Continuing Education,, Part 1 · Part 1 (1/2)
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A point: The following works did not come from my pen. They came from the Phantom. I am only her publicity agent and go-between. If you have comments, questions, etc, please mail to me for forwarding to the Phantom. Thank you! Lisa the Lustful…
I should state beforehand that THIS IS AN EROTIC STORY written by a woman, and not science fiction strictly speaking. This is an exploration of an arousing character, not hard SF.
CONTINUING EDUCATION
Julian looked at the other man, attired nearly identically to his Lady, with more than a little trepidation, still holding his Lady's hand, the hand that held the chain to his collar. He wore nothing else, as was required by his training.
"This is Rala, my friend, Doctor. He will be helping me during your next lesson." Julian swallowed.
"How?" His voice wavered slightly, betraying his uncertainty. He felt his Lady's arm around his waist, protective and caring, as she stood behind him.
"He will help teach you the next lesson, how to give yourself freely." His head turned; his eyes sought hers. "I trust Rala," and she took the other man's hand in hers, kissing the palm, "implicitly."
"I only wish to merit your trust, Lady," Rala replied, his own voice rich and deep. He was slightly shorter than Julian, level with his Lady, and his hair was the color of ruddy sand, his skin fair. Large eyes were set over a straight nose and sensuously full lips. He was well-built, with the waist and chest of a South Seas pearl diver, narrow and strong. Between creamy hips was his own sex, slightly erect, surrounded by tow-colored curls. A perfect round peach was his buttocks, right down to the coat of gentle fuzz. His long legs looked strong, at least what Julian could see of them that was not also covered in his dark tan boots, a contrast to his Lady's jet ones.
Julian looked up then to see that the other man was examining him as closely as he was being examined; he felt blood go to his face and heat rose from his blushing cheeks. His hand tightened on his Lady's.
"You have never tasted a man?" Rala asked him softly. Julian only shook his head.
"I… I've never… wanted to before… " he stammered. His Lady came up behind him then, and he felt her against him, felt himself drawing strength from her nearness, her warmth.
"Doctor," she said, "would I ever lead you into something that would harm you?" Again, his eyes sought hers.
"No, Lady," he replied, with perfect trust, complete sincerity. His eyes went back to Rala, silent and watching. His Lady's hand rose to his warm face, and her lips closed on his. She felt the thin sweat on his upper lip as she kissed him, and wiped it away with her thumb. Then, she turned and nodded to the other man.
Rala walked forward, placing one gentle hand on Julian's bare waist. His dark stomach tensed and his eyes widened with apprehension. Rala drew nearer, and Julian's Lady stood close behind him, against him, until he could feel her breathing. "I'm right here, Doctor," was all she said, all she needed to say. Rala said only: "I will never hurt you, Doctor" — and kissed him.
Julian closed his eyes, shivering, and felt his breathing rate increase. Rala's lips moved against his, and he would have whimpered had he not felt the calming presence of his Lady behind him, stroking his stomach lightly. He could smell the other man's maleness, feel an arm slide around his back and hold him against a hard chest.
Warmth enveloped him from all sides. Gentle but firm bodies were against him. Caressing hands seemed to cover every inch of his skin. Almost without realizing it, he found himself returning the man's kiss, felt his own lips move against Rala's, felt his own hand rise to take sand-colored curls in his fingers. The gently pressing bodies against his moved closer and embraced one another around him, and he felt as though he were losing himself. Deliciously, he felt himself pulse and awaken, felt himself pressing against the other man's body, becoming firm against his firmness, and with a wondering jolt, he understood that he was being held against a body like his own.
Rala's tongue traced out his delicate lips, and his own did the same. Hesitantly at first, they began toying with each other's tongues. The room seemed filled with the soft sounds of their mouths against each other, their playful tongues exploring one another's mouths. Julian moaned softly, a light feathery sound. Then, Rala pulled away, and Julian felt the warmth against his chest fade. His heart was pounding.
His Lady put both arms around him then, against his slim chest. "I would never expose you to anyone not gentle, dear Doctor," was all she said. He lay his head back against her shoulder as the other man regarded him, hearing only the deafening quiet that seemed to settle on the room.
