Continuing Education

Keywords: sf mm mf group series heavy dom X-Moderator-Review: 6: consistent writing but less development here

Archive-name: ContinuingEd-1

A point: The following works did not come from my pen. They came from the Phantom. I am only her publicity agent and go-between. If you have comments, questions, etc, please mail to me for forwarding to the Phantom. Thank you!

Lisa the Lustful . . . lgbeard@bsu-cs.bsu.edu

I should state beforehand that THIS IS AN EROTIC STORY written by a woman, and not science fiction strictly speaking. This is an exploration of an arousing character, not hard SF.

I also should warn (though I don't know why) the squeamish or homophobic that there is very explicit male-male contact in this one. (I can imagine a bunch of net.straight.guys hitting `n' right now so fast -- scared to death that they might see two words of it and actually become aroused -- that their finger almost falls off -- hee hee!) If you are disgusted or offended, simply don't read it. Enough net.conservatives like to talk about the 1st Amendment; let's see those words in action. If, on the other hand, you are a gay man with a taste for Bashir, then have a blast, and I hope you enjoy it!

If you want to flame after having read it -- you have only yourself to blame for your discomfort since you WERE warned. If you flame after NOT having read it, I can only assume that you don't know what you're talking about. If you want to flame and say, "Hey, I ain't no faggot, and I don't feel like reading this fag shit!" I have only one thing to say -- then don't read it, you fool, because it's obviously NOT MEANT FOR YOU. If you can't handle the fact that there is at least one variety of erotica that isn't aimed especially for the pleasure of the heterosexual man, too bad.

And for those who thought that Julian was a bit too submissive in the last story, and that he should have come across as a bit more adventurous, well, I think this qualifies as adventurous, don't you?

Ah -- also, I'm doing this anonymously so that when I submit what I've done in the more pedestrian vein Paramount won't look askance at my work. However, there are to date eight people who are aware of my "true identity," so if anyone out there decides to take credit for MY work, be prepared to have eight people jump all over your ass. This is MINE.

And thanks to Lisa Beard for posting it for me. She has apparently appointed herself as a publicist of sorts for me, and has volunteered to collect reviews and comments/suggestions/remarks, so if you have anything to say that is not a flame, please send it to her and she will most graciously and kindly forward it to me. (Thanks, Lisa!)

As for the rest of us -- I hope you enjoy this one as well as the last. If you didn't like the last, I hope you enjoy it better. If you have complaints, stuff `em.

-- the Phantom

Copyright 1993(c) by the author. All rights reserved, but if you want to pass it around, just don't make money off it, okay?

CONTINUING EDUCATION

Julian looked at the other man, attired nearly identically to his Lady, with more than a little trepidation, still holding his Lady's hand, the hand that held the chain to his collar. He wore nothing else, as was required by his training.

"This is Rala, my friend, Doctor. He will be helping me during your next lesson." Julian swallowed.

"How?" His voice wavered slightly, betraying his uncertainty. He felt his Lady's arm around his waist, protective and caring, as she stood behind him.

"He will help teach you the next lesson, how to give yourself freely." His head turned; his eyes sought hers. "I trust Rala," and she took the other man's hand in hers, kissing the palm, "implicitly."

"I only wish to merit your trust, Lady," Rala replied, his own voice rich and deep. He was slightly shorter than Julian, level with his Lady, and his hair was the color of ruddy sand, his skin fair. Large eyes were set over a straight nose and sensuously full lips. He was well-built, with the waist and chest of a South Seas pearl diver, narrow and strong. Between creamy hips was his own sex, slightly erect, surrounded by tow-colored curls. A perfect round peach was his buttocks, right down to the coat of gentle fuzz. His long legs looked strong, at least what Julian could see of them that was not also covered in his dark tan boots, a contrast to his Lady's jet ones.

Julian looked up then to see that the other man was examining him as closely as he was being examined; he felt blood go to his face and heat rose from his blushing cheeks. His hand tightened on his Lady's.

"You have never tasted a man?" Rala asked him softly. Julian only shook his head.

"I . . . I've never . . . wanted to before . . . " he stammered. His Lady came up behind him then, and he felt her against him, felt himself drawing strength from her nearness, her warmth.

"Doctor," she said, "would I ever lead you into something that would harm you?" Again, his eyes sought hers.

"No, Lady," he replied, with perfect trust, complete sincerity. His eyes went back to Rala, silent and watching. His Lady's hand rose to his warm face, and her lips closed on his. She felt the thin sweat on his upper lip as she kissed him, and wiped it away with her thumb. Then, she turned and nodded to the other man.

Rala walked forward, placing one gentle hand on Julian's bare waist. His dark stomach tensed and his eyes widened with apprehension. Rala drew nearer, and Julian's Lady stood close behind him, against him, until he could feel her breathing. "I'm right here, Doctor," was all she said, all she needed to say. Rala said only:

"I will never hurt you, Doctor" -- and kissed him.

Julian closed his eyes, shivering, and felt his breathing rate increase. Rala's lips moved against his, and he would have whimpered had he not felt the calming presence of his Lady behind him, stroking his stomach lightly. He could smell the other man's maleness, feel an arm slide around his back and hold him against a hard chest.

