Velotin of R'thel Prime said in response to the Ssci'fani delegate's implication that the great platforms that orbited her planet were missile launchers. Picard knew for a fact that the platforms *were* missile launchers and that they were a direct violation of the prior treaties. "Those platforms are simply energy collectors." "They are no ssuch thing," Minister Sss’thant of R'thel Second hissed. "I have sssenssor evidence to prove that they are missssle launcherss." The reptilian minister flung a padd down in front of the Matriarch. As she picked it up, it idly occurred to Picard that the padd looked awfully thick. He didn't have any more time to think about it, as the Matriarch activated the padd, it exploded with vicious fury. Picard felt a heavy, yet sharp blow to his chest, and had time enough for one thought before the blackness swooped down and claimed him. *Now I've finally gotten over him . . .* *************************************************************** "And I realize that it's useless And I thought I was right, but it was useless And I know you're there, but it's useless And you're everywhere, but it's useless And I can't see now in front of my nose And know you're there and I know you're close And you're fading away--now you disappear" "Can't See (Useless) Boingo -- ****************** Ruth Gifford "There is water at the bottom of the ocean" "Once in a Lifetime" Talking Heads From netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!news Thu Mar 14 20:28:58 1996 Xref: netcom.com alt.startrek.creative.erotica:1225 alt.fan.q:5148 Path: netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!news From: thegiff@ix.netcom.com(Ruth Gifford) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica,alt.fan.q Subject: NEW: "His Beloved Pet" Part Four (1/5) (TNG, P/Q, BDSM) Date: 15 Mar 1996 04:01:50 GMT Organization: Netcom Lines: 534 Message-ID: <4iaq3e$ebk@dfw-ixnews4.ix.netcom.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ont8-27.ix.netcom.com X-NETCOM-Date: Thu Mar 14 10:01:50 PM CST 1996 His Beloved Pet Part Four (1/5) Slumping with exhaustion, Crusher looked down at Picard’s still figure, before looking up to meet the questioning eyes of her friends. When it had become clear that the captain was fading in spite of her best efforts, she had called Data, Geordi, and Worf to join Deanna, Will and herself in the deathwatch. "I’ve done everything I can . . . it’s as if he doesn’t want to recover." "I don’t think he does," Troi replied softly, trying to combat the palpable grief in the room. The others looked at her in surprise. "He’s never really recovered from whatever it was that happened to him two years ago; I doubt that he has that truly burning desire to live that’s pulled him through situations worse than this one." She was suddenly furious, an emotion that was hers alone. "This is *your* fault Q!" the counselor hissed through clenched teeth, tilting her head to look at the ceiling. "If you hadn’t hurt him, he wouldn’t be on this table dying!" "I know," a subdued voice said. A swirl of dimly shimmering purple light appeared. "Well take a good long look!" Troi snapped. "And then go back to your superiors and tell them how you failed to learn anything about Humans. I hope you see him like this for eternity." She turned toward Worf, burying her face against his broad chest. He held her close and glared at Q, who had assumed his human form. He looked at Picard’s assembled officers, and then approached the quiet form on the biobed. "Oh Jean-Luc . . ." he whispered. There was a flash of light, and suddenly the monitors behind Picard read normal. The gray tinge left his face and his breathing became easy. Crusher hovered over him, tricorder in hand, before turning in amazement to Q. "What did you do?" she asked, knowing, even as she spoke, that it was a totally stupid question. Q was about to answer, when the figure on the biobed stirred and opened his eyes. Looking around, the first thing the Captain saw was Q. Troi, who had turned back to watch, saw what everyone else, including Q, saw. Picard’s face was alive with a look of joy so profound, so intense, that the assembled onlookers knew that they were eavesdropping on an very intimate moment. Picard's emotions were strong enough that for a brief moment, Troi could actually read his mind. *He’s come back!* Then, as swiftly as it had appeared, the joy on Picard’s face vanished. Troi could almost feel the heavy mental barriers snap close. "Get out." Picard’s voice was cold and deadly. "Get off my ship, right now." "Jean-Luc . . ." Q began to say. "Go," Picard said, his voice suddenly weary. He turned his face away, seeming to ignore Q completely. It made no difference; he could still *feel* Q's overwhelming presence, and Picard knew that all Q had to do was force the issue. At the slightest pressure, Picard knew he would break, and lose whatever shreds of dignity he had left. To Picard's surprise, Q did *not* force the issue; instead, the omnipotent entity disappeared silently, without his customary flash of bright light. As soon as he was gone, Troi gestured everyone out of the room, shaking her head when Crusher would have protested. "They’re all gone," the empath said gently. She pulled up a chair, and sat at the side of the bed. When Picard rolled over to look at her, she wasn’t at all surprised to see tears in his eyes. "Why?" he asked, his voice hushed. "In spite of everything, why do I . . .?" "Still love him?" Troi finished the sentence for him when his voice trailed off. Picard nodded at her. "I don’t know, Cap . . Jean-Luc." She hesitated and then asked, "what actually happened between you two?" Hesitantly, in broken sentences, Picard told her about his time with Q, although he couldn't bring himself to explain why Q had started the affair or why he had left. He knew that she knew that there was a great deal missing from the story, but she listened, her great dark eyes gentle in silent encouragement. When the story was over, Picard paused for a long moment. "Such exquisite cruelty . . ." he murmured. Troi cocked her head curiously, and Picard continued. "If he could have . . . just let me . . . let me die . . . but no . . . I can see it now . . I'll live the rest of . . . the rest of my life this way . . . loving him . . . and hating *myself* for loving him . . . even as I know that all I ever was to him was . . ." The words spoken by Q in that long ago dream echoed in his mind. " . . . a mere pet, and not a very interesting one at that." He managed to get the sentence out, but started sobbing as soon as the words left his mouth. Troi moved to sit on the edge of his bed, pulling him into her arms as he wept; two years of pent up hurt and betrayal pouring out of him in great, harsh, racking sobs. Q stood in the corner of Sickbay. Although invisible to Picard and Troi, he had retained his Human form, and now he simply stood there, shaking. His entire universe had been shattered, and unlike Picard, he had no defenses (not even bad ones) against the pain of something he couldn't handle. The initial physical pain Picard had suffered during the explosion had pulled Q away from his other business, and he had watched as Crusher struggled to save her captain. The sight of Picard dying had hurt Q more than he had ever been hurt, and that pain was nothing compared to what he had felt as Troi laid the blame at his feet. In that one second he realized that not only was she right, but also that Picard meant more to him than any being ever had. Every feeling he had ignored or pushed away during his time with Picard crowded back, and Q *knew* that what he felt was something rare and incredibly precious. The feelings that Troi felt from Picard as he first woke and saw Q, had been nothing to what *Q* felt emanating from the man he now knew he loved, and that strong wave of emotion had washed over Q, making him feel truly at home for the first time in his unbelievably long existence. Likewise, Picard's subsequent rejection, of both those feelings *and* Q had overwhelmed the entity, and without thinking, he had fled. Now he had returned to find Picard crying in Troi's arms, and had been forced to listen as the captain talked about their affair. Hearing Picard's broken, hesitant explanation, made Q want to protest, made him want to cry out, "it wasn't like that! I didn't mean it *that* way!" But Q knew better; in accepting Q's challenge, he had been unbelievably selfish, and carelessly thoughtless, far more so than usual. As Picard finally fell silent, and his sobbing calmed somewhat, Q could stand it no longer. He shimmered into visibility, and saw Picard's eyes grow wary. Troi turned and instinctively tightened her grip on the captain. "Out," Q said to her, jerking his head toward the door. "No," she replied firmly. "Deanna," Picard said quietly. "Please . . ." At first Q was overjoyed, assuming that Picard actually wanted to talk to him privately. Then he got a better look at Picard's face and realized that the captain was afraid for Troi, and was merely acting to shield her from Q. The Counselor must have felt it too, for as she left, she threw a quick thought in Q's direction. *It must please your vanity to know that he's so afraid of you.* Q could feel her contempt for him and the rage she felt at what he had done to her friend, and all he could do was stare at her in mute anguish as she left the room. "What do you want?" Picard asked. Q felt yet more pain at the sound of Picard's voice. It had always been one of the most amazing voices he had ever heard, but now the rich baritone was stripped of all emotion and merely sounded flat, making Picard sound like a bad actor reciting lines for a part he didn't like. "You," Q replied, honestly. "How?" the dull voice responded. "On my knees, or bent over a chair? Do you want me to beg, or am I to give the orders?" He sighed. "Get it over with then; snap your fingers and I'll crawl for you. Collar your pet and make him do tricks." To Q each weary word was a blow; he wanted to scream at Picard to stop. Instead he stood and listened as the Captain continued. "It doesn't have to be sex, of course. You're God. Shall I light candles, burn incense and pray to you? It's obvious that you want me to suffer, so offering to kill myself as a sacrifice is out of the question." He dropped off the bed and fell to his knees gracelessly. From any one else, the actions and words would have been vicious sarcasm, each chosen to slice as deeply into the heart as possible. The fact that Picard wasn't even *trying* to hurt Q made it worse. Q watched, horrified, as Picard leaned forward, head to the floor. "Master," the Captain said in that awful toneless voice. "Please . . ." Q managed to say. "You're . . ." *hurting me,* he thought, when he couldn't finish the sentence out loud. He hated himself for the thought. What did he truly know of pain? As he had listened to Picard talk to Troi, he had also felt two years of suppressed agony from Picard. Now he knew, as only a Q could, what those years had entailed. Knew of the terrible doubts that Picard carried now, doubts that had forced the Captain to shut out all who loved him because he could no longer trust them. Q knew that the sex he had with Picard had been so overwhelming that Picard no longer felt capable of or interested in sex with anyone else. He also knew, following the ripples caused by Picard's pain, that all of Picard's friends had been hurt as well, and that the Captain was dimly aware of that but felt unable to keep himself from hurting them. Troi's rage would be echoed by all of them, as soon as they figured it out. Normally, the rage of mortals was of no consequence to Q, but these people were important to Picard, and Picard had somehow become, in the last half hour or so, the center of Q's universe. "I can't hurt you," Picard said. Q stared at him in shock; how could Picard have known what he was thinking? "But if you say that I am . . . I'm sorry. I know you won't forgive me, but punish me if you like." He remained prostrate, and Q *had* to do something. He walked to the bed and knelt next to Picard. He couldn't help noticing that Picard was shaking, and he reached out to gently touch the Captain's shoulder. Picard involuntarily stiffened and shrank away, and Q was appalled. There was nothing here of the man who had stood in that courtroom nine years ago and defied a god with fire in his eyes, and a voice like dark velvet. "No," Q whispered in spite of himself. *I did this, I broke him.* "How . . . can I . . . what . . . can I . . .?" he stammered out. "Whatever you want to do," Picard said. Q's touch had rekindled the remembered nerve-fire. Hating his own trained response to that flame, Picard became aware that he was becoming aroused. All Q had to do was . . . The hand withdrew. Picard shuddered; this had to be some new form of torture. He hated it, unlike the things Q had once done to him. "Please," he pleaded desperately. "Let me go." "Is that what you want?" Oh that voice; Picard clenched his hands and bit down hard on his lip. "Yes," he lied. And Q was gone. Picard slumped against the floor, and began crying again. A moment later a pair of gentle hands helped him sit up and once again he collapsed against Troi. As he continued his broken sobbing, he felt cold metal against his neck and heard the hiss of a hypospray with its promise of blessed numbness. *** "I can't fucking believe it!" Riker was not normally given to swearing, but given the events of the last few hours, Crusher didn't notice the First Officer's choice of words. "Tell me," he demanded, pacing her tiny office like a caged beast. "Tell me I'm wrong; tell me that I didn't see what I think I saw; tell me it's all a joke on Q's part?" "Oh that's exactly what I think it was. A joke on *Q’s* part. Jean-Luc was probably serious." Knowing Picard as well as she did, the doctor was able to guess what had happened. "When Q first saved the captain's life, what was it . . . three years ago? When he took him back to Starbase Eahart . . . " Riker nodded. "From that point on, he started trusting Q. Then when he had to solve the temporal anomaly puzzle, he relied on Q." She looked up at Riker, her eyes gray with fatigue and worry. "From gratitude and trust, to love . . . it's not that big a leap." "Love? Oh for God's sake Beverly, I can't believe that." "Then what *was* that look? You tell me." "But Q? Why Q? After all that Q's done, how could the Captain . .? Why would he even . . . get involved?" Riker knew that he wasn't making a whole lot of sense, but he was in serious emotional shock. Discovering that Picard had withdrawn because of a love affair gone awry made all the sense in the world. But for the Captain and Q to have been lovers--that he simply could not understand. "Because Jean-Luc Picard is an arrogant son-of-a-bitch," Beverly said. As occasionally happened, she had a sudden flash of memory: Picard telling her what his nephew had said to him on his home leave after the Borg incident. She shook her head, returning to the present. Riker was looking at her, obviously shocked by her choice of words. "Only the best for our captain. Think of the women in his life; every one of them," she paused shaking her head ruefully, "myself included, is, in some way, a pale reflection of Q. And who better suited for him than a god? He should have read his Greek mythology; when a mortal is seduced by a god, the ending is always an unhappy one." As Riker open his mouth to reply, Crusher held up her hand. Looking behind the first officer, she asked, "is he out?" Troi came into the room, her normally serene features tight with anger. "Yes, but we'll have to get him back on the bed. I want