OWNED pt 1/?
A/N: As some of you may know, I was recently very sick with food poisoning and all the grossness that followed. When I am really ill, I take out my frustrations on fictional characters. It gives me a sense of control which I acknowledge is not real. But it helps. Writing about d/s subject matters/stories is my only involvement in those lifestyle choices. I have had at least one friend express concern that I might write it in an unfulfilled desire to experience it. No thanks. If that’s your cup of tea, I have no beef with that. To each his own. But it is not now nor has it ever been a choice I would make.
Additionally, when I published this story in the usual places, I was lambasted for not providing sufficient warnings. So, to avoid that here:
WARNINGS: This story is rated a hard NC-17 for a reason. It includes images of non-consensual corporal punishment, involuntary (albeit temporary) confinement, what might be viewed as head-games. If any of those concepts are triggers for you, please please don't read it!!!!
To read more about how posting this seemed to make me the devil spawn, you can see that information on my blog.
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They watched as the man in the center of the light slowly regained consciousness. The taller, fairer of the two did a better job of hiding the uncertainty they were both feeling at the decision they had made. Maybe there was an alternative left they had not tried but this felt like their last choice.
The beautiful man in the light blinked his eyes in confusion, a wave of fear and uncertainty reflected on his face. He tried using his hands to discover that they were chained behind his back. His ankles were also chained, the two chains looped together in such a way that he was unable to straighten completely. That he was naked seemed par for the course and if he realized his state after awakening they could not tell precisely when he knew.
They could see the moment when he realized his complete vulnerability, watching as those emotions were erased, replaced by hard resolution. Whoever had done this, for whatever reason, was not going find his cooperation easy to come by.
He finally struggled to his knees, resting his weight on his calves. This position created no tension in the two chains and he was able to more fully consider his circumstances. The two men out of his sight waited for him to speak. They could see him calculating, considering, weighing. Because he was positioned beneath the only light source, he could not see them although they suspected he detected their presence. The light was warm and soothing rather than harsh and glaring as someone being held prisoner might expect.
“Well?” he finally said, his voice commanding and angry. “What do you want?”
They waited.
“Who they hell are you? Show yourself. Get on with it, whatever you intend,” he said, his voice overly loud in the quiet space.
They could feel the shock course through his body when they entered the light. He squinted his bright blue eyes at them, shaking his head to clear it.
“What the fuck?” he shouted at them. “What the hell is the meaning of this?”
“Rule number 1,” McCoy said, holding up his index finger. “You don’t speak unless you are spoken to. If you forget, you will be punished.”
“Punished? What the fuck are you talking about?” Jim yelled at them.
“Since this is a new rule, you have three chances to remember. You’ve used up one chance,” McCoy told him calmly.
“You can’t do this. This is mutiny. I’m your Captain and I order you to release me,” he shouted.
“That is your second infraction,” Spock informed him in his typically infuriating even tone. “You are not currently Captain. Admiral Pike has relieved you of command for the duration.”
“The duration of what?” Jim demanded, his eyes narrowed in anger.
“That is your third infraction. The next time you speak without permission, you will be punished,” Spock told him.
“Permission? How can I ask permission if I can’t talk?” Jim yelled.
“You're the genius. You figure it out,” Spock said, further infuriating Jim.
“How dare you? Release me. Right now.”
“You’re hardly in a position to make demands, Jim,” McCoy told him calmly. “You are adding to your punishment for speaking without permission. I’d stop now if I were you.”
“If you were me, you’d be up on charges so fast your head would spin,” Jim told them in a cold, hard voice. How could they do this to him? He two closest friends. His sometimes-more-than friends. What the hell?
“Rule number 2,” McCoy continued as though Jim hadn’t interrupted. “The door is locked. Spock and I have to both enter our codes to open it. No doubt you could hack through it but you won’t be alone long enough to figure it out. So it would be easier all around if you didn’t bother.”
Jim stared at him, ferocious blue eyes meeting determined hazel.
“There is a bathroom to your left. Should you need to utilize it, you must point to it and you will be escorted,” Spock said.