Warmth enveloped him from all sides. Gentle but firm bodies were against him. Caressing hands seemed to cover every inch of his skin. Almost without realizing it, he found himself returning the man's kiss, felt his own lips move against Rala's, felt his own hand rise to take sand-colored curls in his fingers. The gently pressing bodies against his moved closer and embraced one another around him, and he felt as though he were losing himself. Deliciously, he felt himself pulse and awaken, felt himself pressing against the other man's body, becoming firm against his firmness, and with a wondering jolt, he understood that he was being held against a body like his own.

Rala's tongue traced out his delicate lips, and his own did the same. Hesitantly at first, they began toying with each other's tongues. The room seemed filled with the soft sounds of their mouths against each other, their playful tongues exploring one another's mouths. Julian moaned softly, a light feathery sound. Then, Rala pulled away, and Julian felt the warmth against his chest fade. His heart was pounding.

His Lady put both arms around him then, against his slim chest. "I would never expose you to anyone not gentle, dear Doctor," was all she said. He lay his head back against her shoulder as the other man regarded him, hearing only the deafening quiet that seemed to settle on the room.

Then, the light vanished, and he could not see. His head flew upright and he gasped. A gentle hand laid itself against his stomach, and he could not tell whose it was. Moments later, he became aware of the blindfold that had been placed on him, soft and entirely blocking his vision. His muscles were rigid and stood outlined in the candlelight. Reflexively, he reached for his Lady's hand. "Lady . . . " he said, but before he could continue, he felt only a soft mouth against his, and the scent of a man rose up to his nostrils. Rala.

Without thinking, he returned the kiss, and felt the mouth trace itself down to his neck. He gasped, and felt his head fall back. Another kiss awoke his lips -- his Lady -- and he felt a tongue push its way between them as another tongue drew whirls against his toffee skin. Then, that was elsewhere also against his neck, and joined by the other mouth and tongue, the other gentle lips. Softly, he felt the mouths, the fingers, meander over the surface of his body, wandering and kissing and fondling until he could no longer tell them apart. His knees buckled with the pleasure, and two sets of firm, gentle hands caught him and lowered him softly to the floor.

All traces of hesitation vanished; each mouth, each tongue was another to enjoy, another to please. All over him, hands wandered, and he felt overloaded with touch. An electrifying sensation of warm wetness embraced his now rigid sex, and while it was not the gateway of his Lady, he had no idea who it belonged to, and did not care. All he could think of was drowning in the tender pleasing mouths all over him and pleasing them when they arrived at his.

It had been a long day, too long once he had seen the arrival schedules for the station. It had been an achingly long five months, and the minute the date had turned, he had begun searching through the schedules every day; the terminal in his quarters as well as that in the infirmary had been set to search for her ship's name ever since she had left. At first, he could not keep himself from checking them constantly, but as the long weeks had dragged on, he had stopped doing it for the most part. Today, the terminal in his quarters had beeped at him, as it had done hundreds of times since she had departed last, and he had walked over to it, wondering whose prescription was up to be renewed, or what offloading of medical supplies had to be signed for.

And it had blinked quietly up at him, showing only one line:

Ariad. 15:40 hours. Bay 1.

His hands had trembled then, as he stared at the screen. A keystroke would have cleared it and left it in memory to be accessed later, but he couldn't touch the keypad, had to keep it glowing quietly up at him, making her arrival seem more real. He closed his eyes, and brought two shivering hands to his face.

What did he remember of what she had taught him? What would she say? What would he say upon seeing her? Would she still want him? And, if she did, what . . . what would she teach him now? He rubbed at one fist with his palm, and a flood of memories ran over him, washing at his feet. The unity. The electric warmth and acceptance. The gentle discipline. He shook once, and his back tingled with the awakened memories of the spots of candlewax against his skin, the tingling of her blows.

The ungentle discipline.

A glance at his schedule confirmed that it would be a busy day -- two prenatals, six physicals, and seven returned test results from the lab. At least he wouldn't be left by himself, like he had been the last time, wondering what was going to happen. He smoothed his uniform nervously, and licked his lips. His face felt cool, and his hand went to his upper lip; he was sweating.

She's here, he told himself, almost not believing it. She's almost here. He would never be able to eat anything for breakfast; his stomach was in knots.

What if she has forgotten me? he asked himself, the question that threatened to paralyze him. He had to confront it, had to ask it of himself or he would be unable to function the entire day. He wouldn't do that to his patients. What if all that I read, all that I researched means . . . nothing? He ran through the files he had accessed on Ishtarian women and their training in his mind, all that he had read compulsively after her departure. All that he had studied against the day she returned. Might I never put it to use?

What if she has found someone else? What if one of her pupils after me was . . . more than I was? Better? All the unspoken fears ran through him, gibbering, and threatened to overwhelm him. With a hard snap of flesh on plastic, he struck the keypad, bringing up the day's medical schedule.

The first prenatal was in the morning, he saw. One of the Bajoran civilians on the station. Her fetus was of a different blood type than she was, as common in Bajorans as humans, and she needed some special monitoring; one of the station midwives and he had conferred the night before about the case. No cause for concern, but seeing it steadied his nerves. Something medical. A chord had been struck in him, and the knowledge of what he would have to do, the actions he would take, passed before him like a mantra, calming him.

And, he would see what happened after that. He was off duty at 18:45 hours. Perhaps he could call her ship . . . ask after her as she approached. Still nervous, he walked briskly out of his quarters on the way to the infirmary.