you to put him in isolation, Beverly." Crusher felt the full weight of her responsibility on her shoulders. Judging from Riker's expression, he was thinking along the same lines. "Is he . . .?" the doctor started to ask. She paused, drew a deep breath and spoke again, her voice formal. "In your opinion, Counselor Troi, is the Captain suicidal?" Troi’s own voice was equally formal. "At this time I don’t think he should be put on an around-the-clock suicide watch." She shrugged and continued in a more normal tone of voice. "I can use that as a threat to get him to see me voluntarily." Being put on suicide watch did *not* look good on a commanding officer’s record, and Troi was sure that Picard would not act in a way that would put the Enterprise or the crew in any danger. "It might be easier if we didn’t try to get him to turn over command." She looked at Riker. "After all, he was seriously injured; after an explosion like that he will surely require a long recovery period; we should just follow the standard procedures for this circumstance." She glanced at Beverly, who also looked at Riker. The first officer squared his shoulders. Proper procedures meant that Beverly had to make the decision as to when Picard would be able to resume command. Going on the assumption that he'd suffered massive injuries from the explosion, the doctor could keep him in sickbay for quite a long time. "Keep me informed of the captain’s condition, Dr. Crusher." He didn’t say that they were going out on a limb with their little fiction; he didn’t need to say that to these two. "Aye sir," Crusher replied. She reached out and caught his hand for a moment. "He’ll be all right, Will." Riker smiled a crooked smile at her and left. *** Picard wasn’t all right. When he drifted up from the haze of his enforced sleep, he saw Troi sitting next to him. "I'm so . . sorry," he whispered. Her hand was resting on the bed next to him, and he touched it briefly. "Sorry . . . it seems like such an inadequate word after what I've put you through during the last two years." "It hasn’t been easy," she said. She knew that he felt raw, and was in a lot of emotional pain, but he would hate being coddled. "You have a lot to work through, including the fact that you've shut out the people who wanted to help you. I don't entirely understand why you thought you had to keep all this to yourself." "Trust," he whispered gently. "I couldn't trust my own judgment any more. I was *so* wrong about Q, I . . . oh God, . . I thought he cared at least . . . that maybe he even . . . loved me . . . I was so damned wrong . . . He . . . I’m . . . oh Deanna . . . . I’m so alone . . . " The tears were coming back and he started to fight them. "Stop fighting it. If you learned anything from the experience with the Borg, you should have learned that you *can’t* hold things in." "This was worse," he stated flatly. As she looked at him in surprise, he continued. "I did finally convince myself that Wolf 359 wasn't *really* my fault. This time . . . this is all on me." "How?" "I . . . ," he gulped and turned away. She handed him a tissue, and he mopped his eyes. "I . . . wanted . . . him . . . " He shook his head. "I . . . still . . . want him . . ." "Did he . . . do . . . anything to you?" Picard laughed shortly. "What didn’t he do to me? No . . . I know what you mean. I really don’t *think* he brainwashed me. I imagine that doing that would have been . . ." he paused, obviously struggling with himself. Guessing that she was going to hear the rest of the story, Troi waited patiently. "It would have been . . . against the parameters . . . of . . . of the dare." "Dare?" *Oh no, it couldn't have been . . .* "It was . . . a dare . . . from a fellow Q," Picard said quietly, confirming her fear. "Oh God . . . " Troi breathed. She didn't know what else to say. To have your life turned inside out because of some sadistic child's game was beyond horrible. "'Oh God,' indeed," Picard said miserably. "Hubris . . . I dared to reach too high . . . and I got burned . . . " Normally Troi would have written off an extravagant remark like that, but Picard's flat delivery and the wave of black despair that flowed over her reinforced the bitterness of his words. She had to face the same thing he had already faced; he might never recover from this. Oh, once this latest pain of seeing Q faded, he would be able to function again, but she doubted he would ever be able to trust enough to let any lover get close to him. She could only hope that he would let her and the rest of his friends aboard the Enterprise help him. If he could stop viewing his command as mere duty, and find some joy in it again . . . well that at least would be *something*. *** This was by no means, the last conversation Picard and Troi had on the subject. The conspiracy to keep Picard in Sickbay was unsuccessful, but not because of any resistance on the part of the patient. Matriarch Velotin had borne the full brunt of the explosion and even the advanced medicine of R'thel Prime had not been able to save her. The R'thel system stood on the brink of war, and Picard was not going to let his own personal life get in the way of his last ditch attempts to prevent that war. Even before he asked to be released from Sickbay, the Ssci'fani Autarch was demanding to see him, while the Council of Matriarchs on R'thel Prime tried to pester Riker into joining them in retaliation against their neighbors. Picard once more plunged headlong into the debate, and in a way, the fact he could no longer keep his emotions in such close check proved to be extremely useful. Judging that it was time for a serious shift in tactics, he initiated a three way communications link between the Autarch's office, the Chamber of the Matriarch's Council, and the bridge of the Enterprise, and then proceded to lose his temper. As the Captain gave both sides a searing dressing down, Riker shot a quick glance at Troi. Out of sight of the comm pick up, she gave him a quick thumbs up, and the First Officer settled back to watch the show. And quite a show it was, as Picard essentially told both governments that he had never in all his years as a Federation Captain, dealt with such stubborn, idiotic, warmongering races. He went on at length about the number of people who had died in "these asinine conflicts of yours," he detailed the lies that he had heard in the negotiations he had conducted, and he concluded by asking why the Federation should even bother thinking about admitting such backward planets to its membership. "Perhaps you would all be happier annihilating one another under Cardassian rule!" he snapped at the end of his tantrum. "I for one am thoroughly sick of all of you, and the fact that I damn near died for a peace treaty that will *never* be signed, is irritating in the extreme. I *don't* like being irritated!" At this point he looked up at Worf, who, not missing a beat, pressed the button that sounded General Quarters, and the Enterprise went to Red Alert. As the Galaxy-class starship far outstripped even the largest ships of either planets' navies, this was no idle threat. The Ssci'fani Autarch's ear membranes began to turn bright yellow, and the Great Matriarch began to mutter prayers under her breath, as her hair twined around her head in extreme agitation. Picard just glared at the two of them, until Riker hesitantly rose from his seat. Looking more than a little nervous, he stepped up behind Picard and mumbled in his ear. Picard shot him a look of disgust, before turning back to the planetary leaders. "I suppose I should," he looked at Riker with another withering stare, "wait to hear your explanation, Autarch. I also think it's time that both you and the Great Matriarch stop hiding behind your diplomatic corps. You have an hour to respond." Riker nodded to Worf and, appearing reluctant, the tactical officer called for a Yellow alert. Both leaders, consulting their sensor displays and realizing that the Enterprise no longer had her phasers and photon torpedoes aimed at their planets, nodded fearfully and cut their comm lines. Picard sighed heavily and turned to Worf and Riker. "Thank you gentlemen," he said, his voice calm. "It would seem that we gave them something to think about." Worf simply nodded, but Riker passed a hand across his brow. "That was . . . intense, Captain." "It was supposed to be, Commander." Picard turned to Troi. "What could you get from them?" She opened her mouth to answer, when Data's calm voice interrupted her. "Captain, the missile platforms have . . . disappeared from their orbit around R'thel Prime. Also, all of the Ssci'fani spy satellites have vanished." The android had his "surprised" look. "I have no explanation as to how this occurred." "Q," Picard said, his voice suddenly dull again. "Q, do you remember what 'Stop' means? I never said it, so I don't know if you would have paid any attention to it, but I'm saying it now." Fighting the urge to plead, he gripped the arm of his chair with white knuckled strength. "Stop!" "But Jean-Luc . . ." "No!" Picard insisted, managing somehow to ignore his own reaction to the sound of Q's voice saying his name. Next to the Captain, Troi blinked in surprise, and carefully looked at the floor. Picard's response to Q's voice was almost overwhelming; the Counselor had to fight off a wave of intense longing, both emotional and sexual. She gritted her teeth; helping Picard get over this was going to be harder than she thought. She wasn't surprised when Data calmly announced that the missing platforms and satellites had reappeared. Thinking about the look she had seen on Q's face when he first saw Picard dying in Sickbay, she wondered just what the entity was trying to do. It almost seemed that Q was trying to . . . help? There was a long silence and then Picard eased into his chair. As Troi and Riker moved in, he held up a hand. "I can tell . . he's gone . . . for now. Give me a minute." Troi looked at him in surprise. She had never been able to sense Q's presence, for the Captain to be able to, spoke of some kind of bond between Picard and Q. *That would be impossible . . unless Q let it happen . . . just what is going on here?* Riker glanced around the bridge, and suddenly everyone became very interested in their panels and instruments. Picard looked at his First Officer as he carefully stood up. "Thank you, Will," he said very softly. Riker blinked; there was real gratitude in the Captain's voice, and a touch of emotion in his eyes. It wasn't much, but Riker was glad to see it. "No problem, sir," he said, wishing that there was more that he could say. "If we don't hear from them," Picard said, more loudly as he gestured at the viewscreen, "within the hour, I'll be very surprised." He then looked at Troi and jerked his head toward the ready room. "You have the bridge, Number One." As Riker nodded, Picard realized that he hadn't used that nickname for a very long time. *************************************************************** "Give me life give me pain give me myself again" "Little Earthquakes" Tori Amos -- ****************** Ruth Gifford "There is water at the bottom of the ocean" "Once in a Lifetime" Talking Heads From netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!news Thu Mar 14 20:29:02 1996 Xref: netcom.com alt.startrek.creative.erotica:1226 alt.fan.q:5149 Path: netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!news From: thegiff@ix.netcom.com(Ruth Gifford) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica,alt.fan.q Subject: NEW: "His Beloved Pet" Part Four (2/5) (TNG, P/Q, BDSM) Date: 15 Mar 1996 04:01:23 GMT Organization: Netcom Lines: 444 Message-ID: <4iaq2j$jhi@dfw-ixnews3.ix.netcom.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ont8-27.ix.netcom.com X-NETCOM-Date: Thu Mar 14 10:01:23 PM CST 1996 His Beloved Pet Part Four (2/5) *** The government leaders called back within the hour allotted. Picard listened to very sincere apologies from the Autarch, and said nothing about the fact that the Autarch was now a young female as opposed to the older male he'd been talking to earlier. Both leaders announced that they intended to appear in person for talks to be held aboard the Enterprise. Picard suggested a delay of several days and they quickly agreed, eyeing him nervously. Neither of them asked how he had managed to remove and then return their contested hardware, and Picard had no intention of telling them that he had had nothing to do with it. Q's meddling had given him a very powerful bargaining chip, and as much as he truly resented it, he was willing to use it. During the briefing that followed, he firmed up his negotiating strategy, asking Riker to continue being the voice of reason. "Before the meetings, Number One, they'll both contact you and ask what it will take to make me see reason. You know what the Federation hopes to get out of this; lead them in that direction." He smiled, an expression that did not touch his eyes. "I just want this over with." He rose from his seat, and as he reached the door, he said, "Dismissed." The door hissed shut and Riker practically went limp, leaning his head on his hand. "I thought he was going to get us all killed when he first started yelling at them out there." the First Officer shook his head. "I should have known better, but . . . is he all right?" Troi shrugged. "He's fine. The whole thing was just a carefully calculated ploy. Granted it was a little more aggressive than his usual style, but he got some results. Both planets want to join the Federation, but they've heard too much from the Cardassians about how 'weak' we are. So he comes in, acts unreasonable, and makes a few threats. He certainly had reason to threaten; the Ssci'fani knew that he was going to be there when they decided to assassinate Matriarch Velotin. Killing a Federation representative *could* be counted as an act of war. They're used to dealing with Cardassians; a Cardassian Captain would have ordered immediate retaliation." Riker nodded, his expression a little more relaxed. "In any other situation," Troi continued, "you wouldn't have even questioned what happened out there. We were never in any danger, based on what I know of the military situation here," she glanced at Worf. "The Enterprise could handle anything from either planetary navy easily," her husband said. "And the Captain knows that." "So . . ." Troi said, spreading her hands. "I didn't know if he was in any state to command, but he managed." She paused. "As for his emotional state . . . well, he's agreed to work with me, and that's a step in the right direction." She paused again, looking down at her hands. "The last two years have been hard on all of us, but I should warn all of you that things are going to be very different for a few months. He's going to be moody, and probably very impatient, mostly with himself, but we'll catch some of it as well." She looked up, glancing at all of them. "At least we'll see some *genuine* emotion out of him. We all mean a good deal to him, and even if he seems not to have noticed us during the last two years, he knows that we care about him. He'll never be the same man he was before . . this thing . . . with Q happened, but he will get better." There seemed to be nothing anyone could add to that, and so everyone drifted away. Before Troi could leave, Crusher caught her eye and they both waited until the others had gone. "There's certainly one way he's not the man he was two years ago," Crusher said. Troi raised an eyebrow in question. "One thing you can say for Q," the doctor continued, "he's thorough. I haven't said anything to the Captain yet, but he doesn't have that neurological defect any more. I've