The Objects of Power

by Cheryl and David Petterson

From an original draft and conception by Cheryl Petterson and Susan Sizemore

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PART SEVEN

Jilla woke to a strange lethargy. Her mind felt coiled, a tight knot of numbed fear, but all her other senses were dark. She couldn’t tell where she was, tia told her nothing. Then her heart began to pound as she realized that her tia told her: nothing. She was nowhere and there was nothing around her. No sight, no sound, no sensation. Nothing. Panic grew and she grasped at the feeling in grateful horror.

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Sulu stood at the foot of the bed, wearing only a silken kimono of blood red, watching the figure tied there as she tried to wake. He was struck by the delicate beauty of her, not unlike Marlena’s. Except that Marlena, no matter how vulnerable she was, never looked anything but regal.

He waited. He saw the start that told him Jilla was conscious, then... nothing. He smiled as nothing more happened, knowing with some internal sense the struggle she engaged in. He saw the panic, saw her latching onto it, saw it leading her back to awareness. The disappointment was mild. After all, he really wouldn’t’ve wanted it to have been so easy.

She stirred, her body moving, stopped by the ropes that bound her arms and legs. He saw realization come into her as her eyes flew open. When her lips parted, ready to express her terror, he said, calmly, “Not one sound, Jilla.”

It caught in her throat with a choking, satisfying gasp. He sat on the bed, silently caressing her silvery skin. He kissed her, then reached up, stroking the length of her arms. Her eyes stayed riveted to his. “I wasn’t sure I’d be able to be here when you woke,” he told her. The silk sleeves brushed against her skin and she shivered. He allowed himself to appear surprised. “You like that?” he asked. When she nodded, her eyes closing, he again bent to thoroughly kiss her. “You’re very obedient, Jilla,” he whispered. “Do you know how that pleases me?” Again she nodded, this time meeting his gaze. Desire had completely replaced her terror, and he smiled at her. “You’re lovely,” he whispered to her, again caressing her full, soft body. “Almost too lovely.” He chuckled, his touch straying to the marks below her ears. “If it weren’t for the fact that you scar so nicely, I might not believe you were real.” A heady moan began, and he let his fingers tighten at her throat. “Jilla,” he cautioned, “not one sound.” Her eyes closed as she swallowed the moan. “Good girl,” he said, and kissed her a third time. His fingers wandered sensually over her and she shuddered with the building hunger. That’s right, he thought. Feel all you can. Then you’ll know just how much I’m taking away from you.

He moved onto the bed, opening his kimono, spreading it over her body like a blanket. “We’re going to have a marvelous evening, you and I,” he murmured. “A little pain first, to lend some excitement. You found it exciting, didn’t you, Jilla?” She whimpered, her skin taking on its tell-tale sheen. “Then,” he whispered, “a lot of pleasure.” The thrill raced through her and he kissed her fiercely, gripping her arms with savage strength. He filled his being with his own hunger, his own need, allowing it to overwhelm him so as to overwhelm her. He felt the cry of passion his kiss was silencing and pulled his mouth quickly away, hearing her desperate attempt to stifle the sound. She didn’t quite succeed. The malevolent joy was intoxicating as his hand slashed sharply across her face. He set his features into a mask of fury, knowing she would not be fooled even if it had been possible to keep the delight out of his eyes.

“I said not a sound,” he hissed at her. She trembled under him, her silence pleading. It sent a delicious thrill through him, and it was all he could do to continue the game. It was, he knew, his one weakness, the intensity with which he threw himself into his pleasures. But he needed more, she needed more before he could complete what he had brought her here to do. He forced himself away from the heady whirlwind. He would use it, but he would not yet lose himself.

