Title: In The Hands Of The Enemy Author: Ainzfern Series: DS9-M/U Code: Weyoun/Intendant Kira Rating: R (NON CONS) Parts: 1 Disclaimer: Paramount owns STAR TREK ... etc and so on and so forth! My only pay here is personal joy. Summary: Left behind in the Mirror Universe so that his beloved Founder can escape – Weyoun falls into the hands of Intendant Kira Archiving: Certainly- if you want to- please let me know. Feedback: Yes please! All comments welcome. ainzfern@hotmail.com Author's Note: I got to wondering – What would "little miss nympho nut-bag" do with her very own Weyoun? Thinking about the kind of uh...games she likes to play, I came up with this... In The Hands Of The Enemy "No...I will not. I live to serve the Founders." "Oh come now, Weyoun. She abandoned you here. She left you behind, you poor thing...like so much forgotten baggage." The room was dim and his large eyes, genetically inferior, could hardly see. But he could hear. Oh yes...every timbre and nuance of that voice. That sweet, soft, purring HATEFUL voice. Every day, the Intendant would come. It had gotten so that he recognized the sharp metallic click of her heels echoing down the outer corridor well before she reached his room. Every day. The same time. The same game. This time...would he break? It was possible. He'd never known such torture before. "No." He responded again. "The Founder did NOT abandon me. The Founders do all things for a reason. This is merely...part of a larger plan." Even to his own ears, he sounded like he was trying to convince himself. Where were his famed skills of negotiation now? Had it really only taken a few weeks to turn him into something this transparent, this pathetic? She laughed. She ALWAYS laughed. The sound grated on his sensitive ears. "There was no PLAN! She was out of her depth here – Out of her PLACE! She realized that and ran away like a frightened animal!" He struggled momentarily against the metal bonds that held him shackled against the wall. He was not strong. But if he could only get his hands on her, around her neck, he would shut that voice off forever! "And she left you behind." Softer now, every syllable dripping with false compassion. "Alone...unwanted...discarded." She moved in closer, right up to him. Only a hair's breadth separated them. He could feel the heat radiating from her body. He could smell her hair. He could see her face. Her beautiful, cruel face. So much like the other Kira and yet nothing like her at all. She would touch him soon. She always did. Then the agony would begin. "I could make you feel wanted, Weyoun." She whispered, breath soft and warm against his face. "So pretty...so different. I could make you feel LOVED." "A Vorta does not need love. A Vorta lives to serve the Founders." "Oh Weyoun, Weyoun." She crooned. "How abused you are! How cruelly they've used you!" She reached out with one slender hand and pressed her plan to his crotch, cupping him lightly. Weyoun felt his lower lip begin to tremble and he mercilessly clamped it between his teeth. A soft, plaintive sound rose in his throat. She was moving her hand now, caressing him through the fabric of his pants. The sound of her long sharp nails scraping over the rough material seemed very loud in the small room. "I could teach you to love, Weyoun." She rested her smooth cheek against his shoulder and pressed her face into his neck. "I could teach you MANY things!" As always, Weyoun fought desperately to control his body's response to the unfamiliar stimulus, and as always, with a deep sense of shame he failed. He was not used to such petting. He had not had the opportunity to be tactile with others and so had virtually no defense against it. The strange transformation of his flesh was happening again. The achy fullness between his legs, a low throbbing beginning there. He found it difficult to breath. He could feel himself growing hard under the Intendant's touch, and he shuddered and groaned pitifully at the sensation. "Mmmm..." She murmured, lips against his skin. "You DO like that, don't you?" "Please stop!" he whispered desperately, knowing that she wouldn't, knowing it was hopeless. The heat in his lower belly was building. Helpless to stop it, his hips began to rock slightly against her hand. "Oh no, my sweet...you don't want me to stop. Not now. Not when we've just gotten started!" Her fingers shifted against him, seeking and finding the front opening of his trousers. Then warm and gentle fingers pushed aside the material and wrapped around him, holding him firmly. The heat of her hand against his naked sex was agonizing...exquisite. The feeling both frightened and repulsed him, even as his hips increased their slow undulation, pressing his member harder against her palm. Low, helpless moans rose out of him. He felt her hand move down to stroke the soft skin at the base of his shaft, before pulling slowly upwards so that her thumb could rub slow, firm circles under his glands. Her breath against his neck came faster and faster. Her whispers in his ear, sending shivers lancing down his side. "Oh that's lovely, Weyoun...just like that! Don't fight it, Oh...I'll make it so GOOD. Trust me..." His breath quickened, his cries became frantic, tinged with incomprehension. Nothing in his short life had prepared him for sensations like this...he was lost. He had no reference with which to compare. She would always bring him keening and gasping to this point so quickly, and there seemed to be nothing he could do to stop her! And worse was to come. He knew this now from brief, bitter experience. She would rub him and stroke him, her hand never still. Building the fire in his belly until he thought he must faint from the sheer pain of this strange, unformed need. Then, expertly judging her moment... She stopped. Her hand froze in its rhythmic assault, and she pulled back to look carefully into his face. "Would you like me to finish this, Weyoun?" Shaking and sweating, the cords in his neck standing out tightly under the terrible agony, he nodded desperately, helplessly. Her hand on him, still locked in place. Exerting no pressure, making no movement. "Yes." She whispered, "...and it'll feel so good. So very good! And then, you'll be let out of this terrible room, Hmmm?" He nodded again. His throat clicked loudly as he swallowed. "I'll treat you so well, pretty Weyoun. So kindly...it all starts here!" She looked down, the slender fingers around his shaft shifting slightly. Weyoun whimpered. "All you have to do is say it, my sweet. Just say the words!" Oh...it was unbearable! His thrumming body yearned towards this inconceivable release of which he had no real understanding. All he knew was that he wanted it very, very badly. He looked at her, lilac eyes wide and pleading. "Please..." He whispered. "No no no, Pretty Weyoun!" She chided, her dark eyes gleeful. "You must say the words first!" His mouth opened, his jaw worked. No sound emerged. She chuckled softly, low and husky. "The...Founder...abandoned...me." She coached him slowly, as if speaking to a child. "Four little words, my sweet. How hard can it be?" She squeezed him slightly for emphasis. "Oh!" The sound slipped from him, against his will. "Yes..." She breathed. His lips parted, his breath hitched in. "Yes..." Her hand shifted again. He twitched. "The...the..." "Yesss..." "I live to serve the Founders!" he screamed suddenly, overcome with shame and remorse. Anguished at allowing her yet again, to bring him this close to betrayal. For a brief moment, he saw the flash of fury and disappointment in her large dark eyes. Then, with a blink, the look was gone. The sultry smile was back. Slowly, she released her grip, one finger at a time delicately lifting away from him. "So near, Weyoun!" She said. "You were doing so WELL up till then. This was the closest you've been so far, my sweet." In spite of her failure, she looked well pleased with herself. "You won't take too much more, pretty Weyoun. I can see that. You'll be mine soon." She looked at him through lowered lashes, her eyes flicking to his straining, swollen member. "Very, very soon!" She purred. Then abruptly she turned and left, leaving him hanging there, unsatisfied and trembling. Hurting all over, aching through his groin. His poor wakening body would stay in this state of heightened arousal for hours. She would be counting on it. Tears came to his weak eyes. Spilling down his face, burning in his throat. He would not last much longer, he knew. He might have succeeded today, he may succeed tomorrow. Even perhaps the day after that. But the Intendant had been right. She would have him. Very, very soon. "Founder..." He whispered through his constricted throat. "Founder..." //You...have...abandoned...me.// END Ainzfern