A/N:

Dear reader:

This chapter is a doozy. I almost didn't publish it because it's so different from what you've come to expect. It's a fantasy framed in the mirror universe so there's some OOC behaviour involved. There's dominance and submission, and one sentence involving some female on female action. It was in me and needed to come out, I guess. It was much, much darker in the beginning, and I may spin this off because there's more that just wouldn't fit in this story. So if these themes are not your cup of tea, just skip over the sections with a (***) at the beginning and end and you should still be able to enjoy the chapter. I do hope you continue to stick with the story and let me know what you think.

There's something comforting about possessing a routine. I resume my clinical sessions with Spock; I run tests and he explains some of the mental states Vulcans implement and shares with me his methods of meditation. I record my notes and set some time aside to speak with Doctor M'Benga, back from a temporary assignment.

We keep our game on Tuesdays, even finding a new player in helm officer Lieutenant Radha. I keep my other activities as well, understanding the importance of keeping order to the time I've been given.

Because when I'm with Spock at the end and beginning of our days, time gets away, doesn't act right, becomes elongated and contracted. Time yields to give and take, to feeling. I've come to think that one of the best sensations in the known universe is being cocooned by Spock's body heat before slipping into sleep; one of the worst is having to get up to leave his side and enter the coldness of the rest of the ship.

One morning, I'm startled by Uhura's voice calling my name as I leave Spock's quarters. I turn and greet the comely communications officer with a grin. "Good morning, Nyota. On the way to the bridge?"

"I was going to stop at the officer's mess for breakfast-"

"Good. I'll join you. Need my coffee." I'm attempting to make this encounter about as normal as it can get in the hopes I don't have to offer an explanation.

I fail. "I noticed you're coming from Mr. Spock's quarters."

I give her a slight shrug. "Ah, that. Well, the commander's teaching me a method of meditation. First thing in the morning's perfect for it-gets one in a good mindset. Could be a useful tool for therapy."

We enter the turbolift and Uhura continues. "It seems this 'meditation' has given you quite a glow."

"Oh, Nyota. You don't think..." I stop myself in an effort to make the thought seem absurd to me. I offer an easy laugh and add, "This is Commander Spock we're talking about."

"Indeed we are, Counselor."

I take the hand off the turbolift control, stopping the car. I look at her and there's a clarity, an understanding between women that have something in common. "The ka'athyra lessons. Of course. How could he resist you?"

Uhura cocks her head to one side. "It was very brief. I felt lonely after that first year, especially not having Janice to talk to. And Spock was...curious." She sighs as if she's lifted a burden. "It got to be too hard, for both of us. So much has happened, a romance just couldn't survive."

"I'm so sorry, Nyota."

"You don't have to apologize, Celeste. I'm not remorseful. I have no regrets. Ending it wasn't the worst I've been through. I get on that bridge every day secure in the knowledge that things are as they should be."

I don't have a reply to something so sound. I think she's a tough act to follow; I can't help but feel a little inadequate at the moment. I just nod and reactivate the lift.

Uhura seems to know what I'm thinking and offers reassurance. "As women on this ship are concerned, you're the best choice for him."

"Thanks, Nyota, but don't tell Christine that. She's got a little bit of hope left, y'know? I don't want to be the one to kill it." Yet.

"I get it." Uhura answers the unanswered question for the second time. "I knew when Christine told me you rarely sleep in your own quarters. She thinks it's you and Ikeda, by the way."

You grimace. "Ikeda? Don't you think he's a bit young?"

"That's a problem?"

You shake your head and laugh. "Right. Well, it's plausible. Discretion is the better part of valour," I reply as the doors open. I hold my hand out and add, "After you."

Uhura smiles, and I follow her out. "I imagine that in the other universe you present a challenge for the Bearded One."

"For a set-up like that, there better be a damn good story behind it."

Oh, it was a damn good story.

By the time my day's ended and I get to Spock's quarters I have a fully formed, utterly disturbing fantasy in my head. He's not in yet, so I go to my quarters to retrieve something and return. I take a shower and lie on the bed, taking in his scent from his pillow, and...

The 'something' I got from my quarters? It's the Deltan device, the one I got on shore leave. How does it work? Very well when you don't have a second party available. And what's on my mind is a bit too twisted for me to share with Spock, but perfect for self-gratification. I demonstrate its use by donning the light, silvery mesh sensor band, placing it around my head so the inner circular pads touch my temples. I place the four pinky nail-sized pleasure dots on my nipples, tailbone, and just above my clitoris. I lie back, letting my mind activate the device...

(***)

I'm in the other universe Uhura told me about and backed up by the ship's logs. I'm naked and lying on Spock's bed. See, the Empire has no need for counselors, so I'm a neurologist on shift, which means I get to manipulate and sometimes damage people's synapses. Off-shift, I'm the first officer's woman, which is a polite term; the crew just calls me 'Spock's whore' under their breaths.

