ugly bag of mostly voyager

Chapter Four

McCoy heaves himself up from his slumped position over Kathryn’s back and slaps her on the rump, grinning. “There you go, honey. Just what the doctor ordered.”

Slowly, she collects the scattered, woolly remnants of her sanity into something that begins to resemble outrage. She pushes upright and turns to face him.

McCoy is tucking himself back into his pants; the third person since she’s arrived in this universe who hasn’t bothered to completely disrobe before having their way with her. She amps up the force of her glare, but he just smirks.

“Won’t work on me,” he says. “I was married to Madam Inquisitor, remember? And my balls ain’t shrivelled up yet.”

Kathryn snatches the shift dress he’d brought from the chaise beside her. “I believe Madam Inquisitor left orders for me to clean up,” she says tightly.

“Bathroom’s that way.” McCoy waves a nonchalant hand. As he turns, he spots Kashyk for seemingly the first time. “What the fuck is that, now?”

“He is my slave,” Kathryn emphasises. “And he needs medical attention. See to it, please.”

McCoy cocks his head. “You want me to waste Terran medicine on that?”

Kathryn grits her teeth. “To phrase it in a way you’ll understand: it’s no use to me if it’s unable to work. So, yes. I want you to heal it.” She adds, “Now,” and heads for the bathroom on legs she refuses to admit are shaking so badly she can barely walk in a straight line.

 

=/=

Kathryn goes to the sink first, bracing her hands against it and bowing her head to catch her breath. She can’t look in the mirror.

She isn’t entirely sure what she’ll see.

Before the swelling ache in her throat can dissolve into the kind of crying storm she’s afraid she might not be able to stop, she straightens up and activates the faucet, cupping her hands under the icy water and splashing it on her face. The shock halts her oncoming hysteria, thankfully, and braces her enough to order the shower on, extra hot, and step under the spray. There’s a washcloth and plenty of soft gel soap that smells like vanilla and lime, and she makes thorough use of both, staying under as long as she dares. It’s only her concern for Kashyk, and how these people are probably treating him in her absence, that drives her from the shower.

When she returns to the anteroom – scrubbed, hair combed, dressed in the flimsy, translucent shift – McCoy has gone, and Kashyk sits propped against the wall in the corner. His hands are still bound behind his back, but the bloodied bruise on his jaw is gone and his dark eyes are clear. They are fixed warily on the two guards, Januzzi and Rhys, who stand either side of the bathroom door staring menacingly back at Kashyk and looking as though they’d enjoy nothing more than ripping off a limb or two.

At least, until Kathryn re-enters the room and their attention switches to her, hungry in an entirely different way.

She suppresses a shudder.

A soft whir signals the opening of the main entrance, and Inquisitor Cornwell appears in freshly-shined armour and boots with heels even more wickedly sharp than the last pair. She walks directly up to Kathryn, tilting her chin up with one forefinger.

“Acceptable,” she acknowledges, then lets the hand drop to cup and squeeze Kathryn’s breast, naked under the thin shift. “My outfit suits you.”

Kathryn grinds her teeth.

“Turn around,” Cornwell orders.

Kathryn turns, and the Inquisitor gathers her hair and smooths it over one shoulder, tracing the visible knobs of Kathryn’s spine above the low, scooped back of the dress. She pushes a strap from one shoulder, strokes her palm over smooth skin, turns Kathryn to face her again and eases the strap back into place, leisurely moulding her hands to curves and planes. Her fingers rest lightly on Kathryn’s hips.

“Leonard did a nice job,” she remarks. “Was he thorough?”

From behind her, Januzzi coughs.

“You have something to say, Lieutenant?”

“No, Madam.”

Cornwell’s eyes narrow as she leans back to study Kathryn’s face.

“He fucked you, didn’t he?”

Kathryn meets her eyes. “Yes.”

Katrina backhands her faster than she can blink, the Inquisitor’s ornate ring slicing open a vicious cut on her cheekbone. Kathryn staggers back, gasping, one hand pressed to her bleeding cheek.

“That whore,” Cornwell hisses. “Never could keep it in his pants … I should have cut it off in his sleep.”

A red haze rises behind Kathryn’s eyes. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she whispers.

The Inquisitor’s head snaps round. “What did you say?”

But Kathryn stands her ground. “I didn’t ask to get caught in the middle of your marital dispute,” she grinds out. “So why don’t you two see a counsellor and leave me out of it?”

There’s a knife at her throat before she can form her next word.