By lunch he was ravenous, and had downed enough food to march an army on. It threatened to make its presence known again after he had eaten it, though, and he had beaten a hasty exit from the replimat. After returning to the infirmary, his nerves had steadied again, and he took the opportunity to lose himself in the work offered by the returning test results. By the time 15:40 hours had arrived, he was standing over a vat of bubbling viscous material that would have made anyone but a medical researcher queasy and poking at a tricorder. His combadge chittered at him. Absentmindedly, he struck at it, leaving a streak of the medical stew on his smock as he did so.

"Bashir." His greetings sometimes degenerated when he was distracted.

Kira was on the other end. "Doctor. There's a shipowner just docking who'd like a word with you."

And he had almost dropped the tricorder he was holding right into the vat. "What?" It's her, he repeated to himself, over and over, it's her, it's her. He gripped the sides of the vat, closing his eyes.

"The ship is called the Ariad. Should I pipe it down to you?"

"Yes!" He steadied his hands, and put down the tricorder. Seconds passed like centuries --

"Doctor!" It was her voice, her beautiful voice. Still clutching the sides of the vat, he raised his eyes to the ceiling and sighed in relief.

"Yes!" he replied.

He could almost hear her smile across the circuit. Then, "My beautiful doctor," she said to him in a voice filled with affection, with caring, and his heart convulsed with the same dedication he had felt the last time he had seen her. She hadn't forgotten him. She still wanted him! "It's been a little longer than five months. I hope this hasn't been . . . inconvenient for you."

His mind's eye spun back to the last time he saw her, framed in the entranceway to her craft as he stood with his collar in his hands. He saw her face, could see her lips moving now, speaking the words he was hearing. "No . . . no." He swallowed. "I saw . . . the docking schedules today. I -- I saw your ship on it and . . . " He trailed off at this point. The vat of goo was nearly forgotten; once his shaking hands placed the stasis field around it, it was completely so. He couldn't trust himself to concentrate while even hearing her voice. "I get off duty at 18:45 tonight."

Quiet. He could hear muted voices on the other end. Then, "19:00 it is, then, Doctor. Unless . . . " Another pause. "Is this satisfactory? You have nothing else planned?"

"No! I mean . . . yes! I mean . . . " He stopped himself before he lost all coherency. A gulp of air steadied him. "That will be fine!"

"Do you still have the collar?"

He could feel the smile dawning on his lips and was glad he was alone; he felt himself go scarlet to his hairline. Impishly, he replied, "Of course, Lady." The smile widened.

He heard her smile in her voice as well. "19:00 then, Doctor." She chuckled. "My lovely doctor . . . Until then."

"Yes, Lady, " he replied, and the communication ceased. Some small part of him wondered if Kira had eavesdropped, and the larger part of him did not care if she had.

If he had thought the previous part of the day passed slowly, that was nothing compared to the crawl it had slowed to now. Desperately, he wished for some patients, some interaction. The silent goop in front of him offered no conversation, no opportunity for distraction. Again and again, he found himself making the same measurement several times, checking and rechecking figures he would normally be able to hold in his head with no effort. Finally, he called the computer and asked it to pipe in some music. His first choice was doumbec, but the throbbing rhythms only made things worse. Finally, he was forced to choose the spare ornamentation of Bach, and hummed it softly to himself as he worked.

In the middle of the Partita No. 3, the quiet alarm broke in, its gentle beep sounding like a klaxon to him. He looked up at the chrono on the wall over the entrance. 18:45.

In minutes, the smock was thrown off and he was out the door, on his way to his quarters. The collar was in a drawer; he had not worn it since the last lesson. He remembered seeing it there each time he opened this drawer, picking it up, holding it -- but never wearing it. He couldn't bring himself to put it on.

He entered his quarters, opened the drawer. The collar lay there, the chain slightly tarnished, the soft kid leather slightly stiff. With trembling fingers, he picked it up.

A faint scent of jasmine still clung to it -- or was he imagining that? His eyes went to the chrono near his bed. 18:48. He considered just heading straight for Bay 1, but caught a reflection of himself in the mirror over his dresser that stopped him. Smiling slightly, he ran his hand over his uniform.

No. His lips curled wryly as he remembered. He fingered the synthetic fabric, black and brilliant royal blue. Quartermaster would want to know why he needed two more uniforms after less than six months, and he certainly couldn't explain that. Quickly, he removed the uniform, and realized while pulling the tunic over his head that it would also not do to appear at his Lady's ship still carrying whiffs of medical sludge on him. Stilling his shaking hands, he dashed into the shower, unable while there to keep from running his hands over his bare skin as the steam surrounded him, imagining them as hers. He might have lingered over the anticipation, the wanting, but wanted nothing so much as to see her again, hear her voice, feel her on and around him. Anticipation be damned -- he wanted his Lady, wanted to be near her, see her eyes on him, feel her hands, her mouth, her body . . . and please her with his own.

He jumped out of the shower, dried himself, and pulled on a crisp white shirt, blue trousers, and his uniform boots. The chrono blinked at him. 18:56.

He turned. His hand went to the collar, picked it up once more. He looked down at it in his fingers, and as he considered her parting comment about how it might fit her, he was unaware that his eyes had begun to glitter with something that was not surrender. Standing at the mirror, he slowly raised it up and held it against his neck, wrapping it around his skin, still moist from the heat of the shower. He did not fasten it there. His eyes closed, and he felt the subtle throbbing, the insistence at his thighs.

