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 7

Malcolm and Derix dared only to exchange glances as they were summarily marched across the incongruously pleasant courtyard of Tjarin’s estate and down a set of stone steps. The narrow passageway opened gradually into a cool, almost cavernous space, most of which was occupied by a pool of warm water. Without a word to either them or Slon, Tjarin herself strode on ahead of them, shedding her clothes as she went. While Slon hung back at the entrance to the bathhouse, she descended up to her waist into the water and motioned for Malcolm and Derix to follow her.

When they caught up, Tjarin reached for a sponge and a small bottle she kept on a small floating board that was tied to one corner of the bath. “Wash me,” she demanded, thrusting the sponge toward Malcolm and the bottle toward Derix.

Once they took the objects from her, she quickly turned her back to them and spread her arms in the water. Hesitantly, Malcolm lifted the sponge and lightly traced the curve of her shoulders while Derix tilted the bottle and let the perfumed ointment trickle onto her skin.

“Harder,” she demanded, slapping at Malcolm’s hand. “Press down so I can feel it.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Reed spoke through clenched teeth, but did as she asked. Applying more force, he swept the sponge along her collarbone. She turned suddenly, causing his hand to unexpectedly end up against her left breast. He froze, staring at her, his arm still raised at an awkward angle.

“I’m sorry,” he said, blushing. He started to move his hand away, but she stopped him. He winced when her nails bit into the tender skin of his wrist.

“You should only apologize when you have done something to displease me,” she told him. “Besides, I did not give you permission to stop what you were doing. Continue.”

“Very well.” Biting his lip, Malcolm began moving the sponge again. Tjarin kept a close eye on his every movement, totally ignoring Derix, who hovered around her with the ointment. His face was a portrait of misery.

Finally Tjarin motioned for him to go away. “Leave us. You may wait by the stairs for further instruction. Sit quietly and do not inspire Slon to punish you.”

Seeming near tears once again, Derix waded off and clambered out of the pool. When Malcolm’s eyes drifted after him, Tjarin slapped his face hard.

“I did not give you permission to think about anyone but me. Pay attention to what you’re doing. Kneel down. Wash the rest of me.”

It took every ounce of self-control Reed could muster to answer her in a calm, even tone. “Yes, Mistress.” Hunkering down, he submerged himself in the water up to the middle of his chest, approximately eye-level with her abdomen. Again his movements became uncertain as he dabbed at the tight flesh beside her navel. Trim muscles contracted, and she let out a surprisingly deep breath. Reaching down, she wrenched the sponge out of his fingers and tossed it away into the water.

“Now use your lips. Arouse me.”

Malcolm couldn’t quite make sense of the emotions that flooded his body as he leaned closer to her and lightly touched her skin with his mouth. One of the sensations, certainly, was rage: no matter how soft her flesh felt against his, or how powerfully his instincts responded to the intimacy of their contact, he couldn’t forget the humiliating circumstances that had brought him to this point.

Still, an entirely different sort of instinct told him that survival itself depended on his ability to suppress his revulsion and continue on as she—and Slon—expected him to. Like some kind of trained pet, he thought, and failed to suppress a grimace. Hiding it from her wasn’t a problem, though. No sooner had his jaw muscles tensed than Tjarin grabbed the sides of his head and crushed his face against her.

“Continue,” she demanded. “Lower.”

She pushed him down until most of his chin was submerged in water, opening herself to him so that his tongue could trace her more intimate curves. She leaned into him, moaning softly. Malcolm was both repelled and astonished at the way his body responded to her long before his emotions had time to catch up. Feeling as if he were losing control over himself, he opened his mouth wider and burrowed deeper with his tongue.

“Yes,” she murmured, twisting her fingers into his hair and pulling him closer, so much closer. “I see now that my instincts were correct. You will learn to please me very well indeed.”

Malcolm soon felt her thighs began to tremble and heard her breath catch in her throat. He was about to ease away and steal a fortifying gulp of air himself when her fingers abruptly tightened in his hair and yanked his entire head backward.

“Enough of that for now. I’m ready for something different.”

Malcolm didn’t have to exercise his imagination much to know what that probably meant. Sure enough, she grabbed him by the hand and pulled him toward the stone steps that led out of the water.