 

=/=

Several things happen at once.

“Kathryn!” cries Kashyk, earning himself a kick from Rhys.

“Do it,” Kathryn goads, tilting her neck to press it more closely against the wicked blade Katrina holds to her tender throat. Blood wells: two drops, three.

And the Emperor strides into her antechamber, flinging a cloak from her shoulders as she walks, and coming to a halt in front of Kathryn and the Inquisitor.

“Kat, what is this?” she demands, knocking Cornwell’s knife hand to one side and tipping Kathryn’s chin up to the light. “You’ve marked her.”

Cornwell sheaths the knife at her belt and presses her lips together, white with fury. “I apologise, Philippa. She pissed me off.”

The Emperor whirls, seeming to dart through the air, her heel connecting with the Inquisitor’s jaw and knocking the taller woman flying. Cornwell is on her back, the Emperor squatting on her chest with that vicious longsword pressed flat to the Inquisitor’s throat before Kathryn can even close her mouth.

“Do not presume to use my name when we are not in my bedchamber, Katrina,” hisses the Emperor.

“I’m sorry, Your Imperial Majesty.” Cornwell swallows tightly. “I’ll never do it again.”

“No, you won’t.” The Emperor rises gracefully. “You’ll never be invited there again, nor will you bear the title of Inquisitor. You’ve displeased me too often, taken too many liberties.” She sheaths her sword. “Lieutenant Januzzi, escort this garbage out.”

Cornwell sits up, dazed. “Your Majesty –”

“Get out!”

Katrina Cornwell stands, unbuckles her armour and places it carefully at her Emperor’s feet. She bows from the waist, then turns and walks, straight-backed, to the door.

“Oh, Katrina?”

She turns; the Emperor is smiling sweetly.

“Send in the boys on your way out, will you?”

 

=/=

“My dear, let me look at that cut.”

The Emperor beckons Kathryn close. All the tiny hairs on the back of Kathryn’s neck stand at attention at her proximity as the other woman probes lightly at her lacerated cheekbone. Her fingers are long and cool and elegant, her touch deft. Her breath is sweet.

The cut smarts, Kathryn winces, and dark eyelashes flicker as the Emperor observes her.

“You’re tougher than you look, my dear,” she murmurs.

Kathryn smiles faintly. “So I’ve been told.”

“You’ve passed every test I’ve set for you so far, and some I haven’t.”

Kathryn says nothing.

The Emperor’s fingers still and she looks into Kathryn’s eyes. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

“I do have a question.”

“Ask it.”

“I can’t help wondering why you choose certain methods of determining your subjects’ loyalty.”

The dark eyes crinkle in amusement. “You think it’s ludicrous?”

“Curious,” Kathryn hedges. “Why not set a different kind of test? Have me unearth a secret or destroy an enemy, for example?”

“Sometimes, those are the tests I set.” The Emperor shrugs. “It depends on the person I’m testing, and what I need most at the time. As both my army and my intelligence operatives are second to none, I don’t usually need an assassin or a secret agent.”

“I see.”

The Emperor leans in and whispers, “Or maybe I’m just a kinky bitch,” and flicks out the tip of her tongue to catch a drop of blood from Kathryn’s cheek.

Kathryn jerks backward, breath catching in her throat, and the Emperor laughs.

The door chimes.

“I have one more test for you, my dear,” she says, smiling, and calls out, “Enter.”

 

=/=

Oh God, no.

Kathryn’s stomach tightens unbearably as her final test steps through the doorway.

“Come in, boys,” the Emperor instructs, voice creamy. “Meet your entertainment for the evening.”

She takes each man by the hand and brings them over to Kathryn.

“My dear, I believe you’ve already had the pleasure of Captain Gabriel Lorca,” she purrs.

Lorca smiles slowly as he takes her hand and bends to kiss it. “The pleasure was at least half mine.”

“And this is Captain Christopher Pike.”

No, thinks Kathryn as she turns toward the laugh-crinkled blue eyes and silvered hair of the second Starfleet legend she’s come face to face with tonight.

She’s always felt it’s a bad idea to meet one’s heroes, and after her encounter with Dr McCoy, she hasn’t changed that belief. Even if he was a twisted, corrupt version of the man she’d been taught to revere.

But Christopher Pike …

“And who might you be?” the man in question is saying, his smile engaging as he offers his hand.

And she doesn’t remember those century-old holos showing him as being quite so attractive.

