BEST SINGLE TREK VARIANT - NON-VOYAGER
Title: DERANYA
Author: Sandy Claws ( sandyclaws@metva.com.au )
Series: DS9
Code: K/Winn
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: (mandatory) Paramount owns STAR TREK ... yada, yada, yada!
Warning: graphic bdsm
Archiving: FFF
Feedback: sandyclaws@metva.com.au
Note: Part of the Femme Fuh-Q Fest - http://www.oocities.org/femme_fuhq_fest/
by Sandy Claws
Come in Colonel Kira. I have been expecting you, child.
I always say that. It makes me sound important and knowing. The fact that it is a scheduled
appointment and so, of course you are expecting is utterly unimportant. Image is what counts. It is the
same as using candles to illuminate the room instead of Deep Space Nine's perfectly adequate interior
lights. Cardassian lighting. Not that Federation rubbish. Yet the eerie, flickering glow of candles in the
mirrors about the room, the scent of exotic incense in the melting wax, all gives it a special mystique.
Smoke and mirrors. That's what the Prophets are all about.
And always refer to your inferiors as "child". It's a nice put down. It lets them know that they are
inferior. Most important. Their inferiority is what makes you superior, so don't let them forget that they
are inferior. Inferior to the Prophets, to the church, and of course inferior to you. And never let them
think for even that most fleeting moment that there is any distinction whatsoever between the three.
You are the Church and the Prophets. They are unworthy so much as to gather up the crumbs from
under your table. It is their D'jarras. They cannot change one jot or tittle of their birthright, which is to
serve the Prophets, the Church and you.
That is the path of true power. That is what the teachings of the Church and the Prophets are about.
And there is nothing so sweet as power. Power is what makes Lieutenant Colonel Kira Nerys kneel
before on both knees in supplication. Supplication is very good. It glows like the hottest sacred Bajoran
candles. The best ones, not the ones we make for a penny apiece, bless, and sell to the believers for a
buck or maybe two depending on the occasion.
Remove your clothes, child. You will not need them. While you are here, you will not wear clothes.
You will not eat. You will not sleep. You will most certainly not relieve yourself.
A quiet one our Colonel Kira. Obedient. They get like that. Such a turn on. Years of fighting the
Cardassians in the hills and her spirit is unbowed. Deep down she needs to submit. To lay down that
burden and throw herself at the feet of another. There, she could not admit defeat. Here she can relish
it. As second in command of the station, she must observe due decorum. Here, she can be naked.
Always she remains in control. He she can lose control.
In the hills you had to make many questionable decisions. Do may things that others, who lived less
adventurous lives might not understand. When you think about it colonel, do you feel ashamed? Do you
wish that you could take some of it back? Do you have nightmares about the Occupation?
Place all your wordly apparel in the wooden box for safe keeping. Lock it and hand me the key.
I just love watching her undress. Gazing at her hot little body makes me hot. True, her tits are
minuscule and they droop a bit and in all aren't much to look at but her ass is smooth and well toned.
There are many scars, results of the occasional skirmish with the Cardassians in the hills no doubt. But
above all there is the sense of being able to see whatever I want, whether she wants me to or not.
She hands me the tiny metal key. I pointedly place it in the replicator and disintegrate it. More
theatrics. The box, although suitably gaudy, is so shoddily built that a child could rip it open.
Anyhow, what would be so bad about remaining naked to serve her Kai? Tending to my most intimate
needs and sleeping in a corner of the room like a dog? It would nothing short of a tremendous honor,
far higher than promotion to colonel or command of a simple space station.
And that's the second meaning isn't it? I love double meanings. Like the Pai'maru ceremony. Burn your
troubles. But never forget the second meaning: just one word from me, and it'll be you burning. In the
Fire Caves with the Pagh Waraiths for all eternity.
I take her wrists, gird them with leather and bind them with chains. I hoist them to the ceiling, so that
she is suspended like a human Duranya lamp. She is now totally in my control, and it excites me. Every
time.
Chained to the ceiling, naked, you are beautiful Nerys.
But your skin is far too pale from too much time in the artificial light of the station. I think that I can
bring some color to her pretty white bottom. But shall I employ the cane or the whip? Decision,
decisions. The burden of being superior.
The sound of the lash echoes though the air. It is the most delightful sequence of sounds. The urgent
swish! The loud crack! The pungent snap when leather meets flesh. It is the true music of the prophets.
The melody of submission to their will.
If your heart is pure, then the whip holds no terrors, just the joyous release that comes only through
accepting and receiving pain. Grace comes, through vicarious and redemptive pain.
Does the lash fulfill some deep seated need colonel? Will walk out of here and go away cleansed, your
sins washed away by the pain? Or are you just a horny little bitch who likes to have her ass whipped?
