The BLTS Archive- The First Date

---

Archive: Yes, please. Archivists, this is a revised version  of the
story I posted in August 2000. Please archive this version.  Thank
you.

First in a series. Feedback: I believe some people have found this
story disturbing. Perhaps it is. I'm eager to know what you think.
Praise and criticism will be gratefully received. Flames go on your
permanent record and will keep you from ever achieving  anything
worthwhile.

My thanks to beta readers Fanny and Delta V.

Star Trek is the property of Paramount. I know that.  Everybody knows
that. I wish I didn't have to waste  bandwidth pointing it out, but
there you go. This story was  written for fun. I'm sure Paramount
doesn't want it.

(c) 2000

---

I handcuffed him to the bed on our first date. I'm not  usually quite
that forward but he was so easy to read. So  confident and comfortable
in his admiral's stripes, as if  he'd been born with them. But when I
led the conversation  around to certain exploits of the Enterprise, he
set his jaw  a little more firmly and I knew. I've seen it in so many
of  his kind. Despite all his accomplishments and achievements-- or
perhaps because of them--there was a certain pain, a  poignant
weariness very near the surface. Too many deaths,  too many lucky
escapes, too much awareness of the sacrifices  of others... There was
really only one thing he wanted. And  I was just the woman to give it
to him.

I first saw him at Admiral Nogura's weekly staff meeting  where he was
introduced as the new Chief of Fleet  Operations. Naturally I'd heard
of him. Who in Starfleet  hasn't heard of James Kirk? I'd followed his
escapades, I'd  read his service record, and I'd even accessed the
unofficial reports, exercising a privilege that is one of  the very
few perks of heading up Technical Operations. So I  knew more about
him than anyone else in that room. Still,  there are some things a
girl has to verify for herself.

The curiosity lighting his hazel eyes told me that he'd  heard of me
as well. I do have a certain notoriety and, to  be honest, I'm proud
of it. After the meeting broke up, I  took him out to dinner. Over
coffee, I said, "I don't know  what you've heard about me..."

I paused for dramatic effect and he cocked his head  expectantly, his
mouth curving in a rakish half-smile. I  looked him straight in the
eye.

"...but it's all true."

---

He was so beautiful, stripped naked and lying on my bed, his  hands
resting easily on the pillow as I slipped the chain  behind the sturdy
center rung of the headboard and closed  the other cuff around his
wrist. The chain has a few extra  links to allow some movement and the
velvet-lined cuffs will  leave no marks should such movement take the
form of  struggling. He observed this evidence of my expertise with
obvious interest but I couldn't tell if he found it  reassuring or
worrying. I hoped it was both.

I keep my bedroom a little too warm just for occasions like  this. To
see the sweat of a man's body reflecting golden  candlelight and
silvery moonlight, to wet my hands by  running them through his matted
hair and then dry them by  pushing my own hair up from my neck and
shoulders, to inhale  the mingled smells of arousal and perspiration,
to capture a  salty droplet just as it slithers into the hollow of his
throat--heat, heat everywhere, manifesting itself in every  way
possible.

That night, the very air felt thick and overburdened with  it. I felt
it curling furtively around me until the sheer  closeness of it
stopped my breath. I was drowning in heat  and when I looked at Jim
and saw that it had polished his  body to a shining slickness, I knew
I would drag him under  with me.

"Do you trust me?" I whispered.

He smiled. "I'm here, aren't I?"

Yes, he was. And he wanted so much from me.

I was very gentle as I ran my hands over his body, I took my  time, I
sucked his lips, I knelt above him and let my  breasts brush his
chest. I didn't bite, I didn't grope, I  didn't coerce. Standard
operational foreplay.

Was he disappointed? Hell, yes. But I wasn't. If there's one  thing I
love, it's taking a man who thinks I'm one thing and  shattering that
belief by being another. It's important to  keep him off balance, so
at first, I let him think that I  sought nothing more than a
whisper-thin illusion of control.  He had "indulged" me by
"submitting" to the handcuffs and I  returned the favor by letting him
think that such a little- girl idea of bondage was as far as my
imagination ran. As I  sat back on my haunches and frowned as if
uncertain of what  to do next, I congratulated myself on how well I
was playing  my role. Of course underneath, I was practically
salivating  in anticipation of the moment when I would reveal the
sharp  edge of my naughtiness.

After several ridiculously coquettish minutes of tracking  beads of
sweat along his muscles and purring, "Shall I touch  you here? Here?
How about here?"--never actually touching  anywhere he wanted me to,
of course--I ruffled the damp  tufts of hair under his arms. He
wrenched away and I felt  the rattle of the chain all the way down my
spine.

