Star Trek and its characters are the property of Paramount. This not-for-profit piece of fan fiction is not intended to infringe on that ownership. The author's copyright applies only to the creative content and her original characters.
This story is one in a series about the relationship between James Kirk and Suzanne Brandt. The Kirk-Brandt Chronology lists all the stories, both in order of occurrence and order of creation.
Kirk stretched luxuriously, congratulating himself on his insistence on "decent beds" as part of the Enterprise's post-V'ger refit. Well, actually, it was Brandt who had insisted.
"It's one thing to go back to seeing each other every few months, if we're lucky," she'd said. "But if you think I'm spending one more night with you in that junior spaceman bunk--"
Feeling toes tickling gently against his legs, he realized that, in a post-orgasmic haze, Brandt was moving unconsciously to the rhythm of the warp engines.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked.
He frowned. "Is that your subtle way of saying that I haven't done my job?"
She pushed up onto her elbows and furrowed her brow. "Your *job*? Sex in the line of duty, Admiral? I don't recall seeing that in the manual."
"It's not in the manual. It's in the benefits package."
Her breasts bounced deliciously as she laughed.
"So what about masturbation?" he asked.
"I was just thinking how different it is from sex," she said as she settled her head against his chest. "Since you've been back on the Enterprise, I've become quite an expert. When I have an orgasm from masturbating, it feels nothing like the orgasm I get from intercourse. And it's almost impossible to surprise yourself."
"So you're saying I *have* done my job."
"Yes, Admiral Kirk. Well done. If I were your CO, I'd put a commendation in your record."
"You're welcome. Now tell me. How old were you when you started masturbating?" she asked, scratching lightly at his stomach. "Or was there a sign on your nursery door that said, `If this crib's a-rockin', don't come a-knockin'."
"I know. So how old were you?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Go on."
"All right," he chuckled. "Sam was supposed to be baby-sitting me, and he had his girlfriend over. I got out of bed and started down the stairs, and I saw them making out on the sofa. Sam's trousers were around his knees, and his girlfriend was naked except for her panties. He was lying between her legs and rubbing against her. They didn't see me, so I stood there and watched. And I started to feel a little strange. I looked down and saw the front of my pajamas sticking out. I touched myself and it felt so good, I almost fell down the stairs. Sam started to take her panties off, and I thought I'd die, right there, with my little hard-on in my hand. He'd only gotten them down an inch or two when I heard Mom drive up. So I ran back to bed.
"But I kept thinking about what it would feel like to rub my cock against something soft and silky. So I got a silk shirt out of my closet--it was from a costume I'd worn in a school play. I spread it out on the bed and humped it until I came."
"Well!" She sat up, blinking in amazement. "That certainly explains the lingerie fetish."
"I do *not* have a lingerie fetish."
"I bought you *one outfit*. That does not constitute a fetish."
"What about the morning you caught me dancing in my underwear? You made me late for a briefing."
"I offered to write you a note."
"I would rather receive a formal reprimand than hand my CO a note that says, `Dear Commodore Skorheim. Please excuse Captain Brandt's tardiness. She was needed at home.'"
"Wink wink nudge nudge," he added.
She shook her head and laughed. "What am I going to do with you?"
"You're going to tell me about the first time you masturbated."
"Liar." He sat up behind her and closed his arms and legs around her. "You remember everything you've ever done."
"Well, I don't remember that. I was probably just playing with myself in bed."
"All right. I'll tell you a story that you won't find boring."
He pulled her close and rested his chin on her shoulder, smiling in anticipation.
"I was twelve years old," she said, "and my botany class was out collecting plants. I got into a fight with Beth Ellen Davies."
"Oooo! Catfight at the convent!"
"Did I interrupt you?" she asked sternly.
"Usually you lost privileges for that kind of thing, but Lady Wynfreth was in a terrible mood. So she spanked us."
"Really!" he exclaimed, eyes sparkling.
"First Beth Ellen, and then me."
"In front of the class?" he asked, as a lascivious smile spread across his face.