18:57.

His reflection gazed back at him, holding the collar again as a talisman against his chest. He swallowed, turned, and exited, the door closing over him. With only a little trembling in his legs, he walked to the docking ring, to Bay 1.

His fingers still trembled at the chime. Seeing them took him back to the night, centuries ago, when he had last done this, last awaited entrance to her ship -- ignorant and completely unaware of what was to come. Briefly, he considered that he was now more knowledgeable, more urbane, but as he stood there, not pressing the chime, he realized that that was not the case -- nowhere near it. He still was uncertain, and knew nothing of what was to come. He knew only that she was on the other side of this airlock, and that he belonged on that side, with her -- with his Lady. But, he thought, we will see how the collar fits her as well. His mouth curled upward in a dark little smile of which he was unaware.

He might give her a few surprises.

Julian pressed the chime once. In breathless anticipation, he watched the bay door roll away, and saw the entranceway to her ship part before him, welcoming him into its dim, ruddy depths. In one corner, he could just see one of the standing flame lamps.

As if sleepwalking, he moved, his body seemingly taking him forward of its own volition. Lightheaded, he moved out of the airlock, into a place beyond normal space, normal time, into the protective circle of his Lady's ship and his Lady's presence. The entrance slid closed behind him, cutting him off completely from the station. The same voice that had commanded him so beautifully during the past time of surrender and desire floated at him from nowhere.

"My beautiful doctor . . . " and trailed off.

"Lady . . . " he murmured, looking around himself.

Then, "Put on your collar."

He did so, and felt the leather around his neck again, stiff but still a good fit. For long moments, he simply stood there, aching to see her, wondering when she would come to him.

Again, then, the voice from behind him. "That's better." He spun.

She was directly behind him, and held the chain to his collar in her hands. "In your bonds, I can greet you properly." He only stood, feeling himself fall forward, into her eyes, her welcoming smile. Her hands reached out to him. "My lovely pupil."

She still wanted him.

He bent one knee before her, a knight, and the only thing he could utter was, "Lady . . . " She was before him, warm and accepting, clothed only in her hair, longer than it had been when he had seen her last. It was a satiny black cape, brushing the tops of her thighs. Aside from that most beautiful of cloaks, she wore nothing else.

She chuckled again, low and velvety. Standing before him, she touched his hair softly as a mother's kiss. She did not kneel, but only looked at him, memories also taking her for the time. Her fingers toyed with his dark waves of hair, her hands ran over his slender shoulders, the crisp whiteness of his shirt shining like new snow against his deep skin. She traced his jawline, his neck, his brow -- as lost in thought as was he. Moving closer, she took his head in her hands and drew it close, holding it against her hips. He turned his head and laid it there, feeling her fingers in his hair, caressing him. Her own ebon curls tickled at his cheek, and he kissed them. Raising his arms, he embraced her, feeling her strong thighs under his hands. "Lady . . . " he whispered again, drinking in the sensation of acceptance that washed over him in a cool tide. He raised his eyes to her face, smiling down at him, and tugged firmly and steadily on the chain she was holding, his chain.

Now is as good a time as any, he told himself. Do it.

She saw that his expression had altered slightly, impishness and something darker shining at her out of his eyes. She stood still, and felt his hands grip her own forearms, and pull her downward. At first, she resisted, but then felt herself drop until she was eye level with him or perhaps a little lower, as he was taller than she.

"I've waited . . . " he began, "I've waited . . . " but he could not continue. His hands wreathed her face, pulling it toward his own. She placed her hand on his chest again, but he overruled her with his own hands, kissing her deep and strong, pressing himself into her. He ran his tongue over her tense lips hungrily, hearing her wordless protest, and parted those lips -- probing deeply into her warm mouth. Toying with her tongue, he let himself be submerged in the soft sounds, the scent of her, the feel of her hair under his hand, her tense body against his, even through the clothing.

His eager boldness grew. One hand slid down her back to her own buttocks, pressing them to him, pressing his hips to hers; he could hear rough sounds of friction, his clothing against her jet hair. Her hands were around his upper arms, gripping them like steel, and he waited. Waited for her to relax into him, as the files on Ishtarian training he had perused during her absence had advised.

For long minutes, they were like that, tasting each other, he gently moving his hips against hers until he felt himself again pushing to be released from his clothing; he knew she could feel his occasional pulsing. Time passed. He tightened his grip on her buttocks, feeling the soft skin give under his hands, and felt her own grip on his arms slacken just a hair. Now, he told himself. He pulled away then, ending the kiss, and could feel her body leaning into his, watching her face closely.

It was there, just as he had hoped -- surprise, desire, a hint of frustration -- as she caught her breath. He could see all of what she felt running over her face, through her eyes. He smiled at her, the impish little smile he had worn in the airlock. "Lady . . . I'm ready for my next lesson."

Her chest was rising and falling quickly, and she raised one hand to her neck. For a moment, she did not reply. Then, she smiled, and a new realization shone from her tilted eyes -- a gauntlet had been thrown. "Yes," she said simply, her voice breathier than she would have wanted. "You may indeed be."

His eyes ran over her face, and he pitched his voice sensuously low. "I am." He pushed himself into her more closely, pressing her backwards, digging his fingers into her soft skin.

