Warning: From now on this story is rated "M" for possibly disturbing sexual/violent content . Don't read it if it's not your cup of tea.

Note: The story is set post-season five in a sort of AU between book two (The Lost) and book three (Allegiance) of the Legacy Series of SGA novels written by J. Graham, A. Griswold and M. Scott. Minor spoiler warning.


Chapter 2

In a fitful dream, John was naked, strapped spread-eagle to a hard table while someone painfully cleaned and stitched his wounded arm. Someone else poured a hot and sticky liquid around his privates and, after it cooled solid, tore it off in strips along with his hair. The pain and confusion felt so real.

He woke up with goose bumps all over his body and a sickening realization that the nightmare had not been a dream. On the plus side, instead of being naked, he had on his boxer briefs and he was lying on a massive four-poster bed, definitely not a table. On the minus side, his crotch felt strangely irritated and he couldn't move. His arms and legs were stretched wide and firmly tied to the thick bars of the hardwood head and foot boards. His right arm was bandaged.

"Oh crap," he said, pulling and twisting his wrists to try to loosen the restraints. "This can't be good."

"I am glad you are finally awake," said a woman's voice that he did not recognize. "I am eager to get to know you better."

"Who are you and what the hell do you want?" He turned toward her voice, blinking several times to focus his vision.

The first thing he noticed was that her aquiline features matched the sharpness of her tone. She was tall, probably about his height, and built like an Amazon—a combination of curves and muscles, that reminded Sheppard of a female Ronon. Piles of wavy light chestnut hair fell to her shoulders from a complicated headdress. The Empire-style waist of her long dark purple satin gown was rimmed with gold at the cap sleeves and hem. Long slits on the sides of the dress revealed flashes of copper-colored naked leg as she strode across the room.

"We met at the Chancellor's gala three months ago. I am offended that you don't remember me," she said. Her smile did not reach her eyes. "I am Lady Vernara Alkamade."

After staring at her for a few moments, he remembered their previous encounter a few months before at some fancy-assed evening affair he and his team had been forced to attend with Mr. Woosley. She had cornered him and had tried to entice him to walk with her in the gardens. Her hungry eyes and roaming hands had raised his shackles. Thank goodness, Teyla had rescued him by asking him to join her in meeting some other officials.

"Okay, I do remember when we met. But why did you have me dragged here?" While finding himself tied to a bed wearing only his underwear did give him a strong clue as to her intentions—it still seemed too ridiculous to be true.

"I think it's pretty obvious why I had you brought here," she climbed onto the bed and straddled his thighs. "I had been wanting to have you since our first encounter, but it took some time to find the right circumstances to acquire you."

"You acquired me? I am not some piece of property," the panther like way she was climbing over him was starting to freak him out. "Look, I would like to get to know you better, but I am kind of busy fighting the Wraith. Maybe when things quiet down…"

"Things are quiet here, but might not remain so for long," Out of seemingly nowhere, she produced a knife and nicked the skin below his Adam's apple. She placed her other hand over his mouth, "Silence. Let me show you what will happen if you argue with me."

With the tip of the knife, she traced a long thin line spiraling out from the inside of his left elbow almost to his shoulder. The line thickened with blood. Sheppard concentrated on steadying his breaths to ignore the stinging pain.

"I have always wanted to flay someone alive. This might be a good opportunity for me to start," she made multiple shorter cuts perpendicular to the first. "Oh, look what I have done to you. I must clean it up." She secured her knife to the leather sheath strapped to her lower right leg and grabbed a cup from the nearby night table. She poured its contents on the fishbone arrangement of shallow wounds.

The sharp burn from the strong fermented beverage made him gasp. "I… I get the message, no more complaining. Anyway, that's usually McKay's job and he is not here."

"Good," she caressed his cheeks and ran her fingers through his hair, her nose close enough to graze his. "Such remarkable dark thick hair, a wonderful contrast to your fair skin."

With a light touch, her index finger went across his forehead and followed the ridge of his nose down to the lips and chin. She held his jaw steady as she brought her mouth to take a surprisingly gentle nibble on his lower lip.

Lips lightly kissing his mouth, her hands wandered to his collarbone and down his chest. "Were my guards a little too rough on you? Let me make sure that they didn't hurt any of the important parts." Her touch was light on the darkening red and purple bruises scattered on his chest. "I'll have their hide if they did."

