From: "ASCEML" To: "(ASCEML)"< (asceml@aol.com)> Date: Sun, 23 Nov 1997 00:42:46 +0000 Subject: ASCEML - REP: The Collar (TNG, P/Q, bdsm) 1/1 Date: Wed, 20 Nov 1997 To: From: astarte@cyberg8t.com (atara stein) Organization: GiffStein Productions Subject: REP: The Collar (TNG, P/Q, bdsm) 1/1 Well, many might question whether these characters are still recognizably Paramount's, but at least within *my* own warped reading of them, they are. As always, I've enjoyed bending them to my own perverse purposes. So, anyway, I was in a glb bookstore, reading as how lesbians shouldn't engage in S/M relationships because, among other things, masochism glorifies weakness. Au contraire! as his Qness would say. If you don't like the idea of our noble Capitaine being hurt and humiliated, do not read any further (and don't say I didn't warn you--even I was surprised at how rough parts of this were! ;-) ). But if you can imagine the possibility of strength in submission, do read on. Don't worry, this vignette isn't nearly as polemical as the introduction! I should note, before proceeding, that I'm presuming (based on "His Beloved Pet") that Picard and Q are in an ongoing relationship structured by dominance and submission as well as S/M. The roles are already clearly established, but there's always something new to learn! :-) The Collar, by Atara Stein by Atara Stein Copyright (c) 1996 This is dedicated, with the utmost respect, to my Mistress, Ruth, who never ceases to be an inspiration to me, in many more ways than i can possibly enumerate. make a whole new religion a falling star that you cannot live without and i'll feed your obsession there'll be nothing but this thing that you'll never doubt --Garbage, "Supervixen" (Almo Sounds, 1995) Jean-Luc Picard strode down the corridor to the turbolift, still marveling that he could have been up all night yet still feel completely rested and refreshed. And what a night . . . Hours of teasing, torment, and sheer agony, and he had not been allowed to come until morning, just long enough before he had to get up to give him time to thrash and convulse and howl in an orgasm that seemed to go on and on and then to curl up, shaking and weak and overwhelmed, in his lover and Master's arms until the flood of emotion washed through him, leaving him fulfilled and at peace. And he hadn't felt at peace for the entire night. Q had arrived, peremptorily stripped off Picard's clothing with a wave of the hand, and had ordered his possession down on knees and elbows, legs spread wide, ass high in the air. He had begun raking his nails over Jean-Luc's ass, using his powers to intensify the pressure just enough to leave visible red lines all over. Picard had suddenly felt a sharp pang of disappointment, but knew it would be bad form to reveal it openly. He had emitted just the slightest sigh, letting his head sink just slightly more than usual into the pillow Q had indulgently allowed him. No matter; even without Q reading his mind, the entity kept his powers of perception sharpened at all times with Picard, and noticed. "What is it, boy?" Picard felt a flush of embarrassment flood his face with heat, and he could barely force himself to utter the question, "Have I displeased you . . . , Master?" "Why, no, boy. Is there something my pet wants?" Picard blushed redder. He knew now what Q was doing, and he was going to have to humiliate himself completely, if it wasn't humiliating enough to be in the pose he was in. "Please Master," he whispered, "may I please have my collar?" Q's hand shot forward and gripped the back of Jean-Luc's neck in a steely grasp. "Ah, my pet misses his collar? He needs it, doesn't he?" Q mocked. "Yes, *please*, Master," Picard begged desperately. No matter how many times Q put him in the position of having to confess his urgent need to submit, it was still almost impossible for him to form the words. "I . . ..need . . . my . . . collar . . . Master . . . I . . . don't . . . feel . .. ," he wavered; then the words came in a rush: "like myself without it." "What a *good* boy to tell his Master that!" crooned Q with surprising sincerity. "You really were born to submit, weren't you, pet? You just needed to find someone you could submit *to*." "Yes, Master," replied Picard and was rewarded with the appearance of his black leather collar around his neck. The torments had then continued, after Q warned his pet that it would be a very long night. Q had gone back to his occupation of tracing a web of painful scratches all over Picard's buttocks before moving on to a series of other activities: ordering Picard to go down on him on his knees; forcing Picard to crawl around his quarters with weighted clamps dangling from his nipples and a leash attached to a cock ring, then making him crouch in a corner, like a dog, with his nipples still throbbing and burning from the clamps that Q occasionally twisted and his cock embarrassingly adorned and erect--with the leash tied to a ring that materialized nearby on the floor so that Picard could not move; beating his boy with a cane and a heavy leather paddle, then tracing all the etched lines and raised welts on Picard's ass with perfectly aimed, dripping trails of hot wax. Naturally his