Slowly, her eyes began to smoulder, and he saw then the challenge in them, the arousal and the strength. She looked through him, and her gaze nearly melted him on the spot. Steam rose from her, or seemed to. "We will see." Her eyes narrowed, and she smiled at him, the smile of new respect. "You have been reading during my absence, Doctor," she remarked, appraising him.

He blinked, unsure of how to respond to this. She had seen what he was trying to do quickly.

Leaning closer to him, and grasping his own buttocks firmly, she whispered, "I spent years studying to be what I am." His eyes darted down to her lips at his face, caressing his clean cheek. "I couldn't fail to recognize the technique." Her tongue darted out, tracing out his sharp cheekbone. She pulled back. "You are what I imagined you'd be, Doctor. One of my most dedicated pupils." Her sibilant voice was soft and gentle. "Remove your clothing." She released his chain, and he felt it fall against his thigh; he jumped slightly.

This commanding tone was not what he had expected -- but then, again, he was forced to admit that he still did not know what to expect. "What will you teach me?" he asked.

"Remove your clothing, Doctor." She stood, and he followed after watching her body rise before his eyes. "I will return shortly." And she left the room, leaving him there wondering what to do. Voices floated out of the other room, his Lady's and another's -- the new voice low and quiet. He strained to make sense of what they said, but could determine nothing.

After waiting for several seconds, he pulled his shirttails out of his trousers and hesitantly tugged the shirt off over his head. Cool air struck his slim chest. His previous boldness had begun to dissipate, and he began to wonder what she had planned, and what form any reprisals would take. She would take up his challenge, he was sure of it, and he hoped he could bear whatever she put to him. A slight tug, and his hands moved down his hips; he felt the fabric of his trousers sliding along his skin as they fell to the floor. He was again as he once was -- unclothed and uncertain, in his collar, on her ship and at her mercy.

Gathering himself, he promised that it would not be so . . . one- sided this time, but it was easier to be bold and promise her a new pupil in his mind three months ago, he safe and clothed and sitting in his quarters, than it was now. His certainty vanished like snow on hot ground when she entered again with her assistant . . .

. . . and he was now enduring the overload of sensation that this newest lesson -- or the beginnings of one -- had brought. Writhing blindly, the floor cold and hard against his back, he felt his spine curve as the moist warmth enveloped him further. His wrists were seized and held, not confined but merely held, a reminder of his bound status. A nimble tongue traced out the outlines of the head of his sex, and he felt every movement of it, each slow, deliberate millimeter's worth. Pulses ran shuddering through him from there, and the soft mouth took him in completely, and pulled back, took him in yet again, and pulled away again, seeming to know exactly what he wanted. The other mouth was against his neck, almost unbearably sensitized, and the firm and gentle hands seemed everywhere else. His wrists were pinned against his sides; he badly wanted to bring his hands to the head of the unknown person pleasing him so wonderfully and could not. Expressions of gratitude were confined to his soft voice, wordless, growing stronger as the overload continued.

He turned his head, felt smooth thick hair against his cheek, and understood with a shock of pleasure that Rala was the one pleasing him, taking him in, teasing and delighting him. The realization coursed through him like hot fire, making him throb even harder, the tension and horrible ache tripling. In his mind's eye, he could see himself, abandoned and twisting, on the floor with his Lady's mouth on his, and Rala at his hips -- his body arching, even his expression. It was etched on his eyes as if in glass.

He could hear himself moaning.

Voices sang in his mind, and he felt the mouth at him retreat completely. His teeth clenched in frustration, but he recalled the final lesson of his last time with his Lady -- patience. Limber fingers stroked at him, keeping him aroused while other fingers, both mouths, concentrated on the rest of his body, awakening every nerve, every square centimeter of skin. Gradually, strong hands began kneading him, relaxing him, one set working at his thighs, another at his shoulders; he felt a wet warmth at his stomach and knew his Lady to be straddling him, her firm hands working the muscles in his chest. Slowly, the tension and mad wanting he felt began to ebb into a melting feeling. Soft lips kissed at his genitals, and he started at them and at the warm tongue that traced out the textures of his inner thighs, also being kneaded by firm, strong fingers.

The moist warmth at his stomach departed, and he was just barely conscious of being lifted from the floor and held against a strong hard chest. Rala again, his strong arms supporting Julian, taking him to something he knew not what. His own arms now free, he wrapped them around Rala's chest, holding himself more closely to his Lady's assistant, his mouth and body sweet and shockingly different, shockingly the same. He felt also his Lady's hand at him, keeping him aroused and rigid, while he buried his face in Rala's warm flesh, pulling himself up to run his eager tongue over the other man's neck. He felt Rala's head turn to face him and his hand ran over the other man's cheek and neck. Again, the sweet mouth was on his, gently devouring, the moist probing tongue against his lips. Hungrily, he lifted himself in Rala's arms further, pushing the man's face against his while their mouths pressed together.

A voice was at his ear, and he gasped, turning his head blindly. "Doctor," it whispered, the sensuous voice of his Lady, "you learn quickly, my beauty." Another gentle kiss against his cheekbone, another soft set of lips to toy with. He felt his body against something soft as he was laid on his back on the bed that he had been seeing for so long in his dreams. The blindfold was removed, and he opened his eyes to Rala beside him, releasing him from his arms. Of its own volition, his hand moved to touch the other man's pert sex, close by his head and so like his own. A smile crept over his face as he gazed at this, delighted in some part of himself he could not name, amazed at this so like his own body. Out of the corner of his eye, Julian could see his Lady smiling on them both; now, though, he had eyes only for Rala. An unspoken current of understanding, mutuality, flowed between them. "Like me," he murmured. Rala nodded, and as he gently touched Julian as well, replied with a tender smile, "Like me, as well, Doctor." The smile grew into impishness, and Julian returned it.