"No. But it still hurt. Then she sent us off to wash our faces. And when I got to the bathroom, I realized that my butt wasn't the only thing that was tingling. So I went into one of the stalls and masturbated."
She shrugged. "Phoning the czar from the next stall, for all I know."
"So after that you were a complete hellion, just so you could get spanked on a daily basis."
"No. That idiot Beth Ellen told Lady Mother. She put Lady Wynfreth to work in the office, and we got a new botany teacher."
"You know, Brat..." He ran his hands down her arms as he whispered, "That is a very erotic story."
"Jim," she said carefully. "Please don't tell me you're getting off on a story about a twelve-year-old girl."
"I'm not imagining a twelve-year-old girl. I'm imagining you. Being spanked in public. Wearing a uniform."
He turned her face to his and kissed her deeply. She twisted and lay back in his arms. He pulled away slowly and murmured, "You did have a school uniform, didn't you?"
"What did it look like?" he asked, playing tenderly with the curls around her face.
"It was a dark blue jumper with a pinstripe blouse," she said primly.
"Mm. Even better. So here's the way I see it," he explained as his fingertips began tracing the slopes and curves of her body. "You, looking just the way you do now, except you're wearing that uniform. Standing in a bathroom stall and reaching up under your jumper. Busy little fingers going down white cotton panties. You'd have to be quiet, which would almost kill you--"
"Hey! You like the sounds I make!"
"Yes, I do. But I figure the reason you're so noisy now is because of all those years in dormitories when you had to be quiet. Anyway, back to the bathroom. As you start coming, one knee sock slips down your leg--"
"I take it back." She pushed him away and scooted to the end of the bed. "It's not just lingerie. You have a full-out costume fetish."
His eyes twinkled as he crawled toward her. "If I got you an outfit like that, would you wear it?"
"Depends. If I got you a costume, would you wear it?"
"Mmmmm...jammies with spacemen on them."
"Then you're out of luck on the school uniform."
"Well..." He went to the corner where their clothes lay in a careless heap. "What about these?" he asked, dangling her panties from one finger.
Smiling, she stood and took the panties, which were neither white nor cotton. She stepped into them, pulled them up, and faced him, doing her best to look shy and demure.
He took her hand and walked toward the bed. Then, in a sudden move, he put one foot up on the bed, bent her over his knee, and administered six sharp swats.
"Ow! Jim, wait! Ow! Not so hard! Stop it, you son of a--OW!"
He released her, and she stood before him, fuming and rubbing her backside. Her sapphire eyes flashed with... Fury? Passion? A volatile mixture of the two?
His cock, already on the rise from the pleasure of spanking her, sprang up optimistically. He waited, knowing that if he gave her time, sparks of one kind or another were sure to fly.
Realizing that he wasn't going to just take her, dammit, she flew at him, jumped onto his hips, and claimed his mouth with a smothering kiss.
Holding her tightly, he staggered across the room and trapped her against the bulkhead. He grasped the hand that was tearing at his hair and dragged it down into her panties.
"Do it," he whispered. "Play with yourself."
As he leaned into her, he felt her fingers working her clit, rubbing it much harder than he usually did. He closed his eyes as he grasped the back of her panties and pulled them tight. Then he thrust hard, over and over, soaring at the thought of coming, the thought of both of them coming against smooth, soft, wet silk.
The next morning, Brandt stepped out of the shower, still wondering why Jim had gone on duty without even waking her to say, "Good morning."
`And I'll be leaving in less than an hour when we reach Earth,' she thought, frowning.
Crossing to the replicator, she hit the control and said, "Uniform. Captain Brandt."
Toweling her hair vigorously with one hand, she reached into the replicator with the other. Surprised by an unfamiliar texture, she dropped the towel and retrieved the uniform of the day.
"Very funny, JT," she muttered, as she examined a navy jumper, a pinstripe blouse, loafers, knee socks, and white cotton panties.
And tucked into one of the shoes, she found a note.
Dear Commodore Skorheim,
Please excuse Captain Brandt's attire. Her uniform has been damaged beyond repair.
Wink wink nudge nudge.
Sincerely, Adm. James T. Kirk
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