Enterprise: The Measure of a Man

**DISCLAIMER: Fan fiction only. NO money is being made off this story and no infringement on copyrights is intended with respect to aired and theatrical Star Trek.


Enterprise: The Measure of a Man
Chapter 5

Archer froze in place, his nude body drawn up in a protective crouch. He heard the quick, staccato clicks of heels against the floor as someone purposefully crossed the room toward them.

“Why is he secured in this manner?” a woman’s voice demanded. “This is not in accord with my orders!”

The creatures’ smug chortles promptly turned to apologetic grunts. One of them bent down and pulled the cords from Archer’s wrists and ankles. Archer rolled onto the side that hadn’t been kicked and rubbed the circulation back into his lower arms. He looked up to find Mistress Venda looking down at him. Her face was flushed with outrage as she gestured for her minions to leave. They hurried out, ducking through the thick curtain that functioned as a door.

“I trust you are not injured,” she said when they were alone.

“I’ll be all right,” Archer said. He rolled into a sitting position and drew his limbs together in a way that would afford him at least partial modesty. He paused to examine the room, quickly deciding that it was a sort of guest room. The minimal furnishings consisted of a chair, a low platform covered with cushions, and a carved chest that doubled as a sort of endtable for the bed-like structure. It was this chest that Venda bent and reached into, coming up with what appeared to be a length of unornamented tan cloth. She tossed the bundle to Archer.

“You may put this on,” she told him. He held it up and almost gaped in astonishment to find a kind of robe—simpler than the one Sejenus wore, but clothing nonetheless. Gratefully he slipped into it as he stood. A small clasp allowed him to fasten it on one side.

“That’s better,” he said. “Thank you.”

“I suspected that would make you more comfortable—more trusting of me. Personal dignity is important to your kind, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes—very much so.” Archer frowned. “I have to wonder why you’re so worried about my comfort now. It didn’t seem to matter that much to you before.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way. It isn’t true. I have standing instructions that none of my vassals is to be harmed in any way. Those who have disobeyed me will be punished more severely than you were, I promise.”

“That won’t be necessary,” he said, suddenly uncomfortable. “I’m all right. They thought they were doing what you wanted, and they expected me to struggle.”

“It speaks well of you that you are concerned for their welfare. It seems obvious to me that among your own people, you are a leader, as I am.”

“I guess you could say that—though I wouldn’t call our duties analogous.”

Venda’s eyes widened in surprise. “Of course not. You’re a man. Nevertheless, I sensed from the beginning that we would be compatible. On a certain level, we have much in common.”

“There’s one big difference. I’d never keep a slave, under any circumstances.”

His indignation amused her. “In a way, I envy you. As a man, you can enjoy your existence in a way we cannot…least of all I. Responsibilities like mine can become a burden at times. Perhaps on some level, you can understand that.”

“Surely you don’t think anyone could enjoy a life of humiliation and servitude, regardless of gender!”

“Your attitude perplexes me—have you not met Sejenus? He is as content as any being I have ever seen. His duties are light, his loyalty to me is unsurpassed, and I have an affection for him I would never dream of denying.” She moved toward him, her hand brushing the front of his robe. “I would like to develop a similar affection for you.”

“Maybe Sejenus has accepted his lot. I never will.” Pulling free of her grasp, Archer backed away. “And neither will the people I came with. Where are they, anyhow? I assume Trip is somewhere nearby—but what about Malcolm? Where was he taken?”

“I don’t know, exactly, but I can assure you that he hasn’t been harmed. We don’t use violence to inspire the cooperation of our vassals—that is the way of men.”

Archer touched his battered ribs and winced. “I’m glad you cleared that up.”

This time, her hand covered his. “Discipline, of course, is a different matter. All the same, I find your concern for your tribesman endearing. I will try to find out what became of him…later.” She moved closer, leaning her full weight against his body.

“Thank you.” Archer sucked back a surprised breath when her fingers slid past his wrist and slowly undid his tunic. At the same time, she guided his other hand to the clasp of her own.

“You see? There are methods of persuasion that work far better than threats and pain.”

“I never doubted that,” Archer admitted. His voice caught as she pressed herself to him, brushing the last strands of obstructing cloth away.

Their bare flesh touched.

………………………………………………………………………………………….


Lysara shifted on the couch, the orange robe fluttering around her like a cloud. A flick of her hand left it drifting silently to the floor.

Trip’s pulse quickened as he suddenly found himself staring at a woman who was every inch as bare as he was. The only thing touching her skin, in fact, was a long string of beads that wound around her waist and then crisscrossed between her legs. His eyes were still adjusting to the candlelight, but they focused on the glistening baubles that trailed lower and then disappeared between tufts of moist gold hair.

“Go ahead,” she said, swaying her hips from side to side. The beads bobbed, shimmered, and sank deeper into that shadowed cleft of warm flesh. “Touch me. You do know how to please a woman, I assume?”

“Well…I haven’t had any complaints lately.” Hesitantly, Trip ran his fingers along the beads, following the strand across and then down her body. When he reached her most sensitive spot, he applied a little pressure and she inhaled sharply. He started to pull back, but she captured his hand and kept it in place.

