Title: Kink
Authors: Josephine and Cincoflex
Emails: Lovellama@aol.com and Cincoflex@aol.com
Rating: R
Codes: C/P. Davis, SG1, Kinsey, others
Category: Action
Summary: Hidden desires revealed
A/N: Part 13 of the 'Major Romantics' series
~~~~~
No one alive knew of the secret room's existence; that is, no one besides the owner. The builder of the old D.C. home was long dead, and the previous possessor, although having lived there for nigh on fifty years, had no idea there was a narrow hidden space at the back of the old house.
It was not as much of a room as it was a hallway; in fact that is just what it had been, years ago, before the doors that led from one bedroom through to a sitting room and a bath had been plastered over (all except one, which was hidden quite well, as we will find out) and the connecting hallway turned into a sort of hideaway where a husband could sit in and smoke a pipe and reminisce about his salad days, the wife very happy not to think about that room, as she did not approve of smoking or the wild oats he had sown before she met him.
Certainly none of the staff working there knew about it; the door was cleverly disguised, as we mentioned before; there was no bookcase hung on it like nearly all hidden doors have, no telltale curving scores in the hardwood floor to show that section of the wall swung open.
Which was for the best, as the contents of that room… well, let us just say if the American people ever found out what was in that room it would go very badly for the owner of the house, very badly indeed. There are some things that can be forgiven, some odd kicks to a gallop that with a wink and a nod can be overlooked. Great men, after all, have to have their releases, being great and all. It was regrettable, then, that this man was not great, except in his own small little mind and in a few oily sycophants', who erroneously thought they could ride his coattails to some position of perceived power.
But, as we will learn from this story, in the long run, evil plants the seeds of its own destruction, and neither they, nor the morally bankrupt man who was just entering the secret room, his wife asleep, his staff gone, was going anywhere.
~~~~~
The secret room held only one thing, although there were many of them, in many personifications. They all hung on the wall, in identical frames, one right after the other, reaching almost from the floor to the ceiling.
A pale, blunt fingered hand ran across certain ones as its owner remembered, smiling at the candid photos that shared the frames. Margaret Thatcher, years before she became Prime Minister, Golda Meir when she was the Israeli Minister of Labor, Madeline Albright at the reception to celebrate her appointment as Secretary of State. Further on a young Condolezza Rice chatted intently with her advisor at Notre Dame.
Near the end, the man paused, staring at a collection of three women in their own large frame. Rose Clowderbock, Joanna O'Neil, and Samantha Carter. The hand lingered over two objects hanging next to the top pictures: a black lace panty with embroidered blue roses and a gossamer thin, fire red silk thong. Eventually it came to rest on the empty space next to the last photo.
"Samantha," the man sighed as he gazed at her. She was in a Ferris wheel gondola, the mountains of Colorado in the background. Paul Davis, the man she was smiling at, had ruthlessly been cropped out of the picture.
Sitting down in an armchair specifically put there for this purpose, the statesman eased his hand down under the waistband of his sleepwear.
"Soon, Samantha…" Robert Kinsey promised her, his eyes locked on her radiant face as he relentlessly stroked himself.
~~~~~
Clad in her dress blues, Sam walked up the steps to the Senate, behind and slightly to the right of Jack, Daniel bringing up the rear. She could see the tense set of the Colonel's shoulders under his jacket, his eyes hidden by the brim of his hat and his dark sunglasses. Daniel sighed behind her, and in her mind's eye Sam could see him shifting uncomfortably in the dark gray suit, grumbling once again on the injustice of Teal'c getting to play the D.C. tourist instead of having to coming along to this inquisition.
Silently the trio made their way through a pair of double doors and into the bowels of the building, taking a ride in an elevator with a handful of other people going about on the nation's business, walking down plush carpeted halls, eventually stopping outside conference room 34-B.
Senator Kinsey was there, speaking intently with a serious-faced young intern as Paul Davis waited at a discrete distance. Paul caught Sam's eye and nodded professionally as she just stood and stared in shock.
Paul had grown a goatee, and thanks to an ancestor's Italian genes it had come in dark and thick. Frankly, it gave him a rather rakish look, and Sam had a hard time concentrating on anything other than the way it framed his luscious mouth, set off his jaw line, and drove a heady spike of lust through her to settle low in her belly.
"Colonel!" Senator Kinsey finally dismissed the intern, turning away from the young woman to smile at Jack. "Glad you could make it."
"Don't mention it," Jack replied stiffly, his voice trying for casual but still holding a shade of insolence anyone familiar with him would recognize.
"I'm sure you all remember Major Davis," commented the senator as Paul stepped up beside him, Kinsey's eyes flicking to Daniel, then resting on Sam.
Sam flashed an absentminded smile, the usual frisson of unease she got every time she was around Kinsey overridden by the sight of Paul in that goatee. The familiar scent of her love's aftershave drifted over her and Sam bit back a moan.
"It's good to see you again, Major," she said, amazingly steady, as Jack and Daniel mumbled hellos.
"Colonel, Doctor, Major." Paul's face was neutral and his voice even, although there was soft cast to his smile as he greeted Sam.