She skirted over the bruised skin and felt her way down the middle of his rib cage toward his exposed belly button. Sheppard felt a moment's relief when she stopped before venturing inside his underwear. Instead, she moved back to his chest and leaned into him. With her tongue she slowly traversed the space between his nipples, stopping at each endpoint to gently suck it to attention. He hissed to stop himself from shouting obscenities at her. Don't piss off the crazy lady, she has a very sharp knife and you are tied up like a virgin sacrifice—he repeated that mantra to force himself not to react verbally or physically.

She moved up to nuzzle his neck as one of her hands dropped back down to his hips, on top of his boxers. She traced the contours beneath the stretchy fabric. The feeling of the material pressed on his skin made him realize in horror that his pubic hair was gone. Holly crap, somehow in his wounded and drug-induced stupor he had been given a full Brazilian.

After circling for a while, her hand slid to the apex of his crotch, pressing in a slow circular motion. To John's chagrin, his traitorous dick twitched. Pleased by its response, she encouraged it with stronger strokes. An unmistakably thickening protrusion began to stretch the black fabric.

"I have never seen such a form fitting and soft undergarment." Vernara looked down with an appreciative smile, "Much more appealing than those baggy coarse things our men usually wear."

"How about we start underwear trade negotiations?" John knew that this was a very meek attempt at distraction. "If you are impressed by this, you should see what we have for ladies."

Ignoring him, she explored the prominent pouch of his briefs and quickly found the side fly opening. John felt his heart jump in his chest when Vernara slipped her fingers inside to clasp him and squeeze.

"I am pleased that my imagination was not far off the mark regarding the size of you manhood," she said. She hitched the skirt of her gown higher and slid her bottom up his hips to rub herself against him. From what he felt through the thin material of his briefs, he was sure that Vernara was bare in every sense of the word.

"Look Vernara, it's not fair that I get all the attention," John surprised himself by how jovial he managed to sound. He controlled the urge to squirm away from her wet contact. "If you untie one of my wrists, I will be happy to oblige you. Ladies have complimented me on my fine motor skills."

She swiftly repositioned her body to reach down between his legs and grab him. The twist of her wrist made him gasp.

"Do you think that I am a fool? When we first met, I gave you plenty of chances to come to my bed willingly," Vernara's voice hissed in anger. "Now, you will learn what happens to men who refuse me."

John clenched his jaw shut, not wanting to show any further signs of discomfort. She released him and swept her hand upward to thread her fingers through his chest hair, tugging slightly.

"Now that I think of it, I am glad you didn't. This is going to be a lot more enjoyable … at least for me." She dismounted from his hips and walked across the room with an exaggerated swaying of hips. Her back turned away, he couldn't see what she was doing.

John felt panic rising in his gut. Vernara had total control and, despite the message being sent by his pesky penis, he did not have any desire to have sex with her. Forgetting his Gandhi-inspired mantra, he strained to loosen the leather restraints. He barely managed to move his arms and legs a few inches. Not surprisingly, they had no give. His shoulders burned from the effort and he felt as if something was sawing through his appendages.

"Now John, stop that," Vernara said in a scolding tone. "You will only cause further injury to yourself. Your wrists and ankles are already scrapped and will soon bleed if you keep on pulling so."

She dropped a black pouch on the covers. It made a clanging noise. She climbed back on the bed to straddle his calves and with both hands she reached over to the waistband of his briefs.

"I would really enjoy cutting these off you," she said tugging to move them down past his hips. "But I like the way they look on you and you will need them later."

To try to stop her from stripping him completely, John tensed his body, pressing himself into the bed. She reached over to put her weight on his wounded shoulder. He gasped at the sharp pain.

"Have you already forgotten my warning? There is no sense resisting me, John." Her left hand continued pulling down his underwear, unconcerned when her nails scratched his skin. "I will not hesitate to further injure you. In fact, I find you even more attractive when you are in pain."

Fighting his inner revulsion at what was happening, John tried to be pragmatic. He knew that he was powerless to stop this woman from having her way with him. He cringed at thinking like a female character from those trashy romances some of the women in the expedition were addicted to (even Teyla had started to get into them; he enjoyed teasing her about that).

The little resistance that he could manage in the present circumstances would end up driving her to hurt him even more. If his arm got any worse or if he drove her to maim him in other ways—and best not think about what ways—he would not be able to take advantage of whatever opportunities to escape he might have in the future. This all made sense, but he wasn't so sure that he could passively take what seemed to be inevitable.

At least, as a first step, he stopped resisting her efforts to remove his last remaining article of clothing. She slid further down his legs to give herself a bit more room to maneuver as she tugged down the briefs. When her hands stopped midway down his thighs to knead his bare ass, John felt his face flush.