got to assume that Q got rid of it at the same time he healed the damage from the explosion." "It doesn't surprise me. Q seems to want to 'help" for some unknown reason. Do you have to tell the Captain about this right away?" "No, I suppose not. He won't like it, will he?" "What do you think?" There was a short silence, and then Crusher spoke again, her voice quiet. "Deanna, what does 'stop' mean? To Q and the Captain, I mean." Troi knew that Will must have told Crusher about the Captain's brief conversation with Q "I can't tell you. You could probably figure it out, but you're better off not trying to." Troi looked out the window, biting her lip, as she remember what Picard had said to her in his ready room before the R'thel leaders had contacted the Enterprise. *** "Stop?" Picard had repeated in response to her question. "What else would it mean, but exactly what it sounds like?" His voice was hesitant, still somewhat flat and dull, and Troi knew she was going to hate hearing those tones in the next few weeks. She'd seen him angry, frightened, unhappy, but never this . . . broken, not even after the Borg, or his capture by the Cardassians. "That's what he told me at the beginning." He tilted his head and then quoted from memory. "'Just remember, I won't force you--say 'Stop,' and I'll stop, no questions asked.' I suppose it's a stupid 'safe-word.'" Missing Troi's start of surprise, he walked over to the window and leaned against the glass wearily. "I don't know, I never used it; I *never* said 'Stop!' . . . not that first time, or any of the other times after that. The things he did to me--things that I *wanted*--were unbelievable." He sighed and then obviously made up his mind to try to explain. "Imagine a lover that you tell all your most secret, darkest fantasies to, a lover who can snap his fingers and fulfill those fantasies." He paused. "Deanna, I can't . . . there won't ever be anyone else." "You don't know that." "Oh yes I do. No one . . . male or female . . . interests me anymore . . . not sexually, I mean. The sex . . . you can't imagine what it was like . . . I kept expecting to wake up . . . it was so good that . . . it couldn't be real." He ran his hand over his head. "I was right, it wasn't real . . . not for him anyway." Troi was glad he wasn't looking at her, because she had tears in her eyes. Partly because she was picking up on his grief, but also because it was so vastly unfair. After all the things that had happened to Picard in his life, all the sorrows and tragedies, he deserved some happiness, some sort of extraordinary love. Although she hadn't intended to say anything, she couldn't help what she said next. "How could he *lie* to you like that?" It was a terribly stupid question, and she was surprised when he didn't jump all over it. "Oh he didn't," was the astonishing reply. "He never once lied to me." "He didn't say . . . " she trailed off. "No, he didn't." The Captain shrugged. "Oddly enough, neither did I. I thought about saying it, wanted to say it, almost said it a few times, but . . ." He crossed to sit next to her on the sofa. "There was always this *question* that was just out of my reach. Something that I should have asked him, something that I knew had to be answered before I could tell how I felt, but I could never figure out what it was." His eyes filled with tears, and she reached out and gripped his hand. "When he left . . then I . . . knew . . . I'm sorry, Counselor . . ." "Shhh . . ." She pulled him close and waited. After a few moments, he pulled away and wiped his eyes. "When he first showed up, he said, 'you know you want it, you've wanted it for a long time.' Right then I should have asked him if *he* wanted it, if *he* wanted me. I just couldn't figure out what was missing, and then . . . he was touching me . . " His voice trailed off and he looked into the distance of memory. Once more Troi fought down the wave of need that washed over her. She was amazed that even after two years, the memory of how Q's touch had made Picard feel was so overpowering. In spite of herself, she shifted slightly on the sofa. Picard blinked and looked at her. "It was easier before . . I didn't let myself remember . . . what it felt like. I'm sorry, this must be . . . uncomfortable for you." "Tell me about the sex." When he looked at her in surprise, she nodded. "I'm serious, what made it different than normal sex (whatever *that* is)?" Picard moved off the sofa again, trying to put some distance between them. Troi knew that he was struggling with himself, and she thought she could guess at some of it. He had used the term "safe-word," and mixed with the physical need she had felt from him when he had heard Q say his name, had been an undertone of . . . something. "I may know part of it already," she said gently. As she had expected, he was furious at the idea that she knew things about him that he didn't want her to know. "And just what part do you know?" he asked, his voice harsh. "Do you know that there was one day I sat in that chair there, calmly discussing crew evaluations with you, while most of my attention was focused on the welts that Q laid down on my . . . on me with my *own* damn riding crop? Or maybe you know that I found myself kneeling and begging for just one touch . . ." His voice trailed off raggedly as he leaned against the window again and sobbed. "I'm . . . sorry . . ." "It's all right." Troi kept her voice carefully neutral; revealing this about himself had to be terribly hard for Picard. Having gotten over her initial surprise, Troi wasn't all that surprised at the revelation, but it wouldn't do to let him know *that* either. "No . . . I'm not . . . angry at . . . at you . . ." He paused, trying to regain some kind of control. "I'm so angry at myself . . for being so . . . stupid . . . so easily . . . fooled . . ." "Are you angry at Q?" He looked at her, his face twisted, and shook his head. "I *can't* be angry at him . . . not yet . . . maybe not . . . ever." He paused. "I still . . ." Once more his voice trailed off. "You'll have to be angry with him eventually. It's part of getting over him." A silence descended over the room, as Picard looked out at the stars. "But Counselor," he said finally said, his voice quiet. "I never *will* get over him." Just then, Worf had announced that the Autarch was contacting the Enterprise, and Picard sighed. "Thank you, Mr. Worf." He looked at Deanna. "I suppose I should go wash up and put my 'disagreeable' face on." *** Two weeks later, the Enterprise was on her way, and Picard was not at all sad to leave the R'thel system behind. Both governments had signed a surprisingly reasonable treaty *and* petitioned to join the Federation, but he had his doubts as to whether either planet was ready. He didn't like negotiating in such an aggressive fashion, and he wasn't at all pleased with his own performance during the negotiations. His reports to Starfleet Command and the Federation Council reflected his dissatisfaction, while at the same time praising Riker's efforts in the negotiations. Actually, working with Riker had proven to be a bit of a problem. Although the First Officer hadn't said anything, Picard could tell that Riker felt more than a little uncomfortable around his Captain. Picard couldn't figure it out at first and when he did, he had asked Troi about it during one of their sessions. Basically, Picard had gotten tired of talking about himself, and had asked about Riker just to change the subject. "This isn't about Beverly is it? It's Q that has him so upset, right?" Although Picard would rather have forgotten, he was aware that his senior staff had been able to guess at the story. He had told Troi that while he preferred to keep his emotional problems from becoming general knowledge, he thought that his friends had a right to know what had happened. "That's a big part of it," Troi said in answer to his question. "He thinks . . . well, he thinks that Q brainwashed you. He can't believe you'd . . . get involved with Q under any other circumstance." "I suppose that would make it easier to understand." Picard rose from his chair and began to pace. Troi was glad to see some nervous energy in him, anything was better than the glacial calmness of the past two years. "It certainly would for me." "Really?" "I don't know," he sighed. "Maybe not. Maybe three weeks of . . what did Ari call it? 'Perfect love and perfect trust.' Maybe three weeks like that was worth it." "You don't believe that." Troi refused to get sidetracked into asking who Ari was. "No. I'm sorry, I'm being melodramatic. About Will . . . is this going to continue to be a problem?" "No, I don't think so. Although if *I* were Q and the Continuum took my powers away again, I'd try to find somewhere other than the Enterprise to call home. Will and Worf would be all too glad to literally tear Q to shreds, and I don't think Beverly would be too eager to patch him up again." "Beverly . . ." He hadn't really wanted to think about her. "She told me what Q did when he fixed me up." He paced silently for a time. "Is she happy?" he finally asked, his voice hushed. He was appalled that he had to ask; once he had known her moods as well as he knew his own. "Yes, she is." "Good, she deserves it." They went on to talk of other things, and eventually the conversation petered out. After the Captain left, Troi sighed. She wasn't sure they were getting anywhere, Picard was still miserable, and she was beginning to wonder if there was anything *she* could do to help him change. "Tell him to let me try again," a quiet voice behind her said. Troi whirled around. Q was sitting in a chair, and she noticed instantly that he wasn't posing, or in motion. He simply sat and looked at her. "Why should I?" Troi tried to battle down the substantial wave of rage the washed over her. "Because I love him." It was a flat bald statement, no flip tone of voice, no exaggerated gesture, just the words. Troi didn't believe it for a second. "It's nice to know that you're putting out an effort. If there was a vague chance I'd believe you, I'd fall for this act of yours." "Dammit woman, this is *not* an act! When I felt him dying . . oh why should I bother, *you* couldn't possibly understand how I felt." "Q, has anyone ever told you that if you're trying to get someone to help you, it's better not to insult them." Troi came over and sat down next to him. "Tell me what you felt." To her surprise, she was genuinely curious. There was an old memory buzzing at the back of her mind, something about Q and the Captain, and talking to Q might bring it to the forefront. "You say that to everyone." "Yes, I do. It's my job, and if I'm not mistaken, you're here to see me in my professional capacity." Q sighed. *Whatever it takes,* he thought. *Even Troi's psycho-babble. Who knows, maybe she *can* help.* "I felt like my world was ending. I *know* he's mortal, but I couldn't imagine life without him." Surprised at how difficult it was to explain his feelings, Q tried again. "The thought of him dying . . it hurt . . . and when you said it was *my* fault . . . and I knew you were right . . ." *Oh this is insane,* he thought. *I sound like a blathering idiot.* "And it came to you just then? You'd never had any idea before--when you were with him--that you felt like that?" "Oh but I did." Q shrugged, and rose to pace. "I just . . . ignored it." Aware that he was not appearing in a good light, Q tried to make excuses. "I didn't know why I felt the way I did, why I looked forward to our time together, or why it bothered me when he was so happy. I'm not an expert at being in love." *Except maybe with yourself,* Troi thought. Q glared at her. "I'm sorry," she said out loud. "I couldn't help it." "No, you don't have to apologize. You're probably right." "Were *you* happy? Could you be happy with him? You're an omnipotent immortal after all. How could there be any . . . any connection?" "Trust me, I can have sex with the best of them." Troi rolled her eyes. "Oh please, I'm not talking about sex and you know it! If this were just about sex, you wouldn't have been able to hurt him so much." "There shouldn't have been a connection, any common ground, but there was. If I had actually tried to encourage it, instead of ignoring it . . ." He shook his head. "Don't you see? He *needs* me. There's never been anyone he can be *himself* with. Never anyone but me." "He's been in love before," Troi said gently, privately thinking that Q could very well be right. "Not like this time. Trust me, I've seen--I know--his whole life." "But Q, that's all in the past. You can't expect him to just . . . just let you back into his life because you say you're serious this time." "Why not? He still loves me; he told you that." Troi lost her temper. How could Q have studied Humans as much as he obviously had, and still understand them so little? "BECAUSE HE WON'T TRUST YOU!" she yelled at the top of her lungs. "You hurt him and he's afraid of you!" Aware that this was getting them nowhere, she tried to calm down. "We can't take pain like that and recover right away. He may well never recover. Love isn't any good without trust, Q, and you made it impossible for him to trust *any* lover, let alone yourself." Q looked stricken. "What can I do?" "Stop trying to 'help' him for one thing. He's not very happy about that." Q looked away and he seemed almost Human, hurt and confused, just like he had . . . "Back when you were Human," she said softly. "You didn't lie to him. He *was* the only person you could think of as a friend. Your feelings about him then were . . . very confused . . ." her voice trailed off as she considered the ramifications of what she had just said. "You're not lying; you really *do* love him . . . and you have for quite a while." "You'll help me?" he asked eagerly. "I'll think about it. You've got to give me some time. Just because I believe you doesn't mean that I'm on your side. There's still a lot to forgive." "What can I do?" he asked again. "Be patient." "Not something I'm good at." Troi shot him a direct look. "Work on it." To her surprise, he nodded and stood up. "Thank you . . . I think." Without another word, he vanished. Troi sighed. "Couples counseling for the two most stubborn beings I've ever met. I need a vacation." *************************************************************** "Oh, now, we took it back too far Only love can save us now, All these riddles that you burn All come rammin' back to you All these rhythms that you hide Only love can save us now . . . I alone love you I alone tempt you I alone love you Fear is not the end of this" "I Alone" Live -- ****************** Ruth Gifford "There is water at the bottom of the ocean" "Once in a Lifetime" Talking Heads From netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!netnews Thu Mar 14 20:29:08 1996 Xref: netcom.com alt.startrek.creative.erotica:1227 alt.fan.q:5150 Path: netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!netnews From: thegiff@ix.netcom.com(Ruth Gifford) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica,alt.fan.q Subject: NEW: "His Beloved Pet" Part Four (3/5) (TNG, P/Q, BDSM) Date: 15 Mar 1996 04:07:37 GMT Organization: Netcom Lines: 468 Message-ID: <4iaqe9$cun@cloner2.ix.netcom.