"For the last time D'argo, no!" John said, turning a branch in the corridor. He spelled it out for him. "N! O! If you want somebody to crawl around Moya's tubes for a couple arns then you're sniffing up the wrong tree."
The Luxan stormed after him. "You WILL go up there, Crichton! You're the only one free, and able, to do it. It may not be a pleasant task, but--"
"Yeah? And what're you doing that's keeping you so busy?"
"Aeryn and I are meeting to go over tactics in the event we're boarded--again. Zhaan is preparing more of the antiseptic treatment that you'll be applying. All available DRDs are performing required maintenance. That leaves you."
"How about Sparky? He's small enough to fit up there."
D'argo just gave him a look.
"Alright, alright." John acquiesced. "Chianna?"
"Let me repeat. You are the only one free, and capable, barely, of performing this task."
"Oh, come ON, D'argo!" John flung his arms up. "I've been out wormhole hunting for the last ten hours. I am bushed, man! I just wanna hit the sack. Grab some Z's!"
As usual, the Earth slang didn't make it through the translator microbes. D'argo tilted his head in puzzlement, before realizing from context that John was tired and wanted to sleep. "You can do that later," he said shortly. "Now . . . " He bent over to grab a panel and, with a loud grunt, heaved it out of the way. Dimly lit rungs were revealed inside. "You are going up this shaft."
John folded his arms across his chest. "And what'll you do if I don't? Spank me?" he quipped.
The Luxan's brow furrowed. "Spank? What is a spank?"
"It's, uh . . . " John hesitated, then laughed cheesily. "You guys seriously don't have a word for it?"
"Explain it to me," D'argo commanded.
John looked flabbergasted, but then shrugged. Hey, why the hell not? It wouldn't be the first time he'd had to explain some of the finer points of Earth culture to his outer space companions. "It's a child's punishment. Y'know. When a kid acts bratty, the dad get P.O.'d and . . . " He pantomimed smacking his own butt. "Gives him a couple whacks."
"They're punished on their eema?" D'argo looked stunned.
"Uh, sure," John chuckled at the terminology. "It usually works too, but uh, don't tell my dad I said that."
Although John described it as for children, his real last spanking had been in his early twenties, well after beginning college. He'd gotten his dad's old pick-up truck into a head-on collision, and been lucky to walk away alive, much less unscathed. His father, Jack Crichton the famous astronaut hero, had whipped his belt off when he heard about it and dragged John out to the backyard. Then he'd proceeded to raise holy hell on his son's bare ass for the better part of an hour--though more for putting his life in danger than for wrecking the truck. Still, a very adult John had been forced to sleep stomach-down for a good week afterward.
"'Course, most of that's gone out of style now with all the child activists around. You know, Doctor Spock's crowd. No, not Spock the Vulcan. A different one." John laughed at D'argo's confusion. "But yeah, I'm not surprised you'd never heard of it, being part of the great big civilized universe out here . . . "
"On the contrary, human." D'argo suddenly smirked at him. "We Luxans have a very similar ritual, though it is hardly reserved for children. My earlier shock was simply due to a realization that our two cultures may not be so dissimilar after all."
With that, D'argo grabbed John's arm and started moving him down the passageway.
"Uhh . . . huh? Big D? Man? What's up?" John asked in confusion.
"A Luxan discipline ritual may be exactly the enforcement you need to go about your duties, Crichton. I plan on applying it."
"A--woah! Wait, hold up--" John dug his heels into the floor. "You don't mean--You're not gonna--!"
John got his answer when D'argo gave him one of his dangerous smirk and growl combinations. It was the same kind of expression he gave whenever he was entering a fight, or challenging another male for alpha. D'argo had always used it whenever he went into his hyper-rage, too--fun times which John had thought were over with. Maybe not.
Then, D'argo yanked him forward. Although John was an especially well-muscled specimen of red-blooded American man, he was no match for the stronger alien's grip. The Luxan pulled him down the corridor so hard that it felt like his arm was being pulled out of it's socket.
"D'argo, I told you it's just for kids!" John hissed. His mind raced, trying to figure a way to convince the big alien not to go through with his plan.
"Not for my species. And besides, you HAVE been acting childish. I'll show you how we deal with disobedient children in the Uncharted Territories."