nipples, cock, and balls had come in for seemingly hours of teasing, ranging from the gentlest sensations to ferociously painful pinches and squeezes. For most of the night, Picard's ass was stretched and aching with a wide plug, and Q occasionally did something to make the plug sting and burn. Yet somehow, his neck seemed to be Q's focus--the entity's hand seemed repeatedly to be coming down to grasp the back of Picard's neck or to grip it tightly in front, pressing hard enough to cause Jean-Luc a brief surge of panic, but not pressing hard enough to do damage. That was how Picard had finally come. He was on his back, arms bound together above his head, his legs spread and his ass upraised. Q had fucked him slowly and maddeningly, concentrating entirely on his own pleasure, using his pet solely as a means for his own gratification. Only after he had achieved his own climax, did he turn his attention to Jean-Luc. With one hand, he firmly gripped the front of Jean-Luc's neck; with the other he grasped Jean-Luck's cock. With complete control he increased the pressure on his slave's neck, while sliding a hot and well-oiled hand slowly up and down Jean-Luc's cock. The closer Jean-Luc came to coming, the more the pressure from both hands increased. "Only I can do this to you," chanted Q insistently. "You're *my* property, *my* possession, and I can take you any way I want." Picard couldn't nod or voice agreement due to the hand wrapped around his neck; he had just enough air to keep breathing. His eyes widened with desire and fear; it never ceased to terrify him to realize how much he *needed* Q to own him and take him like this. When his orgasm surged through him, he thrashed in a frenzy, and Q released his neck, so he could howl out his release. He had shaken and wept in Q's arms for longer than usual that morning. When he was relatively calm, he had knelt next to the bed to have his collar removed. When Q's fingers undid the lock, he felt another rush of tears rise to his eyes. Q was very gentle, touching Picard's neck lightly with his fingertips, and murmuring, "Don't you know, by now, johnny, that you're *always* mine, and I'm always with you?" He then disappeared, leaving Jean-Luc refreshed, clean, dressed, and at peace, feeling, paradoxically, like he had had a full night's sleep and had been completely emotionally, spiritually, and sexually satisfied at the same time. *There's certain advantages to an omnipotent lover,* thought Picard to himself as he left his quarters, tugging firmly on the front of his uniform as part of his ritual to return himself to his professional role. It was only when he entered the turbolift, that he noticed the light pressure all around his neck. He reached up and felt all around and could feel nothing with his fingers and knew there was nothing to see, but the sensation on his neck was unmistakable--it was the sensation of a leather collar. Picard stopped the turbolift and sank against the wall. *Q . . . please . .. . * he asked silently. *It won't interfere with your duties if you don't let it, johnny*, the entity replied in Jean-Luc's mind. *I can't, Q . . . I can't blur those lines, I can't let what we do bleed over into my Captain's chair.* *It's about time you learned, johnny, that those vaunted lines of yours don't exist. What you *can't* do is keep insisting that you're two separate people. When you're with me, you're still the Captain, and when you're on the bridge, you're still my possession. I thought you could use a little reminder of who you *are*, boy.* Q's voice inside Jean-Luc's head paused; then Jean-Luc felt a firm, if invisible, hand lightly grip his neck just above the invisible collar. The voice resumed, *I wouldn't have done this to you, johnny, if I didn't know you were strong enough to deal with it. You show me how strong you are every time you submit yourself to me, and I'm extremely proud of you, boy. Why don't you show me some of that pride in yourself? There certainly isn't any *other* person who's earned the privilege of wearing *my* collar all the time.* Q appeared suddenly in the turbolift, his hand grasping the invisible collar. He kissed his pet hard, his tongue probing deeply into Jean-Luc's mouth, and Picard felt the same strength and power surging through him that he felt when he had surrendered, obeyed, and given himself to Q with perfect grace and absolute submission. "Yes, Master, you're right, Master" he said in a strong voice, after Q broke off the kiss. "Thank you for this honor, Master. I will do everything in my power to live up to it." Jean-Luc bowed his head slightly, but he let a small smile escape his mouth and glint briefly in his eyes. Q returned the smile of shared complicity, slapped Jean-Luc sharply on the ass, and said, "Now get to work, johnny; don't you have a job to do?" "Yes, Master," returned Picard with a grin. Q disappeared, and when Picard emerged onto the bridge from the turbolift, his back was straight, his stride sure as he advanced toward his chair and greeted his officers. His only struggle was trying to suppress the smile of pride and giddy pleasure that kept creeping to his lips as he felt the constant light pressure of the invisible collar around his neck. The End