Title: Living On The Bottom of the Sea
Author: Methioarya (1992)
Series: 100 Vulcan Confessions
Code: NC-17 m/m sex, please persons under 17 close your eyes
Archive: In my heart.
Feedback: here or email@example.com
Summary: Someone has lost their controls
Setting: After First Contact Before Enterprise
Disclaimer: Paramount/Viacom owns the Vulcans however the Humans own themselves. This Star Trek universe that each exist in is the property of P/V and neither profit nor offense is intended.
He listened to my confession of the cold fear the Atlantic Ocean struck into me. Stemming from an experience in childhood, where my father had inflicted absolute terror by forcing my body into its restless waves leaving me there to sink or swim. I tell myself that he must have done this for the logical reason of acclimating his son to Earth's oceans. I'm sure he reasoned that it was out of necessity for the fact that my family, having been sent from Vulcan after First Contact to study Human society, was to be based in Miami, Florida on Earth's North American continent. A watery social occasion would most likely arise. However, unlike my younger siblings who were Terra-born, I was a desert-born Vulcan, never to become accustomed to Earth.
What my father had done I would never be able to pull from my mind.
This oceanic terror was embodied within the Human that sat listening before me. He was beautiful in countenance and body yet his spoken words were always shocking and ugly. He both intrigued and repulsed me yet somehow had managed to wedge his way into my heart. When he was with me, I had a loss of control that was abhorrent.
I felt I wanted him to hurt me.
I can only describe the struggle for mastery over my needs as a failure in which I was imprisoned. Born from my father's branding manifested wounds that would not heal.
It is not important how the Human and I met, or how he became a confidant. I prefer to let this record generate its own conclusions. I want to purge the happenings contained herein for my own psychological well-being, for I have lost control over my emotions and sexuality, as a result of my descent into the deep.
I have, in effect, drowned in the ocean of my desires.
Reader, it is important to know that it had become apparent to me that I desired death. Unable to strike myself down I needed a vehicle to cross this unsatisfactory borderland of uncertainty. In my search for an answer I concluded that Humans, with their unstable personalities and dark sexuality would provide me the means to self-examination. It was fortunate indeed that I was based in Miami, as many people with loose moral upbringings centered around this area. It did not prove difficult to locate one who might fulfill my wishes.
Smiling he informed me that there would be wounds and marks from my shoulders down. This, of course, terrified me, and I questioned myself on why I had come to him. I could think of nothing but the pain I would endure and wondered what had possessed me to trust this Human. As a Vulcan, I could not admit to myself that I might very well be in mortal danger, or that I might sustain irreparable damage during the process of uncovering my true motivations for thoughts that pulled at me from just beneath the surface.
I feared this lack of control would be never ending. Confusing what was real, I stood before my own reflection, as he pulled shocked and worried feelings from my body. He had the art of anticipation in hand, and I asked myself what was coming for me? What would be on the other side? The sensations of body and mind that were heading for me at a blinding speed were enveloped in his skillful slowness. I knew by the pull in my groin that he was preparing me by suggestion alone to make sure he settled into my mind as well as my physicality. Suddenly my skin crawled, as I allowed his words to haunt me. He told me that he had waited for a Vulcan, that he was going to be selfish tonight, that this night was where he "got himself off."
"Welcome to my world" he said.
Flashing his canine prominent smile and blue eyes my way he told me, "You're taking a big chance, Vulcan." Then he admitted that the only crime he had not committed was murder. I bit at the inside of my lip and looked down. This was what frightened me but drew me to him simultaneously. I fell into fear and drowned beneath its waves.
Upon reflection, it was a heinous experience. Requiring either an abnormal amount of courage or else stupidity in one of its lowest forms. The ordeal became an exercise in extreme situations. It was beyond bondage.
What was that thing that developed within such a short period of time? The darkness that passed between us consumed and controlled without apology and convinced me of the existence of pure pressure. Part of him became part of me. I thought I was prepared to let him test my perseverance.
He brought me to my knees.
My neck pains me extraordinarily, and cords along my spinal column burn from fighting the restraints. There was a severe reaction on my part to my surprise. My body fought when the pain began, oblivious to what I believed. Did I really feel that much pain, or was I struggling against my fear of the unknown? Would he really hurt me?
There was tremendous resistance on my part. He provided the leverage to pick me up into that electric current of fear. My reaction to each suggestion was panicked and hurried.
Telling me to undress and lie down, he wrapped straps around my body, arms, and legs, the configuration designed to pull tighter with my every move. At the end of the straps were mountain climbing hitches, which then were clipped to the frame. The straps against my skin were raw, tough, and unfinished, burning easily. I was very apprehensive but did not fight as he talked of torture being unique to each situation, as well as unique to each recipient and giver. How the torture that the giver lent to the victim was only what the giver themself was most terrified to receive. I wondered if I had made the wrong decision in allowing myself to be put into this position, as I watched him clip the last hitch to the frame.