Although John continued protesting, D'argo was in one of his full-blown large-and-in-charge moods by then, and had clearly already decided what he was going to do. All of John's objections fell on deaf ears.
They entered one of Moya's dining areas, and D'argo kicked out a tall metallic stool. John tried one last time to free himself from the Luxan's strong grip, but his efforts didn't amount for much as it just took one quick jerk for D'argo to haul him over his lap. He was left with his upper body dangling off one of D'argo's legs, his knuckles almost able to touch the floor. His legs were off the other side. And his beefy, leather-pants-clad ass? Placed dead-center, right in the middle of the firing line.
John squirmed a little--and D'argo's eyes were drawn to the round butt-cheeks shifting over each other. Such spankable buttocks he had rarely seen, even among female Luxans. He smirked down at his captured prey.
"Uh, okay D'argo . . . " John tried one of his last resorts, some patented Crichton Charm. He flashed D'argo a pearly smile and fluttered his baby blues. "Good joke! Yeah, ha ha. You guys on Moya so crazy. YOU CAN LET ME UP NOW!"
"This is no joke, Crichton," D'argo replied. He easily secured the human over his lap, ensuring there would be no escape. "I plan on disciplining you long and hard, until you're unable to sit down for several solar days. And there is nothing you can do about it."
Hearing that bad news, John kicked and tried to get off again, unsuccessfully. "Damn it, D'argo!" John cast about for an excuse--any excuse. "What if somebody walks in?"
"Then they will see me punishing an errant crewmate." D'argo patted one spherical cheek with an air of ownership. "A punishment he's clearly needed for many cycles."
John racked his brain, trying to think of a way to get out of this. It was clear by now he wasn't escaping without a very good plan. He considered calling for help over the comms, but quickly dismissed it. The humiliation he'd suffer explaining the problem far outweighed any chance of help he'd receive. And he wasn't about to broadcast to the whole ship how he was about to get spanked like a bad, bad boy either. Next he considered his pulse pistol Winona, strapped to his outer thigh--but that didn't prove any good either, as a second later D'argo seized his arms and pinned them behind his back. He was left without many options besides kicking and cursing D'argo out. Even if he did manage to get away, D'argo could just use his stun-tongue on him before he could get out of the room, leaving him in an even worse position.
"Now stop struggling like an unmated flibisk," D'argo told him sternly, "Or this will get much, MUCH, worse for you."
A reddish-brown hand descended and caught John on his left ass-cheek, hard.
"Ouch!" John yelled.
D'argo smirked wryly. "Typical deficient human. Yelping from just one swat."
"I'm not deficient!" John snapped. "I'm superior. And that hurt, you sonuva--OW!" He grunted loudly as another spank bit down on his right buttock. Swearing, he bucked--but that only incited D'argo to start spanking him harder and faster. Each slam of his palm hit John's trapped ass squarely, making the muscles ripple and bounce. It was soon evident that D'argo was a skilled spanker, able to quickly build up a sizeable burn on the astronaut's well-formed rear.
"Unf! Ow! D'argo, that's--oof!--that's . . . Ow! Cut it out already . . . ! That's enough!" John gritted his teeth as the Luxan palm continued working over his ass. He tried to free his arms, to kick his legs out, to twist onto his side--anything to get a break from the heavy smacks crashing down on him. But he could only hiss as they continued, uninterrupted for all his squirms. He grimaced in pain and humiliation--a grown man getting spanked--and his face flushed bright red.
Every wriggle and flex of John's ass was shown to his Luxan spanker. D'argo found himself increasingly distracted by the sight. The leather pants John wore had always been tight, but now in his bent-over state they wrapped themselves even further about his rump. Every little movement of muscle could clearly be observed through them. They even folded into the crease of the buttocks, defining John's ass-crack.
"Quit squirming, human, or I'll use the flat of my Qualta blade to paddle you," D'argo said sternly. He smiled at the sudden tensing of the globes.
"Uhh--no man. You don't gotta do that," John said. If just D'argo's palm hurt this badly, he didn't want to even think about what a paddling would feel like. "Just the hand is good!"