"Ticklish?"

Wide-eyed but not quite so innocent anymore, I drew one  finger down
his ribcage. He jumped and pulled against the  handcuffs again. It's
amazing how many men will staunchly  face every pain and humiliation I
can provide but will quail  at the mere thought of being tickled until
they can't even  get enough air to scream.

"Lori, don't!"

It wasn't a request, it was an order and a slightly angry  one at
that. I believe it was the last one he's ever given  me. I still
treasure the memory of the biting tone, the  warning glare, the hard
line of his mouth. Knowing he has  that in him is the fuel of my
fantasies.

"Don't worry, I'm not into that. I just wanted to know."

I was quite sincere in that statement--tickling is for  children--but
I was devious enough to enjoy using sincerity  as part of the charade.

I kissed him, a long, slow kiss, until I felt him relax. I  did
everything slowly that night. I think it was more of a  torture for me
than it was for him. I sucked his nipples for  what seemed like hours
before biting them and stroked his  cock even longer before giving it
an unhurried squeeze to  show him the edge of pain. I was sure he'd
had much worse  and I certainly intended to surpass any previous
experiences  he might have had, but not that first night. That night,
I  wanted to hurt him just a little and pleasure him quite a  lot and
I wanted him to know that I was capable of much  more.

And, oh yes, I wanted to scare him.

There's really only one way to scare a man like Jim. You  have to let
him do it for you. And if he has a good  imagination--and Jim
does--well, there's nowhere you can't  go on imagination, and all
without lifting a finger.

"You don't trust me, Jim. Not really. Not yet," I said as I  rolled
him onto his stomach. "You trust yourself. You've  done quite well
trusting yourself. Even chained to my bed,  you still think you're in
control because you're 'letting'  me do this. On your knees, darling.
That's it. You're  thinking, 'What is she going to do next?' and
you're  perfectly comfortable with not knowing because you're sure
you're in control."

I pushed his knees apart and took a moment to admire the  view. His
asscheeks were round and taut and his balls  dangled below like ripe
fruit about to drop from the tree. I  cupped them in one hand and
fondled them for a short while.  When he began moving in a way that
urged me to turn my  attention to other areas, I smacked each cheek
hard. My palm  stung from the impact, but I felt it was important to
make  that first disciplinary contact flesh to flesh. I needed to
make my point and as the repeated spanks turned his skin an  enticing
crimson, his almost-muffled grunts told me I was on  the right track.

"You're not in control, Jim, and there's no need to insist  that you
are or even that you want to be. It's time to let  go of yourself and
start trusting someone else."

I lay down beside him and studied his face. Desire was so  blatantly
displayed that I rewarded him by nipping his lower  lip to see if he
liked that, too. He did. He lifted his  head, seeking more, and I
kissed him deeply, again leading  him on, letting him think that I
would take my cues from  him. I sucked his lip into my mouth and took
it between my  teeth, holding it in a light bite and slowly freeing it
by  pulling back. He made a small noise, half-sigh, half-moan,  and I
knew he enjoyed both the physical sensation and  emotional affirmation
of *Ask and you shall receive.* I let  him have that, perhaps for a
few moments longer than usual,  but I couldn't help lingering over his
undaunted innocence  and relishing the anticipation of the moment when
I would  peel away the first layer of that illusion.

I turned him onto his back and straddled his stomach. Then I  leaned
over him until my hair tumbled forward and brushed  his chest. I moved
my head from side to side, letting the  long strands graze his
nipples. The muscles in his arms  tensed as he strained upward and he
murmured something about  the beauty of my hair. I didn't reply, but I
gradually  increased the action until my hair was slapping his chest
and face like a thousand tiny whips.

Finally I sat back and watched him move beneath me. I felt  his cock
pressing against my ass and I slid forward,  withholding what it was
seeking. He arched his back, trying  to manipulate me into the
position he wanted.

"Lori."

His voice was husky and brimming with desire, and I heard  all the
unspoken words hiding in that sound. *I want. Give  me. Now.*

He had said my name as if he could seduce me with just that,  as if
the word gave him some sort of power over me. It was  an eloquent
evocation of his history, and I felt a certain  wistful envy of the
women who had surrendered to such a  summons. But I knew the hard
truth at the center of that  sound, a truth that had eluded the lovers
of his past, just  as he himself had. I would keep him as they had not
because  I know that words have power. I was glad to see that he
understood at least part of that.

"Jim," I replied, an acknowledgement that he had said my  name and
nothing more.

He slowly eased back down to the bed. I waited, watching the
candlelight soften his features and knowing it did the same  to mine.
When I spoke again, I was surprised at the depth of  my longing for
all that would follow. Something inside me  shuddered with anticipated
joy.

