privateproperty | (no subject)

This ship isn't just weird. Its impossible. He's kept his temper, because he's an officer, and because its expected of him. the Captain does her job, the Andorian is tolerable. The rest of this collection is like three puzzles thrown into the same box.

Still, his mood lightens just on seeing Dahlfes. A couple deep breaths, and he heads for the table.

She smiles, but as he sits down and gets a chance to relax, she speaks up. "I want to apologize if I am a little ... odd and unnecesary in conversation tonight, Master."

"You are always necessary. Is there a problem?"

She shook her head. "No problem, no one's fault. I suppose I got used to The Wall -- the Empire. It's, obviously, very different here. The one thing that's the same is that nobody really likes Orions. Not as Orions. I am not saying this right. No one has been inappropriate, Master. And there is no effort to try to take me away -- and I know you would stop it if there was. I absolutely know that."

He nods. "But we're outsiders here. No one trusts you, and no one cares for me or my style. They know more about the stories than they do about us."

Nods, then smiles again. "Some of them will love you soon enough, Master. I am quite confident that some of them are worth knowing." And everyone worth knowing loved Kri'Stak once they knew him. Granted, most of those people were insane, but so was he, the very best kind, so it all would work out.

She draws herself up. "But I wanted to point out, while we have some time alone, Master," because no one here, not even the kindest of them -- possibly especially not the kindest of them -- would have even a chance of getting her point, "that I am very expensive." She says it firmly, proudly. She doesn't expect him to get everything about being Orion, they've accepted that they don't get everything about each other, but she knows it will cause no harm to just be very, very Orion with him for a moment.

"Very." he agrees, acknowledging the compliment for what it is. "And you're right. They will not understand. From what I've been able to gather of their beliefs and bylaws, they're forbidden from understanding."

She nods, then, just slightly anxiously, because it's a direct request, and that's not something she does that often. "Please, after dinner... let me enjoy being yours? Be ... thorough, please?"

That gets a hint of a smile, and he reaches over to run a hand through her hair - before grabbing hold once his fingers are suitably deep amidst the dark locks before he pulls her towards him for a rough kiss.

And Dahlfes reacts very, very happily to that, the scent -- that she never needs to worry about anymore when they're alone -- hitting the room as soon as he begins to tug. She gets a little vocal against his lips, all the more eager once the hint of the taste of blood comes, which it will.

It will, and it does. Especially when the pheromones get going - he just kisses her that much harder. Finally he releases her, then his grip.

"After dinner." he agrees.

Dahlfes nods, breathing heavily, and sinks back down to her spot. She eventually -- when she's recovered enough air -- eats her share, because she doesn't waste food, and participates in any normal dinner conversation, but stares up at him, all the while, very, very intently.

He takes his time about eating. Its been a day... in a long series of days. He needs the cool down, and to take in this atmosphere of normalcy. Odd how normal its become, despite appearances, but it is.

He does eventually finish, and then lets her attend to the cleaning while he relaxes for a few minutes.

She'll give him time and will carefully tidy up.

Eventually, though, she'll stand before him, her arms reaching up and behind her to start undoing her dress. "May I, Master?"

Because nothing says normality like gracefully getting naked -- when one wants to save on replicators by not tearing, anyway.

He waits a few moments before giving her permission. If she's going to get naked gracefully, he's going to appreciate the show. He moves to a more comfortable seat, settling back.

"You may." he finally agrees.

She stands perfectly still, slightly bent forward and reaching just so, until he does.

A quick call to the computer, and a soft drums-and-strings piece plays. And Dahlfes, very, very excited and eager still, will take her time and give her master a proper show. She tries to convey everything she's feeling -- admitted anxiety, but trust, love, and raw lust -- as she peels and steps and sways out of the dress and shows herself off, her eyes always returning to him when they can, even when her body is turning and bending -- and spreading -- every possible way.
She wants him to see everything.

He admires her service. Her perfection. Her desire to serve. And her body from every angle. A couple times throughout the dance, he pauses to loosen some bit of the heavy Klingon gear, to be a little better off for when she's done, but his attention never leaves her as she sways and dances just so.

Finally, when as the music winds down, she drops to all fours and crawls back to his feet, kneeling before him with her eyes longingly intent on his face. Her hands reach out to continue the removal of his gear for him, but she doesn't do anything without indication.

He nods his approval, hands moving away to let her handle the undressing and stowing of his gear.