How I came to be in this particular position is interesting. Originally McCoy wants me, but I fight him off, sometimes literally. As a result I spend some time in the agony booth for that. Every time I finish my duration Spock is there, waiting, observing. I'm not the first female crewmember subjected to the booth, but I'm the first to have a higher threshold, so he's intrigued. I collapse in his arms, and he conducts a mind probe, and is subjected to what he calls "an astonishing level of algolagnic prurience." But when he later requests my agoniser for an infraction I can't recall, I attempt to fight him off too. He's rather amused by my tenacity; he doesn't put forth maximum effort-I'm still alive with my limbs intact. Our tussle ends with me pinned beneath him on my desk, and his fingers in my panting mouth. The act stirs something inside the usually implacable first officer. He senses my arousal and teases me with said fingers, finding my limits, asserting his dominance. "I shall claim you," he says as I'm right on the brink. "You serve the Empire, but you belong to me." He stops abruptly, makes me suck his fingers clean, and departs. As he leaves my office he tells McCoy I'm his.

Maybe I should've just given him the agoniser.

There's a bit of irony inherent in a Vulcan having his very own human kafeh (slave), and it's not lost on Spock. He takes a non-expressive delight in doing things to me his Vulcan wife would never allow, not even during pon farr. Which is why he only sees her then. He forbids me to wear clothes in his quarters, and the only Vulcan words I'm allowed to speak are 'yes,' 'thank you' and Otrensu-"Master."

He enters his quarters, his brown eyes dark. He gives me a cursory glance and sits at his desk feeding calculations to his computer. I know not to disturb him, so I watch him, admire his bearded face, his hands. I want him so much I couldn't think straight earlier in the lab. Locked myself in my office and found relief via my fingers. I disobeyed Spock, and I washed my hands twice to erase the evidence. It may be of no consequence; he may not touch me tonight, the way he's engrossed in his work. I turn into his pillow in disappointment. Perhaps I should feign illness and-

"On your knees, kafeh." Spock is facing me fully, and he points to a space between his legs. I close the space and sit on my heels, head lowered so my hair falls around my face. He brings my hand up to his face, sniffs my fingers, and sucks them. My fingers linger on his goatee before he exposes my face by pulling my hair back and watches me process the pain in my scalp. "I did not grant you permission to please yourself," he says with a touch of coldness.

I suppress my look of surprise. He knows because he implanted the idea in my head, made what was already there more compelling. "I'm sorry, Otrensu, I...I couldn't-"

"Repeat the behavior, and I shall break your fingers. That should increase your self-control." He squeezes my wrist with bruising force. "Your pleasure belongs to me, do you understand?"

"Y-Yes," I reply quickly. Not all pain can become pleasurable.

I'm punished with a firmer squeeze. "Address me properly."

"Ha, Otrensu." It's sufficient for him to release my fingers. I tuck my hands behind me and keep my chin lowered, but my eyes on Spock as he sits back in his chair, rests his bearded chin on his fist. His eyes express a desire to take, and it is intoxicating to me.

"Attend to me," he commands.

I make taking off his clothes a slow process because this may be the only time I get to show my devotion. I smell and taste the leather as I lick his right thigh-high boot, relish the feel of his fingers sliding against my tongue, in and out of my wet mouth.

Spock leans his head back and exhales, "That's good, my human." He threads his fingers through my hair as I untie his golden sash. I reach for his dagger, but he's extremely cautious of me. I am human, and as opportunistic as any subject of the Empire. He's faster at the draw, pointing the tip just under my chin at my larynx. I lock gazes with him, and his voice develops an edge. "Be careful, kafeh. I do not wish for your lovely throat to be slit."

I'm afraid to swallow, and my breath takes a staccato rhythm on the way out through my nose. This could be it, and my death would be of no consequence. Or he could leave a reminder, a nick, another mark on his territory. I never know with Spock until he tells me or he does it, and I find it two parts titillating, one part frightening. He'd like an acknowledgement now. "Ha, Otrensu," I say softly.

Spock places the dagger on the desk and watches me remove his jacket and undershirt. My fingers tremble partly because of longing, partly because of uncertainty. I don't know what he'll do to me, when he'll do it, or if he'll do anything at all. That's the worst, him leaving me alone. The thought of him ignoring me makes tears well up in my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. There are two things I'll never give the Vulcan: my laughter and my tears. I look down and use unfastening his trousers as an excuse to not look him in the eye until the moment passes.

To my delight Spock is physically aroused, and I take him into my hand with a firm grip. I look up at his face, searching it for permission. He grants it with a slight nod, and I do not hesitate, practically inhaling his cock. I love the sounds he makes, little sighs and moans that slip out, all because of what I'm doing to him. And I have to admit to the surge of power I get, being on my knees and yet controlling his physiological response. How it gets me all worked up to please him with my mouth.