“Don’t be afraid,” she whispered. She held his hand in place with both of hers.
“Please—continue.”

He swallowed. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is. What do your own people call you?”

“Trip,” he said, watching her face as his fingers continued to move slowly on her. Her expression grew dreamy, her eyes distant and heavy-lidded.

“Mm. Normally, we rename our vassals, but in this case I will not. Your name suits you.”

“Glad you like it.” Trip began to move his fingers again, pushing the beads aside and gently probing deeper.

“I—like—everything about you.” Lysara’s words trailed off in a moan. She lifted her hips off the bed, toward him, driving herself toward the pleasure she sought. Soon her thrusts became rhythmic, keeping time with her shallow breaths.

It didn’t take him long to bring Lysara close to the edge. Trip traced his fingertips along the quivering inside of her thigh, eased two of them lightly inside her along with a bead or two, and felt her soft warmth melt around him. The rawness of her need, along with her quick, hot pulse, triggered a responsive throb in his own groin.

When she started to shake, he bent down and applied the tip of his tongue to the mix. Gasping, Lysara threaded her fingers through Trip’s hair, crushing his face against her hot center.

He guided her to the very peak of pleasure, then eased back and left her clawing at him in desperation. Then, patiently but firmly, he bore down on her with open lips, as fervently as if he were kissing her mouth. In a matter of seconds, she went rigid against him, clamping her legs around his shoulders and lunging against him with total abandon. A wild mewling sound ululated from the back of her throat.

Moments later, she collapsed under him, groaning.

“It was everything I expected—even better.” She patted the mattress beside her, and Trip crawled up and stretched out in the spot she indicated. Lysara gazed down at his obvious arousal with blatant interest. “And now for the rest. Why don’t you just go ahead as you normally would? I’ll learn as we go along.”

Trip had been about to reach for her when her meaning registered. Dropping his hand back to his side, he sat up with a perplexed expression.

“Wait a minute—are you telling me you’ve never done this before?”

“That’s right. I only came of age a few weeks ago. You were purchased for me for the express purpose of being my first.”

“So I’m your birthday present?” Trip shook his head in astonishment. “Whoa.”

Lysara scowled. “Among us, it’s a great honor to be the first. You will forever hold an honored place in my household…assuming, of course, you fulfill your responsibilities to my satisfaction.”

“Well, where I come from it’s also a huge responsibility. There are good reasons to be careful.”

“You are referring to the production of offspring?”

“Among other things.”

“Well, you needn’t worry in the least about that issue. My own father was the slave of my mother, and the same was true for her. And so it’s been since the days of our earliest progenitors. It is the primary function of the males of our species. How could you be unaware of that?”

He shook his head again. “Then that is what we’re here for: to help you breed a fresh crop of slaves?”

“Slaves?” Lysara reared back in horror. “Certainly not. Our daughters are cherished, even spoiled. They take their rightful place in society as soon as they are of age. ”

“Daughters, yes, but what about the boys?”

Again she stared at him as if he were a child himself—and a particularly slow-witted one, at that. “Boys? Impossible. There are no boys here. No one among us has given birth to a male in centuries. It simply cannot happen—and indeed it never has.”

“Never? How can that be?”

“We neither know nor question the reasons. What I can tell you is that it is the dream of every one of us to produce a strong, beautiful daughter. It is a mark of distinction as well as a social necessity.”

“So that’s why we were so popular on the auction block. We’ve got all the right parts in the right places.”

“If you want to put it crudely, I suppose that’s true. Not every species Kovar brings to us is genetically compatible, or even remotely appealing. We try to find suitable places for the less desirable specimens, of course. But you and the men who came with you were rare finds, indeed. With any luck, your friend will give Venda the daughter she has always longed for. She’s had many slaves over the years, but has never been able to conceive. It is a mystery we can now perhaps solve.”

“Damn. I don’t know whether to be flattered or freaked out.” Trip scrubbed a hand over his face. “I do know one thing, though. I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

“What? I don’t understand.”

He moved away from her, bunching the sheet around his waist. “Where I come from, men are more than just…donors. It’s supposed to mean something. And it has to, for me.”

“But…I understood that breeding is a primary interest of all males. It is common knowledge, scientifically established!”

“It’s not true for this one. I don’t want to be rude, but I can’t say it any plainer than that.”

“How peculiar.” Her face reflected utter astonishment. “You really are a strange creature, Trip. Still…I meant what I said before. Many things about you evoke a very positive emotional response in me. Please, stay the night.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather go back to the barn.”

“I could force you to stay.”

“That’s true…but somehow I don’t think you will. Why don’t you call Sejenus? If anyone could understand, it would be him.”

For a while, she just glowered at him, the clenching of her facial muscles giving only the slightest hint of the emotions—and probably the hormones, Trip thought—raging through her heat-flushed body.

Finally, she sprang off the bed and snatched up her discarded robe in a single, abrupt motion. She pulled a long, hanging chord that apparently controlled a bell in some distant room.

“Very well,” she snapped. “Sejenus it is. I hope you enjoy sleeping on dirty straw, when you could have shared my bed. But you and I will speak of this again—I promise you that.”