"I'm going to give you a safe word."

He frowned at me. Puzzled? Incredulous? Scornful? He was all  of
those, and I overflowed with satisfaction as I watched  him travel
that dimly lit path until he reached the answer.  When his expression
changed to one of understanding, I  waited a moment longer and then I
saw it. A flickering of  uncertainty, perhaps even fear. He had
reached the answer  beyond the answer.

He recovered almost immediately, suppressing his response  too quickly
for me to determine all the colors of what he  was thinking. It didn't
matter. I would see them all in due  time. For the moment, it was
enough to know that I had  hooked him.

That's the beauty of the safe word. It's both reassuring and
terrifying. On the one hand, it was a promise that gave him  the final
control. On the other, it made him wonder what I  was going to do that
made a safe word necessary.

I put my mouth to his ear and whispered the word that would  release
him from the grip of darker pleasures. As I did so,  I pulled open the
drawer of the small cabinet at my bedside.  I sat up and caught his
now wary eyes following mine. I  taunted him with my motions, not
letting him see what I had  retrieved from the cabinet. After settling
onto his hips  again, I held my closed fist over his chest. His
expression  was deliberately impassive and his refusal to betray
himself  with any emotion, even one as simple as curiosity, made me
smile. He was just as I had imagined him, just as I'd hoped  he would
be.

I turned my hand and slowly fed the thin strip of rawhide  through my
fingers until the tip hung just above his right  nipple. The cord was
strong and pliable and just the right  length to tie around a man's
scrotum with enough left over  for pulling. I didn't point that out to
Jim. He could see it  as well as I could and he was a man used to
thinking about  all the possibilities.

His lips parted slightly as he watched it sway just above  his chest.
It swung in a small circle of its own devising  and with each
quickening breath, his chest rose a little  closer to its touch.
Finally, just as the frayed end was  about to brush the peak of his
nipple, I lifted the cord  away and in the wake of his dashed
expectation, I snapped it  down sharply on the skin that I knew
hungered for it. The  sound of leather against sweat-soaked flesh
crackled like  summer lightning and the shriek of the chain gave voice
to  his surprise as he jerked away. I wound the cord up in my  hand,
giving him the briefest instant to appreciate the bite  of punished
flesh. With only a few inches hanging loose, I  put my hand behind my
back and let the dangling lash caress  whatever it happened to touch.
Half on his side but with his  hips still imprisoned between my knees,
he writhed in a  confused turmoil and I felt his cock moving behind
me,  alternately retreating from the intimation of pain and  leaping
toward it. I tightened my grip on the cord and swung  it a little more
forcefully, not nearly as hard as I had  snapped it against his chest
but enough to rekindle the heat  of its sting. His ragged groan
rumbled in my ears, and at  last he rolled onto his back, closed his
eyes, and let his  head fall back on the pillows.

Acceptance.

I began silently counting, one beat for each of his breaths.  By ten,
we were in perfect synchronization and I couldn't  have said if my
counting controlled his breathing or if he  drove my counting on puffs
of air. It really didn't matter.  I was glad to have a moment's
respite to enjoy the view from  this high plateau somewhere between
who we were separately  and who we will be together.

On the count of nineteen, he opened his eyes and I saw  something
else.

Craving.

Rewarding him with a well-pleased smile, I pulled my hair up  into a
twist, securing it with the strip of rawhide, and we   began our
journey.

---

He didn't need a safe word that night. I was quite gentle by  my
standards. A good hard spanking and a bit of rough  handling, enough
to leave him aching the next day but  nothing that he couldn't easily
conceal. I kissed, sucked,  nibbled, pinched, bit, slapped, squeezed,
and spanked. I  teased and tempted and played bait-and-switch until he
begged for release, but in the end, I fucked him to the moon  and
back. And the whole time, I knew he was thinking about  the safe word
and how adept I'd been with the handcuffs and  the rumors he'd heard
about me.

Afterwards, we held each other in a silence that I found  comforting,
but I'm familiar with the journey from light to  dark and back again.

"Why did you give me a safe word?"

His voice was hoarse, but I heard the steel under his  carefully
pitched question. It was a request for  information, neither a plea
nor a demand.

Sometimes a commander will ask a question to which he  already knows
the answer. I let him think about that as he  waited for me to speak.
Had he forgotten that I, too, wear  an admiral's stripes and know at
least as much about the  subtleties of authority as he does?

I said nothing. A good commander never answers a question  until she's
ready. Or if it means stating the obvious.

He didn't need a safe word, at least not that night. But now  he has
one.

---

The End