I heard glass break and jerked to find him approaching me with a broken crystal, which, to my horror, he raked down my forearms leaving patterns of emerald blood in its wake. He said something about how crystal cut so well, but my mind was racing. Soon, I knew that the glass was the least of my problems. He reached under the bed to retrieve a carbide blade that I recognized as being what was known as a "butterfly" knife. He held it in front of me and demonstrated his prowess. The handles flashed, as he spun the knife around from hand to hand. I became acutely aware of my breath picking up speed and my physical discomfort ceased, so intent was I upon that blade.
What folly this indulgence of mine. Was I trying to get killed? Was I to trust this Human? Was I wanting to come as close to death as I possibly could and not to be responsible for the final conclusion?
But I was responsible for this entire happening. I could not put it off on my father or the ocean, for I was purely and solely the cause of the events that were now transpiring.
It was in, perhaps, pure terror that I pulled against the bindings lacing up my arms when he asked me if I'd like to have my nipples cut off. He held the blade to each of them in turn, and I let my eyes close. He passed the knife over my chest, and I felt him tip the blade to open the right pap. The blood welled up immediately, and I gasped. I invoked the old gods aloud and fought to control my rising panic. He then put the blade to my throat and said, "Don't flinch." My head leaned back in avoidance, as he knelt between my thighs, lifted me, and shoved his penis into my body. I could not believe what was happening, as I had not talked with him of this type of invasion.
However, I must confess reader, I was more than hard.
He kept talking to me saying, "Oh, you're so tight. You like that don't you? Huh?!" shoving himself deeper.
The way he said 'Huh?!' was in a staccato rise of tone in that uniquely Human way of speaking. The pure burst of sound the word made on my conscience mind terrified and sexually excited me at the same time.
I thought I would lose myself. Crying out, I told him what he wanted to hear, "Yes, it feels good."
"Yeah you like that. It's the fear isn't it?" as he plundered my body then suddenly jerked out. He fingered my entrance, while I fell into utter silence and strained at the restraints. He thumped my penis hard, and I jerked. Then fingers again, and I gasped as he slipped his smallest digit inside. He bent down and kissed my shaft reverently then suckled upon me.
I could not believe this was happening. Things I have dreamed darkly.
Mounting me, he placed the knife between us. "Feel cold steel, Vulcan, while I fuck you. Yeah." Sliding into me, I gritted my teeth. It was almost too much to comprehend this sensation. Sex and death became synonymous. Religion had hold of me. Politics was a part of it. Power was the key for him. Complete control of another's life, the power to take life from me and the power to make me keep it.
Would he make me beg for my life?
Would somebody find me bound and gagged with pieces of bloodied flesh halfway carved off my body like some Yoshitoshi prints that have titillated me at one time or another?
The hazing that he put me through was tremendous. He controlled me totally. He controlled my speech, my senses, my breathing, only to use me sexually.
I intend not to try to understand this Human. I equate him with a holovid I saw in a Japanese Calligraphy class educating students on a certain artist that painted scenes of such beauty in mist. Graceful blue-green scenes composed of mystery that inspired such awe in my soul as to gasp. I do not want to understand what you exist as, but only what you extend into me of your choosing. Yes, 'choose' is the word.
What was the poem by Yoshitaka (954-974) that accompanied this painting?
For but one night's sake,
I was becoming delirious, as the blade was held against my organ. He was saying that he would 'slice this off too.' I twisted to one side begging, "No, please."
He told me to hold perfectly still, as he pressed the blade lower and then into me cutting at the entrance to my body. Blood coursed out of me, then I felt a sting, as he shoved back into me. Ohh, ohh, the pain. He had cut until blood ran from the wound he had inflicted, and then pressed his organ into my new raw opening. He slid in blood.
I was in shock He had actually done this. A surgeon's cut.
I was losing consciousness. I heard him say, in a faraway voice that he was going to fill me up and mix his 'cum' into my blood. This was the epitome of his selfishness. He had cut a most vital part of my anatomy. A personal cut.
He was pounding into me, tearing me open more. I opened my eyes to the sight of the Human madly in the throes of orgasm and, to my despair, I watched as he brought the blade up and over his shoulder aiming to bring it down upon my brain.
Everything was slow to move. I saw the flash and the arc of curved sweep of steel. I thought I was gone.
But the blow did not hit.
The eye of the storm passed over.
The tsunami held itself as the blade sped up and passed by my ear. Hitting the bed the knife buried itself up to the hilt with a thud of heartfelt sound.
With the realization that he was cutting the binding and releasing me from his control, my throat closed, and I gasped for breath. He jerked me up from the bed and covered me with his shirt, telling me I was in deep shock.
I couldn't breath. I was drowning.
He dragged me to the outer room saying the other room was evil. A place that the other side of himself had taken control. He started to make gentle love to me. I could not think. My penis became erect, despite the pain below. I grew harder still when he closed his mouth over me. Soon I orgasmed helplessly into his throat, and he drank of me.
He covered me then with a blanket and asked me not to call him again. I told him that I would not. He left me there in the afternoon, the sound of the ocean reaching through the open window. What had happened there in that room? Was it me; was it him? I fear it was both of us.
I walked out of the room, into the afternoon sun. Looking down on my feet in the Miami sand, I realized I was walking on the bottom of the sea.
Dark our nightmares in the Deep
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