The Luxan smirked. "Indeed. So far it's been more than enough to conquer you. But . . . Just to make sure you remember this . . . "
"Woah, D-Man. What're you--No! Don't!" John tried harder than ever to escape--but was still good and pinned when D'argo reached underneath him to undo his zipper. He blew his breath out in angry exasperation as his pants were peeled down, turning inside out as they traveled over the bulge of his round bottom. There was practically a popping nose as his reddened, surprisingly bare, ass snapped into view. John hung his head off from D'argo's thigh, gritting his teeth at being caught going commando. His partially-erect cock (hopefully D'argo wouldn't notice, or was ignorant of human reproductive organs) rubbed up against the red material of D'argo's tunic. His face blushed harder, turning almost as red as his butt.
D'argo coughed. " . . . No underwear?"
"Yeah, well, since Aeryn took my Calvin's that one time, I haven't exactly had a chance to go browsing for a new set . . . " John muttered. "And. y'know, once you get used to some room around the boys, it actually feels kinda . . . "
"Stop. That's more than I ever wanted to know about you." D'argo winced. Then he eyed the nude cheeks. As usual, John's body displayed his race's inferiority. His rump had absolutely no natural defenses. No fur, no scales, no strong hide that could withstand punishment. Just two invitingly firm, meaty globes of flesh that squirmed and twisted as he disciplined them. Though, he had to admit, they were somewhat handsome in their own way. "But it works out well for the last part of this. True Luxan punishment always ends on naked flesh."
"Why did I have the feeling you'd say something like that?" John groaned as the spanking commenced again, this time on bare ass. He couldn't believe how much more it hurt without those pants back there to protect him. Each powerful smack felt like a pulse blast roasting his buns. John couldn't help but start to holler at each hit, arcing his back out in pain and clenching his smarting buttocks. "Aooooww!"
"Oh stop being such a nally," D'argo said without a hint of remorse. He kept hammering away. "You've been asking for this for a long time, Crichton. Refusing to do as you're told. Following your own agenda instead of what's best for the group. And I plan to punish you for your behavior as often as I need to from now on."
"Ahhhooohhh!" John wailed, thrashing around like a caught trout. His beefy buns bounced and danced over the Luxan's lap, unable to evade even one collision of D'argo's strong palm with them. "Oo--oof! If this is about the--yowww!--tubes, then I'll go! I'll go right now! Just--ooomhhh!--quit beatin' my ass!"
"This stopped being about the tubes a long time ago," D'argo answered. He continued to smack, whack, and crack his hand down across the other man's writhing seat, thoroughly reddening each cheek. He was enjoying the sight of Crichton with his backside exposed, groaning, moaning, and yelping in pain from some hard discipline. It was quite appealing, and long overdue. "This is for every time you've ever put Moya at risk, or gone of in your module instead of doing what needs to be done, helping to upkeep her vital functions. Too often have we had to pick up the slack for your selfishness."
"Owwwowouch! Okay already, I get it! I'll--unf!--I'll--ooowie!--I'll do my CHORES!" John cried, "I'll be--ouuuuch!--I'LL BE GOOD!"
John paused in his struggles and blinked. Where had those pleas come from?
"Heh. Now we're getting somewhere," D'argo said. Then he raised his palm for some of his hardest spanks yet.
* * * * *
About one hour and one trip down Moya's tubes later, John limped down the corridor, buns throbbing. He absently rubbed his ass while he walked.
"Where are you going, John?" a slithery voice said, worming it's way into his consciousness.
"The lab," John said shortly. "If Zhaan can make poultices to ease a Leviathan's pain, I'm sure she can make something for one human rear end."
"It was interesting--" Harvey said, suddenly next to him, "--how easily you gave in to such a simple punishment. Enough blows to the backside and you were willing to do, or say, anything to make it stop. Do you suppose that, if I relay this information to Scorpius, he'll choose a different way of extracting information from you than with the Aurora Chair next time?"
John scowled at the neural chip.
The Scorpius look-alike clasped his hands in front of him. "I can see it now. You, tied face-down, spread-eagled, to one of his paddling machines. Naked, of course. The Peacekeepers have many punishment implements at their disposal, John. It would make what you just received from your Luxan friend seem quite--" Harvey licked his lips, cast about for the right word, smiled when he found it, "--pleasant, in comparison."
"Buzz off, Marquis de Sade."
Harvey's eyes simply followed the curves of John's body as he stormed off, following the bounce and flexing of his buttocks inside those tight leather pants. This would hardly be the last time John Crichton received a humiliating spanking for his stubbornness. Hardly the last at all.