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ont8-27.ix.netcom.com X-NETCOM-Date: Thu Mar 14 8:07:37 PM PST 1996 His Beloved Pet Part Four (3/5) *** Q had been right about his own lack of patience. After some thought, he saw no reason in taking Troi's advice. Instead, he began trying various methods to change Picard's mind. First he tried talking, appearing one night while Picard was in the middle of dinner. It was a mistake. Q saw the color drain out of the Captain's face as he rose from the table. "Haven't you done enough?" Picard asked, in the monotone Q was learning to hate. Inside, he was struggling with the need to touch Q, but no sign of it showed on his face. "Just leave me alone . . . please?" He turned to stare out the window, but even that was of no help. All he could think about were the other times he'd been at the window with Q behind him. "But Jean-Luc . . ." "Stop, Q." Picard said nothing more, and after a moment, Q gave up and left. He had no idea of what to say or to do, and hearing Jean-Luc say "stop" hurt more than it should. In all their time together, after all the things Q had done to him, Picard had never said "stop." Angry, and looking for a place to lay the blame, Q went after the being responsible for the dare. "This is all your fault," Q raged at the other Q. "What is all my fault?" It actually knew perfectly well, but it wanted to hear Q admit it. "That stupid dare of yours." "Yes? I told you I was impressed with your ability to gain that Human's trust." "Damn you! You know what I'm talking about!" Q shimmered with annoyance. "I've . . . well, I'm . . ." *I hate my sibling,* it thought. "I'minlovewithhim," Q blurted out in a rush, waiting defensively for the other Q be scornful or wax sarcastic. "Well, no kidding," his companion replied calmly, if a little sarcastically. "Q, did it ever occur to you just why you researched Picard so thoroughly?" "Humanity was my project," Q replied defensivly. "You yourself said he'd make a good representative." The other Q sighed. "In all the millennia that I've spent *trying* to teach you, I have never seen you work as hard as you have with Humans, or more specifically, Picard." "And knowing what you knew, you set me up to break his heart? This is still *your* fault!" "I did *not* set you up to break his heart. I set you up so that you could learn something about yourself. I hoped you'd see past your own stubbornness and fear of ridicule to figure out how important he is to you. I'll say one thing for your pet Q, he may be flawed, but at least he can face himself, even the parts that frighten him." It projected a wave of concern. "I'm sorry things didn't work out, but whose fault is that, really?" "I *wasted* two years of his short life, and you're *sorry*!?" Q exploded. "Don't tell it to me, Q! Tell it to *him*!" The brilliance of Q's shimmer diminished as its anger evaporated. "He looks so . . . broken." After a long pause, it did something it hadn't done for a very long time. "What do I do?" "Stop blaming me, for one thing." The other Q snapped. "Then, well I suppose you have to decide if it's worth working as hard as you'll have to work to get him to trust you again. He *is* mortal after all, he will die some day. I'm sorry," it added as its companion's colors shifted agitatedly. "I knew you cared, but maybe I hadn't realized how much." It thought for a moment. "Talk to Q." "Q!? What could it possibly tell me?" "It was raised as a Human, it might have some insight." The other Q prepared to depart. "Oh, Q?" "Yes?" "If you pursue this, some Q will laugh at you." Q's purple shimmer seemed to shrug. "I'll have to get used to it. After all, we're an odd branch of the family." "That's for sure." *** Q didn't take his sibling's advice any more seriously than he took Troi's. He still thought that if he could just get Picard to *listen*, things would work themselves out. So he tried again and then again, with no more success than he had had the first time. The one thing Q noticed, and it seemed important, was that although Picard would ask him to leave, he never asked him to stay away permanently. Q then tried physical seduction, showing up in Picard's bedroom in the middle of the night. Although tempted, tortured even, by Q's nearness, Picard refused to give in. The very strength he had shown in submitting to Q's domination, now enabled him to push the entity away. After Q was gone, Picard would sit and stare out the window, sometimes for hours, wondering if he would ever be free of his demanding physical need for Q. His body still responded automatically to Q's presence; whenever the entity appeared, Picard had to fight hard not to touch him. Once Q was gone, Picard had to fight equally hard not to touch himself. His unslaked desire had its own revenge, which it exacted in dreams. Picard couldn't even trust those; sure that Q had a hand in creating them. In thinking that he was doing Q a disservice, Q had nothing to do with Picard's dreams; in fact the entity had to try hard to keep from watching them. The few times he gave in, he regretted it; Picard's dreams were frequently nightmares in which Q betrayed the Captain in a particularly humiliating fashion . . . ***///*** The Enterprise was at Red Alert, and as Picard clung to the arms of his command chair, he wondered if they were going to make it out of this battle. The attack had come without warning, five Romulan warbirds decloaking in front of the Enterprise, deep in Federation space. Picard had used every trick in the book, and then he and Riker had started improvising. They had acquitted themselves well, but the ship was falling apart around them, people were dying, and all their efforts weren't going to be enough. "Two more Romulan warbirds materializing off the starboard bow," Data announced. There was a flash of white light, and Q appeared. "Need some help, Johnny?" "Q!" Picard snapped. "Help us or get off my ship! I can't deal with you right now." "You'd better *try*, Mon Capitaine, *if* you expect to make it through this. I can make it all go away, Johnny;" Q's voice was seductive," I can repair your broken ship and bring your dead back to life." "What do I have to do?" There would be a price, of course; this was Q, there was always a price. Picard's riding crop appeared at his feet. "You know what to do, *pet*." Q looked around with a smile. "Hopefully you don't mind performing in front of an audience. Rather convenient for you, really. This way you can pretend that you're doing it for *them* and not because you *want* to do it." As Picard hesitated, another burst of phaser fire struck the Enterprise. As the ship rolled from the attack, he dropped to his knees. Trying to ignore the stares of the crew, he bent to pick up the crop. As he picked it up, he realized, too late, that it was hot, hot enough to burn his hands. As he dropped it and looked up at Q in confusion, Q laughed. "I told you'd get burned, boy." The bridge itself began burning, and Q disappeared, laughing. ***///*** The other types of dream Picard had were simply re-plays of his nights with Q. He would wake sweating and shaking, desperately hoping that he would have the strength to tell Q to leave next time he showed up . . . ***///*** He was eating dinner by himself, sitting at his desk and reading a chatty letter from Marie. In it, his sister-in-law teasingly asked if he was ever going to, "bring someone home for us to meet." Picard couldn't help it, he began to laugh. "And just what's so funny?" Everything on Picard's desk (including his dinner) vanished, to be replaced with Q. He was draped across the desk, naked, in a "come hither" pose, and Picard began to laugh even harder, in spite of the fact that Q's nearness was having its usual effect. "Marie, my . . ." he began, when he managed to catch his breath. "Ta belle-soeur, oui?" Q asked, his accent flawless. "Oui," Picard replied automatically. Shaking his head, he continued. "She wants to know when I'm going to bring someone home to meet the family." He started to laugh again. "Robert, Marie, Rene, this is Q . . . my . . . my . . ." The desk was back the way it had been, dinner and all, and Q materialized behind Picard's chair. Picard was suddenly wearing his pajamas, and Q slid his hands down inside the wide v of his shirt. As his fingers brushed Picard's nipples lightly, Picard reached up and grabbed Q's wrists. Suddenly serious in spite of his growing arousal, the Captain asked, "Q, what are you . . . not to me, but what *are* you, really?" "My dear Jean-Luc," Q replied loftily. "I *transcend* definition." He twisted his wrists, easily escaping Picard's grasp. With a snap of his fingers, he had Picard's wrists cuffed and locked behind his back. "Now where was I?" he asked. He did nothing and Picard realized that the question hadn't been rhetorical. "Come on Johnny, tell me what I was doing. Tell me what you want me to do next. I'll do it, whatever it is you want, but I want to hear you ask for it, *every* step of the way." In spite of the carte blanche he'd just be given, Picard felt that tension in his stomach as he realized just how much power Q had over him. *I get what I want,* he thought, *as long as I beg for it.* Feeling a familiar rush of shame, he opened his mouth. "Please . . ." ***///*** For Q either type of dream was difficult. The betrayal dreams hurt him deeply; he was appalled that Picard could think that way about him, while at the same time, he knew that Picard had every right to expect Q to betray him. Q was struck with something he had never felt before, and that was a feeling of guilt. Although it was a new sensation, he didn't like it, not at all. Picard's erotic dreams also made him feel guilty, as he realized how many times he hadn't given anywhere near his full attention to what was happening between himself and Picard. After several nights, Q learned his lesson and stayed away from Picard's dreaming mind. He did not, however, stay away from Picard. "Why do you keep coming back?" Picard asked dully, one night when Q showed up as he was getting into bed. "Because I can't stay away," Q answered honestly. "I *need* you, Jean-Luc." "Oh, now *you* need," Picard said. "I needed you, and you left." He sat on the edge of his bed, looking at the floor. Q, who was standing in the doorway, was at a loss. "What can I do?" he asked. "How can I reach you? Do you want me to *crawl*, Jean-Luc?" That got Picard's attention. He looked at Q, his expression withering. "You? Crawl? Oh no, that's not what *Q* does. Don't you remember? *Johnny's* the one who crawled, right across this floor with his riding crop in his teeth." He laughed, a harsh sound. "You wouldn't have the strength to crawl, wouldn't know what . . . what it feels like to do something . . . something that's so hard," tears were sliding down his cheeks now, but he paid no attention to them, ". . . so hard that you're sure . . . you can't do it . . . but *he* wants you to . . . But you didn't . . . want that . . . did you? . . it was so real to me." "That was when I should have known, Jean-Luc. Because I *did* want it; it *was* becoming real for me. I would find myself *wanting* to be with you. But I was afraid . . ." "Oh yes," Picard's voice was suddenly angry, and he lashed out at Q. "Afraid of being laughed at, no doubt. Afraid of losing your 'dare.' You're a goddamned coward, Q, and I don't believe a word you say. Get out!" Q got out, disappearing silently, without a flash of light. Picard enjoyed being angry for a moment and then the silence and the emptiness of his quarters closed in on him again. *I could just ask him to stay . . . No! I *won't* be hurt like that again . . . I wouldn't survive it again.* *** A week later, the Enterprise docked at Deep Space Six, for maintenance and shore leave, such as it was in this remote outpost, which was dedicated to studying the Sekhmet Nebula. There wasn't much in the way of recreation, but it was a chance to see new faces, and in a few cases, familiar faces. "Aquiel, over here!" Geordi LaForge rose from his seat as Aquiel Uhnari made her way across the dim crowded bar. Her face lit with genuine pleasure as she saw him, and she embraced him lightly before taking a seat. "How did you know?" she asked, as she looked out the window. "This is my favorite table. I sit here for hours and watch the stars. The Lioness," she gestured across the room at the broad bank of windows that showcased the nebula, "is too overwhelming most of the time." "Try looking at it through this," LaForge said tapping his VISOR. "So, how are you?" Although they were fairly frequent corespondents, they hadn't been together for almost a year and a half. Still a little shy around each other, they talked and touched, and talked more. After about an hour, LaForge happen to look toward the door, and his voice trailed off in the middle of his sentence. "Now *that's* a surprise," he muttered. Uhnari turned and saw Captain Picard quietly making his way across the floor. The table he chose was near theirs, but situated as it was, he failed to see them. He gave his order to a passing waiter, and turned to look out the window. "He hasn't left the ship unless he had to for a long time. I'm glad to see him here." LaForge had not explained everything to Uhnari, but he had told her a little of Picard's isolation and subsequent slow recovery. Leaving the Captain to his drink and the stars, LaForge resolutely changed the subject, making Uhnari laugh with a story about Data and his cat. The Enterprise drifted into view and Picard smiled. Remembering the last time he'd seen the ship like this from a base window, he resolved to write to Phillipa and explain a little. He knew that there was a fair amount of speculation floating around Starfleet about his changed attitude. Knowing that his senior staff had been covering for him as well as they could, touched him deeply. Without them, his odd behavior might have gotten him quietly promoted to some soft desk job. Now . . . he was remembering why he had wanted to be out here in the first place. It would never be the same, but he had some years of command left in him and it was time for him to feel something other than a grim satisfaction at the performance of his duties. He sipped his drink, and watched his ship. His new orders had just come in, a First Contact mission and he had surprised himself by looking forward to it. In fact, he had gone so far as to thank Admiral Nakamura for assigning it to the Enterprise. He looked again at his ship, and smiled a deeper smile. LaForge had just accepted Uhnari's invitation of a walk along the Promenade, when *she* walked in. Even given the disadvantage of his VISOR, he knew that the woman who entered the bar was stunning. "Oh my," Uhnari breathed. "She's . . . gorgeous . . ." All around the room heads turned and the conversation hushed as people looked to see if the woman was alone. She seemed to be, but there was an air of "look but don't touch" to her that discouraged any crude attempts to gain her attention. She looked around casually and moved in the general direction of LaForge and Uhnari. "I'm sorry," LaForge said, forcing his attention back to his companion. "I'm being rude." "Not at all, I'm staring too. I've never seen her before, I would have remembered." And indeed, the woman was memorable. She had elaborately braided dark auburn hair, and pale skin that was set off by the dramatic dark green dress that clung to all the right places. She was tall, and had long legs and an elegant dancer's stride. Her face was lovely, with high sculpted cheekbones, and a full lipped mouth that was quirked in a slight smile. She glided up to the window and looked out at the stars and the Enterprise for a moment. LaForge couldn't resist looking in Picard's direction; the Captain glanced once at the woman and then looked back at his drink. "May I join you?" The voice that pulled Picard's attention away from his drink was deep for a woman's voice, and slightly husky, what Dixon Hill would call a "whiskey voice." He shrugged slightly, and gestured her to the opposite seat. "I hope I'm not disturbing you, Captain . . .?" "Jean-Luc Picard," he said. "And no, you're not, Ms . . . ?" "Celia Sommerval." She smiled at the nearest waiter and he moved to their table. "A Saurian Brandy, and a refill for the Captain." When he returned with the drinks, she paid, brushing off Picard's polite offer with another dazzling smile. "You looked . . . lonely." "Oh I am," Picard said. "Terribly lonely. You see, I made the mistake of trusting someone who couldn't be trusted, and I got very badly burned, and I'm still getting over it, and this doesn't fool me for one single second, Q." Q (of course it was Q) stared at him in genuine shock. The look on her face was priceless, and Picard's amusement at the situation and the three drinks he'd had made him a little careless. "I knew who you were the moment you walked in the door, even before I saw you. I'd know you any . . ." his voice trailed off, and he looked back out the window. "Anywhere? How Jean-Luc? How could you tell it was me?" "I could *feel* it, feel your presence. I've been able to ever since the second week we were together." He looked back up, staring straight into those dark eyes. "You didn't bother to notice that, did you?" Angry, and aware that he could possibly be putting his pride, if not his life, in jeopardy, he stood. "You're so self absorbed and thoughtless," he hissed. "You can't possibly understand anyone else's feelings." He picked up the drink she had bought him, tossed it in her face, dropped the glass on the table, and stalked out of the bar, sure with every step that Q was about to make him pay for the public humiliation. Nothing happened, and as soon as he reached the corridor, he sagged against a wall. *I can't believe I did that.