She takes it, forcing herself not to blush like a starstruck schoolgirl. “My name is Kathryn.”

“Captain Pike just arrived from patrolling the rebel bases in the Lacerta sector,” the Emperor explains. “I’m sure it’s been a dull and lonely tour of duty, hasn’t it, Christopher? And I did say you deserve a little treat.”

Pike’s gaze travels from Kathryn’s low-cut neckline, over her involuntarily-hardening nipples, down to her abbreviated hemline, and drags all the way up again.

“When you said treat, Pippa, I was expecting your chef’s finest ganglia,” he drawls. “You’ve really outdone yourself.”

It’s the final straw.

She might be barefoot and dressed in next to nothing where the rest of them are shod and armoured. She might have spent the past three hours being used in various humiliating and sexually sadistic displays for other people’s amusement. She might be pleading for her life, and Kashyk’s.

But Kathryn has had enough.

“I’m not a treat,” she tells him evenly. “I’m a human being, and I deserve respect, as much as any of you do.” She turns her gaze on the Emperor. “And if you think I’m going to perform any more of your perverted loyalty rituals tonight, you can think again.”

Silence falls thick in the room. Kashyk, the guards, Lorca, all seem to be holding their breath; even Pike’s gaze is riveted to the Emperor’s face, his shoulders tensed as they wait for her to explode into predictable and devastating violence.

The Emperor throws back her head and laughs.

“Oh, my dear,” she manages, resting a hand on Kathryn’s shoulder, “I do like you very much. You’ve done even better than I’d hoped.”

Kathryn stares at her coolly as the Emperor’s laughter subsides. “Does that mean I’ve passed your little test?”

Philippa Georgiou’s smile now holds not an ounce of warmth or humour. “Oh, no,” she purrs. “You’ll fuck them both – right here, right now – and you’ll make me enjoy it. Or I’ll kill you.”

 

=/=

To his credit, Pike steps forward, his voice low and intimate, pitched for the Emperor’s ears.

“Pippa,” he cajoles. “Couldn’t we get rid of the storm troopers, at least? It’s not as if we need them here. You, Gabe and I are more than capable of dealing with one shackled alien and one little unarmed woman.” He grins wolfishly. “Especially if we’re keeping her busy.”

The Emperor inclines her head. “Januzzi. Rhys. You’re dismissed.”

The guards about-face and exit the room. Kathryn locks eyes briefly with Kashyk; he nods fractionally, telling her that yes, he’s all right, and yes, he still has possession of the limina.

Once again, Kathryn makes the choice that really isn’t a choice at all.

Stepping forward, she places a hand squarely in the centre of Pike’s chest, tucking the other into Lorca’s belt and tugging him close.

“Well then, Captains,” she murmurs, “why don’t you show me why you two are considered Imperial Starfleet’s best and brightest?”

Gabriel’s chuckle warms her ear as he drops his face to nuzzle her neck; she angles her throat to allow him access, sighing at the softness of his lips. Not to be outdone, Christopher’s palm slides onto her hip, his thumb rubbing into the crease of her pelvis and kicking up a low, thrumming pulse in her abdomen.

The Emperor glides past them to arrange herself on the chaise, head propped on her hand, a faint smile on her lips, and Kathryn is reminded that this isn’t just about the three of them. It’s also about the show.

She thinks about the way they look together: two tall men – one dark, one grey – in heavy-armoured uniform, and her, barefoot and dainty and barely-dressed, auburn hair loose.

The Emperor clearly enjoys artistry. If Kathryn wants to win her favour, she’d better make this look good.

Kathryn manoeuvres the three of them side-on, pushing her back against Pike’s chest, winding her fingers into his and bringing them to her breasts. He cups them obligingly, dipping his mouth to her neck. Shivers spiral down the length of her spine at his low growl, and he presses her forward into Gabriel Lorca, who loops his arms around her hips and starts to gather the fabric of her dress in his hands, crumpling it until his fingertips stroke the soft curve of her naked behind.

Gabriel lowers his head, chasing her lips, but she dodges him nimbly, letting him latch onto her collarbone instead. She has no intention of letting either of these men kiss her on the lips. It’s an act she has come to consider more intimate than sex – an act she’s managed to almost entirely avoid in her two years with Kashyk, and she cares about him a little, at least, much as she’d prefer not to admit it.

She pushes her hands between her body and Lorca’s, cups his burgeoning erection and feels his answering thrust of the hips. He cups her ass, one bare cheek in each large hand, and lifts her, supporting her between the two male torsos; she wraps her arms around his neck and wriggles to widen her legs around him, to increase the friction of his uniform fabric against her clitoris.