Jim turned his angry, burning gaze to Spock but did not otherwise acknowledge his words.
“We have a fully stocked kitchen. You won’t go hungry,” McCoy promised him. “Are you hungry now?”
Jim stared at him, not otherwise answering.
“That’s fine. You’ll let us know,” McCoy said with a nod, looking over at Spock who also nodded. They turned and left the light, pausing when Jim made a noise in the back of his throat.
“Was there something you wished to say?” Spock asked Jim from just outside the light.
“You’re leaving me? Like this?” Jim demanded, sounding for all the world like he was not the one chained naked in the middle of the floor.
“We’re going to have some lunch,” McCoy explained. “Lights 25%.”
The lights slowly illuminated the room. It was much bigger than it felt, furnished with a huge bed, several comfortable chairs, and a small table up against the opposite wall. There were four closed doors all with electronic locks. There were no windows and no source of natural light.
“I will remain here while Leonard prepares our lunch,” Spock explained, sitting at the table. “You will not be left alone.”
Jim did not respond but followed McCoy with his eyes as he unlocked and opened one of the doors, disappearing behind it. Spock sat placidly at the table, watching Jim with nearly unnerving scientific disinterest.
Jim shifted, trying to relieve some of the pressure on his knees caused by his position. It wouldn’t be much longer until his feet were completely numb.
“Are you uncomfortable?” Spock asked with the same disinterest.
Jim reluctantly nodded once, staring at him the entire time, hoping his immense displeasure was coming through his expression.
Spock nodded, rising to take a small object out of the pocket of his black pants. He knelt behind Jim and released his wrist so that the chains were no longer bound together. “Put your hands in front and I will bind them there.”
Jim reluctantly brought his hands forward, watching as Spock moved to stand before him. He took a wild swing at Spock who easily caught his fist, squeezing it in a painful grip.
“This is a fight you cannot win,” Spock said, staring down at him.
Jim stared back, still defiant and angry. Spock increased the amount of pressure on Jim’s fist and Jim had to break eye contact.
“Was there something you wished to say?” Spock asked him, staring down at the top of his head.
“Sorry,” Jim ground out reluctantly.
“More sincerity would serve you better,” Spock informed him, still holding tight to his fist.
“I’m sorry. Let go.”
“I accept. However you are not in a position to make demands.”
“Please let go,” Jim amended.
Spock nodded and released him, fastening his wrists together in front with no further outbursts.
“Here we are,” McCoy announced brightly when he returned, two plates piled high with leafy greens, strawberries and plenty of grilled chicken on one. “Do you get now that you aren’t the one in control?”
Jim refused to answer, staring down at his bound wrists as though he could will the chains to part. He looked around the room where he was being held, wondering where they were. They weren’t on the ship. He didn’t hear the ever-present hum that was a part of their world on board the Enterprise. He supposed their location didn’t much matter. Except if they thought he was going to remain their docile prisoner, they didn’t know him very well after all.
Reviewing the rules he had been given, he decided to try standing up. They hadn’t said it was forbidden. On shaky knees, he slowly rose, waiting to make sure the floor would remain steady beneath him.
“Lights 50%,” McCoy ordered before returning to his casual conversation with Spock about… something. Glancing over at them, Jim noticed that Spock’s hand lightly covered McCoy’s.
Jim took a tentative step, finding it more difficult than he had hoped. The chain between his ankles was less than 15 cm in length. Hardly long enough to walk effectively.
He slowly crossed over to the door closest to him, studying the control box that secured it.
“We told you that you won’t be able to open them. Spare us and you a lot of trouble and let it be,” McCoy advised.
Jim turned to face them, straightening slightly before leaning against the cold, hard door.
“We are aware that escape is taught as a priority in Command training,” Spock reminded him. “It would be a useless gesture if you were to succeed. You are without clothing and your ankles are bound. How far do you think you would get if you could open the door?”
“You also aren’t in a hostile situation,” McCoy reminded him.
Jim nodded in contradiction to McCoy’s words, defiance on his face.
“All right,” McCoy said, returning to talk to Spock.