Then, the light vanished, and he could not see. His head flew upright and he gasped. A gentle hand laid itself against his stomach, and he could not tell whose it was. Moments later, he became aware of the blindfold that had been placed on him, soft and entirely blocking his vision. His muscles were rigid and stood outlined in the candlelight. Reflexively, he reached for his Lady's hand. "Lady… " he said, but before he could continue, he felt only a soft mouth against his, and the scent of a man rose up to his nostrils. Rala.
Without thinking, he returned the kiss, and felt the mouth trace itself down to his neck. He gasped, and felt his head fall back. Another kiss awoke his lips — his Lady — and he felt a tongue push its way between them as another tongue drew whirls against his toffee skin. Then, that was elsewhere also against his neck, and joined by the other mouth and tongue, the other gentle lips. Softly, he felt the mouths, the fingers, meander over the surface of his body, wandering and kissing and fondling until he could no longer tell them apart. His knees buckled with the pleasure, and two sets of firm, gentle hands caught him and lowered him softly to the floor.
All traces of hesitation vanished; each mouth, each tongue was another to enjoy, another to please. All over him, hands wandered, and he felt overloaded with touch. An electrifying sensation of warm wetness embraced his now rigid sex, and while it was not the gateway of his Lady, he had no idea who it belonged to, and did not care. All he could think of was drowning in the tender pleasing mouths all over him and pleasing them when they arrived at his.
It had been a long day, too long once he had seen the arrival schedules for the station. It had been an achingly long five months, and the minute the date had turned, he had begun searching through the schedules every day; the terminal in his quarters as well as that in the infirmary had been set to search for her ship's name ever since she had left. At first, he could not keep himself from checking them constantly, but as the long weeks had dragged on, he had stopped doing it for the most part. Today, the terminal in his quarters had beeped at him, as it had done hundreds of times since she had departed last, and he had walked over to it, wondering whose prescription was up to be renewed, or what offloading of medical supplies had to be signed for.
And it had blinked quietly up at him, showing only one line:
Ariad. 15:40 hours. Bay 1.
His hands had trembled then, as he stared at the screen. A keystroke would have cleared it and left it in memory to be accessed later, but he couldn't touch the keypad, had to keep it glowing quietly up at him, making her arrival seem more real. He closed his eyes, and brought two shivering hands to his face.
What did he remember of what she had taught him? What would she say? What would *he* say upon seeing her? Would she still want him? And, if she did, what… what would she teach him now? He rubbed at one fist with his palm, and a flood of memories ran over him, washing at his feet. The unity. The electric warmth and acceptance. The gentle discipline. He shook once, and his back tingled with the awakened memories of the spots of candlewax against his skin, the tingling of her blows.
The ungentle discipline.
A glance at his schedule confirmed that it would be a busy day — two prenatals, six physicals, and seven returned test results from the lab. At least he wouldn't be left by himself, like he had been the last time, wondering what was going to happen. He smoothed his uniform nervously, and licked his lips. His face felt cool, and his hand went to his upper lip; he was sweating.
She's here, he told himself, almost not believing it. She's almost here. He would never be able to eat anything for breakfast; his stomach was in knots.
What if she has forgotten me? he asked himself, the question that threatened to paralyze him. He had to confront it, had to ask it of himself or he would be unable to function the entire day. He wouldn't do that to his patients. What if all that I read, all that I researched means… nothing? He ran through the files he had accessed on Ishtarian women and their training in his mind, all that he had read compulsively after her departure. All that he had studied against the day she returned. Might I never put it to use?
What if she has found someone else? What if one of her pupils after me was… more than I was? Better? All the unspoken fears ran through him, gibbering, and threatened to overwhelm him. With a hard snap of flesh on plastic, he struck the keypad, bringing up the day's medical schedule.
The first prenatal was in the morning, he saw. One of the Bajoran civilians on the station. Her fetus was of a different blood type than she was, as common in Bajorans as humans, and she needed some special monitoring; one of the station midwives and he had conferred the night before about the case. No cause for concern, but seeing it steadied his nerves. Something medical. A chord had been struck in him, and the knowledge of what he would have to do, the actions he would take, passed before him like a mantra, calming him.