He began slowly, teasingly, caressing the fear from her. Her skin was as silky as his clothing, and he used it to enhance the sensation of his touch. He concentrated on the feel of it under his fingertips. He bent his head to kiss her throat, savoring the clear, fresh taste. Looking up, he saw that her eyes were closed, her lips pressed tightly together to prevent any sigh from escaping her. He let the palm of his hand glide over her nipple, watching her swallow the moan of pleasure. He smiled, then returned his mouth to her, his tongue leaving swirls of wet arousal. His fingers danced over her, exciting, coaxing, giving more than enough to stimulate, but not quite enough to satisfy. He left every inch of her wanting just one more stroke. Her response was strong, her body writhing against the bed, but there was a tension in her, the continuing awareness of the need to keep silent. It filled him with pleasure. So strong, my little one, he thought. So good of you to make this a real challenge. His mouth found the sweetness of her thigh and a shudder went through her, her breath coming out in a long, but silent sigh. He kept on, tauntingly erotic, daring her to groan. His hands, his lips, the sensual silken material tantalized her, every muscle taut, reaching for his expert caress. Her skin was bright, her nipples hard, the folds between her legs moist and open. Gently he probed her and she inhaled sharply, an audible gasp.

Triumph shot through him, freeing his thoughts, his finely tempered imagination demanding release. He moved up over her body, off of the bed, discarding his kimono. Her eyes reflected her fear, but it was far overshadowed by the hungry desire. He kissed her, a hard, lustful, genuine kiss, then began joyfully beating her.

He used the strength and skill of his hands, nothing more. Her flesh was twisted, his nails biting into the tenderness of her breasts and thighs. He reveled in the livid, almost shimmering welts that rose on her silver skin. And in between the bruising, he used the same strength to embrace her, the same skill to continue her arousal. He sucked hungrily at her breasts, his touch and tongue trailing fire over her. He let the power and warmth of his own body keep her breathless and eager, craving more. When she cried out in pain, each sound was punished with a sharp blow. When she moaned under his fingers or his lips, she received the same punishment, then he carefully repeated the touch, tempting, taunting. Each time, she dutifully repeated the sound and he felt his incredulous joy magnifying, competing with his careful plans. The beating faded, the arousal growing, dominating both her and him. A breathless, throaty sigh escaped her, the sound only the barest whisper of his name and the joy prevailed. He drove into her, harsh, hungry, unable to wait long enough to punish her for the sound. He slid his arms under her shoulders, pulling her tightly to him, crushing her breasts with the fierce assault. He made it good and he made it last and soon she was freely crying out her desperate need. The joy reached its peak and broke in tumultuous waves, strategy reasserting itself within him. A delicious chill ran through his veins. He grasped her head, pulling her ear to his lips. His whisper was sibilant, sinister promise.

“I said not one sound.”

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McCoy poured a second glass of brandy and took a long drink before putting it down. He stared longingly at the bottle, then carefully replaced it in the cabinet and closed the panel. He couldn’t afford to get drunk. A temperate man always lived longer than an intemperate one. Except in Commander Sulu’s case. He bristled at the thought. He’d expected Costain to be sent to Sickbay while the Security Chief attended to Valley’s discipline. She hadn’t been. McCoy didn’t particularly care where she was now, but he knew Sulu. The bastard undoubtedly had something especially vicious in mind, and he’d leave Doctor Leonard McCoy to clean up the mess. The Captain, of course, would expect his pets back as good as new.

“I’m not a damned miracle worker,” McCoy muttered to himself, then downed the rest of his drink.

He was worried. What had he been thinking, actually trying to interfere with Sulu’s games? What had gotten into him?

Sulu. He hated even the sight of the vulture. He’d seen plenty of men who took pleasure in their work, but none of them like Sulu. If pressed, he would have had no trouble identifying the most bloodthirsty man in the Empire. Kirk needed his errand boy, McCoy knew that. Sulu was one of the reasons Kirk had stayed Captain. Somehow, Kirk had gotten both Sulu’s and Spock’s loyalty. The Vulcan was bad enough, but he, at least, minded his own business. Sulu made everything his business. It made him a very good security man. If that was all he was, McCoy wouldn’t’ve minded. He slammed his fist down on his desk, swearing gutturally.

He’s an arrogant, preening, malignant assassin who worships blood-letting and pays homage to pain and death. And it’ll suit that vulgar monster just fine to cause me real trouble over this.

Temperance be damned, I need another drink!

The door buzzer sounded. McCoy irritably hit the switch. “Who is it?” he growled.

“Lieutenant Uhura,” the on-duty man answered.

McCoy relaxed. He could use a friendly face, especially one so pretty. “All right, send her in.”

The door opened and Uhura undulated gracefully into the office. She was dressed in a bright yellow feathered halter and side-slit, floor-length skirt. Her clothing accented the deep ebony color of her skin, her more than ample bust-line, and her long, lithe legs. McCoy smiled appreciatively at the sight of her and motioned her to a chair. “You look lovely, as always,” he told her.