With Sam and Paul focused entirely on each other, Jack impatient to get this whole thing over with, and Daniel thinking about the pictograms recently found on P2K-519, no one noticed the hot little gleam in Kinsey's eye as he briefly leered at Sam before the bland political mask dropped over his face.
"Well!" Kinsey rubbed his hands together. "The Intelligence Oversight Committee awaits us, gentlemen. And lady." With a half smirk at the scent of blood in the air, and knowing it wasn't his, the senator opened the conference room doors with a flourish and stepped through, leaving the others to follow.
~~~~~
Sam shivered. She wasn't actually cold, although the temperature in D.C. was just as fickle as she remembered. No, her little shudder had far more to do with delicious images and memories occupying her thoughts as she rode in the taxi. Alone, Sam barely took in her surroundings as she pulled out her wallet fishing for the fare, her thoughts lingering on Paul.
Paul with that lovely, lovely goatee! The frame of dark hair around his mouth
made him look confident and leaner and oh dear God sexy as hell to boot. Sam
had no idea how she'd managed to get through the Senate hearings with any
semblance of intelligence, not with Paul looking that incredible and only an
arm's length away most of the time. It had been sheer hell not to be able to do
more than shoot him a passing glance now and then despite the colonel and
Daniel's occasionally teasing nudges. Finally she'd worked up the courage to
talk briefly with him in the hall, still in sight of her teammates but out of
anyone's hearing.
God. Paul in Class A's with that goatee—it was a wonder she hadn't launched
herself at him right there.
"Paul—" she'd croaked.
"Babe. Wanted to surprise you—looks like it worked," his green eyes
had twinkled.
"Uh, yeah, you could say that. So—"
Oh she'd been so dry-mouthed and scared, making that unspoken request! But this
was Paul and after all their phone calls and e-mails he'd more than understood.
A lovely stern look at her, one that heated her whole spine.
"So. Tonight then, my house, eight o'clock. We both know it's time you
learned your place, Gattina mio."
With a barely suppressed moan Sam clutched the bills in her hand; the cab
slowed down in front of a familiar duplex, the porch light a welcoming beacon.
Sam climbed out and pressed the money into the driver's grip, then turned to
look towards the front door. A quick dizzying spin of memories spun around her:
Are
you sure? I trust you.
Yes. We've talked about the boundaries and I'm getting hard just thinking about
it.
I'm
looking forward to making you happy--you don't know how much!
Good, Gattina. And the words?
Verde, giallo, rosso—but
I don't think we'll need them.
Shhh—we play safe or we don't play at all. What about your company?
They're making their own entertainment—I heard something about the Smithsonian
from D and the C and T are going to see The Magic Flute at the Kennedy Center.
Good. So you'll devote your whole night to pleasing me.
Yes.
And you WILL, won't you, Gattina? Be my perfect little pet, happy to see me, be
stroked and corrected by me?
God, Paul, don't tease!
It's what you want, babe. We both know it.
Yes, but I want to be WITH you.
Soon. You'll be here tomorrow. I'll have a surprise for you. And sweetheart?
Yes?
Don't touch yourself tonight.
Paul! *whimper* You're serious?
Completely, Gattina. Goodnight.
Now here she stood on the
front porch fighting the quivers running through her frame as she reached out
and rang the bell. Sam felt tense, hot and achy, a delicious sensation that
enveloped her from head to toe. The door opened and she drew in a breath.
Paul stood there, his eyes locked on hers, his slightly stern expression
halting her urge to hug him. Slowly he held out his hand; instinctively Sam
reached to shake it, but suddenly realized that wasn't what he intended, not at
all. He brought his knuckles to her lips and softly she kissed them, tasting
clean skin. He looked taller, leaner, and was dressed completely in black: a
ribbed turtleneck sweater, black suede pants and a coal-black leather
cattleman's duster over that.
"Good girl. First rule—don't speak unless asked a question. Come into the
living room," Paul murmured, leading the way, not bothering to see if she
followed. Sam trailed behind him quickly after closing the door. She badly
wanted to kiss more of him.
Paul himself was having a hard time fighting that same desire as it applied to
Sam. He closed his eyes, suppressing the taunting urge to just turn around and
pounce. Instead, he strode into the living room, concentrating on his next
words and listening to Sam behind him.
"I have a wonderful evening planned IF you're a good girl, tesora. Dinner
at the Jasmine followed by a long slow hot fuck here at home," he lightly
announced, watching Sam's face flush at his words. He enjoyed seeing her shift
uneasily from foot to foot; taking pity on her, he dropped into the recliner
and let his steady gaze go from her toes to the top of her head.
Sam wore a soft blue dress with a hemline at the knee. Her hair was lightly
gelled and she wore a conservative pair of heels. Paul sighed.
"You outfit isn't right, Gattina. I can't show you off if you're going to
wear THAT."
Sam glanced down at herself and blinked, at a loss to react. Paul rubbed his
chin and smiled.
"Go in my room and change into the outfit laid out for you on my bed."
