~*~ By the time Tom Paris’ head hit the pillow, he was ninety percent asleep. It had been a long day: the transtellar race, Irina’s duplicity and then getting engaged. Yeah; it was that last thing that had really taken it out of him. But he felt good about it. In fact, it had actually freed him! After all these years of fighting his feelings and fear of commitment, now that he and B’Elanna had decided… well, he felt good. Exhausted but good. More than good. He was happy. He wanted to wait to hit the sack until B’Elanna got back, but she had an emergency in engineering. “Go on to bed; I’ll be there shortly. And no fair running off – we’re getting married tomorrow, mister!” she had said to him with a wink and a wicked pinch as she exited to engineering. He smiled. Never again would he even think about leaving her. Even now, the empty area beside him made him feel vulnerable and incomplete. “Mr. Paris…” He jumped out of his twilight slumber. “Uh… yes, Captain?” “Could you come to my quarters? There’s a piece of business that we need to address.” Now? thought the younger man, still half asleep. “Er… Captain, can’t it wait until morning? I’m already in bed.” “Lt. Torres is at work, isn’t she?” Capt. Janeway continued. “We won’t be very long.” Tom shook the sleep from his head and body and began hunting for all the pieces of his uniform strewn across the room. “Yes, she’s in engineering. Probably will be for another couple of hours.” Ah – there was his turtleneck! “What’s so urgent that it can’t wait?” “It’s just a little bit of paperwork that needs some action before I can marry you,” she answered. “I just thought we could get it out of the way tonight and save some time tomorrow.” “There’s not a problem, is there?” he asked nervously. Now that he’d finally made his decision, he didn’t want anything to rock its foundation. “Not really,” she responded. “It’s a little something of a formality. Call it a Starfleet technicality.” “I’m on my way,” he sighed, stumbling into his boots as he moved towards the door. ~*~ “Please, sit down,” Kathryn Janeway said as Paris entered her quarters. Seated at here desk, she motioned to him to take a seat in the chair opposite her. She was studying something on her computer monitor screen. Her right hand was fingering a tall glass covered with frosty droplets; it obviously containing something quite cold. “I was having a drink. Would you care for something?” She slid from her chair and moved towards her replicator as she spoke. Tom began to feel uncomfortable. Janeway looked different… quite a lot different from her normal appearance. Her hair was looser and fell softly around her face. In the night-dimmed lights of the area, her face looked less work-weary. Did she have on some make-up? It almost looked like it! And she was not in uniform – man, was she not in uniform! A silky robe skimmed her body, smoothing itself along her curves and clinging just enough to get across the message that she was definitely a woman – oh, yeah! No doubt about that! The cream-colored material accentuated every little nub and ripple on her body. “Lieutenant? Is there a problem?” Her question brought him out of his trance. She was facing him and he knew that she knew that he was staring at her. “Uh… no, ma’am.” He realized that he was perspiring; his hands felt wet and clammy. “I asked if you wanted something to drink?” “Um. What are you having?” “Vodka and lemonade,” she purred. “REAL vodka?” he asked. “The real stuff. From my own supply. Captain’s prerogative, you know. I just use the replicator for the lemonade.” His stood, but his knees began to quiver; he thought better of the idea of walking over to her and sat down again. He didn’t like the direction this scenario was suddenly taking. “I’ll… I’ll take a ‘bye’ on the vodka part; thanks anyway, Captain.” However, his head began to feel light – maybe something sweet would bolster his blood sugar. “How about some tropical punch – without any alcohol?” “One non-alcoholic tropical punch coming up!” she smiled as she relayed the request into the replicator. A tall tumbler appeared filled with the sweet red liquid, complete with a straw, a little paper umbrella and a skewer of fruit. She slithered over to the younger man who quickly took the glass into both his hands, hoping to calm their trembling. He removed the straw and umbrella and nervously gobbled the fruit from its wooden saber. He finally took a couple of deep sips of the drink; the chilled liquid felt soothing and good. “Is that what you wanted?” she asked, leaning over the back of his chair. “It’s fine,” he answered. “Tastes just like the recipe from the luau holoprogram.” “That’s what it’s from. I remembered how hard