Spock knows what servicing him does to me, and he reminds me of who's really in charge by gripping the back of my head whilst thrusting himself all the way in my mouth, cutting off my air supply and making me struggle to override my gag reflex. I feel him getting harder, which pleases me despite being close to passing out. He decides to let me breathe, pulling my mouth off him by my hair. He watches my face, watches my expression change as my body distills pleasure from pain, watches me fight self-preservation and submit. He traces my gasping mouth with his finger. "So beautiful," he says softly. "So illogical." He yanks me up so I'm face to face and I have to support my weight by placing my hands on his thighs. His beard tickles my cheek as he speaks through gritted teeth in my ear, "So mine." He takes his free hand and plunges his fingers inside me, gauging my wetness whilst kissing my neck, eliciting a moan. "You are always prepared to mate with me," he muses. "You are debauched even by Terran standards." I squeeze at him and move against his hand. "I find this a most…suitable trait. You may sit," he says as he slips his fingers out.

I straddle Spock's leg close to his knee, ensuring I make contact with his leather boot. I dare not move but I want to so bad I ache. He sticks his fingers in my mouth and I can taste myself. He tries to keep an even breath; when he fails he removes them and grabs my hips. It's a silent order to grind against the soft, smooth, supple material, and I do so with aplomb. He brings my mouth within centimeters of his and hesitates before fusing them with mine in a kiss that intimates his concealed hunger. I feel pleasure building and begin to roll my hips, tribbing his boot for all I'm worth. I reach down and take his cock into my hand and stroke it. He responds by biting my bottom lip. I'm going to get past the point of no return soon, where nothing will stop me from coming. Spock knows this, which is why he lifts me up to sever contact. "Earn it, kafeh." My ability for cohesive thought is fading as my body wants release, wants him. I lick myself off his boot before I remove it and its mate; Spock does hold a high regard for cleanliness. He stands up to facilitate removing his trousers and remains so when completely naked. In silence I collect his garments, fold them neatly, and put them away, aware of his eyes on me. I kneel and resume my place before him, clasp my hands together behind my back, and place my lips where his knee meets his thigh. I begin a litany of kisses up the heated flesh of his inner thigh, imploring, "Please, Otrensu... Please...let me..." He knows what I'm asking for.

"No," says the Vulcan. He's told me why he makes me beg so much; there's something about the way I blend desire, desperation, and devotion in my voice, how it slips into a whisper under the weight of emotions. I move him; he just can't show it. He refuses me because he wants to maintain control; I'm just too good with fellatio sometimes.

My mouth's oh so close to reaching my intended target. "Please-''

"No." He yanks me up to my feet by my shoulder so I face him again. He nods toward the bed, and as I turn to head in that direction he holds me fast and presses against me, pushing my chin up and away with his palm. He bends his knees to kiss my neck whilst sliding his hand between my legs and leaves it there. I press against it, against him as he traces my jaw line. "The extent of my concupiscence for you...is beyond your comprehension." He claims my mouth, lets me feel it. "On your back, kafeh."

I leave his embrace to obey, spread-eagle, panting, trying not to make a sound. He could leave me like that and not touch me; he does this more often than not. Such neglect feeds a silent fury but oh, what I'd endure to have him.

He won't leave me alone tonight. Not this time. He covers my torso with his deceptively dense body. He doesn't bother to secure my wrists. He knows he doesn't have to, although he appreciates the aesthetics from time to time. He doesn't even have to suggest I lie still for him despite my body wanting to betray me. He lets his mouth and hands go where they want, and I must lie still. A caress here. A pinch there. A nuzzle, a kiss, a bite-and I must lie still. However, I do not have to be silent. Along with the sound of my sublimated, pleading voice, he's quite taken with my human, feminine skin-its softness, how supple and moist it is, its scent, its taste, its tone and texture. Scientifically, of course. He takes his time. How cruel.

I bite my already-swollen lip when he uses his mouth to play with my nipples. He gets a little rough with them, but my body spins something pleasurable out of it. He chose me because I can take everything he gives me.

Well, everything except nothing. That I have problems with.

I feel his beard at my navel now, and I simply lay my head down on the pillow and wait.

And wait. And wait.

I look down and meet his eyes.

"You do not deserve it," he says simply.

I'm crestfallen.

"I should let you alone."

"Please don't-"

"But it is what I wish to do." He laps away at me, and soon I push away at his head to keep from coming without his permission.

But he's too strong. I'll have to beg, and he knows how much I have to fight to form words. What a bastard. "Otrensu, please! I can't...I can't-"

"Yes you can."