And, he would see what happened after that. He was off duty at 18:45 hours. Perhaps he could call her ship… ask after her as she approached. Still nervous, he walked briskly out of his quarters on the way to the infirmary.
By lunch he was ravenous, and had downed enough food to march an army on. It threatened to make its presence known again after he had eaten it, though, and he had beaten a hasty exit from the replimat. After returning to the infirmary, his nerves had steadied again, and he took the opportunity to lose himself in the work offered by the returning test results. By the time 15:40 hours had arrived, he was standing over a vat of bubbling viscous material that would have made anyone but a medical researcher queasy and poking at a tricorder. His combadge chittered at him. Absentmindedly, he struck at it, leaving a streak of the medical stew on his smock as he did so.
"Bashir." His greetings sometimes degenerated when he was distracted.
Kira was on the other end. "Doctor. There's a shipowner just docking who'd like a word with you."
And he had almost dropped the tricorder he was holding right into the vat. "What?" It's her, he repeated to himself, over and over, it's her, it's her. He gripped the sides of the vat, closing his eyes.
"The ship is called the Ariad. Should I pipe it down to you?"
"Yes!" He steadied his hands, and put down the tricorder. Seconds passed like centuries — "Doctor!" It was her voice, her beautiful voice. Still clutching the sides of the vat, he raised his eyes to the ceiling and sighed in relief.
"Yes!" he replied.
He could almost hear her smile across the circuit. Then, "My beautiful doctor," she said to him in a voice filled with affection, with caring, and his heart convulsed with the same dedication he had felt the last time he had seen her. She hadn't forgotten him. She still wanted him! "It's been a little longer than five months. I hope this hasn't been… inconvenient for you."
His mind's eye spun back to the last time he saw her, framed in the entranceway to her craft as he stood with his collar in his hands. He saw her face, could see her lips moving now, speaking the words he was hearing. "No… no." He swallowed. "I saw… the docking schedules today. I — I saw your ship on it and… " He trailed off at this point. The vat of goo was nearly forgotten; once his shaking hands placed the stasis field around it, it was completely so. He couldn't trust himself to concentrate while even hearing her voice. "I get off duty at 18:45 tonight."
Quiet. He could hear muted voices on the other end. Then, "19:00 it is, then, Doctor. Unless… " Another pause. "Is this satisfactory? You have nothing else planned?"
"No! I mean… yes! I mean… " He stopped himself before he lost all coherency. A gulp of air steadied him. "That will be fine!"
"Do you still have the collar?"
He could feel the smile dawning on his lips and was glad he was alone; he felt himself go scarlet to his hairline. Impishly, he replied, "Of course, Lady." The smile widened.
He heard her smile in her voice as well. "19:00 then, Doctor." She chuckled. "My lovely doctor… Until then."
"Yes, Lady, " he replied, and the communication ceased. Some small part of him wondered if Kira had eavesdropped, and the larger part of him did not care if she had.
If he had thought the previous part of the day passed slowly, that was nothing compared to the crawl it had slowed to now. Desperately, he wished for some patients, some interaction. The silent goop in front of him offered no conversation, no opportunity for distraction. Again and again, he found himself making the same measurement several times, checking and rechecking figures he would normally be able to hold in his head with no effort. Finally, he called the computer and asked it to pipe in some music. His first choice was doumbec, but the throbbing rhythms only made things worse. Finally, he was forced to choose the spare ornamentation of Bach, and hummed it softly to himself as he worked.
In the middle of the Partita No. 3, the quiet alarm broke in, its gentle beep sounding like a klaxon to him. He looked up at the chrono on the wall over the entrance. 18:45.
In minutes, the smock was thrown off and he was out the door, on his way to his quarters. The collar was in a drawer; he had not worn it since the last lesson. He remembered seeing it there each time he opened this drawer, picking it up, holding it — but never wearing it. He couldn't bring himself to put it on.