you worked on that program.” She moved behind the desk and sat down in her chair. She leaned back, straining the silken material across her full breasts. “Relax, Tom; enjoy yourself. I’m not going to bite!” He laughed nervously. “No; I wouldn’t suppose you would. Let’s leave the biting to B’Elanna.” Her face and eyes danced with her husky laugh in response. “Oh… good one, Tom! Yes, I suppose you do know a little something about that.” She watched him take several more sips of his drink. “Tell me; do you enjoy that part of your lovemaking ritual?” Tom erupted with a cough from choking on his drink. “I beg your pardon? With all due respect, Captain, I think that question is a little out of order.” “Is it?” she responded. “Actually, it isn’t. Let’s just call it doing some preliminary research.” A subliminal fear surfaced in Paris, as he looked up in surprise. The smallest hairs on his arms and neck pricked at rigid attention, raising a warning like caution flags. “About what?” he finally managed to get out. “This,” Janeway said, swinging the computer monitor around so that he could see it. “It’s a very old common law decree, dating from the eighth century, current era, on Earth. It is a document, passed down in secrecy from liege to king to captain.” Tom looked at the screen. The title on the file read: Droit du seignor. He silently mouthed the words and then looked up at Janeway. “If I remember my French, a literal translation means ‘right of the lord’.” “That’s correct,” Janeway nodded. “An updated version of this states that any superior, male or female, has the right to exact a toll or a fee from a subservient who wishes to marry aboard his or her vessel. In this case, it would be you, as one of my junior officers.” That’s it? That’s all? Tom laughed, his worries relaxing and floating away. “So… what do you want, Captain? Do I have to give you a couple hundred of my replicator rations? A take of my next round of bets? You name it – I’m willing to pay up! I’ve come this far and nothing is going to stop me from marrying B’Elanna Torres tomorrow!” Janeway leaned forward, propping her elbows on the desk and weaving her fingers together. She rested her chin in the cradle of her hands, her eyes gleaming into his, piercing him. “I’m glad to hear you say that, Tom. But it’s nothing like that; I wouldn’t dream of taking away any of your… er… livelihood.” She rose from her seat again and slid over to him, sitting on the narrow arm of his chair and leaning into him. “No, it’s you I want… and you I want to claim.” Tom blanched and gulped. “Me?” He tried to get out the chair, but she put her arm across his body and held him down with a surprising strength. “Wha… what do you mean?” She laughed and the sinister tone sounded like it was coming from Queen Arachnia. “What I mean, my dear boy, is that I’m making my demand based on the oldest meaning of the decree. I am claiming the first night right with the bride. Only in my case I, as the superior, am a woman, so it is my right to take to myself the groom – you. And I’m demanding my payment now… before the wedding.” Tom was beginning to panic. He knew he should be able to break her hold, but something seemed to constrain him; he felt that he couldn’t move. The drink – she’d doped the drink! But he was fully conscious; he knew everything that was being said and done; he just did not have the strength to push her away. “Captain, this isn’t right…” She leaned in towards him, her full red lips mere millimeters away from his ear. “If you don’t agree, I could have you thrown into the brig – or worse. That’s what the decree says.” Her tongue reached out and began teasing his ear. “It’s not that we haven’t done this before, Tom; you know that…” Cold perspiration began trickling down Tom’s neck. “I know,” he breathed out. “But… but… those other times I wasn’t, well, I really wasn’t me!” “But you wanted me,” she purred, now nibbling his earlobe while unfastening his jacket. As the jacket fell back, exposing the gray shirt underneath, her hand traveled lower and she firmly cupped his rapidly hardening organ. “And you want me now – admit it.” “I… I… really can’t help myself,” he whimpered, ashamed that he responded so quickly to her touch. “Of course you can’t. So let me help you.” She stood up and pulled the jacket from his otherwise limp and helpless body. “You’re right, Tom; you weren’t yourself those other times, and we can just pretend that you aren’t yourself. Now. Besides – who is going to know? If you say anything, it’s your word against mine. Come on; you know you want to; I’ve never known you to pass up a woman.” She pulled the turtleneck over his head and leaned down, burying her hands and mouth in the