Jim turned his focus on the chain binding his wrists. It was apparently welded to the bracelet that encircled each wrist. The links of the bracelet were flat against his skin, about the size of an old Earth quarter but elongated rather than round. He couldn’t determine what kept the links of the bracelets secure but he knew he would not be able to break them. As they fit his wrists and ankles perfectly, he wondered if they were custom made for just him. Didn’t seem like items which could be purchased at random.
When had they done all of this? It had taken some advance planning on their part to put all the wheels into motion. And since the crew was on shoreleave for the next two weeks, no one would miss any of them.
He’d been planning to take shoreleave in Tahiti, sailing, swimming, drinking, screwing away the last two tension filled years. Of course they had known about his plans, the only two who did. He had thought Spock was going to New Vulcan and Bones was going to Georgia. But truthfully when they had discussed their plans, he hadn’t paid as much attention as they had warranted. He could admit that to himself.
He softly cleared his throat, attracting their attention.
“Yes?” Spock asked him.
Jim nodded toward the direction of the bathroom, his bladder making demands of him that he could no longer ignore.
“Very well,” Spock said, standing. McCoy also stood, gathering the remnants of their meal. “I will send him to you as soon as he is finished.”
McCoy nodded, leaving without further comment. Spock stood and waited for Jim’s slow approach, following him into the huge bathroom. Jim had to stop and stare at the luxury of the bathroom, all marble and brilliant tile. It was in sharp contrast to the utilitarianism of the room where he was being held. The bright cream floor felt cool under his feet, not unpleasantly so.
“Come,” Spock said, a light hand on the small of Jim’s back to propel him to the toilet. Jim allowed himself to be guided, waiting. “You asked to come.”
Jim started and looked up at Spock before looking down at his unencumbered penis.
“You are allowed to take care of your bodily functions. Outside of this room, you will not touch yourself. Nor will you touch yourself in any sexual manner while here,” Spock instructed.
Jim grasped his penis, releasing the flow and finding instant relief. He’d been so consumed with his circumstances, he’d failed to realize how badly he had needed to go.
“Wash your hands,” Spock instructed, the water on and warming up. Spock held a towel at the ready for when Jim had finished, drying his hands with great care, something Jim could have as easily done.
Spock guided him out of the bathroom, turning left to go with him to a small, previously unnoticed alcove. The three meter wide, three meter deep space was dominated by what looked like a gigantic metal X. There was no doubt what the purpose of it was. And had there been, the fact that McCoy was standing next to it with a menacing riding crop would have provided ample evidence.
Jim made a strangled noise, stopping and resisting Spock’s pressure to advance.
“You aren’t getting out of it, Jim,” McCoy said with some sympathy. “We told you that infractions would be met with punishment. What did you suppose that meant?”
Jim looked wide eyed from McCoy to Spock and back. This couldn’t be happening. His two best friends, his two most trusted officers, had imprisoned him, and now intended to beat him. Surely he was in a nightmare, one he could will himself to end.
The hand on his back pressed harder but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t simply surrender to what they wanted to happen. He would not. Instinct took over and he started to fight. He knew he couldn’t win and one well placed Vulcan nerve pinch ended his struggles.
He slowly woke to find himself bound wrist and ankle to the X. Now he was going to be beaten while recovering from a nerve pinch headache. This day was turning out just peachy. Maybe they were on Delta Vega and they could just open the door and throw him out instead of jettisoning him in an escape pod. Maybe Spock Prime would rescue him. Or at least explain what the fuck was going on.
He squinted at the soft noise to his right, staring into McCoy’s hazel eyes.
“Welcome back.”
Jim made no response, looking to his left and as far over his shoulder as he could.
“He’s not right here. He’ll be back in a minute,” McCoy told him, unerringly guessing what Jim was looking for. “He doesn’t want to be here when I beat you. I respect that.”
Jim sneered at him, wanting to retort but not wanting to add to his punishment.
“It is ironic,” McCoy said as though Jim had spoken. “A physician willing to inflict pain. But not so ironic when you consider it. There was a time when curing people meant not being able to avoid inflicting pain. I don’t enjoy causing my patients pain. But even now, it still happens. Can’t be a good doctor if you aren’t willing to cause a little suffering.”