"You are all lean, chiseled muscle," she said before pulling the underwear all the way down to stretch wide between his ankles. "I suspected it when I first saw you walk into the gala in your trim blue uniform. Too bad my men didn't capture you in that outfit. I would have enjoyed peeling it off you."

Her ice-blue eyes swept up and down John's nude length. She licked her lips, reminding him of a lioness eyeing her prey. Supporting her weight with her left hand on his bruised upper chest, her right hand caressed his newly hairless triangle before plunging between his legs to cup him. John held his breath not knowing what to expect. She fondled his parts with a few quick strokes, as if to size them up. John was glad that his penis had the decency to shrink. Way to go boy—he mentally encouraged it to stay that way—the goal on this mission is actually not to stand-up to this kind of torture.

"Look, this is ridiculous," John interrupted Vernara's appraisal of his nether regions. "You can see that I am not into this sort of thing."

"Do not worry dear colonel. I have delightful ways to make you ready to fulfill my needs." She reached for one of the cylindrical decorative pillow on her bed and added, "but first I must readjust your position. Lift up your hips."

"Do not give me an excuse to hurt your again," she said when he hesitated to obey her command. With a quickness that showed expert training, she again pulled out her handy knife. "I know many ways to cut you without affecting your ability to pleasure me."

To demonstrate, she pressed the point of the knife below his right nipple and carved a thin curved crimson line. These slow shallow cuts hurt much more than quicker deeper ones. She proceeded to do the same on the other side. Once again seeing no way out, John steeled himself to cooperate, at least for the present. He dreaded the direction this was heading. Vernara wiped the blade on the sheets and re-sheathed her knife.

After he lifted his hips, Vernara slipped the pillow right under the small of his back, tilting his butt off the bed. The restraints pulled harder on his limbs. As she adjusted his position, she pried his legs apart as far as they would go within the confines of the shackles and the discarded briefs. He felt incredibly vulnerable. He was certain that his face must be as red as a tomato. His heart raced loudly in his chest—he ground his teeth to steady himself.

Vernara removed a metal flask and some other objects from the pouch she had just brought over. She placed the flask and something else in the space between his legs, where he couldn't see. Trying to get a reaction out of him, she showed him a silver four-inch long bulbous rod, seemingly made of a couple of golf-sized balls and several progressively smaller spheres fused together. A T-shaped metal handle flared out from the widest end. She laid the rod on his crotch, right next to his now flaccid member, as if she wanted to compare the two. The metal felt cold and ominously heavy on his skin. Dread rose in his gut.

Next, she showed him what looked like a miniature dog muzzle. His eyes opened wide in shock at the sight of the triple-ring black leather gizmo decorated with smooth rounded studs.

"Wait!" John gasped. He could not believe that this was going to happen to him. At this point he would rather face a Wraith Queen than this sadistic human. Somehow with his unbelievable bad luck, he had become the unpaid, forcefully conscripted star attraction in a hard-core porn movie. He again strained to get free of the restraints.

Ignoring his protest, Vernara briskly imprisoned him in the contraption. "I like the way this harness looks on your manhood," she help up her work to admire it. "It also serves a very practical purpose."

"I really don't want to know," he said.

From the flask, she poured onto the palm of her hand a generous amount of an oily, pale-gold liquid. It smelled like a strange mix of aloe and mint. She gripped him and massaged the oil all over his length, in and around the harness. A warming tingling sensation spread in the area. Outwardly stoically silent, he screamed obscenities in his head.

Vernara picked up the metal rod and lubricated it with the oil remaining in her palm. John tried to squirm away when she used it to probe his crease.

"If you do not fight this, you might enjoy it. Or at least it will hurt less," Vernara said in a sultry tone before penetrating him with the metal rod. A sharp burning sensation tore a gruff moan from his lips. With her other hand, she held him down so he couldn't jerk away. Without giving his body more than a few seconds to adjust, she twisted the rod.

"What the hell are you doing?" John gasped. "Oh, Vernara, a beautiful woman like you shouldn't have to stoop to this to get her jollies."

"This will make you ready for me," she said while pushing the rod deeper. John had never felt anything like it. Most disturbing, despite the pain, the internal pressure triggered the growth of his erection. "See? My dear colonel, now you will give me great pleasure."

He could not believe that he was being sodomized and that this was happening at the hands of a woman. Not that he would have accepted it any better if it had been a man. He was appalled that despite his utter discomfort and total lack of sexual arousal, he could feel his biggest boner ever. The torturous combination of a strange oil, the strategically placed rod and the tight leather collars had stripped him of any control.