* Slapping his commbadge, he requested the duty transporter tech on the Enterprise to beam him back to the ship. Q, of course, instantly dried herself off. She was furious and yet . . . she had to admit that she was impressed at Picard's ability to strike back. She had always admired an opponent who gave as good as he got, even if he was giving to her. Picard had seen that she was vulnerable and had done what she would have done had the situation been reversed. *Oh Johnny . . you're so much like me.* The other matter, the fact that he had known who she was, was more serious. While she had been aware of the connection that had been forged between them during their time together, she hadn't known that it was so strong on his part. In that, he had been right; she hadn't bothered to notice. She was thoughtless, and knew that she always had been. She just didn't know how to change. *I need you to show me, Jean- Luc.* The thought startled her; how strange to admit that there was anything to learn from a Human, even one as extraordinary as Picard. *And *my*, is he extraordinary . . .* Q had never, in spite a a threat once made, appeared in female form to Picard. Doing so now had been . . . interesting to say the least. *Let's face it,* she thought. *I love the man; he's incredibly good looking for a Human, and I intended to seduce him in this form. No wonder I'm dripping wet.* She shook her head, sighing. *I should have known better. I really ought to apologize to him.* And thinking that extremely unique (for any Q, let alone *this* one) thought, she quietly vanished. "I thought so," LaForge remarked. He looked at Uhnari, who had been doing a good imitation of a stranded fish. "It's a long story . . ." "I . . . guess it . . . is," she stammered. "Geordi?" She leaned forward and laid her hand on his. "Yes?" "Can we skip all this fooling around and go make love? I feel . . a little shaky. That was all rather intense." She tapped her head and he remembered that she was partially telepathic. What she had picked up from the scene they had witnessed, he didn't know. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. "I would love to do that, Aquiel." *********************************************************************** "How can you turn Denying the fire? Lover I burn Let me in." "I Want To come Over" Melissa Etheridge -- ****************** Ruth Gifford "There is water at the bottom of the ocean" "Once in a Lifetime" Talking Heads From netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!news Thu Mar 14 20:29:12 1996 Xref: netcom.com alt.startrek.creative.erotica:1228 alt.fan.q:5151 Path: netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!news From: thegiff@ix.netcom.com(Ruth Gifford) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica,alt.fan.q Subject: NEW: "His Beloved Pet" Part Four (4/5) (TNG, P/Q, BDSM) Date: 15 Mar 1996 04:10:47 GMT Organization: Netcom Lines: 489 Message-ID: <4iaqk7$5um@dfw-ixnews2.ix.netcom.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ont8-27.ix.netcom.com X-NETCOM-Date: Thu Mar 14 10:10:47 PM CST 1996 His Beloved Pet Part Four (4/5) *** "I'm sorry. I promise I won't do anything that insulting again. I thought . . . oh I don't know what I thought. That I could distract you maybe . . .I don't know." Q shook his head. "I love you and I don't know what to do. I wish I didn't know that you still love me. I can't understand why you won't let me back into your life." "Sometimes, Q, love isn't enough." Picard was too tired to try to explain, particularly as he didn't know that he believed what he was saying. Maybe love was enough. Watching Q try to apologize, hearing Q say "I love you," tore at his heart. He wanted nothing more than to forgive, but this was *Q* and he couldn't trust Q . . .could he? "Go away, Q." Q went, of course, and Picard had to wonder if he didn't want Q to refuse to leave. He had once told Q that he had no interest in rape fantasies, but if Q would just try to push him a little . . . *Right Johnny, *be* a fool. He won't push for the same reason you never pushed Beverly, it wouldn't be right. He does seem to have some ethics . . .* It was a hard concept to face, and Picard spent a sleepless night struggling with it. The whole incident left Q more confused than he had been when it started. He (for Q had begun spending all his time in the form in which he'd first met Picard) knew that Picard still wanted him. The Captain's need and desire was almost tangible; Q could feel it touching him whenever he was in Picard's presence, surrounding him like a physical caress. Q wanted nothing more that to force Picard to acknowledge that desire, but that would be no better than rape. And so, as Picard struggled not to touch Q, Q mirrored that struggle in an effort to respect Picard's wishes. It was hard; Q was not in the habit of denying himself anything, particularly on someone else's account. *** A few days later, he was pacing the Enterprise's port nacelle, after another useless conversation with Picard. It was a surreal sight and when someone dropped in to comment, Q was not too surprised. "School's out," he said to his visitor. "Run along and play." The Q who had been Amanda Rogers shimmered into her Human form. "Q told me that you were upset. As if I hadn't guessed." She looked at him, a look that went far deeper than it appeared. "You don't look good." "Dance on me while I'm down, go ahead." "Maybe you need a laugh. How's this? Q told *me* to advise *you*." "I'm rolling in the aisle. It told *me* to go to *you* for advice." Q materialized an elegant damask covered chaise, which he flopped onto, sighing dramatically. "I hate Q." "How very Human of you; Picard hates his big brother too." She made her trademark gesture, and Q was suddenly garbed in an exquisitely tailored Regency suit. "There; you look 'mad, bad . . .'" "' . . . and dangerous to know.'" Q finished the quote, his voice quiet. "And so I am; just ask Jean-Luc." "I must say I liked you better when you were just an overbearing shit," she said, settling herself in the gaily colored beach chair that had appeared behind her. Suddenly wearing a gauze wrap over a tropical print bikini, she looked even more out of place than Q did. "I'm so sorry if my personal life bores you, child. How ever shall I make amends?" He paused for a long time and then gave in. "Well?" Unlike most Q, Amanda did not try to make him squirm. "I have no advice for you. I was 19 when you took me home. I wasn't a virgin, but I'd never been seriously in love." She sighed. "Have you talked to Troi?" "I'm to be *patient*," he said, mimicking Troi's accent when he said "patient." "Sound advice. You haven't followed it, have you?" "Should I?" The question, which would normally have been uttered in sarcastic tones, sounded flat. Amanda frowned. "I'm worried about you," she said, communicating in the fashion of the Q. "You're . . . you look . . . drained. Of course," she added, with typical Q bluntness, "I'm worried about *me* too; this is affecting my training. What am I supposed to do, go to your brother for help?" This got no response and she instinctively reacted to his pain with a Human gesture, leaning forward and taking his hand in hers. Suddenly, without warning, his mind opened up and let her in. She felt all of it then, the need that bewildered him, the feeling of incompleteness that frightened him, the anger at himself for hurting Picard and at Picard for trusting, the guilt of hurting someone so greatly by just acting the way he had acted all his life, the humiliation he felt because most of the Continuum was having a fine laugh at his expense . . . all of it washed over her in a painful wave. It was all heart-wrenching, and far worse than Amanda had guessed. This *was* love, a love that Q had turned away from out of fear, confusion and cultural conditioning. The older, more experienced members of the Continuum would be feeling some of this from Q on a continual basis, although as she was his protege, he had been able to keep it from her. *That* was why there was an odd undercurrent, an edgy tone to the laughter and the jokes. Some of the things his "big brother" had said to her began to make more sense. She pulled back then, and shimmered into her Q form. "I'll do what I can to help you," she promised, letting him read the sincerity of her promise. "There's nothing to be done. He's afraid of me, and he won't trust me. Not that I blame him." "Troi gave you the right advice. Be patient. Don't try to see him for a little while; I want to talk to him about this." "Oh very well," he said, speaking aloud. He shimmered out of view and Amanda sent one last thought in his direction. "Don't eavesdrop!" "Whatever," he responded, but she knew he would respect her (and more importantly Picard's) privacy. She rendered herself invisible then and looked for Picard. He was nearing the end of his shift and as she waited for him to go to his quarters for the night, she sighed. He looked no better than Q did, tired and drained. He was thinner than she remembered, and there were more lines creasing the corners of his eyes. She looked back at the same time, watching his reaction to Q's heartless good-bye (although she respected Picard's privacy and did not pry into the affair itself) and the two years that had followed. Returning to the present (or this present, time being far more fluid and changeable to a Q), she saw that he actually looked better now than he had. He was recovering, finding himself again, and she began to feel better about her chances of helping both of them through this. She watched as he chatted with Riker and Troi in the lift as they all left the bridge. The two officers obviously thought he was doing better, and Amanda amused herself with the thought of comparing notes with Troi after this had all resolved itself. *Oh that's a good idea, I'll set up shop as Continuum Counselor.* She rippled with laughter at the thought of any of the Q opening up to her the way that Picard (as restrained as he was) had to *his* counselor. As the three separated, she briefly watched Riker head toward his quarters. *One thing I'll say for Q, he has better taste than I did. A Q would eat Riker for lunch.* When Picard returned to his quarters after his shift, he heard a female voice in his head politely asking, *May I see you for a few minutes, Captain? This is Amanda Rogers.* "Of course, Amanda," replied Picard, and she appeared in the room quietly, and, Picard noticed, *without* Q's ostentatious burst of light. Her appearance was essentially the same as it had been when she interned on board the Enterprise, but her hair was flowing freely, instead of being confined in a tight bun, and she held herself with a confidence that had been lacking in the hesitant teenager he had met before. "Hello, Amanda. Welcome aboard. How *are* you?" "Thank you, Captain. I'm fine. You're curious about my adjustment to the Continuum, of course." This bluntness was new too, although Amanda had shown no hesitation about letting Q know what she thought of him on their initial encounters. "Yes, of course. Such a transition seems unimaginable to me." "I'm very glad I made the choice I did, but it *has* been difficult" she said. "I miss certain things of course; many things that used to give me joy just seem . . . well . . . rather trivial. I used to be so passionate about my puppies," she laughed. "Animals with such a low level of sentience just don't interest me any more. But there is an indescribable joy in everything I'm learning. Many of the other Q laugh at my enthusiasm--to them I'm essentially a child and an infant at that--but right now I feel I could spend millennia exploring the universe." Amanda paused. "They tell me I'll get over it, but I hope I don't." Picard smiled, "I share that hope, Amanda. I don't know much about the Continuum, but it seems they could use the benefit of a fresh perspective now and then." "Oh definitely!" laughed Amanda, "But it's going to be centuries, if not millennia, before I'm old enough for them to listen to *anything* I have to say. There is *someone* who listens to me, though, and he's what I've come to talk to you about." Picard sighed and declared, not terribly convincingly, "I'm sorry, Amanda. Q is not a topic I wish to discuss." "Then why have you been discussing him with the Counselor, Captain?" Picard paled slightly. She was right of course, he *had* been talking about Q to Deanna, just to be able to talk about him to *someone*. "I'm truly sorry, Captain! I really don't mean to be annoying, rude, and intrusive, but those qualities seem to be a given with my species. We don't seem to be able to help it. But I do know that you *do* want to talk about Q, and you want to talk about him desperately, as desperately as he wants to be with you, and I promised him I would try to convince you." "Why?" demanded Picard harshly, words spilling out before he could clamp down on his emotions. Amanda was disarming and probably knew all about him anyway, and Picard couldn't seem to erect his usual barriers. "Why is Q's relationship with a mere mortal, a mere pet, of any interest to you?" "For one, I care about him. It may be hard to believe, but he's been very kind to me, and in the Continuum, that's a rare quality. And he's really suffering very deeply, Captain. And purely from a selfish standpoint, I have to tell you that his suffering is affecting the entire Continuum--which only makes him feel worse, since he's had to put up a tremendous amount of ridicule from some of his less sympathetic brethren." "My heart bleeds," snapped Picard. "Do you have any idea what he *did* to me?" "Yes, I do," said Amanda gently. "And he's deeply and genuinely sorry--I wish I could convince you of that. But what he did to you was inevitable, Captain. He's so impressed with your strength--a strength he never expected to encounter in a Human--that he treated you as the Q treat each other on a regular basis, I'm afraid. Among the Q, saving face and maintaining