He turned his head to see his Lady, watching them both with a delighted expression on her face. "My pupils," she said, low and rich. "You must spend some time alone as well." She sat back against the headboard; Julian could close his eyes and still feel it against his chest like icy fire the time she had disciplined him. "But for now, Doctor, we must begin the lesson." He sat up, and she took the chain of his collar on her hands, not bothering to bind his wrists to it. "Your hands may remain free this time, Doctor," and she shared a look with Rala that he could not decipher.

"What is this lesson to be?" he asked as she placed her hands on him, pulling him toward her until he was facing her; Rala was behind him, and warmth began like a little fire in his chest and spread out at the feel of her hands on his hips and Rala's at his waist.

She shook her head as she faced the men. "You will see." He cocked his head at her.

"I will see?"

"Yes." Her hands rose from his hips to run over him and her eyes became lost for a moment. "I had forgotten. Oh, I had forgotten . . . " she said quietly, almost to herself, as she felt his skin under her fingers, saw his slender body before her, a slim and graceful caramel sculpture -- hard chest, beautiful tense stomach, his hips and thighs only slightly lighter in color than the rest of him and giving the impression of buttery cream, his long graceful arms and legs, and . . . Her lips were at his neck, his willow slim neck, long and sensuous, and she nearly moaned as she inhaled his scent and found herself carried back months ago to the last time she had buried her face in him.

She pulled him to her more closely, and he felt Rala tilting his hips forward with his hands. He, too, was drinking in the scent of her, letting it touch his memories and arouse them. Her skin was against his, and he could feel her moving underneath him. He felt as well, with an electric thrill of anticipation, Rala behind and against him, gently rubbing himself against the soft skin there. His hands tightened in his Lady's hair, and his eyes closed as he fell forward into the want. Strong man's hands ran lightly over his outer thighs, caressing every curve, and Julian again felt himself pulsing and felt the thirst begin. He wanted to say something, to express this, but could not -- could not think of who to tell, which one's sensations against him and all over him were the more delicious. In the end, he simply sighed, softly and lightly, and just let the pleasure and anticipation wash over him and take him.

Rala's soft undulations were growing more forceful. Julian matched them, feeling the two bodies against his, the two warm bodies. Opening his eyes, he saw his Lady silently reach to her bedside and take two little jars; one he recognized, one he had never seen. With no further preamble, she took his hips firmly and guided him with infinite slowness into her. The faintest of liquid sounds accompanied her movement, and he could only gasp when she stopped short, allowing only the head of his rigid sex into her. He watched her silently, questions in his dark eyes, but the inquiring expression on his face was wiped away utterly as she gripped at the head, massaging it with herself, squeezing at it over and over. He pushed himself forward against her hands, but was unable to overcome both sets of arms that had immobilized him. He could only stare as she clutched, and as Rala leaned into him, pressing his chest against Julian's back, rocking back and forth.

Then, the two sets of hands resumed their motion, and he felt himself entering her completely, seeming like hours; he could feel each slow millimeter's liquid progress until his hips were at hers and he was again inside his beautiful Lady, taken in by her.

Rala reached past him with negligent grace, taking the second of the little jars behind Julian's back. Julian tried to follow it with his eyes, but was prevented from doing so by his Lady's grasping his head and turning it to her own. He then saw only her mouth approaching his, felt only his tongue parting her lips and hers doing the same. Soft sounds danced around them as they toyed with each other, almost but not quite masking the soft sounds Julian could hear behind himself. He felt a firm hand in the small of his back pushing him forward and making him arch his spine; he flowed forward into his Lady with it, and started when he felt Rala's limber fingers at him, gently painting him with something cool and moist. His own hands tightened around his Lady's arms and his eyes were wide.

"What . . . " he asked, but did not continue. She placed a finger at his lips and picked up the other jar, the one he knew.

"I can feel you softening, Doctor." Rala stopped then, but at a nod from her, continued. Julian's eyes were alive with uncertainty and just a little fear, his body tense as wire, and she kissed him gently, caressing his cheek and jaw. In her hands, his face moved, his head lifted, and he bit his lower lip only for a moment until she smoothed it with her fingers, as he felt Rala's fingers softly probing, preparing. His Lady's fingers wandered down his neck from his face, lazy and delicate. She could see Rala over Julian's shoulder, see his arms moving as he finished preparing himself and the doctor. In his eyes, she saw something like what she herself had felt when she had first seen him, centuries ago. Amazement at his beauty. Desire. Gentleness. Rala smiled at her past Julian, who shivered once, and nodded -- he was ready.

She opened the jar and took out something he had not seen before -- a tiny silver spoon. Taking a mound of the kamireh in it, she held it before him, watching as, with his eyes, those eyes, on her he took it between his lips and pulled back slowly, taking the sweet cream in his mouth. He swallowed and closed his eyes, awaiting the surge of fire.