In one swift motion, Vernara pulled off her gown to reveal her completely naked body. She was muscular and voluptuous, not fat but far from trim. Once more she straddled him. Lowering her full breasts to his chest, she slithered against him, slowly moving up and down. After a nibble to his lower lip, her tongue invaded his mouth. John resisted the urge to bite her. He knew that would make her furious, which would lead him to be even worse off than his present already dire situation.

Her oral attack moved onto his neck as her body slid down his torso. Her legs parted wide when her wet folds met his erection. She rubbed herself against the studs of the collars. Then, tilting her pelvis she reached with one hand behind to repeatedly smash him into the crease of her buttocks. John groaned.

"You like that don't you, John?" Vernara rose to her knees. Supporting her body with one hand, she used the other to rub him against her entrance.

"No, this is definitely not my idea of fun," John whispered as Vernara slowly sank down, engulfing him to the hilt. In a swiveling motion, she ground herself into his groin. The hairless skin to skin contact maximized all sensations. Tightly grasping his hips with both hands, she positioned him to rub her most sensitive spot against the studs decorating the tops of the triple collars.

Through the rod penetrating him, her gyrations transmitted painful shockwaves throughout his core. Despite the incredibly uncomfortable situation, John could not help but be aware that he remained hard as steel, his swollen tissue stretching the confines of the binding leather rings. It mostly hurt like hell, but there was a tiny, somewhat sickening undercurrent of pleasure. He sincerely hoped that he was not developing masochistic tendencies.

He felt the clench and release of her inner muscles, as she repeatedly buried his body into hers. The forceful pounding caused pain to radiate from his hips, through his sore ribs and outwards to his overly stretched limbs. His injured arm felt like it was slowly roasting over a fire pit. He closed his eyes to at least escape the image of her relentlessly riding him, her body glistening with sweat, bouncing boobs with enormously erect nipples pointing at him.

His meandering thoughts stopped as he felt her hand ominously move to his neck, fingers pressing down onto his trachea. She was chocking him.

"Do not close your eyes again," she hissed.

His eyes sprang open and once again he futilely fought against the restraints. She continued to press, making him gasp for any little bit of air. He forced himself to lay still.

"That's better," said Vernara, releasing her hold. "I have never seen such pretty eyes in a man. I like how they change color from a light green flecked with gold to a rich brown, as you move between pleasure and pain."

Unimpressed by her poetic ramblings, John tried to breathe through the jarring caused by her violent pounding. Repeatedly, she slowly rose up so that he was almost out of her and then she slammed down. He felt as if he was being skewered—which, in effect, he was. Uncharacteristically obedient, he kept his eyes open, staring at the wood beams that traversed the ceiling. Forever stubborn, even in this most humiliating of situations, he didn't want to give her the satisfaction of hearing another moan or any other sound escape his lips.

He willed himself to stop thinking about what she was doing and furiously tried to come up with a plan to escape. In quick succession he had to discard one preposterous idea after another. His only real option would have been to talk her into freeing him before she started getting into it. Clearly that train had left the station a very long time ago and most likely it had never been there. For whatever demented reason, she had gone to a lot of trouble and expense to get him there. He still couldn't quite wrap his mind around that thought. He imagined that if McKay ever found out about his latest predicament, he would twist it into Captain Kirk jokes. Even though they both knew this had never happened to Captain Kirk. For a second his mind wandered to thinking about McKay and what could be happening to him in the hands of the Wraith. What was happening to himself was a crazy waste of precious time—he had to get out of Vernara's clutches and get back to work on McKay's rescue.

But for now, John had to accept that he truly had no way to stop what was happening to him. This violation, this…this—he could barely formulate the word in his head—this rape. For the first time ever, he wished he could pass out on command. He so wanted this to be over with.

Unable to make himself faint (and he would gladly call it that if it were to happen), John started reassuring himself that he just had to hold on until his team came. We don't leave anyone behind and all that jazz. But then he had a horrid thought. Could he really stand the humiliation of having Teyla and Ronon see him tied up and used like this? Surely his ego should be able to withstand that better than suffering through more of Vernara's perversions? Anyway, he didn't think that they were going to find him anytime soon.

Panting heavily, Vernara arched her back and quickened her rhythm. Lost in her own world of pleasure, her hands frantically roamed his chest, indiscriminately scratching and caressing him. Finally, she barely suppressed a scream of pleasure as her body quivered multiple times. Her hair fell forward to curtain them as she rested her forehead against his. He could feel the little tremors still vibrating within her core.

Brimming with a weary all-encompassing pain and a deep sense of shame, he remained perfectly still. He hoped that she was done with him but feared that her sexual appetite had not been exhausted. He suspected that her attention would be inevitably rekindled by the still perfectly stiff part of him trapped within her.