A muscle in his forehead twitched involuntarily and he swallowed, feeling unusual tightness in his throat. He wished to look away, but he needed to get his physical reaction under control first.
Before him on the computer screen, four highly limber women and two exceptionally muscular males performed an orchestra of unsanitary polyamory. Initially Spock had wondered what the roles of the third and fourth females were supposed to be, but now he knew and was fascinated, if not also a little horrified. He inhaled deeply and attempted to repress his emotions, but he couldn't even identify what his current emotions were.
Why the chains? Why the latex masks? Why the multi-tailed whip? Why the gag in the black-haired woman's mouth? He supposed the gag was irrelevant now that one of the males had removed it and stuffed a certain appendage into the aforementioned orifice. Surely women didn't want to be treated this way?
"Fuck me harder!" she screamed.
"And where am I fucking you?" her male companion demanded to know.
"In my ass!"
Why would the man ask such an obvious question? Why would humans record such a private act for others to observe?
"Computer, end video."
His eyes scrolled down the page but the results descended further into depravity. He was tempted to investigate the video titled, "Mandy and Mona's Equine Costume Kink," which featured a thumbnail image of two women in a horse costume and a man wearing nothing but a pair of tall black boots and a top hat, but he decided against it. Still, if one woman was at the head of the costume and the other was at the back, how…?
He took another deep breath to re-center himself. Perhaps it was best left unconsidered.
Spock rose from his chair and entered his small kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water and sipped at it, feeling more uncertain about human – and by extension, Nyota's – sexual appetites than ever. As a Vulcan, he appreciated infinite diversity in infinite combinations. As a Starfleet officer, he respected that different species tended to hold a variety of cultural norms very different than his own and that it would be illogical to judge their values against his.
Yet he was in a relationship with a human woman, a woman he loved and respected. If human mating rituals revolved around pain, humiliation, and subjugation, he was not certain he could satisfy her, at least not without violating his own ethical tenets.
It occurred to him it was illogical to base his understanding of human sexual preferences upon a single example, but he had no interest in expanding his video-based research. He didn't want to visualize and consider other females; he only wanted Nyota. But in order to please her, he needed to know what sexual activities her species preferred. What a peculiar paradox.
He walked into the main room and considered how to proceed. Nyota was due to arrive in approximately four hours, and he still was uncertain how to provide her with a satisfactory initial sexual experience.
He sat on the low couch, thinking he would benefit from a short period of light meditation before redirecting his research. He rose to his feet, preparing to adjourn to his bedroom and light his pillar candles, but he paused.
He'd set Cadet Applebaum's novel, The Squire's Mistress, on the end table, and the smaller text beneath the author's name caught his eye. It read, "First he rescued her, then he ravished her... A sultry seduction for the ages."
The book appeared to be fiction, but he wasn't certain. Though Spock enjoyed poetry, he'd never developed a taste for prose. He'd been required to read several Federation masterpieces as a cadet – Beowulf and the Andorian classic Saal's Cry had been engaging – but he'd never sought out literature to read in his free time. Nyota on the other hand was an avid reader, often devouring a novel a week amid her rigorous course schedule.
They had many common interests – music, mathematics, puzzles – but many differing ones as well. Nyota was so open to exploring the things he enjoyed, but he rarely reciprocated; he often left her to her individual pursuits without a second thought. He suspected it was impossible to know her sexual tastes without directly asking her, but perhaps he could know her better as a person and as a prospective mate by partaking in one of her hobbies.
He turned the book over in his hands, wondering if she'd ever read The Squire's Mistress. He thumbed through the book's brittle pages until he found the first chapter.
Fog cast a gray gloom over the moor, and over her gentle soul. Anastasia Kent did not love her betrothed and never would, because her heart secretly belonged to another.
Spock's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. He resumed his seat on the sofa and continued to read. The premise was… peculiar.
The protagonist, Anastasia Kent, had been engaged to marry Lord Wesley Rycliffe, the Count of Manchesterly, but she was in love with his valet, a man named Maximillian Cavanagh. Maximillian left to seek his fortune and redeem Anastasia's dowry, but Lord Rycliffe married her in his absence, despite his promise to allow the young lovers to wed in two years' time should Maximillian be successful in securing his fortune.
When Spock arrived at the scene that featured their wedding night, he recognized several of the quotes but struggled to understand precisely what was transpiring. He read it twice, working his way through language so euphemistic it bordered on being a dialect separate from Federation Standard English.
Lord Rycliffe burst into the bedchamber, determined to sate his lust, to broach the portal of her maidenhood and transform her from girl to woman.
"Please, my heart is Maximillian's and shall always be!"
"He is dead," Lord Rycliffe sneered, sweeping her from her feet and carrying her to the bed. "And you are my wedded wife."
"By the laws of man and in the eyes of God, but never in my heart," Anastasia cried.
Lord Rycliffe unbuckled his belt, allowing his breeches to descend to the floor. Anastasia looked upon his torrid extension, and while she did not love him, the swollen member captivated her virginal eyes.
No, she did not love him, but she would submit to her wifely duty and allow him to smother her body with carnal vibrations.
"I yearn to possess your femininity," Lord Rycliffe proclaimed. "To taste your maidenly sweetness."
His tongue caressed her soft mound and then plunged into the depths of her innocence. The experience was delicious. Anastasia wondered if he would take her maidenhead in this way. His fingers wound up her thighs to the apex of her legs and traced along her sensitive folds.
"And now, I shall have you," said Lord Rycliffe, massaging her treasured pearl of passion before piercing her with his virile maleness.