When she hesitated, Paul added, "Now."
Sam dropped her chin and crossed to the staircase with alacrity, making Paul
smile.
Once upstairs and inside the bedroom she drew in a quick excited breath when
she saw the scrap of black silk on the quilt. With trembling fingers she picked
up the slip dress and under it saw the black thigh highs embroidered with tiny
gold stars.
Swiftly Sam changed, savoring the feel, the sleek kiss of the cool fabric on
her skin. She slowly pulled the thigh highs up and licked her lips, worried.
Her pumps were the wrong color to match, but before she could figure out what
to do, she heard Paul's voice calling her and she came down, stocking footed,
into the living room.
Paul watched her, the sweet heat of lust coiling low in his stomach like a
cobra.
"Come here, Gattina mio. You need a few things—some heels of course, and
something more—" Paul rose up. With one booted foot he pushed a shoebox
across the rug to Sam. She bent over and swiftly Paul stepped up behind her,
grinding against her ass, the silk barely an impediment. Sam gave a surprised
gasp, but Paul laughed, his fingers flicking the hem of the dress up. He
pinched the cotton of her panties.
"These go. I want you naked under this."
Breathing hard, Sam ground back against him, but Paul pulled away.
"Lose them. And put your shoes on tesora. You're almost ready, aren't you
my good little pet—" he crooned. Sam shivered again, fighting back her
thwarted lust as she opened the shoebox and fished out the black leather ankle
strap heels. Paul waited as she put them on with shaky fingers, strapping them
neatly and rising up again. He looked at her patiently and in a flash she
remembered. Slowly, Sam eased her panties down and off, letting them pool at
her feet as she stepped out of them. Paul nodded approvingly, an intense look
in his hot green eyes.
"Damn but you're gorgeous. Now kneel."
Sam sank down, biting her lip, her big blue eyes locked on him. Paul drew in a
deep, calming breath trying hard to master his own evident desire and stay in
control. Although Sam had been the one wanting to play this game, he was
astonished at how quickly, how POWERFULLY he himself was responding to taking
charge of her. In the sensible real world part of his mind, Paul chided himself
for the egotism of making a brilliant scientist and soldier cater to his every
little whim.
It was a very short chide, especially after Sam looked up at him and licked her
lips. Paul forced his attention back to the matters at hand, and fished into an
inner pocket of his coat, drawing out a single glittering strand.
The heavy necklace was of rough gold, twisted into thick links that caught the
light. Sam's eyes riveted to it as Paul drew it through his fingers in a slow
caress, making it clink.
"Every good pet needs a collar, Gattina, to show she's owed and cared for.
Along with your new shoes you'll wear this tonight. Do you like it?"
Sam nodded, finding her voice finally.
"It's beautiful—sir."
"Kiss it—" Paul told her, extending it towards the kneeling woman.
Sam tipped her face down and lightly pressed her mouth to the center of the
chain, shivering. Paul made a pleased sound and stepped around her, dragging
the cold metal around her throat.
"Such a good girl, wearing her collar," he praised, pulling her to her
feet. He let his breath heat the back of her neck as his hands moved to cup her
full breasts, fingers gliding over her hard nipples.
Sam moaned, fighting to stay perfectly still; Paul was in charge and she didn't
dare do anything without his permission. He dropped his mouth to the side of
her neck, nuzzling closer, and suddenly his tongue flicked out, licking her in
one long hot wet stroke. Instantly Sam tensed, arching to give him better
access to her skin, rocking back against Paul and whimpering.
"Ohhhh---" she gurgled. He slid his hands warm and strong along Sam's
shoulders, gripping her sleek muscles.
"Touch your chest—"
Sam's hands rose, sliding along her silk-covered diaphragm and up the slope of
her breasts, obediently cupping them. Paul sighed.
"I like the look of that. It feels nice through the silk, doesn't
it?"
"—Yes—" Sam sighed, her fingers moving in little circles over the
fullness. Paul ruthlessly tightened his grip on her shoulders.
"Yes--?" he prompted in a hiss. Sam stiffened.
"Yes SIR!" came her quick gasp. Paul pushed her shoulders and she
dropped to her knees again immediately, her hands still on her chest. A spike
of fear flavored with spicy lust shot through her, and Sam felt dizzy; she
sensed the liquid inferno building between her thighs.
"You need to remember just who I AM, tesora. Tonight I am Sir, or Master. Anything else is wrong and will be punished. FORGETING to address me properly will be punished. Are we clear on this, Gattina?"
"Yes Master—" Sam whispered quickly, wanting to shift her thighs. She
closed her eyes, her mind racing.
No one would have recognized her now, she knew. Despite her occasional
eagerness to follow an order from the colonel, Samantha Carter still had the
reputation of being a fierce feminist and outspoken critic of traditional roles
for women, and yet, here she was, relishing this hidden core of submission,
fueled by a drive for perfection even in THIS role of all roles.
Giving in to Paul was easy because it felt so good. So sweetly powerful. So
damned sexy she was about to explode—
"Better. Now, let's go have some dinner."
~~~~~