"Please!" It's starting to hurt, this need for release.

Spock taps my inner thigh twice, and I come so hard I almost break his nose with the force my pelvis strikes it.

Spock doesn't waste time with me, doesn't give me a moment to recover. He takes me. Gods, does he take me. Rough doesn't even begin to describe it, the way he thrusts, holds on to me, leaves bruises where his fingers press into me. And I love it. Am addicted to it. Can't live without it. He's had me in every way humanly and sometimes inhumanly possible. He pounds me as if each thrust were a declaration that I am his and his alone. He always makes me beg-for more, for mercy, for my orgasm.

Spock makes me scream. Then he makes me scream. He uses the agoniser on me while I'm coming because he finds the way I ride the pain and spin it into pleasure "fascinating."

(***)

That last thought makes the nodes on the Deltan device glow and I physically feel filled, penetrated. Signals sent from the head harness to the node near my clit makes it twitch violently. I muffle my cries with my pillow and wait for the convulsions to stop before relaxing and beginning anew.

(***)

Uhura says that universe's Sulu is Chief of Security and bears a nasty scar that curves down from forehead to cheek. I imagine how he got it.

I know it's dangerous, but I provoke Spock in an attempt to elicit an emotional response. Sulu despises the Vulcan for being in the way and for being a Vulcan. So I just happen to end up reclining on Sulu's bed one evening when Spock's planetside enforcing terms of surrender. Sulu's been chasing after Uhura, but he's not one to pass up an opportunity when it's lying right in front of him. Sex with him is good, but it's not great because of his human limitations. I like hearing him use his deep voice to talk dirty, like hearing it almost crack when he comes. Afterward, he meets the away team in the transporter room smelling like me, making sure Spock picks up on it.

Spock picks up on it. He orders Sulu to his quarters and has his personal guard hold him while he melds with me to learn every single detail of our tryst. I don't bother to hide any of it, and I can sense the rage that flames his green blood. Spock burns and only I know, he shields his emotions so well. No one's getting agonised-he's going to make an example. In the time it takes a human to unsheathe a dagger he slashes Sulu's face, has him dragged out screaming. He's made his point; there isn't a man on this ship mad enough to touch me now.

He turns to me. His expression is somewhat harrowing to me. I've got my desired effect, but I'm going to pay a high price for it. He tells me my cuckolding failed to compel him to beat or belittle me. It doesn't stop him from putting his hand round my throat while he tells me the only way he'll release me is by killing me, but he would surely grieve my loss. He kisses me while still in this position and then lets go abruptly, and does the one thing I'd rather take the agony booth over. He tells me to leave his quarters not to return.

A long, painful month passes before Spock summons me to his quarters. Once there he strips me and makes me watch while he has sex with Uhura. He intentionally leaves his computer interface on because he knows Sulu's monitoring. He positions her for show, making the act more of a performance. He keeps his eyes on me. He comes so easily for her. He makes me clean him up with my tongue. Then he makes me clean her up. He dismisses her and shuts off any transmissions while I'm lying in bed. When he returns he takes me with pure intensity. I realise he's done punishing me. Spock does what he does to have me. "You are only for me, kafeh," he says as he interlocks his hand with mine. "Only for me..."

(***)

This time when I climax, I turn to cry into my pillow only to realize lean, hot flesh has taken its place. I press up against my lover made real as he holds me, strokes me. I sob with my release. He kisses my forehead whilst the Deltan device stops glowing and I get my eyes back in focus.

"Fascinating," Spock says as his fingertips glide over the pad covering my temple, causing me to shiver slightly.

I have a lazy grin on my face as I go limp against him. "I started without you," I say as I caress his smooth chin and cheek. "Sorry. Couldn't wait."

"I find the observation…stimulating." He flicks one of the nodes on my nipples, which makes me suck in my breath. "I am curious as to what inspired you to indulge in 'healthy human behavior,' as you once called it."

"I was imagining you with a beard."

That gets a cocked eyebrow. "I am intrigued by the frequency a few crewmembers fantasize about this barbaric and oppressive 'mirror universe'." He threads his fingers through my hair. "Would you prefer I embody some of my counterpart's proclivities?"

"No," I reply, stroking his earlobe. "That bloke's nasty."

"And are you the same in that universe?" he asks against my neck. Gods, how much more do I appreciate his clean-shaven face.

"Uh-uh. He has to make her behave."

"Indeed. Your statement does not lend me to believe you two are different." He presses against the node on my coccyx whilst kissing me, and I press up against him, moaning into his mouth. "He desires her?" he asks when he breaks the kiss.

"According to him, beyond all human comprehension," I answer after my last spasm.

Spock meets my gaze with intensity. "Then he and I are not different." He slides his hands over mine as he begins to make a trail to each node with his mouth. "Begin with him. End with me…."