It was strong, powerful, more than what he had remembered. Immediately, he became firm, and felt himself stretching the moist skin of his Lady. She heard him moan, and saw the expression of the other man behind him as he too witnessed Julian's reaction. Hunger awoke in Rala's eyes, and she held out another little dollop of kamireh for him too, taking a small taste for herself as well.

Then, barely aware, Julian saw her pick up a smouldering censer. He was only slightly conscious of her holding it, waving it, under his nose, but felt his reaction to it, whatever it was. As the hot thirst from the kamireh swelled in him, another part of him became detached, serene, and a wonderful sense of flowing filled him as well and made him even more aware of the fiery glow, made it more intense as like a relaxed reed he bent against swiftly flowing water. Lightly panting, he flowed into two sets of arms, and felt an astonishing sensation of acceptance himself as Rala began to enter him with utmost tenderness. A wave seemed to break over him, and his eyes opened wide in amazement. A thin line of sweat was drawn down his back, and he could feel himself pushing back, withdrawing from his Lady's wet embrace into another, different embrace, one in which he was accepting. It was his turn to leave nail impressions in his Lady's skin.

"As gently as you wish, Doctor," Rala whispered to him from behind one shoulder, and Julian nearly melted at the sound of his voice. He felt the strong hands at his hips, pulling him back slowly, slowly, and he felt himself filling with delicious ease. He released his Lady's arms, felt himself pulling out of her, felt himself being filled and stimulated in a way he had never experienced before. Depths in him were slowly being touched and awakened, and he felt his upper body rise to lean back against Rala's supporting chest. His eyes were closed, his lashes fluttering, as Rala pressed his buttocks against his hips at last, and his head fell back against a fair shoulder. He was panting lightly, with hot sweat breaking all over him, making him shine. Rala embraced him around his chest, running strong hands over him, supporting his slender body as it was taken by training. Very gently, so as not to remove him completely from his Lady, Rala rhythmically rocked his hips a fraction of an inch back and forth, back and forth, lifting Julian in his strong arms mere millimeters. A gasp met his actions, followed by the most delicious moan Rala had ever heard. His arms tightened across Julian's bare chest, and he gazed at his Lady past one smooth shoulder. He is beautiful, he said silently to her. She smiled, her own eyes barely able to tear themselves from Julian's shining body, stretched and oblivious before her.

I know, she replied silently. Her hand reached to Julian, and she touched his stomach, dabbling the sweat there softly. Then, she began to massage the head of his sex, still inside her, as Rala also rocked back and forth. Their combined actions were met only with wordless, though not silent, astonishment. His moans were nearly cries. If he thought his nervous system was overloaded before, months ago, it was nothing compared to what was crackling and crashing over and through him now. Every movement of Rala's, every rocking motion, every push or pull, was mirrored inside him, and he had never felt anything remotely comparable. Rala moved, he felt it in him; as the other man undulated his hips so slightly, Julian could feel himself do the same, inside, and he had never known that was possible. He felt submerged in a thick soup of cloying vapor, felt as if he no longer had conscious control over his body, had no idea what was happening outside his own skin so amazing and intense were the things bursting and burning inside. Like an icy and prickling spark of voltage, he felt as well the clutches and grasping of his Lady as she took the head of his thirsty sex and massaged it in her. It was barely inside her, and the slightest backward movement would remove it completely. He felt balanced on the head of a pin, as if he were teetering, barely supported, and relished the feeling of exquisite instability it created in him.

The rhythm of Rala in him was matched by a rhythmic sensation inside as he was touched in depths that had never before been stimulated. His head tossed from side to side, and he only retained the barest awareness of strong hands running over him, running all over him, over his chest and stomach and waist, over his thighs. Panting and lips slightly parted, he turned his head to nestle in Rala's warm and moist neck and felt a warmth between his lips, a wet probing. Dimly, he understood that Rala had placed his tongue in his mouth, but he could not manage to return the kiss. He could only moan, strongly. His hand reached to Rala's head, gripped his hair as he moaned. Then, he felt the hands at his hips go away to be replaced by another set and he began to feel himself pulled forward. As the astonishing sensations behind him began to draw back, those before swelled and washed over him. Limply, gracefully, he released Rala's sandy curls, his nerveless fingers dragging along damp fair skin. He could again feel himself entering his beautiful Lady, stretching her gently as she pulled his hips to hers, feel the wavelike contractions of her muscles as she squeezed at him, seeming to pull him more deeply into her. Then, he was against her, and Rala only barely inside him, still moving gently and rhythmically.

Oblivious, he could only lean against her, feeling her at his chest, feeling her soft breasts at him, her lips on him, her beautiful voice in his ear, telling him something he could not make out. The scent of her hair overwhelmed him, the tickling of it at his face was like an icy skittering, and he grasped her arms firmly as his voice became more urgent, more pleading, more abandoned than before. He felt only overload and could not have told how much longer he could withstand what he was feeling without losing consciousness. Like an upwelling of coherency, he suddenly made out some of her words, graven on his mind with utter clarity:

"You can withstand much more, Doctor. You are strong."