rich golden hair that covered him. Her mouth found one of his erect nipples and she took it gently between her teeth, twisting it as she moved. He groaned with the shock that the action elicited and she responded allowing her hand to once more cup him, allowing her grip to tighten around his hardening testicles. She rolled them in her hand as she rolled her tongue over his nipple. “Where does she bite you, Tom? Where do you like to feel her teeth?” “Not… much… choice…” he moaned. “She’s… anywhere…” She quickly changed her hold on his nipple. She let it withdraw ever so slightly and then suddenly nipped down on it with her incisors. “Aghhhh!” Tom jumped in spite of himself. Fire shot through him with the bite. “That works,” she smiled, keeping up her rolling caress of his scrotum. “Let’s see what else we can discover.” She began to pull off his trousers, only to be stopped by his boots. She backed off a bit, breaking her hold on him. “Tom, be a good boy and take off your boots for me.” The poor man was in a stupor by now, everything hazed over by whatever was in the drink and what she was doing to him. “Yes, ma’am,” he whispered and leaned over, tugging at the black leather boots. Even his feet were sweating and they clung to his wet feet. “Pull hard, Tom – that’s right.” Her voice cooed its encouragement. With a final effort the second boot came off. He let it drop with a muffled ‘thud’ and slumped back into the chair. “Very good. Now let’s really get you comfortable,” she continued with a soothing tone. He was in no shape to disagree with her; he raised his hips so she could get his pants off smoothly. She smiled as she eased them over his engorged member – in his hurry to answer her call, he hadn’t put on any underwear. A slight inhale indicated her acknowledgement of what she saw but she didn’t pause until he was completely undressed. She knelt down in front of him. “You are a fine specimen of a man, Tom Paris,” she murmured, taking his tower of flesh between her hands. Let’s see if I can be as good a helmsman as you are.” She took the tip of his engorgement between her lips, rolling her tongue over its hot, smooth surface. Tom was burning up. He had to get away, to awaken himself from this nightmare. But the harder he tried to move, the more he became immovable. Tears stung his eyes as he tried not to think – or feel – what was happening, but the emotions and sensations were impossible to quell. The air, warm and languid, became redolent with the primal scent from their bodies. His entire being felt engorged and inflamed. With her typical expertise, Janeway proceeded to tease his tumescence to its fullest. Using her mouth and hands, she alternated rubs and licks and squeezes and rubs and nibbles to every surface of his manhood. Soon, his flesh was as hot and wet as that of her mouth and he could not ignore his state any more; a small pearl of pre-cum glistened, balanced perfectly on the tip of his penis. His body involuntarily bucked and jolted with every new touch; she had done him in. Sensing his rapid culmination, she leaned forward, taking every bit if him into her mouth, following his every throb and thrust and final release, partaking every drop of his discharge as it came, accepting it as a treasured offering. She held his spent member, cradling and stilling it in its weakening aftershocks, soothing it like a baby going to sleep. He himself felt exhausted. His head fell onto the back of the chair and his hands dangled over the armrests. What had he done? What had she done? He shut his eyes, trying to hide from the embarrassment of the situation. He tried to lull himself into a stupor, listening to her rapid breathing, feeling the heat reflecting from her body. Did he drop off? Suddenly he awakened. She was holding his head between her hands. “Oh, but you can’t be tired, Lieutenant; we’ve barely begun. Maybe you need some more refreshment. “No… no more, “ he pleaded, shaking his head. “It will only…” “What, Mr. Paris? You must keep up your energy! Here, let me help you. Maybe I can make it more enticing for you.” She slithered her hands up her sides, catching the clinging cloth of her gown as she pulled them up, exposing the firm, naked body underneath. Tom gasped in spite of himself. Her downy auburn thatch was no more than five centimeters in front of his face. He looked up, hoping to divert his discomfort only to be met by the slightly pendulant orbs of her breasts, swollen in their excited state, her nipples red and erect against the dark violet of their aureoles. Before he knew what was happening, he saw – and felt – a bright red liquid being poured over her breasts – she was emptying the remains of his drink all over her