He entered his quarters, opened the drawer. The collar lay there, the chain slightly tarnished, the soft kid leather slightly stiff. With trembling fingers, he picked it up.
A faint scent of jasmine still clung to it — or was he imagining that? His eyes went to the chrono near his bed. 18:48. He considered just heading straight for Bay 1, but caught a reflection of himself in the mirror over his dresser that stopped him. Smiling slightly, he ran his hand over his uniform.
No. His lips curled wryly as he remembered. He fingered the synthetic fabric, black and brilliant royal blue. Quartermaster would want to know why he needed two more uniforms after less than six months, and he certainly couldn't explain that. Quickly, he removed the uniform, and realized while pulling the tunic over his head that it would also not do to appear at his Lady's ship still carrying whiffs of medical sludge on him. Stilling his shaking hands, he dashed into the shower, unable while there to keep from running his hands over his bare skin as the steam surrounded him, imagining them as hers.
He might have lingered over the anticipation, the wanting, but wanted nothing so much as to see her again, hear her voice, feel her on and around him. Anticipation be damned — he wanted his Lady, wanted to be near her, see her eyes on him, feel her hands, her mouth, her body… and please her with his own.
He jumped out of the shower, dried himself, and pulled on a crisp white shirt, blue trousers, and his uniform boots. The chrono blinked at him. 18:56.
He turned. His hand went to the collar, picked it up once more. He looked down at it in his fingers, and as he considered her parting comment about how it might fit her, he was unaware that his eyes had begun to glitter with something that was not surrender. Standing at the mirror, he slowly raised it up and held it against his neck, wrapping it around his skin, still moist from the heat of the shower. He did not fasten it there. His eyes closed, and he felt the subtle throbbing, the insistence at his thighs.
His reflection gazed back at him, holding the collar again as a talisman against his chest. He swallowed, turned, and exited, the door closing over him. With only a little trembling in his legs, he walked to the docking ring, to Bay 1.
His fingers still trembled at the chime. Seeing them took him back to the night, centuries ago, when he had last done this, last awaited entrance to her ship — ignorant and completely unaware of what was to come. Briefly, he considered that he was now more knowledgeable, more urbane, but as he stood there, not pressing the chime, he realized that that was not the case — nowhere near it. He still was uncertain, and knew nothing of what was to come. He knew only that she was on the other side of this airlock, and that he belonged on that side, with her — with his Lady. But, he thought, we will see how the collar fits her as well. His mouth curled upward in a dark little smile of which he was unaware.
He might give her a few surprises.
Julian pressed the chime once. In breathless anticipation, he watched the bay door roll away, and saw the entranceway to her ship part before him, welcoming him into its dim, ruddy depths. In one corner, he could just see one of the standing flame lamps.
As if sleepwalking, he moved, his body seemingly taking him forward of its own volition. Lightheaded, he moved out of the airlock, into a place beyond normal space, normal time, into the protective circle of his Lady's ship and his Lady's presence. The entrance slid closed behind him, cutting him off completely from the station. The same voice that had commanded him so beautifully during the past time of surrender and desire floated at him from nowhere.
"My beautiful doctor… " and trailed off.
"Lady… " he murmured, looking around himself.
Then, "Put on your collar."
He did so, and felt the leather around his neck again, stiff but still a good fit. For long moments, he simply stood there, aching to see her, wondering when she would come to him.
Again, then, the voice from behind him. "That's better." He spun.
She was directly behind him, and held the chain to his collar in her hands. "In your bonds, I can greet you properly." He only stood, feeling himself fall forward, into her eyes, her welcoming smile. Her hands reached out to him. "My lovely pupil."
She still wanted him.
He bent one knee before her, a knight, and the only thing he could utter was, "Lady… " She was before him, warm and accepting, clothed only in her hair, longer than it had been when he had seen her last. It was a satiny black cape, brushing the tops of her thighs. Aside from that most beautiful of cloaks, she wore nothing else.