Right then, Jim hated McCoy. Hated everything about him – his confident air; his black hair that was always slightly out of control; his hazel eyes that saw everything and revealed to only a select few what he knew; his gentle hands that could provide such joy and were about to bring pain; his full lips that were never more beautiful then when they were stretched wide around Jim’s yearning erection. Everything. Jim snarled at him, wondering if that was disallowed under the “no talking” rule.
“Yeah, I know. I’d hate me too,” McCoy agreed. He shrugged, dismissing the idea. “How’s your head?”
Jim refused to respond, simply staring at McCoy with frozen blue eyes.
“So it still hurts. Well. Let it be a lesson to you. You know you can’t win. Fighting only wears you out and annoys us. Well, me.” McCoy looked down at the crop in his hand before meeting Jim’s eyes. “This is going to hurt quite a bit. It is not meant to break the skin. Only raise welts. If I do inadvertently break your skin, I’ll heal it. And if the pain when it’s over is too much, you may request a hypospray.”
“Then what’s the point?” Jim asked quietly, some of his defeat showing through in his voice.
“An object lesson. You are owed 25 strokes – five each for the three times you spoke without permission, five for resisting your punishment, and five for considering how you could hot-wire the door.”
“I never touched it,” Jim protested.
“No but you would have if we hadn’t stopped you. You won’t have time to hack through the codes, I’m telling you. Spare yourself the additional punishment by staying clear of the doors.”
Jim broke eye contact, instead staring straight ahead.
“I take it you are ready,” McCoy said, moving next to him. Without further warning, McCoy raised the crop, the menacing whoosh warning of the impact. When it came, it hurt but not as badly as Jim had expected. McCoy was taking it easy on him. Which was probably just as well. He wasn’t sure he would make it through all 25 even with McCoy’s light hand. “That’s 14,” McCoy announced, slightly breathless.
Jim was panting from the pain, sweat beads glistening all over his body. He hadn’t kept close track of each stroke but he was pretty sure through the fog of pain there had only been 9. He certainly wasn’t going to inform McCoy of his error.
McCoy rounded to his right side, making certain both sides were equally stripped with fiery red welts. From his calves to his shoulders, there was no part of his back that had not been set ablaze. He was breathing fire, sweat rolling from his hair down his back, igniting sparks in the lines McCoy had left.
“That’s all of them,” McCoy announced, looking over as Spock approached.
“Nicely done, Leonard,” Spock said in approval. “Well spaced. No broken skin.”
McCoy nodded, studying his own handiwork before moving to stand in front of Jim. His eyes were tightly closed, his lips parted as he panted for enough air. Sweat rolled down his face, possibly mixed with some tears but they were not going to comment on that possibility.
A gentle hand applied a cooling cloth to his face and he opened his eyes in surprise. Spock was bathing his skin, bringing some relief to the heat consuming him.
“Drink,” Spock instructed, holding a straw to his mouth. “Slowly.”
Jim gratefully sipped the water, trying hard not to gulp it down. He knew if he did, it would come right back up. He backed away when he’d had enough, at least for now.
Spock applied the cooling cloth to the back of Jim’s neck, whispering in his ear. Jim wasn’t sure what Spock was saying through the haze of pain but the sounds were immensely comforting. While Spock was still cooling him with the towel, Jim felt a spray being applied to the welts that had been raised. It seemed to numb them slightly, making the pain more manageable. Still bad but not trying to burn away his soul.
Spock used the towel one last time on his face, careful to collect the moisture from beneath Jim’s nose. While Spock was tending to him, McCoy was releasing his ankles, then his wrists. Spock turned him by the waist and hoisted him over one shoulder, easily caring Jim to the gigantic bed. Jim was very carefully deposited close to one side, his right wrist and ankle secured to the head and footboard.
He lay sprawled on his stomach, wondering how it had come to this. What the hell? was all he could think. Before he had any time to get past that thought, the familiar press of a hypospray against his neck provided him blissful unconsciousness.
Thursday, June 16, 2011 at 9:21PM 