She smiled and sat down. Her voice was low and soft, enticing and sultry. “You haven’t been planetside yet, McCoy.”

“Sulu’s been keeping me busy,” he said, his tone one of contempt.

Uhura nodded sympathetically. “Paget, too,” she said. “I was hoping for some human company.”

McCoy chuckled. “He’s a lot like his boss, is he?”

“I almost feel sorry for Valley and Costain,” she rejoined. “But better them than me. While Sulu’s playing with them, he’s leaving the rest of the crew alone.”

“The gods be praised,” McCoy agreed.

Uhura walked around behind McCoy, fondly stroking his cheek. “He’s making life miserable for you, isn’t he, poor thing,” she breathed. “Sometimes I think he does his job too well.”

“He’s started having too much of his sick brand of fun on duty,” McCoy complained dourly.

“The Captain does spoil him,” Uhura agreed. Then, as if to add a bright note, continued. “Well, we always knew Kirk was a good master to loyal puppies.” McCoy chuckled again, hearing her deep sigh. “But orders are orders.” There was a pause. “As long as one has the strength to back them up.” McCoy looked up at her significantly, but her expression revealed nothing. She straightened. “Enough about Sulu and business. You are going to take leave, aren’t you?”

McCoy smiled. “I was plannin’ on it.”

She smiled back, stepping toward the door. “Then I suggest you get M’Benga to take your duty and take me dancing.”

“Is that an order, Lieutenant?” McCoy asked wryly as he stood.

Uhura’s smile was smoldering. “There’s a drink with your name on it,” she murmured. “And maybe something more.”

McCoy watched her glide through the door, Sulu completely forgotten.

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He had ordered silence, and she had disobeyed.

He had worked for, wanted her to cry out in both pleasure and pain, and she had done so. She had done what he wished.

But he had ordered silence.

Confusion seared into Jilla’s soul as Sulu got up from the bed. Had she done what he wanted? He was pleased, almost beyond words, yet... Why had he told her to be silent when he wanted her to cry out? Why had he worked to hurt her when he wanted only to give her pleasure? Why did he feign anger when he was overjoyed at her responses?

Her mind began to retreat, the emotions too strong, too contradictory. He had hurt her, and the pain had filled her with desire. He had aroused her, and she had feared it. Her cries satisfied him, yet he punished her for them, and enjoyed the punishment, made her enjoy it. It was too much, and her thoughts spiraled down into numbness, needing to escape the chaotic tumult. Sweet, dark nothing began to flow through her. Nothing. Insentience. Non-being. Come, it called to her. Here is release. He can’t touch you here. Nothing can touch you here. No confusion, no contradiction. No feeling...

No feeling? Panic welled up inside her. How could she not feel? To not feel was to be dead! With no tia, she was lost! With no tia... I’ll lose myself! I’ll cease to exist! No, no...!

Darkness. Escape. No more chaos, no more pain that is pleasure, pleasure that is pain. No more shame, no more despair. Release. Retreat. Sweet, sweet nothing....

Jilla felt it closing over her, too close now to stop it. Too black, too inviting, too strong...

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Her eyes had lost the both fear and desire and had become a dull, soft grey. Sulu watched for a few moments, satisfied with himself. She had pulled herself into a cocoon, dark and safe. He could let it smother her, or he could pull her out of it. Soon, he’d be the only thing that could pull her out. She’d return to Kirk, to Spock, the same, willing puppet, but she’d belong to him.

He waited until he was certain she was deep within the nothingness, then stepped to his dresser. He revolved it, retrieving the tamer from one of the drawers. He smiled at the device. He had created it, a specially adapted agonizer that could be set at varying intensities and gave more than pain. He considered it very aptly named.

Jilla’s eyes watched him without seeing him as he approached her. “You were very good,” he murmured, knowing she could not hear him. “But not very obedient. Except, of course, that you did everything I wanted you to do.” He smiled at her, then knelt at the side of the bed, and carefully, slowly, stroked her skin.