emotional autonomy is extremely important--if you don't keep up barriers, you'll simply be assimilated by the others. The only reason *I*'ve survived is because *he*'s been working with me on my own defenses while supplementing them himself. The Q are constantly testing each others' limits and constantly on the defensive to prevent those barriers from being breached--it's a matter of survival. For a Q to back down on a dare or wager would be unthinkable--and the Q frequently make that kind of wager without any consideration of the costs to be inflicted on others. Q's . . . sibling, brother if you will, was mainly interested in trying to win a contest. He was also trying to teach Q a lesson, but it's not my place to try to explain that." Amanda didn't want to go into the complex issues of Q relationships, and all the odd obligations and conventions that had led Q's sibling (not really the right term, but the only one Picard would understand) to try to help Q in such a complicated fashion. "*He*, Q's brother, I mean, didn't think about what would happen to you. And Q really had no choice but to accept. When you exposed yourself to him, he did what any Q would do upon discovering another's vulnerability-- go for the jugular . . . " "What a charming place you've found yourself in, Amanda," muttered Picard bitterly. "If this is where our evolution is taking us, then I want no part of it." "I understand," noted Amanda, "but there are a few of us trying to change things a little, trying to break down millennia of behaviors and customs that have become absurd and self- destructive. But even in trying to change things among the Q, as Q is, one still has to maintain one's autonomy and position--Q knows very well what the consequences of weakness are in the Continuum. And the pace of change is extremely slow--it's on a scale *I* really can't comprehend yet. But what I do understand is that *Q needs you*, Captain. He's been trying his best to behave and get on your good side--granted, not very effectively--but he's been trying to the best of his ability. He can't change millennia and millennia's worth of habits in a few months or years. And . . . he's very strong, Captain, but this is weakening him, and he's losing whatever status he may have had in the Continuum. He's probably strong enough to survive, but he's taking an awful lot of abuse for having fallen in love with mortal, in addition to how much he's suffering on his own. And I'm going to be extremely selfish here--I can't help it, I'm a Q-- *I* need him. I need both the mentoring and protection he's giving me--and he was better company before he started moping!-- so if only for my sake, would you please just talk to him, really talk to him?" Picard had slowly walked over to a chair and sunk down into as Amanda was talking. He had his head in his hands and was shaking it slowly. "I'm . . . just . . . so . . . so . . . furious with him!" he exclaimed. "I hate to be so melodramatic, but it feels like he ripped my heart out, wrung it out like a wet rag, then tossed it casually over his shoulder to land in the dirt at my feet. God, Amanda, sometimes I want to put my hands around his neck and throttle him . . . and . . . other times . . I want to crawl into his arms and remain there forever, " he finished softly. "I know, Captain," said Amanda, perching on the arm of his chair and resting her hand lightly on the back of his neck. "He knows too, and he understands. One advantage you have with his being a Q is that you can take your anger out on him any way you like--it's an impulse he'd understand," she noted wryly. "Please give him a chance--you would be surprised to know just how anxious, how desperate he is to prove his devotion to you. Hell, if I were you, Captain, I'd take advantage of it while you have the opportunity. And by the way, he promised me he wouldn't listen in on our conversation-- and he has kept that promise." Picard smiled slightly, then said, "I need some time to think, Amanda. I do promise you that I will take into account your advice and everything you've told me." "Thank you, Captain. I'll let you think, then. I would like to stop to visit Dr. Crusher before I leave. She was so kind to me." "Oh, yes," said Picard abstractedly. "She'd like that." "Good-bye, Captain," said Amanda and vanished. Picard remained slumped in the chair. *Oh God, what do I do now? I'm so afraid . . . Ha! listen to me . . . Jean-Luc Picard, the most senior Captain in Starfleet . . . the *hero* who can face anything . . . I'm as big a coward as Q when it comes to my own feelings.* He rose to his feet and went into the bedroom. Sitting on the bed, he opened the lower drawer on his bedside table. Reaching inside, he pulled out a folded piece of parchment. "Warm milk is disgusting, Jean-Luc, at least until you put brandy in it. Enjoy, and maybe it will help you sleep." Tracing his finger across the elaborate Q that the note was signed with, he sighed. *God, I'm pathetic.* The note had languished in the drawer, never looked at, until he remembered it about a week ago. Now looking at the Q, Picard wondered if he was clinging to the hurt and fear as a way of keeping Q at a distance. The three week affair had been magical, truly a time outside time, separate from the reality of Picard's everyday life. If he let Q come back, it would not, could not, be the same. *I love him,* he thought. *I'll always love him, but can I *be* with him? . . . Oh merde . . . this all sounds depressingly familiar . . . Jenice and Beverly . . . kept them at arm's distance because I couldn't bear the thought of giving up a part of myself . . . Phillipa and Vash . . . they were easy because those were long distance relationships . . . always a honeymoon . . . Eline . . . well, that was different . . . and still it took me years to accept that she was my wife . . . look at the mess I made of things with Neela . . . of course Q wouldn't always be around . . . but he wouldn't put up with being kept at arm's distance . . .* A memory surfaced--himself on his knees tearfully thanking Q for a beating, and Q brushing a casual hand across his head. *It felt *so* right . . . but I can't be "in the life" all the time . . . but oh God I miss it . . * He looked again at the note. *I suppose I could try to talk to him . . . really talk to him . . . Amanda *seemed* truly concerned . . . has he really made himself . . . . sick (or whatever it is for a Q) over this? . . . she said he's weakening . .* Picard felt a sharp stab of concern. *She said it's affecting the whole Continuum . . . said he's anxious . . . desperate even . . . to prove his devotion . . . well, that's a sight I'd like to see.* Before he could talk himself out of it, he raised a hand to his commbadge. "Picard to Crusher." "Crusher here, Captain." "Beverly, do you still have a guest?" She chuckled. "Yes, I was just catching Amanda up on things." "If she doesn't mind," Picard asked politely, "I'd like to see her before she leaves." "I'll drop in shortly, Captain," Amanda's voice replied. A half an hour (which Picard spent pacing his rooms restlessly) later, Q appeared. He had wisely avoided wearing anything that had any meaning to Picard, although he still looked quite elegant in slate blue and dark gray. "So, the child came and convinced you to give me another chance," he said lightly. "You should thank her for it," Picard replied, trying to hold on to his temper. "Oh yes, I'm sure I will," Q replied waspishly. He had no idea why he was in such a bad mood, unless it had to do with the fact the one thing he wanted more than he had wanted anything else through his unbelievably long existence lay firmly under someone else's control. "I don’t even know why I agreed to talk to you," Picard snapped, letting go of his temper in record time. He was surprised at the anger brought on by just *seeing* Q, and now to have to listen to the entity's sarcasm was just too much. "You’ll just lie to me." "No. Not that. I never lied to you, Jean-Luc." Picard exploded. "It’s possible to lie without words, and you know it! Everything you *do* is a lie, everything you *are* is a lie! You lied to me when you first decided to take up your *dare*, and you’ve been lying ever since!" Picard’s voice was firm and had an edge that Q hadn’t heard in a long time. The *Captain* was back, and in spite of the pain brought on by Picard’s words, Q was relieved. So what he said next made no sense; why was he trying to provoke Picard? "I suppose I should have just appeared the way you *really* wanted me to, the jackbooted dark God of your dream." It came as no surprise whatsoever to Picard that Q had watched *that* dream. "You probably should have; it would have been far more honest. You don’t want a *lover*; you want a worshipper, a slave." Picard’s fists were bunched and he glared at Q as he spoke. Forgetting his promise to himself, to never again hurt the man he loved, Q lashed back. "And *you*, pet, you want a Master. I can *make* you crawl, johnny." His tone edged the nickname in acid, which only served to fuel Picard’s anger. "Of course you can, just snap your fingers. You couldn’t do it without your powers, now could you?" Picard was aghast at his question; the last thing he wanted to do was push Q into trying to prove something. That was what had caused the whole damn situation in the first place. "What does it matter? You’re such a conceited, arrogant, selfish bastard; you don’t want a *mortal* lover. Only a god for Jean-Luc Picard. Only a god could master The Captain, the great hero." The mirror that Q was holding up was too accurate; Picard reacted in a blinding flash of rage. Taking a step toward Q, he reached out and slapped the entity, a harsh open-handed slap that sent Q reeling. Q hadn’t been at all prepared for physical violence; he lost his footing and fell to his knees. He looked up at Picard, his eyes wide. He hadn’t really paid any attention on the few occasions he had allowed Picard to top him before, but now . . . His cheek burned, he was humiliated . . . he was a *Q*, what was he doing on his *knees* before a Human? And why was he *staying* on his knees, looking up at the Captain with fear on his face? Jean-Luc’s eyes were still narrow with anger, and he glared down at Q. "Please . . . " Q whispered. "Please what?" Picard snapped. He was still angry enough that he hadn’t yet noticed the eroticism of the scene. Q couldn’t answer for a moment; it was so hard to ask. But The Captain had demanded and Q *had* to answer. "Do . . . that . . . hit me . . . again . . . " Picard looked at him in shock. Q didn’t even dare to pry in an effort to see what Picard was thinking; he simply waited, sure that he was about to be tossed out on his ear and wondering if he could stand one more rejection. *************************************************************** "It's so hard to find an answer It's so hard to stand alone It's so hard to find a feeling That was buried long ago It's so hard to trust another When it's easier to hide It's so hard to believe Unless we try, baby try" "Try To Believe" Oingo Boingo -- ****************** Ruth Gifford "There is water at the bottom of the ocean" "Once in a Lifetime" Talking Heads From netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!netnews Thu Mar 14 20:29:15 1996 Xref: netcom.com alt.startrek.creative.erotica:1229 alt.fan.q:5152 Path: netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!netnews From: thegiff@ix.netcom.com(Ruth Gifford) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica,alt.fan.q Subject: NEW: "His Beloved Pet" Part Four (5/5) (TNG, P/Q, BDSM) Date: 15 Mar 1996 04:13:40 GMT Organization: Netcom Lines: 477 Message-ID: <4iaqpk$4sg@cloner3.netcom.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ont8-27.ix.netcom.com X-NETCOM-Date: Thu Mar 14 8:13:40 PM PST 1996 His Beloved Pet Part Four (5/5) Picard closed his eyes briefly, reeling at the rush that went through him. The few times that he had topped Q before, he had always known that he had permission to play a game. *This* was no game. He backhanded the other side of Q’s face, watching as the force of the blow made Q brace himself on his hands as well as his knees. He reached down and pulled Q’s head up by his hair. "Is this what you want? You, a Q, a *god*, on your hands and knees in front of a Human? Aren’t you afraid that you’ll be laughed at?" Everything that Q was rebelled against the feelings that rolled over him. Picard was right; he was terrified that his big brother was watching, or even worse, Amanda. He exerted more force of will than he had in a long time, struggling to remain here with Picard’s hand cruel in his hair, and the Captain’s eyes boring into his. He whimpered, hating the sound as he made it. *What’s wrong with me?* Picard crouched down in front of him, still holding his head up by the hair. *I want this. I want him so much, and I *want* to hurt him.* He leaned forward and kissed Q, biting his lips hard. Pulling away, he said mockingly, "you probably can’t take it. You’ll just use you powers, and pretend, won’t you? After all, that's what you always did before, isn't it?" "Yes," Q admitted in a whisper, still gasping from the stinging kiss. "But *now* I won't . . . I promise . . . I'll be *here* . . . for whatever you want . . ." Picard gave him a contemptuous look. "Get rid of your clothes." Q gulped; this was going to be awful; he just knew that Picard would continue to require him to use his powers to assist in his own humiliation. He obeyed Picard’s order, and Picard let go of his hair and stood up. He paced around Q slowly, saying nothing, just looking down at him. Stopping behind Q, he suddenly snapped, "up on your feet!" Q scrambled to his feet, and for the first time with Picard, he did not feel the advantage of his height and broad shoulders. "Hands behind your back!" Q obeyed and he felt Picard's surprisingly strong hands grip his wrists tightly. Picard gave him a none too gentle shove, and marched him into the bedroom. When he reached the foot of the bed, Picard let go of him. "Turn around." Q turned and forced himself to meet The Captain’s eyes. "I'm going to punish you, Q, and it’s going to hurt," he said. He paused for a moment, and Q saw the faintest flicker of concern in Picard's eyes. In a softer voice, Picard said, "I *need* to do this." Oddly enough, that one second of hesitation gave Q the strength he needed to go on with this. Jean-Luc needed it, and Q could give it to him. Not as a game, or a condescending gesture, but as a gift. And, Q had to admit to himself, because he, Q, wanted it as much as Picard did. Needing to prove his sincerity, needing to assuage his guilt for the pain he’d caused Picard, Q dropped to his knees, and lowered his head, resting his gaze on the toes of Picard's boots. Picard's moment of hesitation was gone. Looking down at Q's dark hair, and bent neck, he smiled a small satisfied smile. "I'm going to need a few things. Wrist and ankle cuffs to start. Oh, and Q?" Q didn't know quite how to address Picard. Obviously "Jean- Luc" or "Mon Capitaine" were both out of the question. He raised his head to look at The Captain. "Sir?" "I assume that you're blocking all of this from Troi?" "Yes Sir." "Good. Now those cuffs." Picard held out his hands, and Q carefully materialized a set of sturdy black leather cuffs. Picard turned them over in his hands, inspecting them. "Very nice. I see that you haven't lost your touch." He tossed the ankle cuffs on the bed for later, and then snapped out in his best command voice, "Wrists!" Q held up his wrists, and was shocked to see that his hands were shaking. Picard fastened the cuffs to Q's wrists and then locked them together. Picard admired the sight of Q on his knees for a moment longer, knowing that the longer he looked at Q like this, the more helpless Q would feel. He reached down and ran his fingers through Q's hair, the way he would pet a cat. Q trembled at his touch, and once more Picard felt that rush of power. *Time to up the stakes,* he thought and moved to the bed arranging his pillows in the center of the bed. "I want you bent over these pillows." As Q tried to scramble to his feet, Picard snapped, "Now!" Q tried to be quick about, but it wasn't easy. He felt clumsy and graceless, and seeing Picard move into his field of vision with an easy grace, made him feel even worse.. *I must look ridiculous,* he thought. *I hate looking ridiculous.