“There,” she said, indicating that he should take a seat on one of the steps. He did, reclining with his legs still in the water and the rest of him exposed to the open air. Tjarin looked down at his straining crotch and smiled. A moment later she was straddling him, utterly unconcerned with the fact that they were in full view of Slon and Derix. In fact, if Malcolm had to guess, the audience was part of the attraction as far as she was concerned.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Tjarin impaled herself on his erection, then began driving against him with her full weight. Again his body cooperated in ways his emotional self had no desire to. Malcolm found that rather a relief, since he suspected that Tjarin would have been none too pleased at being thwarted now. So he lay back, the edge of the stone stairs biting into his back and shoulders, and settled his arms loosely around her waist while she pounded herself against him, stubbornly heedless of his own comfort or pleasure.

With his mind in turmoil from the mixture of pain, humiliation, and raw animal arousal, Malcolm was unsure exactly how long her use of him continued. In some ways, it seemed like hours; in another sense, it felt as if her imperious manner and precise physical control triggered the expected reaction within a few frenzied thrusts. Whatever the case, release came over him swiftly and completely, wiping his mind free for a few precious moments and draining away his outrage at the same time.

When it was over, he found himself lying on the unforgiving steps with a sharp pain in his spine and a much duller ache between his legs. Tjarin was standing over him, apparently sated for the moment.

“Maybe you see now that punishment is not the only thing I am prepared to administer. The rewards of cooperating with me can be quite substantial.”

He was too bewildered to answer, prompting Tjarin to place her bare foot on his tenderized crotch. She applied just enough force to force his eyes all the way open.

“Tell me that you understand what I have said to you,” she demanded.

Malcolm swallowed hard. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Very well.” Boldly, she climbed the rest of the way out and strode purposefully toward Derix, who silently patted her down with a towel.

“The two of you may rest here for a while,” she told them. “Slon will bring you nourishment later. I trust you will arise tomorrow with a more cooperative attitude than you have shown me thus far.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Malcolm repeated when she finished drying off and paused to glare at him. He wondered if years might pass before he would be allowed to say anything else out loud.


= = =

Trip and Archer saw each other for the first time that afternoon, when Sejenus escorted Archer back to their cabin. Neither of them said anything until the Vulcan flashed them an apologetic look and left them alone again.

“I heard from some of the other guys that you had fun last night,” Trip observed with a scowl. “And here I was afraid they were off torturing you somewhere. Shouldn’t have wasted my energy, I guess.”

Archer winced with embarrassment. “Sorry to worry you. I thought it might be wiser to play along for a while and see what I could find out.”

“Well, spare me the details unless they involve us getting out of here once and for all. Living as a kept man isn’t what it’s been cracked up to be.”

“I didn’t make that much progress, but I did get some news about Malcolm.”

Trip’s resentment melted away quickly. “Oh? What’d you find out?”

Archer filled Trip in on what he’d learned about Tjarin’s purchase of Malcolm, and Venda’s expectation that their tactical officer was in for one of the rougher rides of his career. Trip whistled.

“What are we gonna do?”

“For now, there’s not a hell of a lot we can do. We’ll figure out a way to help him. In the meantime, I think I’ve stumbled upon a temporary solution. We’ll have to make them think we’re willing to cooperate. They expect it, so they won’t be suspicious for long. Apparently, it’s the way things are done around here. The men just eventually…give up.”

“Okay…so just how far are we supposed to go?”

Archer frowned and shook his head. “Only you can answer that for yourself, Trip. I admit I don’t have it all figured out yet. This place is so different from anything we’re used to.”

“You can say that again. Lysara’s been fair to me, I’ll admit that. But they sure have some strange customs here.”

“The more we learn about them, the better off we’ll be. Maybe we can even find some way to contact Malcolm. We can’t really be as helpless as we seem to be right now.”

“I wish I could believe that.” Trip sighed. “What’s even worse is thinking about what’ll happen even if we do find some way out of here. I mean, where do we go from here? It’s not like there’s a nice cozy shuttlecraft waiting to take us back to Enterprise. Hell, she could be anywhere by now.”

“We can’t worry about that. We have to trust that they’ll figure out what’s happened and come looking for us. T’Pol will think of something.”

“You hope.”

“You’re right,” Archer said, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration. The collar had begun to chafe. “I do.”


(To be continued)