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The touch registered. Her skin warmed under it, the warmth sending light into the safe, terrible darkness. It pulled at her, coaxing her out and away from her dark haven, back to feeling, back to fear, back to life. She listened without hearing to Sulu’s careful explanation of what was coming. She saw the device, knew what it was. It would hurt her. Let me go, let me fall, I don’t want to hurt, I have to feel, I don’t want to hurt!

She started to whimper, her body tensing.

“Lie still, Jilla,” Sulu’s voice ordered softly. She moaned, helpless compliance. Her eyes closed, waiting, feeling the numbness begin again to creep inexorably over her as nothing happened. Silent sobs sounded in her mind, confusion again breaking her. Then she felt the pressure, just above her heart, the scream rising involuntarily.

It turned into a gasp of pleasure. Roaring, thunderous waves of sensation poured into her. Every inch of muscle and skin came alive with hedonism, drinking in the glorious, wanton satiation. She craved, selfish and erotic, and was immediately filled. Every sense was on fire, feeding gluttonously. Glorious, wondrous, so delicious and full and completing...

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Sulu lifted his hand, releasing Jilla from the tamer. She started with the shock of cessation, then shrieked, her body violently surging toward him, caught and held by the ropes which still bound her. Wordless cries escaped her, and he held the tamer where she could see it.

“Just ask me, Jilla,” he said gently.

The word burst from her lips. “Please!”

He bent over her, pulling her into an embrace. He swept the hair from her neck and shoulders, kissing her. She quivered against him with anticipation. He made an adjustment to the tamer’s settings, then set it to her shoulder.

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Blinding, agonizing pain ripped into her. Her nerves, raw from the stimulation, screamed with the harsh searing. Jilla twisted in her bonds, writhing helplessly against Sulu’s body, screaming with no restraint. It lasted only a moment, then was gone. She was left shaking, whimpering, the fear and shame swirling around her, calling the darkness to return.

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Sulu moved away from her, letting the numbness return. He waited, breathless, fighting his need to take her, until her sobs faded and her trembling was swallowed in dull emptiness.

“Jilla,” he whispered. She turned vacant eyes to him. He carefully reached up, releasing her arms, then just as carefully untied her ankles. She lay, unmoving, and he smiled. He held out the tamer to her. “Take this,” he said. She stared at it, uncomprehendingly. “Do you want to feel?” he asked. There was a hint of a moan deep in her throat. “You do, don’t you?” Her eyes returned to him, the sob almost audible. “Take it.” Her hand slowly rose, reaching for the device in his open palm. Her fingers closed around it and he flicked on the power switch, pulling his hand sharply away. She gasped, dropping it, her fingers going to her mouth, but her eyes came alive for almost a full minute.

“Turn it off, Jilla,” He told her. Her eyes pleaded with him. “You’ll feel, honey,” he promised. “Turn it off.”

Swallowing, she hesitantly put out her hand. He brought his down on top of it and the tamer and she began screaming. He forced her to pick it up, harshly pulled her other hand to it, making her finger work the switch, ignoring the pain that also seared into him. She collapsed into his arms, sobs tearing at her. He stroked her head.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “When you do what I tell you, you’ll be able to feel.” She clung to him, shaking. He adjusted the tamer’s setting. “Once more, Jilla. Pick up the tamer.” She shook her head violently. He pushed her carelessly away from him, leaving the bed. “All right,” he said, making his voice indifferent. He watched as darkness filled her eyes. She curled into a quiet, silver ball and he smiled. It’s so dark, isn’t it, little one? And so safe. And so dead. But you’re not quite ready to give it up, are you? Good. We wouldn’t want this to end too soon. After all, we’ve got all week.

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Ruth came to consciousness in a cell in the Brig. She had been drifting in and out for some time, fighting her nightmares, fighting the memories. But there was no denying the reality. Sulu had taken her, and she had enjoyed it.

Unshed tears burned behind her tightly closed eyelids. She felt ashamed, dirty, her body had betrayed her. Her nerves still stung from the power of the Booth, her muscles and bruised flesh sore from Kirk’s beating. Let it hurt! she told herself savagely. You deserve it! How had he done it, how had he gotten to her so fast? She hated him for it, but she hated herself more, hated the animal reaction he had pulled from her. You let him! she ranted at herself. What kind of weakness is in you that he saw, that he used?

It was the pain, she pleaded with the accusing voice. He took the pain away.