“Fuck,” mutters Gabriel, tracing along the edges of her lower lips, “you’re so wet,” and he slips two fingers just inside her and Kathryn shivers and moans.

“Hey,” Christopher grumbles from behind her, hands still stroking her breasts. “Feeling a little left out here.”

Kathryn half-laughs, reaching behind to snake one hand down the front of his pants. “Oh,” she can’t help uttering as she curls her fingers around his shaft. That’s … quite sizeable, and Lorca’s packing a type 3 phaser too. For the first time it occurs to her that the Emperor’s going to expect her to take both of them at once. She’s done that before, but it’s been a while since her academy days, and she doesn’t quite bend the way she used to back then.

Besides, she’s going to need a little help.

“Captain,” she whispers, squirming on Gabriel’s fingers.

“Yeah?” both of them ask in unison.

“Captain Lorca,” she clarifies. “Do you think you could put me down?”

“Do I have to?” he grins. “I let you go, Chris gets his hands on you and there goes my advantage.”

“But you’ve already had me,” she reminds him, leaning in to nip at his earlobe. “Play fair.”

He grumbles, but he eases her feet to the floor and she immediately wraps Pike’s arms around her from behind, widening her stance to guide his hands between her legs. Lorca steps back to watch them, a smile spreading across his face.

“Captain,” she recalls his attention, her voice breathy as Christopher’s fingers play in the wet flesh of her cunt.

“Hm?”

“We’re going to need some lubricant.”

“You’re right, Pippa,” Lorca addresses the Emperor without taking his eyes from Kathryn and Pike. “She’s a treat.”

 

=/=

She’s so close to coming.

They’ve coaxed off her shift dress, laid her out on the rug between them. Both men have stripped to the waist; Gabriel still wears his uniform pants, though unzipped, Chris down to his shorts. Kathryn’s legs are spread wide; Lorca has two fingers inside her pussy and is working a lubricated thumb carefully into her ass while Pike’s fingers circle her clit maddeningly, keeping her just on the edge. His mouth is busy at her breasts, her neck, her belly, sucking and nipping, making her writhe and leap with each new place he finds with tongue and teeth.

The Emperor is leaning forward, elbows on her knees, her lips parted and flushed, riveted to the action.

In the corner of the room, Kashyk is carefully testing the security of his bonds to no avail.

Lorca’s thumb slips past the tight ring of muscle and Kathryn moans needily. “Please …”

“She’s ready for some serious fucking every which where.” Gabriel grins at Chris. “I’m feeling magnanimous. Your choice, Pike.”

“You’re a real gentleman, Lorca,” Pike answers drily, and leans in to nuzzle at Kathryn’s cheek. “Kathryn, honey? What do you want?”

“I want …” She can barely form words; she clutches at his shoulders, rubbing her breasts against his chest. “I want to see you.”

“Okay,” he says softly, lying back and pulling her onto him. “Wrap your legs around me, baby.”

She shifts her thighs around his hips, her torso flat against his. His cock, rigid and pulsing, lies directly between her legs and she wriggles a little to rub her clit against it, enjoying his sharp inhale.

“Hold still a moment,” he murmurs, gently stroking her back, and she feels Lorca’s hands holding her hips as he presses the tip of his penis against her lubricated ass.

Kathryn tenses involuntarily, and Christopher slides one hand between their bodies, dipping over her aching clitoris and curling just inside her core.

“Relax,” he says, and she quivers and loosens, and Gabriel pushes slowly, inexorably, and slides inside.

“God,” she moans, almost unintelligibly, as he begins to move.

When she starts to press back against him and pant in Christopher’s ear, Lorca slows in response to another signal from Pike and waits for the other man to ease Kathryn’s hips a little higher, just enough to push Chris’s cock inside her. Carefully they guide her down, Chris’s hands on her hips, Lorca’s finding her breasts; as she lowers her torso again, Pike’s lips latch onto one nipple and Gabriel bends over her back, licking his way along the length of her spine.

And then they begin the rhythm, a slow, alternating push-pull, one dragging outward as the other thrusts in, spiralling upward through layers of pleasure until Kathryn wonders if she’ll die before she can burst through the peak: but in the end, all it takes is the slightest brush of Chris’s thumb over her nub and she whines and spasms, her body too wracked with exhaustion to fully express the rapture that takes hold of her.