body! He tried to stop the dripping liquid with hands, but the move was futile. It was well on its way to coating everything in its path – her breasts, waist, stomach. It ran in little red rivulets into the crevices between her legs and pelvis, into anything that would give it a harbor. “Clean me up, Mr. Paris,” she ordered. Groggily, he moved to retrieve a piece of clothing. “No,” she reprimanded. “You clean me up; I think you know how.” He reached out to her, placing his large hands around her waist, warm and sticky with its additional layer. He began licking her, his tongue working to remove any remains of the liquid. He began with the obvious, her protruding breasts, begging for attention. The sweetness of the fruit drink mingled with the musky saltiness of her body, giving his taste buds an unusual treat. Whether it was the additive to the drink or his heightened emotional state, he began to like what he was doing. The woman he held was warm and pliant and willing – gods knew she was willing – it had been so long for her! His hands shifted, cupping the roundness of her buttocks and supporting her as he continued his gustatory journey. She aided him by holding onto his shoulders, pulling him closer to her body. He began at the outside of each breast and slowly worked inward, his tongue leaving a trail of concentric circles as he moved inward. At the center of each, he took her aroused nipple between his lips and twisted it ever so slightly, then flicked it aside like a rubber band. Each time, she gasped and shivered her delight. He followed the sticky trail downward, pulling up each breast and with long swipes of his even longer tongue, cleaning her skin completely. For the wide and flat expanse of her torso, he used the nubby surface of his flattened tongue. Its rough surface danced with a drunken choreography until the surface glistened with his saliva. He sucked and swirled the cavity of her umbilicus, sending spasms of delight into her pelvic cavity. His tongue and his lips came into service the lower he roamed on her abdomen, alternating the cleansing licks with hungry nibbles. He adjusted his hold on her, spreading the grip of his left hand to encompass both her firm cheeks. She flexed her knees while firming her stance, allowing him greater access to what was to come. With his right hand free, he wound his fingers through the wet down of her thatch, sticky from the red juice of the drink and now with the addition of her own secretions. Spreading her swollen nether lips, he searched for and found the hardened nub, swollen and bulging and waiting for him. He took the flesh between his lips and rolled it momentarily, only to release it and allow his tongue to survey the long valley behind it, pushing aside her warm flesh and dipping into the softness beyond. He allowed himself several passes at plowing her readied flesh, going deeper and deeper each time. Finally, he replaced his tongue with one… two… three fingers, letting them explore her unknown caverns. Taking her clitoris between his lips and then his teeth, he prodded and pulled until all of the sweetness of the punch became diluted with the flood of her climax. Once more, he held her firmly with both hands as he drank deeply of all that she offered. Her reactions had quickly hardened him again and he knew of only one thing to quell the pain. He pulled her towards him and down onto him, slipping inside her readied channel. Placing her legs to either side of his, she rose and fell with each of his thrusts, delighting in the fevered rhythm of his thrusting pillar until both of them cried out with release. Suddenly, all was silent except for their slowing audible breaths. As she felt him growing soft inside her, she slipped off and stood up. She picked up the creamy material of her gown, now stained with bright red splotches and marked with other drying stains. She wiped herself with the soft fabric then gently swabbed at various areas on the young man’s body, which appeared as used and flaccid as his spent organ. She backed off and smiled down at him. “Well, I do believe that you are worthy of B’Elanna, Mr. Paris. Consider your dept paid and forgotten. Now, please – try to pull yourself together. I suggest that you use my shower, and afterwards, I’ll have a steamy mug of black coffee waiting for you. Just coffee – don’t worry! Then, you can get back to your quarters before B’Elanna’s emergency is over.” He looked at her through dazed eyes, the truth suddenly becoming clear. “Her ‘emergency’ – you arranged that, didn’t you?” “I just might have,” she answered sweetly, her eyes sparkling. "Now…shower… coffee… and a wedding at 1100 tomorrow! Up and at ‘em, Mr. Paris!” ~ THE END ~