Spock glanced up from the page, studying the lines of the wall as he reflected upon the text. Were human affections really so variable that Anastasia would eschew her lover for a man who'd forced her to marry him simply after seeing his penis? At least Spock assumed the phrases "torrid extension" and "swollen member" referred to a penis.
He also assumed Lord Rycliffe's declaration of yearning to taste Anastasia's maidenly sweetness and the subsequent description of him caressing her soft mound before plunging his tongue into the depths of her innocence referred to a method of using his mouth to stimulate her genitals.
Did women find that pleasurable? Anastasia Kent certainly seemed to. Spock considered his survey of female anatomy and puzzled over which structures constituted Anastasia's soft mound, innocence, and pearl of passion.
He recalled the external clitoris contained over 8,000 nerve endings; it was logical to assume this was a sensitive region. But a "pearl of passion?" Furthermore, the novel only stated Lord Rycliffe had massaged it. With what? His tongue? His fingers? His "virile maleness?" The language was unclear.
Spock continued to read and found himself drawn into a strange tangle of human behavior. The night after their wedding, Anastasia became so distraught that she'd betrayed her true love by having intercourse with her husband that she threw herself from the Cliffs of Darley.
A naval vessel pulled her from the water, which turned out to be operated by pirates. The captain intended to take her for his "wench" but the first mate stopped him. They entered a duel and the first mate ran a blade through the captain's heart, revealing himself to be her lover, Maximillian. He took her to the former's captain's cabin, claiming command of the ship for himself, and proceeded to mate with her. Once again, the language was difficult to understand.
"I have burned for you, my love," Maximillian whispered, winding his fingers through her damp blond tresses.
"I never thought to see you again," Anastasia cried. "Lord Rycliffe said you were dead."
"I could never die without you seeing your beautiful face again, Anastasia. Tell me – was life with Lord Rycliffe very terrible?"
Guilty tears rushed down her face. She was a maiden no longer. Before she could answer, Maximillian caught her in a passionate kiss, a kiss to transcend the ages and go down in history books as among the best of all time.
They obeyed their instincts and shed their clothes, and as she gazed upon Maximillian's sweet arrow, she marveled at its length and girth. It was so big.
The dampness between her legs threatened to consume her as he laid her gently on the bed. Before he penetrated her with the iron-hard pulse of his arousal, he spread her legs and lapped at the saccharinity of her womanly bud. His unrelenting tongue set her on a course of erotic explosion, but just as she prepared to descend into spasms of fulfillment, his turgid staff rocked the soft folds of her womanhood.
The heat of his loins thrust into her fiery furnace – surely this didn't refer to a vagina? What was the average temperature inside a vagina? – and sent her over the edge. She indulged in the throbbing pleasure that raced through her warm, dark haven and Maximillian drove harder, filling her with his seed.
Spock set the novel down in his lap, trying to comprehend what had occurred. He chose to ignore the protagonist's infidelity and the curious motivations of both parties, focusing solely on the sexual act that had just taken place. He picked up the book and skimmed the passage again.
"…spread her legs and lapped at the saccharinity of her womanly bud. His unrelenting tongue set her on a course of erotic explosion…"
He had wondered what object or appendage Lord Rycliffe had used to "massage her treasured pearl of passion," but the text was a bit clearer here. He wasn't sure whether "womanly bud" referred generally to the vulva or more specifically to the clitoris or labia, but Maximillian had used his tongue. Fascinating.
He stood and walked to his computer, carrying the novel. He took a seat and pondered an optimal search term.
"Computer: research methods of stimulating female genitalia."
The results returned a plethora of material, from more pornographic videos to advice columns to peer-reviewed scientific studies. Most of the research seemed to focus on the clitoris. He started with the scientific studies, fascinated to learn that the size, shape, and location of the clitoris affected a woman's ability to have an orgasm.
When he refined his parameters to search for preferred methods of clitoral stimulation, he found a comprehensive report on human female sexuality. It had been published nearly forty years earlier, but it seemed logical to assume human women hadn't drastically evolved in four decades.
The report was 521 pages long without references, but Spock consumed it readily. He was drawn to it by the nature of the study: researchers had surveyed 98,848 women about their sexual preferences, everything from methods of masturbation to preferred sexual positions.
He was relieved to discover that most women on average did not prefer pain, abuse, humiliation, or violent domination, but also dismayed by the wide variation in their responses. Approximately 75 percent of females claimed they required some form of clitoral stimulation to achieve an orgasm, but some women preferred to have their vaginas penetrated while applying digital clitoral stimulation, while others reported only being able to achieve orgasm through an oral stimulus. A small but still statistically significant number of women also enjoyed simultaneous anal stimulation. Fascinating.
Though there was a lot of variation, there were also a few commonalities. For nearly all females to experience an orgasm, they needed to be relaxed and feel safe and secure.
He had just made it to a section on techniques for manually stimulating a clitoris when he received a call from the San Francisco Transporter Office, notifying him that Nyota was ready to transport to his private residence. He glanced at the time – 2045 hours – and realized Nyota wasn't due for another fifteen minutes.
"Computer: clear search history."
He stood and turned just in time to see her re-materializing by the front door. Her hair was loose and she wore a red dress with hemline that accentuated her shapely legs. Her eyes radiated vitality and she smelled of coconut and spearmint. She was beautiful.
Nyota shifted her weight onto her right foot and glanced around. He gazed at the length of her legs, noting the healthy glow of her skin and the curves of her defined musculature.
"Spock?"
"Yes, Nyota?" He glanced from her legs to her face to see she wore a curious smile.
"Sorry I'm early, but I was expecting a line at the transport office on a Saturday night. That's what I get for making assumptions, I guess."
"I see."
She chewed her lip and nodded. "So what have you been up to today?"