She chuckled again, low and velvety. Standing before him, she touched his hair softly as a mother's kiss. She did not kneel, but only looked at him, memories also taking her for the time. Her fingers toyed with his dark waves of hair, her hands ran over his slender shoulders, the crisp whiteness of his shirt shining like new snow against his deep skin. She traced his jawline, his neck, his brow — as lost in thought as was he. Moving closer, she took his head in her hands and drew it close, holding it against her hips. He turned his head and laid it there, feeling her fingers in his hair, caressing him. Her own ebon curls tickled at his cheek, and he kissed them.
Raising his arms, he embraced her, feeling her strong thighs under his hands. "Lady… " he whispered again, drinking in the sensation of acceptance that washed over him in a cool tide. He raised his eyes to her face, smiling down at him, and tugged firmly and steadily on the chain she was holding, his chain.
Now is as good a time as any, he told himself. Do it.
She saw that his expression had altered slightly, impishness and something darker shining at her out of his eyes. She stood still, and felt his hands grip her own forearms, and pull her downward. At first, she resisted, but then felt herself drop until she was eye level with him or perhaps a little lower, as he was taller than she.
"I've waited… " he began, "I've waited… " but he could not continue. His hands wreathed her face, pulling it toward his own. She placed her hand on his chest again, but he overruled her with his own hands, kissing her deep and strong, pressing himself into her. He ran his tongue over her tense lips hungrily, hearing her wordless protest, and parted those lips — probing deeply into her warm mouth. Toying with her tongue, he let himself be submerged in the soft sounds, the scent of her, the feel of her hair under his hand, her tense body against his, even through the clothing.
His eager boldness grew. One hand slid down her back to her own buttocks, pressing them to him, pressing his hips to hers; he could hear rough sounds of friction, his clothing against her jet hair. Her hands were around his upper arms, gripping them like steel, and he waited. Waited for her to relax into him, as the files on Ishtarian training he had perused during her absence had advised.
For long minutes, they were like that, tasting each other, he gently moving his hips against hers until he felt himself again pushing to be released from his clothing; he knew she could feel his occasional pulsing. Time passed. He tightened his grip on her buttocks, feeling the soft skin give under his hands, and felt her own grip on his arms slacken just a hair. Now, he told himself. He pulled away then, ending the kiss, and could feel her body leaning into his, watching her face closely.
It was there, just as he had hoped — surprise, desire, a hint of frustration — as she caught her breath. He could see all of what she felt running over her face, through her eyes. He smiled at her, the impish little smile he had worn in the airlock. "Lady… I'm ready for my next lesson."
Her chest was rising and falling quickly, and she raised one hand to her neck. For a moment, she did not reply. Then, she smiled, and a new realization shone from her tilted eyes — a gauntlet had been thrown. "Yes," she said simply, her voice breathier than she would have wanted. "You may indeed be."
His eyes ran over her face, and he pitched his voice sensuously low. "I am." He pushed himself into her more closely, pressing her backwards, digging his fingers into her soft skin.
Slowly, her eyes began to smoulder, and he saw then the challenge in them, the arousal and the strength. She looked through him, and her gaze nearly melted him on the spot. Steam rose from her, or seemed to. "We will see." Her eyes narrowed, and she smiled at him, the smile of new respect. "You have been reading during my absence, Doctor," she remarked, appraising him.
He blinked, unsure of how to respond to this. She had seen what he was trying to do quickly.
Leaning closer to him, and grasping his own buttocks firmly, she whispered, "I spent years studying to be what I am." His eyes darted down to her lips at his face, caressing his clean cheek. "I couldn't fail to recognize the technique." Her tongue darted out, tracing out his sharp cheekbone. She pulled back. "You are what I imagined you'd be, Doctor. One of my most dedicated pupils." Her sibilant voice was soft and gentle. "Remove your clothing." She released his chain, and he felt it fall against his thigh; he jumped slightly.
This commanding tone was not what he had expected — but then, again, he was forced to admit that he still did not know what to expect. "What will you teach me?" he asked.
"Remove your clothing, Doctor." She stood, and he followed after watching her body rise before his eyes. "I will return shortly." And she left the room, leaving him there wondering what to do. Voices floated out of the other room, his Lady&#x
Continuing Education,, Part 1 · Part 1 (1/2)
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