He caused it! the voice roared back at her.

She winced, even though the ferocity was only in her own mind. Cruel images beat at her, the knowledge that she had begged him, pleaded with him after he had returned her to the Booth. She had called his name, begging him to treat her like the whore everyone thought she was. I promised him anything...

Why? came the harsh question.

To stop the pain, she whimpered in response. Just to stop the pain...

Why else? Relentless. Why else!

Because I - no! - I didn’t want him!

Liar!

She sobbed helplessly. It was true. He had made her want him. He had made her grovel. The shame broke over her, and she wept for what seemed like a very long time. Slowly, she got a hold of herself. Gradually her faith in herself became restored. She calmed the terror and the degradation, steeling herself with inborn determination.

It won’t happen again, she promised herself. I swear it.

She heard voices, recognized Sulu’s bodyguard, Paget. He was talking to the guard outside her cell, and she fought with her panic. Goddess, he’s coming for me!

“If that’s what the boss wants,” the guard was saying. “How long?”

“It’s what he wants,” Paget answered curtly. “An hour.”

The guard whistled.

“She’ll live,” Paget said.

“It’s not her mind the Captain’s interested in anyway,” was the amused response.

The force field’s hum was interrupted and Ruth sat up, trying to arrange her disheveled clothing. Paget’s eyes gleamed with interest as he grabbed her wrist, hauling her to her feet.

“Where are you...” she began.

“Do you really want to know?” Paget asked, his voice frank.

Swallowing, she nodded.

Paget’s dark brown eyes met hers. “The Soundroom,” he said. “Does that tell you anything?”

She shook her head.

“I thought not.”

She was pulled behind him down a corridor, past other cells, past the Booth. He pushed her into a small, featureless room. “Once the field is activated, no one will be able to hear a sound you make,” he told her. “The guard will come for you in an hour.” For a moment, his handsome, bearded face held nothing but sympathy. “Good luck, Miss Valley. You’ll need it.”

Then he turned, activated a panel, and was gone. But Ruth didn’t notice his leaving. Oceans of sound had begun bombarding her ears, and not even she could hear her screaming.

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We just wanted to get away. We were frightened. To get away. Frightened.

From what? Of what?

Spock rubbed his steepled index fingers lightly over his forehead, then brought them back to pursed lips. How many times had he gone over it? How many times had he gotten only answers that made no sense?

No one has ever hit me before. To stop hurting.

It was what they had said, but they hadn’t considered what, logically, must follow capture. The way to avoid pain was to obey. Jilla, surely, knew this. How, then, did they think an escape attempt would insulate them from pain? Or did they honestly think they’d get away? From the pain? Obedience would do that, and it was certainly simpler. What, then, was there to get away from? Fear. Of what? Pain. That has been covered. What else was there to fear? Circles.

They fear pain, Spock thought carefully. They only wanted to get away from it. Logical. They thought an escape would be successful. Foolish, but still logical. Yet, why did they not take the easier, safer, more sure route of obedience? They are not used to obeying. They have been spoiled favorites. I can see this in Valley. Yet, Jilla is perfection, the ideal sexual partner. She is obedience personified. Why, then, would she fear? And even Valley takes no pleasure, as a pampered female should. They are not, either of them, vain, empty-headed, or demanding. They show discipline, self-discipline; witness their carefully executed escape. This is exactly the opposite of catered-to pets. They are not flatterers, not Chapels; nor survivors, Rand or Uhura. They are not even of the rare breed of intelligent women, like Marlena or Captain O’Niall. Yet they have qualities of all three. Jilla is adaptable, incredibly so, but genuine, not the false adaptation of a schemer. Valley is foolish, yet determined, independent, with a need for self. What are they? With what were they molded, and to what end?

And why is it ‘they?’

Spock frowned. He had done his own research, though Sulu’s thoroughness was never in question. The women had not known one another before boarding the Enterprise. Jilla claimed to be an engineer, had, in fact, proven some knowledge in that area, though there was nothing in her background to indicate such an aptitude. Indeed, she had never received any training in engineering of any kind. They had had only rudimentary instruction from Starfleet, their commissions bought and paid for by their influential fathers. It was a courtesy that had nothing to do with their ability to perform work on a starship. Yet both women seemed to want to take it seriously.