Beyond gasping, beyond pleading, he only felt his body melt further into hers. She held his dark head, with his hair curling into wet ringlets wreathing his face and the back of his neck, and embraced him firmly, whispering soft assurances that were lost to him. Then, with agonizing acuity, he felt her hands pull away from him, and his hips were once again grasped by Rala and pulled slowly and inexorably back. He slid out of his Lady with a liquid sense of emergence, and again felt the fullness of holding another man inside himself. Again, the sensation shook him, consumed him; he felt as Rala rocked his hips with more force and further than he had before, pulling Julian's body up as masculine arms wrapped around his chest to support him, yet allowing him to remain just barely inside his Lady. Rala rocked himself backwards, sliding forward and tilting his hips until gravity pushed Julian down on him more firmly; he was nearly melted himself by the other man's moans and gasping. Under his hands, he could feel the slim chest rising and falling, the sweat running over the dark skin, darker by far than his own. He embraced Julian with all his strength, burying his own face in the warm skin at his neck, fondling it with his tongue, tasting the salty sweat. Rings of damp hair brushed his own face, and he felt Julian tighten around him in response to what he knew he was feeling, to what Rala himself had felt many times, what he had given others, men and women, many times.

Steadying himself against what he too was feeling, he leaned back and braced his arms and, with care so that Julian would yet remain in his Lady, Rala flexed his strong legs, jounced his hips, and tossed the other man's body very slightly upward. Were it not for his Lady's grip on the chain of his collar, Julian would have fallen back and away, oblivious. As it was, she had to reach forward and grasp his slim upper arms to keep him from toppling. Rala tossed him again at a nod from her, and his own eyes closed as he felt the other man clutch and tighten at him, as he felt his round buttocks drive down onto him. Julian's astonishment was beyond moaning; he could only inhale slowly, shudderingly. His Lady ran one hand over his chest and neck, caressing his skin, drinking in the sight of him stretched and shining, being buffeted by the pleasure she and Rala were giving him. He began to undulate his hips himself, bucking softly against Rala, growing stronger and stronger, and his gasps took on the same cadence. Acutely, he felt slim fingers at his sex, still tenuously held and gripped by his Lady, felt her coat the shaft with something, knew it to be kamireh though he could not think the word. For a brief few moments, he took control of himself, just long enough to throw his upper body forward and against her, still pressing himself over and over into Rala. Without waiting for her hands to guide him, he pushed himself into her, exhaling with a soft cry as he did so; her words had flown from his conscious mind, but their flavor remained. He knew that he was unable to stand any more, and wanted his hot and nearly panicked thirst slaked.

Rala's hands dragged down his back as he felt Julian withdraw from him and caressed his sides, making the other man moan and buck even more. He withdrew from his Lady then, and pressed himself against Rala once more, tight and urgent. Then forward, to his Lady, who could feel him becoming more and more wild, could see Rala over his shoulder, eyes closed, becoming wild as well, grasping Julian's slender waist with a grip of iron, his own body taut and shining. While Julian was still forward, hot and hard against her, she reached past him and pulled Rala to herself as well, drawing him against the other man until Julian lay against her chest and Rala against him. Their hips were together, each inside the other, Julian's thrusting back and forth, back and forth, pressing hard to overcome the closeness, the constraint. She could see the muscles along his sides tightening as he pushed himself back against Rala with hungry strength, felt his arms around her pulling himself against her body and driving into her wildly.

And he continued, over and over, growing in strength. Pushing to the man, clasping the woman to himself. Being drawn back and accepting the body of Rala prone against him and lightly moaning, and losing himself in the warmth and wetness of his beautiful Lady, whose eyes were closed and lips parted. Julian pushed his tongue between them and felt hers toy with it, felt Rala's against his flushed skin, his exquisitely sensitive neck. Against, between, her lips he moaned strongly, a quivering cry that grew in volume as he felt the soft tongue of Rala against skin so sensitized he felt that the slightest further stimulation would send him plummeting down to a warm bubbling waterfall of sensation.

His hips bucked back and forth, wildly. He felt his Lady's breath at his neck as she whispered one outrageous word at him: "Patience." Seconds passed as his overloaded brain, preoccupied with touch and taste and scent, understood her. His hands raised to her head, and he took her hair in his fists; he felt Rala's hands gripping his arms like steel as he pushed himself against him. His eyes did not open, and only a bare few words could he manage.

"No . . . patience . . . " he said through clenched teeth, then plunging his tongue more deeply into her mouth and pressing himself into her with all his strength, crushing his lips against hers. His hand was at the nape of her neck; her head was immobilized. His breath came in short powerful bursts as he drove himself inside her stretched gateway, drove himself against the man behind him. Every muscle in his body was tense as he lay against her, hot and covered in his own sweat and hers and Rala's as the other man's weight on him pressed him down.

All of his skin was touched, covered, and the heat from the other bodies surrounded him in a cloying fog. The tight embrace was a total one, like nothing he had ever felt. His hips pounded back and forth, stretching his Lady, stretching himself. The peak was nearing for him, and he could feel the tightening, the awful tightness, beginning to grip him. He heard two wordless cries, one Rala's and one his own. A third joined them -- his Lady. He felt Rala tensing and driving harder, further, touching him even more deeply and the wildness pushed him closer to the peak.

Then, Rala threw himself against him, crying out and clutching Julian tightly. His back curled and his hips drove so deeply into Julian that he thought he would hold Rala in him forever. Over and over, the powerful muscles of the man behind him hammered into him, driving his own hips even more deeply into his Lady, their bodies jarred by the mad thrashing. Once, twice, the hammering kept going, and Julian felt himself finally tighten to the breaking point, adding his astonished voice to Rala's, as his Lady added her own voice to both.

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