I can tell that you are no novice by the way you grip the chains. You do not flinch. I have seen many
grown men flinching. Most unbecoming. I had a novice once. Not normal when you are the most
powerful vedek on Bajor. Came from one of the finest families. I stripped her, strung her up and when
she saw the whip she wet herself. I had never seen such sincere supplication in my life. I had to leave
the room for a while just to regain my composure. It was an incredibly moving experience.
Ah, I see the color returns to your cheeks. A rosy red. I can do better. A warm blue will appear next.
Maybe even some yellow and a little black. A veritable rainbow of delightful colors. For the next few
weeks, the colonel will be making continual excuses to visit her room. She will drop her slacks and
stare at the picture of submission in the mirror and remember how good it felt.
You want to submit to the lash so very bad don't you Nerys? You want me to strike harder, I can tell. I
guess that I shall have to use the cane, but I fear that it may break over your proud back. They just don't
make them sturdy enough anymore. Fortunately, I have brought two. A habit of office from my days as
a vedek. I always have a spare.
I remember those monks who taught me how to wield the rod when I was but an acolyte. They used to
flog themselves silly night and day. Not just with simple paddles and whips. They prefered scorpions,
whips with metal that seared the flesh. They were seldom happy unless blood was drawn. They would
certainly not bear to employ such frail canes. Now there were true believers. That claimed that if the
flogging was severe enough, you could meet the Prophets themselves. I never did, of course, but I did
come to enjoy the simple pleasure of a good paddling.
The cane leaves such lovely red marks.
When the Cardassians intensified their roundups of the population for the forced labor program,
numerous parents, out of desperation or choice, left their children to the Church. For the religious, it
was like been locked in a candy store. There was a scarcely a prylar on Bajor who didn't have a tender
young girl or a succulent boy or two to keep the bed warm at night.
Curse me for a novice! I knew that cane would never hold up. I will get the other one just for you my
sweet child.
I hope you appreciate what an honor it is to be caned by your Kai. I remember when I was caned by Kai
Opaka. There was a man. Wouldn't like you, Nerys, I'm afraid. He liked the ones with the big boobs.
Lucky for me. That was always my field of expertise. Kai Opaka always had a primitive brutality about
him. A bit like Gul Dukat. You know what was the biggest difference between them? Grey scales.
Ah, those Cardassians! Did they capture you and beat you Nerys? Kai Opaka invited them to flog me
once, did I ever tell you about that?
You know another thing about the sacred candles? They shed hot wax. Like the crocodile tears of Kai
Opaka for the people of Bajor. Feel the tears. Let me spill some over those tiny tits of yours.
That made you feel alive, didn't it?
You see, it was the Cardassians turned Bajor around. Before they came, the Church was riddled with
heresy. Constant bloody civil wars were being fought between the Orthodox and the Heretical that
sapped the vitality of the Church and threatened its very collapse.
What were those heretical dogmas? No one seems to remember much anymore. No doubt the answers
are all in the archives, waiting for some bright religious scholars a century or two hence.
Not before then, of course. There's no need to open the archives in too much of a hurry. In two
centuries time scholars can contemplate the more weighty doctrinal issues with the dispassionateness
that only comes from long periods of time and can mull them over and piece it all together and perhaps
even make some sense of it all, if indeed it is possible to make sense of heresy.
Otherwise it might all sound altogether too much like it had very little to do with the Prophets and the
Teachings and a lot more to do with ambitious vedeks' struggle for power.
When you're the Kai, you get to browse the archives whenever you want. You get to demand whatever
you want to read. But you still have to be careful. There are a lot of bodies buried in those archives and
the librarians don't like to part with all their best kept secrets.
What a difference the Cardassians made! Instead of the tiresome process of interrogating heretics under
torture and condemning them and their land and property into the solemn care care of the Holy Mother
Church, whole provinces could be cleansed of heresy in one stroke simply by handing them over to the
Cardassians.
And how efficient they were! When they had finished, there was no heresy. And the computers worked.
Even the trains ran on time. First the break away provinces were handed over, then any province with
more than its quota of heretics. Finally, any province wealthy enough for its lands to be of more use to
the Holy Mother Church. Some vedeks did miss the personal touch that you get from cold steel and hot
pincers but that's progress for you.
And in the end, Orthodoxy triumphed. Piety reigned supreme. The Cardassians left and when it was all
over, it was the Church that was victorious, rallying the Bajoran people around its simple message of
truth and love and blind obedience to the Teachings of the Church and the Will of the Prophets.
As true and timeless as the rhythm of the flogger across your ass. Wouldn't you agree Nerys?
What are you doing Nerys? Don't you even think about it. You are not going to come Nerys. I forbid it.
You will not come without my permission. You know what coming from being flogged makes you
Nerys? A horny little bitch, that's what.
Oh, I'm just appalled.
I suppose you're going to claim that you saw the prophets too.