On their first day aboard, they had tried to answer a red alert.

Valley had been thoroughly disgruntled at being given what any other female would have considered pleasant and non-strenuous duty. Spock had thought she was sullen at being expected to do any work at all, but Marlena had said she was actively bored.

Jilla had been absolutely accurate about the circuit board.

They had made intricate, delicate, and highly sophisticated adjustments to transmitters they should not even have known were on their persons.

It made no sense. Obviously they had been trained, but for what purpose? Why were they so clumsy in concealing their knowledge? Did they think it unnecessary to conceal it? Who trained them? Why?

They asked for nothing. They had tried to escape. To get away. Why? From what? Their fearful confusion when being questioned, the simplicity of their answers, their desperation made it impossible to believe they were being anything less than genuinely honest. Yet they had managed to outsmart Marlena, Kirk, Sulu, and Spock of Vulcan. And yet, get caught again. Were they a danger? No. Sulu would undoubtedly effectively neutralize any possible threat. And still, the nagging question remained:

Why?

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Chapel lounged on the bed, trying not to sigh, trying to be patient. She glanced across the room at Spock. He sat at his desk, thinking. Again. Nearly the third day of leave and he spent almost all his time there. It had been over two hours this time, not moving, not speaking, not even knowing she was alive, much less in bed, waiting for him. When they’d left Darius early she’d been so hopeful... But no. Thinking was all he had wanted to do.

I shouldn’t mind, she told herself sternly. I have no reason or right to mind. I wanted him, I have to put up with his ways. She knew he would rid himself of her eventually. She hung on too tightly, and he would never allow that. So much he would never allow. Like letting her know him, letting her close to him.

You’re a fool, Christine, she berated herself. You’ve let him come to matter. He’s cold, alien, and you’ve let yourself care about him. You shouldn’t even want him, he’s not even Human.

But less than Human? More than Human? Even I don’t know anymore. I’ve climbed as far as I can, he knows it. He uses it. He’s so good at using, taking and never giving anything back. He knows how I feel. He knows I could never betray him. Am I anything more to him than a convenient shield from other scheming women?

She shook her head, gazing at the elegant, unreadable profile. What was he thinking about? Valley and Costain? They were young, beautiful. They weren’t Human either. Was that the draw, the fascination? She found herself fervently wishing that Sulu would disfigure them so badly that Spock would never want to look at either one of them again.

Not that she could convince herself that he would then care about her. He had no feelings, did not care who it was in his bed, even the rare times he pretended that he did. It shamed her to realize that she lived for those rare times. Why did she have to care? Why couldn’t she be like everyone else? She had only wanted the status at first; First Officer’s Woman. She had killed Sakura Tamura, the previous holder of that position, in order to get it. Spock had grown tired of her, and had found out that Tamura had planned to helped Sulu against him. Tamura was desperate and frightened, and Chapel had pretended to be her friend, then gleefully handed her over to Spock’s waiting vengeance. Spock rewarded her by giving her Tamura’s place.

Did you know how frightened I was of you then? Chapel thought at the silent figure. Did you know how it disgusted me to have an alien touch me? You were too harsh, your taste too bitter. Aloof amusement never seemed to leave your eyes then. I pretended to be driven by your alien desires, and shuddered with the horror of it. And you knew all along, didn’t you? But I didn’t know I hadn’t fooled you. So you used everything and anything to make it true. You made me change. You made me want everything I’d been loathing. You were so attentive then, why didn’t I see what you were doing?

She lowered her head to hide sudden tears. Why, why did she have to care? And why now, when he was getting so tired of her? Maybe she’d lost her edge, or gotten lazy, or too demanding. But she could change, she knew she could. She could make it as good as it had been before, and maybe this time she’d make him want her. He needed a strong women, one who could protect his interests, one who wouldn’t be tempted to change sides. Chapel knew she was the only women on the Enterprise who fit that description. Valley and Costain were toys, playthings, and ultimately, they belonged to the Captain. Spock had to know that, he had to see her value to him. And as long as he did know it, she was safe. Or as long as it’s convenient for him to let me think he knows it. Damn it, Spock, look at me, see me! “Spock, please!”

His gaze swung to her, annoyed, inquisitive. She damned herself for the involuntary outburst, then decided to go ahead with it and damn the consequences.