Her feelings are obvious -- the air is thick with them, if nothing else -- but she's very on-task in dealing with this equipment and clothes, all from varying angles from the floor. Of course, that goes part and parcel with her feelings. It's Something She Can Do For Him. Anything she can do for him.

Her hands can't help caressing as she comes into contact with bare skin. And once she's done everything as close to perfectly as she can, her pointedly manicured nails dig into his side just a little.

The feel of her nails on his skin draws a deep, throaty groan-growl. A rough hand reaches forward, manhandling one breast in a firm grip. His thumb strokers her nipple hard. A few more strokes, working his fingertips into the flesh enough she'll likely bruise, his grip shifts instead to her hair, taking a firm hold.

She squirms at the attention, pressing against him more, as much as she can.
She's very, very aware that it may bruise. That always makes it better.
"Master," she says softly, already almost pleading.
Once his hand's in her hair -- and gods, that feels good and right to have again -- she's eagerly expectant, already schooling her breathing.

His grip grows even harder as she begs. And he makes her wait a moment like that, looking down into her eyes as she works on keeping her breathing carefully controlled for what's to come.

After those few moments of letting the expectation build, he pulls her head down forcefully towards his lap.

He's so good to her. He knows she needs this. To savor his control even as she does what she's there for.

And once he pulls her down, she can do her best to hungrily take him into her mouth. She can feel him, hard, sliding against her lips and tongue and just the edge of her teeth.
She can serve.

His hips shift, rocking upward to meet her, his hand still firm in her hair. She has some small freedom of movement, but for the most part, he's taking her mouth and retaining control - letting her feel that rough grip and his power over her.

And it's wonderful. Things feel right again for once. She's prepared and able for the task of being used like this. But of course, he knows that, long since knows her physical capabilities enough that he can find their limits, just as he likes.
And that feels right, too, as she's held, penetrated, with just enough leeway to fully welcome it. She trusts him absolutely, and she's entirely his.

He's hard on her for some time longer, pushing her and her breath control to their limits. He keeps pushing her down further and further, testing her control - but in time, he does loosen his grip, finally letting her catch her breath a little and take more control of her own pacing.

Her pulse races every time he starts to take her throat, vocally eager on him as her mind is even more focused on her need for him.
As he lightens the control just a little, she does need to catch her breath some, and takes the opportunity, but the wonderful haze in her mind doesn't lift, and she certainly doesn't try to fully stop, lips and tongue still sliding against him, teeth taking their edge, slower and shallower for a while, then working her way gradually back up toward the rapid pace, the deeper penetration of her vocal little throat.
She needs him to enjoy her.

Enjoy her he does, judging by the deep growl from the back of his throat. The pace of the shifting of his hips grows, shaft sliding against her tongue and teeth with her every motion.

And she keeps it up, and his reactions are wonderful. Dahlfes is thorough and vocal as she continues for Quite Some Time, the little begging sounds starting up again around him.

All of those efforts are finally rewarded with a powerful climax. At the same time, his grip tightens again and he presses down, holding her onto him as his muscles tense and relax, forcing her to swallow everything before he releases his grip and lets her catch her breath again.

And swallow it all she does, as he firmly gives her everything she wanted. Well, to start with.

She leans against his lap, panting. Eventually, she's able to look up, hazy-eyed and adoring. Even as she gradually starts to regain her breath, she's still in no state to form words, but gods, she loves him so much.

He looks down at her a few moments, adoring, but expression still firm. He loves her, he desires her - and both in a very Klingon way.

His hand is back in her hair a moment later, lifting to make her sit up very straight before his other hand, via open slaps, works her breasts over, one, then the other.

The tug on her hair into enforced good posture, the sting and heat of each slap, the sound over and over again -- Dahlfes can feel her inner legs getting quite wet. She keeps her chest forward, sharp breaths and grateful little sounds the most she can articulate.

He makes sure her skin is a darker green, working up his own exertion, and inhaling the scent of her all the more in the process. When he can't wait any longer, the grip shifts, and he works her about into position up on her hands and knees - then just her knees, pressing her torso down until her breasts brush the floor.

She's obediently guided to all fours, then her hands slide away as she's pressed down, nothing in the way of her tenderized skin against the floor.

She makes sure her legs are spread as much as positioning and any apparent wish of his allows, so he can once again see everything. She finally manages a whisper. "please, master"