* Picard held out his hand. "The strap," he ordered, knowing that Q would know exactly what he wanted. A second later, it appeared in his hands. In spite of the circumstances, Picard felt a twinge just looking at it. Combatting the reaction, he smacked it gently across his hands, and watched Q shudder as he stared at the black leather, unable to keep his eyes off it. Picard moved out of Q's field of vision, and raised the strap, looking down at Q's raised ass. "I said I was going to hurt you," he said. "But I liked hearing you ask me to hit you earlier." Q moaned, squirming on the pillows. "Well?" snapped Picard. "Ask me!" Q knew that he could bail out, knew that he could block the pain and Picard would be no wiser. He could even ask Picard to stop. Feeling more humiliated than he ever had, he gasped out, "please . . . beat me . . . Sir." He felt Picard bring the strap gently down to just rest on his buttocks. *Please,* Q thought. *Just get it over with.* He was afraid, afraid of the pain, afraid of the fact that he wanted the pain, and, most of all, afraid that he wouldn't be able to take it. *Picard* had been able to take it, he reminded himself. The strap lifted and he braced himself. His body was tense, utterly rigid, and when the blow came, it came with a force he was totally unprepared for. The loud, thudding smack and the searing burst of flame on his taut buttocks were registered as a single sensation, an eruption of pain. He emitted a very un-Q-like strangled groan. The next blow followed swiftly, while the suffering entity was still registering the lingering pain of the first. It was torture, and he flinched to dodge the next blow. "Hold still!" snapped Picard; then, in a gentler but patronizing tone, he added, "it's easier to take if you relax into it." "RELAX!! . . . How . . . the . . . fuck . . . am . . . I . . . supposed . . . to . . . relax?" gasped Q, jolted out of his subservient frame of mind by the sheer impossibility of the suggestion. He may have been inhabiting a human body quite frequently over the past several years, but he had not learned to modulate its responses. He simply used his powers to block unpleasant sensations and to enhance pleasant ones. Picard smacked him lightly, and offered, "Well, you might attempt to unclench your muscles." Q thought about it, his raised ass still burning and stinging. He took a deep breath and consciously forced his tense muscles to slacken. The next smack of the strap hurt excruciatingly, but he suddenly found the sensation somehow intoxicating as well. Q was a creature that craved novelty and sensation, and this certainly counted as sensation, not to mention a novelty. As Picard settled into a rhythm of delivering resounding smacks to Q's reddening buttocks, the entity whimpered and groaned in agony, but also felt a stirring in front. As he wasn't using his powers, his body was simply responding, and he was becoming aware of growing evidence of intense arousal. With each burning blow of the strap, his cock grew stiffer, and the need for release provided an agony that was beginning to match that of the beating he was taking. Picard was beginning to feel overwhelmed at the sight of the strap landing again and again on Q's ass. He had never *needed* to hurt someone as much as he needed to hurt Q right now. The sound of the leather hitting Q's bare skin and the moans and gasps coming from his victim acted like a drug on the captain, and he wanted more of it. A small part of him was shocked, knowing that he should never do this while this angry. He knew that he should stop, call for a time-out, but as he beat Q, he could *feel* more than two years of pain and rage at the entity flowing out of him. He truly loved Q, but Q had hurt him, humiliated him, and now he had to pay for it. That realization made him quicken his pace and increase the strength of the blows. Q was crying out now, but his body was moving with the rhythm of the strap. As the blows came faster and harder, he began to actually cry. Through the sobs, Picard heard him whispering something. "What was that?" he asked, letting the strap rest once more against Q's reddened skin. "Please," Q mumbled. "I need . . ." he didn't have a chance to finish the sentence. "YOU NEED?" The strap came down again, harder than Q would have thought possible. "This . . . isn't . . . about . . . what . . you . . . fucking . . . need!" Picard punctuated each word with another excruciating blow, and Q began to cry again. How could he have been so foolish? Of course this wasn't about what *he* needed; he was here to please The Captain. He suddenly relaxed, feeling like he'd reached some kind of center, the eye of the hurricane. The blows were still painful, he was still crying, but he reveled in the pain and humiliation. When Picard spoke again, that rich voice was the only thing in Q's universe, and he hung on every word. "I'll tell you what *I* need. I need to *fuck* you Q." Picard had finally let the strap still. Q continued to shudder, but gradually stopped, relieved that the worst was over. Or was it? Picard had moved back into his range of vision, and Q watched as he stripped, slowly and deliberately. Q was actually a little afraid, knowing that this would probably hurt as much, if differently, as the beating had. "I'm not in the mood to be gentle," the Captain said, somewhat unnecessarily in Q's opinion, "and I don't want you moving around too much. He looked down at Q, and nodded his head sharply. "Chains," he said sharply. "Four sets, from the corners of the bed." Q was looking appreciatively, if somewhat apprehensively at Picard's erection, and as he was still reeling from the beating, it actually took him a moment to remember how to manipulate the energy required. The delay to not sit well with Picard. "Do I have to repeat an order?" "No . . . Sir," Q gulped. The chains appeared as he spoke and Picard snapped the strap against Q’s rear. The unexpected blow made Q emit an embarrassing sound, much like a squeak, and Picard laughed at him. The Captain moved and unlocked Q’s wrist cuffs. Q allowed one of his wrists to be clipped to the chain, but when Picard moved to the other side of the bed to chain the other wrist, the entity suddenly panicked. Picard grabbed the wrist that Q was flailing away from him. "It’s too much, isn’t it?" the Captain said, his tone again patronizing. "The great Q can’t take what a simple Human can take. I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised." His voice expressed contempt and disappointment, and he let go of Q’s hand. Q felt terribly small and useless; he had let down the man he loved, *The Captain*, and he felt disgraced, awful. "Please . . " he whimpered, and forced himself to hold his wrist out and steady. "I’ll . . . try to . . . to do better . . . please . . . Sir . ." Picard worked hard (and successfully) to hide a smile. Without his powers, Q was as open to manipulation as any Human. He was really rather touched by Q’s eagerness to please. As he chained Q’s hand and moved down to chain the entity’s ankles, he ran a gentle hand across Q’s rear. Q moaned and raised himself up to meet the caress, and Picard laughed silently. Doing his best to sound distant, he said. "I told you, this is going to hurt. If you want *your* first time to be at all easy, mon petit dieu, I suggest that you provide some lubrication." He knelt between Q's spread legs. Feeling a hot rush of humiliation wash over his face as The Captain called him his "little god," Q did as Picard suggested. He felt Picard’s hand move along the inside of his thigh and then upward. When that hand discovered his straining erection, he heard a pleased chuckle. Unable to help himself, he pushed his cock into the warmth of Picard’s hand, an action that earned him a series of swift sharp slaps to his already burning buttocks. A second later he felt himself being opened up, and braced himself. Feeling Picard’s erection resting against his anus, he tried to relax. It took time, but still The Captain did not move. Q groaned, unable to believe how much he wanted this. Why wasn’t . . . oh, of course, he had to ask for it. He gulped, grateful that Picard was giving him the time he needed to struggle with himself. "Please . . . take me . . . *fuck* me . . please Sir . . ." To his added humiliation, he pushed back as much as his bonds allowed him. Any lingering doubt, any thoughts that this might not be a good idea, vanished in Picard’s mind at the sound of the pleading note in Q’s voice as he begged to be fucked, and the movement the entity made. Grabbing Q’s hips, he moved hard into the narrow channel, biting his lip at the sensation of the heat and the tightness around his cock. God, he had missed sex. And this was *Q*, chained to his bed and moaning under him. Picard let himself go, fucking Q as hard as he could, needing to be as violent as possible to wash away over two years of aching loneliness. Face down on the bed, Q bit at the sheet to keep from screaming. This was *awful*, painful beyond belief. Pushed almost to his limit, he was about to beg Picard to stop, or block the feelings or something, when he heard a moan from the man behind him. "Oh . . . I’ve . . . missed . . . you . . ." Picard breathed softly, almost to himself. Hearing that made Q strengthen his resolve to stick this out, regardless of how awful it was. Or was it awful? He became aware that his cock was as hard as ever, even harder maybe. The feeling of motion and the fullness and the heat of friction all began to register. The pain, yes, the pain was still there, but it had dulled to a burning tingle that added to the sensation. He moaned as he relaxed slightly, and that made it felt even better. "Good Q . . " Picard said, somewhat breathlessly. "You like . . . this . . . don’t you?" "Yess . . ." Q hissed, humiliated and wanting more at the same time. He began to move, matching Picard's movements, straining toward the release he could feel rushing toward him. "Don’t you dare!" snapped The Captain. He stopped moving, and Q whimpered. "If you come before I do, so help me, I’ll make you regret it." The threat only served to excite Q more, but he struggled to remain still, amazed that something that had hurt, still hurt, this much could feel this good, could be something that he wanted so much. He could feel Picard moving again, harder and faster, and he recognized the sound of his lover’s unsteady breathing. He *had* to hold out until The Captain was satisfied; he couldn't bear the thought of disappointing him. There was no way that he would use his powers to help himself, he had *promised* that he wouldn't. Picard looked down at Q's ass. It was still bright red from the beating, and there were whiter patches where welts were forming. *I should make him stay like this . . . not heal himself.* Under the circumstances, that was not a good thought; Picard was trying to keep from coming too soon, trying to prolong the moment. But the thought of Q being marked, combined with the sensations and Picard's long celibacy, the sounds of Q's pleading whimpers . . . Picard felt that rush of power through his whole body this time. Thrusting once more, a hard brutal motion, he threw his head back and cried out in a great wordless shout of triumph and ecstasy as he came. Picard's cry sent Q tumbling over the edge he'd been hanging on. He screamed, his hands pulling at the chains he'd been clinging to unknowingly, and he arched his hips to get as much of Picard into him as he could. The Captain's fingers had tightened on him in a deathgrip, and Q welcomed the pain as they both shuddered through the aftershocks. Q didn't want the moment to end, for some reason *this* orgasm, as unenhanced by his powers as it was, was unlike any other he'd ever had in *any* form. As Picard collapsed against his back, the entity sighed contentedly, not minding that Picard's thighs pressed hard against his still burning rear. After a moment and then another of this incredible closeness, Picard finally stirred. Q waited to see what would happen, but Picard was silent as he carefully got off the bed. Bending at each corner, he removed Q's cuffs and tossed them aside. Guessing that Picard wouldn't mind at this point, Q took care of cleaning both of them off, and moving slowly (for some reason he wasn't ready to heal himself yet), he pulled the pillows back to their accustomed position at the head of the bed. Picard was standing at the side of the bed now, looking down at him, his expression closed. Q knew well enough not to try to read Picard's mind, and so he waited in emotional agony to see if Picard regretted what had just happened. "Don't you . . . want . . to join me?" he finally asked, hesitantly. "May I?" Picard's voice was soft and a little shaky. "Please." Picard got into bed with Q, who leaned back, holding out an arm invitingly. *But what if he's still lying?* Picard thought desperately. He began to shake, sitting there in his own bed, centimeters away from something he wanted more than anything he'd ever wanted in his life. "I don't . . . care . . ." he whispered. "Maybe . . . maybe this . . . *is* . . . real . . . maybe . . . it . . . isn’t . . ." Tears were beginning to form in his eyes, and he forced himself not to suppress them as he had for the last two years. "Maybe . . . you're just . . . going to . . hurt me again . . . but I . . . don't care. I . . . *need* . . you." Hesitantly, oh-so-slowly, he crossed the last gap, coming to rest against Q's chest. Q slowly wrapped his arm around Picard, and said nothing, merely holding him close as he shivered. The shivering increased, and suddenly Picard relaxed into the tears, letting them come. Q's grip tightened on him, and he gratefully clung to the entity, crying his heart out. Q lightly stroked Picard's back, not sure what to say and overwhelmed by the human's vulnerability and trust. Picard's earlier need to lash out and dominate--that Q could understand and respect. But the risk involved in this flood of tears was another matter. Q could afford to submit to Picard; if at any point he felt he was being exploited or betrayed, he could not only inflict an eternity of tortures on Picard but on all his ancestors as well. Picard had always earned Q's grudging respect by his defiance of the entity's powers and by the quiet dignity of his surrenders on those occasions when he realized that Q was in the right. But this? This utter nakedness and openness puzzled Q. He could shatter Picard's heart in an instant, and Picard was giving him an opening wide enough to drive an entire fleet through--no shields, no defenses. *Oh . . *don't* need me, Jean-Luc,* thought Q to himself; *haven't you learned you can't trust me, can't count on me? Don't you *realize* what you're getting into? I don't know if I can be what you want me to be, and if I can't, I'll hurt you, I can't help it. Haven't you been burned enough?