“Come to bed, please?” she said plaintively. "I’m lonely.”

He stared at her for a moment, eyebrows rising, then turned away without a word. Humiliation shot through her. Bastard! Her voice was full of soft bitterness.

“Surely you can spare ten minutes,” she said. “That’s all it would take. I’m easily satisfied, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” he replied, not looking at her.

Don’t be angry, she told herself swiftly. It’s all the times you’ve been angry before that’s made him this way. Be gentle, loving, tender. He isn’t going to try. You have to be the one to make it good between you. “Spock,” she said quietly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be sharp.”

“All right,” Spock said absently. Emboldened, Chapel went on.

“It’s just that - well, I’m on leave, too, and - I don’t have anything - with you so - you have other...”

“All right, Christine!” he snapped angrily.

“What do you want from me?” she wailed miserably.

“At the moment, silence,” was the tight answer. Chapel threw herself into the pillows, fighting the sobs. A moment later, Spock’s voice filtered through the despair. “Christine, let it be,” he said. His voice was firm, but not as harsh, and she looked up hopefully. He was not looking at her, and she sighed, again lowering her head to the pillows.

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The agony was unendurable. She was going mad. There was no escape from the horrible, crushing sound, no matter how hard she pressed her hands to her ears. Wave after wave forced itself into her brain, drowning out thought and sense. Self was gone, intelligence and will and control, all that was left was the rushing, thunderous, immense, hideous sound.

Ruth writhed on the deck of the cell, rolling back and forth, trying desperately to block the noise. She clawed at her head, screaming without sound until her throat was raw, tearing at her hair, pounding at the soft padding of the deck. It might have been going on for a minute, or a year. Time had no meaning, and she had lost all sense of being. There was only the sound and the pain and the violent desire to end the torture. She knew with tormenting certainly that she would do anything to make it stop.

Suddenly she felt strong arms around her, holding her tightly to a smooth-skinned chest, her head pressed against the flesh as if to stop the terrible cacophony. She heard a voice call out hoarsely “Now!” and abruptly, there was utter silence.

She sobbed gratefully, clinging to the body in her arms. Hands stroked her hair, brushing her temples with soothing tenderness. Words were whispered to her, but she had no idea what they were. She welcomed the caresses, the kisses, giving them in return with eager abandon. A part of her mind told her who was touching her, laying her down on the soft padding, pushing her skirt up over her hips, insistently spreading her legs. A part of her tried to protest the manipulation, tried to remind her of the vow she had made only a hour - was it only an hour? - before. But she bitterly told herself to shut up. He had turned off the horrible sound, and she was grateful. If he wanted to fuck her with her ears clawed and bleeding and her hair tangled and torn and her face as covered with scratches as her fingers were with bites, then who was she to deny him?

She felt him entering her, and surged to him, determined to make certain he knew she was thankful.

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Ruth sobbed in heady passion, filling Sulu’s ears with throaty cries and deep, sighing groans of total ecstasy. She responded to him like a wildcat, desperate to please him, giving herself totally to him. She worked, thrusting her hips to him, her hands clawing at his back and shoulders and sides. It was better, so much better than before. He fell into it, giving her all she demanded. Delicious, incomparable... Take it, honey, take all you want!

Sensation grew between them, blinding them, carrying them both to dizzying heights of passion and hunger. Neither knew how long it lasted, but when it broke over them, the fall was spectacular, rich and utterly satisfying.

Sulu kissed sweat from Ruth’s throat, enjoying the salt-sweet taste of her. Her breath was ragged, her heart thundering against his chest as he lay sprawled on top of her. “You bastard,” was whispered in his ear, but the tone said clearly that she didn’t mean it.

“Hungry bitch,” he whispered back, knowing that even a normal volume would now be exquisitely painful to her.

“I hate you,” she continued, and there was a little more conviction in her voice.

He laughed softly. “I know. Do you want me to fuck you again anyway?”

Her whole body shuddered under him. There was a moment of silence, then helpless despair. “Yes,” she moaned.

He smiled. I’ve won the battle, Ruth, he thought at her, but please don’t say I’ve already won the war.

“I hate you,” she repeated gutturally.

That’s better.

He kissed her, his hand already straying to arouse her all over again.

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Go to Part Eight

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