* As if reading Q's thoughts, Picard murmured through his gradually diminishing sobs, "This is me, Q--no rank, no uniform, no authority, no power. This is all I have to offer you--what you see here. I can't make you stay, I can't make you do anything, and I can't imagine what benefit you derive from coming down to the level of a mere mortal like myself . . . " (to his credit, Picard injected that last part with an edge of sarcasm). "But I have to take the risk and offer you myself. You might grind me into the dust, but I can't play games, and I can't remain silent. I'm yours, if you want me." Q, for a change, was stunned into silence. Revelations about the nature of the universe came easily to him and didn't have much impact; revelations such as this one about human nature struck with the force of an exploding star. He realized with absolute clarity that in this moment of utter naked vulnerability, Picard was displaying a strength and courage that he, in his omnipotence, couldn't possibly come close to attaining. Q suddenly understood what had always drawn him to Picard-- this fragile, weak, powerless human had something he could never have: the courage and strength to take a massive emotional risk. He was filled with a feeling for Picard he had never articulated to himself before, and that was respect. Q knew and knew that Picard undoubtedly knew that the course they were choosing was going to be a turbulent one. Q knew that *he* certainly wasn't the easiest being in the galaxy to get along with, and Picard was as arrogant and stubborn as he was. *Heads up!* he thought to himself with a slight smile, *and red alert!* He pulled Picard close to him, cupping the Captain's chin so as to look in his eyes and said "I know you realize you're just begging for trouble, mon Capitaine, but you're an adult, at least by your standards, and if you're foolish enough to plunge into a minefield with your shields down, who am *I* to stop you? Jean-Luc, I accept your offer." And then he whispered with a slight catch in his voice, "and I accept it with all the awe and gratitude I'm capable of." "Unfortunately for you," he continued in his usual mocking tone, "awe and gratitude are not my idiom. You're mine now, and I intend to make the most of it." Picard looked back at Q, squaring his jaw against the entity's strong grip. Q shook his head at the look. "So stubborn," he said, his voice soft with menace. "And who," Picard asked with cool confidence," was face down, chained to my bed, allowing me . . ." here his hand reached up and grabbed Q's wrist, pulling the hand away from his jaw. " . . to *fuck* him?" "You know, I can put *you* in the same place, subject you to that same painful indignity." "You didn't seem to mind that 'painful indignity' too much," Picard said scornfully. *Oh . . . I am *in* for it now,* he thought. He felt that familiar rush of fear and desire, and tightened his grip on Q's wrist. "It hurt, it was embarrassing, it was humiliating . . ." "And you loved it," Picard interrupted. "Yes I did." Q replied, surprising Picard. "But that's beside the point. The *real* point is that you need to be reminded of just *who* you are." "Oh I know who I am," Picard replied in the arrogant tone of voice that he usually saved for negotiations with recalcitrant Klingons. "I'm Jean-Luc Picard, Captain of the USS Enterprise." Q didn't move, but suddenly Picard's wrists were securely locked behind his back. He felt leather at his ankles, and the collar from his long ago dream at his throat. Q again gripped his chin, and Picard tossed his head, trying to dislodge that hand. "I'm also a conceited, selfish, arrogant bastard, and only a *god* could master *me*." *************************************************************** "Your love is thick and it swallowed me whole You're so much braver than I gave you credit for That's not lip service You've already won me over in spite of me Don't be alarmed if I fall head over feet Don't be surprised if I love you for all that you are I couldn't help it It's all your fault" "Head Over Feet" Alannis Morissette -- ****************** Ruth Gifford "There is water at the bottom of the ocean" "Once in a Lifetime" Talking Heads From netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!netnews Thu Mar 14 20:29:19 1996 Xref: netcom.com alt.startrek.creative.erotica:1230 alt.fan.q:5153 Path: netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!netnews From: thegiff@ix.netcom.com(Ruth Gifford) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica,alt.fan.q Subject: NEW: "His Beloved Pet" Epilogue (1/1) (TNG, P/Q, BDSM) Date: 15 Mar 1996 04:16:19 GMT Organization: Netcom Lines: 258 Message-ID: <4iaquj$rub@cloner4.netcom.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ont8-27.ix.netcom.com X-NETCOM-Date: Thu Mar 14 8:16:19 PM PST 1996 His Beloved Pet Epilogue President Kathryn Janeway was making a deeply moving speech. It was something she was good at, but even so, the fact that her distinctive voice kept breaking gave her words more impact than normal. The man whose body was sealed up in the torpedo tube that rested on the floor of the Enterprise's main shuttle bay would have been touched. *Then again,* thought one of the observers, *he would have hated this whole mess. He only agreed to it because Kat pestered him.* Q, who was wearing his Human form for the occasion (although he remained invisible), sighed and folded his arms across his chest. *This is obscene, depressing, and dreary. I wish he hadn't given in to political pressures. The Klingons are right.* He glanced over at the Klingon Emperor who looked solemn, but was in fact wondering why anyone would have an elaborate ceremony over something that was essentially garbage. "Part of him would have loved this." The other Q present also wore Human form, and she smiled slightly as she intruded on his thoughts. "He *did* have an ego, you know." She paused. "Are you still angry?" "No, I suppose not." He shook his head. "In a way, I'm proud of him. In spite of my own selfish desires, he made the right decision. I try to keep telling myself that, but it doesn't help." His companion sent a gentle wave of compassion his way, and he glanced at her, trying (but not very hard) to pretend that he didn't need her sympathy. "This circus is necessary, Q," she continued. "He *was* the Alliance, and Janeway knows it. You should just be glad that he insisted on a Starfleet burial instead of some horrible monument somewhere." "Mmmm . . . true enough." Q remembered his lover's adamant refusal of any sort of burial site. For once Q had agreed with him, quite unlike the *other* argument. *Of course* they had argued; they had spent all their years together arguing passionately (and making up with even more passion), it was a simple fact of their existence. But only one of those arguments had really been serious, and in the end, Jean-Luc Picard had won it. For the ten years prior to Picard's death, Q had tried every trick in the book to convince his mortal lover to agree to being made immortal. Given that Picard had even refused the new prolong treatments, Q should have known better. Indeed, after the very first discussion, he had known he wasn't going to win, but he had continued to try nonetheless. "I won't do it Q, and that's that," Picard had insisted the last time they had quarreled about it, a week before he died. "You can keep pestering me, but you're just wasting our time." He had leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, effectively ending the conversation. Q had been left with nothing more to say on the subject and had vanished. He rematerialized on one of the low hills that overlooked the estate, and had proceded to blow out a portion of the ancient stone wall that surrounded one of the vinyards. It hadn't really helped and he sighed and waved a hand, restoring the wall. When he reappeared in the sunny parlor, Picard spoke without opening his eyes. "I hope you fixed it." "Fixed what?" "Whatever you blew up." When Q didn't reply, Picard had opened his eyes and stared at the entity. "Yes Sir," Q admitted sarcastically. "I fixed your precious wall. Will there be anything else?" "Yes, there will be." Picard's voice was suddenly very serious, and Q came to his lover's side and took Picard's thin hand in his. The years had pared away Picard's already lean form and now, at the end, he seemed to Q to be stripped down to the essentials, nothing but skin, bone and sheer will. But the eyes that locked with Q's still glittered with intelligence, and Picard's mind was as sharp as ever. "I' m going to be very selfish," Picard said. "I want you to stay with me, be with me at the end." "Do you really think so little of me?" "No, not at all," Picard replied gently. "I just know that this is harder than anything you've ever done. But . . . " and he smiled and spread his hands. "I *need* you." It was one of their oldest shared moments, a reminder to Q of the first time he'd heard those words and realized that there was more to this Human than he had thought. "Of course I'll stay," he replied lightly, knowing that his tone of voice didn't fool Picard for a second. "It would be a sad thing for a Master to abandon his pet at a time like this." He had captured Picard's wrists and pulled them gently together, reminding his lover of other shared moments. "Are you going to say anything?" Amanda's thought returned Q to the present. "Now would be the time." She gestured to one side. "Some of these people assume you're here. One of them," she glanced over at Crusher, "is certain." "That boy sees too much." Amanda laughed. "That *boy* is older than Picard was when you first met him." "Irrelevant. Anyway, I'm not going to ruin the moment. He agreed to this for a political reason. If I were to appear now . . well you know what would be said . . ." he let his voice trail off. Of the people who knew of his relationship with Picard, there had been a few who had wondered occasionally if Picard's spectacular successes had been brought about by his omnipotent lover. Q had always been very insulted by the notion; Picard's glories were in fact the result of Picard's own hard work and determination. Granted that his relationship with Q had taught him a great deal, and, regardless of the arguments, had given him an enviable emotional stability (being loved by a god did wonders for Picard's already high confidence), but Picard had never allowed Q to interfere in his accomplishments, either as Captain of the Enterprise, or later as the Federation's premier diplomat. He had stubbornly insisted on doing things his own way and making his own mistakes. *To think that he would have let *me* break that precious Prime Directive of his,* Q thought sardonically. He turned his attention back to the ceremony, as Captain Picard herself stepped forward and removed the blue flag from the torpedo case. After she folded it, she turned and handed it gravely to her father. The Admiral nodded, and the Captain gave a low voiced order to her first officer. Tractor beams gently lifted the torpedo case and carried it toward the shuttlebay doors. The assembled honor gaurd presented arms as the case floated out the great doors. "You're still very Human you know," Q said softly to Amanda, who had tears in her eyes. "I know. It's a strength." Q rolled his eyes. "Think of it though, it wasn't so long ago that half the people in this bay would have wanted to kill the other half. Now look at them, Kazons, Jem'hadar, Romulans . . . Q, I used to have *nightmares* about the Romulans when I was a little girl." As the torpedo cleared the doors, President Janeway spoke. "Please join in a moment of silence in memory of the great loss we all share." Her words, and the whole ceremony itself, were being broadcast through trans-space to the whole Federated Alliance, and now thousands of worlds went silent. Q, who was on the verge of making a flip remark to Amanda, suddenly went still. She smiled to herself, thinking that even a moment of silence would be quite the gesture from her mentor. "Listen!" he said, his voice alive with joy. "It's happened already." Effortlessly, she picked the origin of the sound he was listening to out of his mind. Following the wavelength, she heard a baby crying. "Is it . . .?" she started to ask, then she shook her head. Her companion was gone. *** "Come on, love, just a few more pushes . . ." Lilith glanced at the midwife as her lover clung to her hand and groaned. "Next . . . time . . . ooofff . . ." Sophia grunted through her heavy breathing "you . . . can . . . unnngh . . . fucking . . . do . . . this . . . ooof." The man whose lap she was resting in brushed a strand of sweaty hair of her forehead. "*You* . . . stay . . . out of . . .this . . . unnngh . . ." "That's good, keep bearing down Sophia," the midwife said calmly. She smiled reassuringly at Lilith, who looked a little pale. "She's doing great." *This is disgusting,* thought Q. *Maybe I *don't* want to be here for this part of it.* He had slipped back a few moments in time before he arrived, and now he rather regretted it. Automatically knowing that he was on a Human colonized world called Aradia, he settled down to wait the whole birthing process out. "OH . . . GODDESS . . . " Sophia shrieked. "Unnnghhh!!!" She gave one last push, and then fell back, panting. The midwife gently laid the newborn on Sophia's stomach, and Lilith leaned in to share the moment. "You two did nice work," the midwife said, smiling at both Sophia and the baby's father. Maelgywn shook his head, and patted Sophia's forehead with a damp washcloth. "She's beautiful, love," Lilith finally breathed. *She's hideous,* Q thought. *I'll be damn glad when they leave *this* method of propagation behind.* "Mmmm . . ." Sophia murmured. After a moment, the midwife handed Lilith's knife to her. Murmuring a prayer, Lilith carefully cut the cord, and the midwife gently picked up the baby. Missing the warmth and the heartbeat of her mother, the baby cried out. Unable to help himself, Q moved in, looking closely at the tiny girl. In a few days her skin would be pale with a hint of olive, but her hair would still be the same curly dark red. And her eyes . . . as he leaned in to look, she opened them and seemed to stare *right* at him. Although her eyes were blue, and would remain that way for the rest of her life, for a brief moment Q could have sworn they were hazel. *Welcome back,* Q said to the staring infant. *Things will be different this time.* Screwing up her face, the baby screamed at him. *Then again, maybe they won't.* The End *************************************************************** "This love it is alchemical It streams through many lives My lead heart changed to gold And karmic debts to realize" "Summer Solstice Passion" Kiva /////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// Ruth's Afternote: I told you in the intro. that the Epilogue was over-the-top; would I lie to you? I'm not just being weirdly witchy (or at least no more so than normal) or hopelessly romantic (again, no more so than usual); I *do* have a whole future planned out for this alternate universe that covers the large blank space between the end of Part Four and the Epilogue. It incorporates what was originally going to be the sequel to my other Q/Picard story "My Fair Jeanne." Because I think that *this* story has more depth, when I get around to writing the sequel, it will be to "His Beloved Pet." A word of warning: be patient. I have a life outside fan fiction (not to mention about three more Sara McNeil stories, a P/C thing, and a few other TrekSmut ideas), and this is going to take a hell of a lot of time. Ruth -- ****************** Ruth Gifford "There is water at the bottom of the ocean" "Once in a Lifetime" Talking Heads