Native Instinct


By Britta

Hot to trot, and in a mildly vengeful mood, Chakotay hid in the dimness of the bedroom, waiting for Tom to come home from a short dose of after-dinner revelry on the holodeck. He mentally laughed at the lengths he'd gone to hoping to surprise Tom again. He'd made use of every Indian stereotype he could think of, except for starting an actual fire in their quarters. Still, he had fiddled with the lighting controls, leaving the living area flooded with brilliance while the bedroom lay in relative darkness. His eyes had grown used to the gloom and the door between rooms lay out of his direct line of sight.
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He waited as patiently as a horny Indian could, until he heard the main door to the cabin open and close. Then, his hand anxiously caressed the rope he held, and he braced himself against the wall.
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The inner door slid open, casting brightness far enough for him to see Tom step into the circle of rope on the floor at the foot of the bed. As Tom began to order an increase in illumination, Chakotay made his move.
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Using his greater weight and effective leverage, Chakotay pulled hard. The rope tightened, and before Tom could finish his sentence, he was suspended by his ankles over the bed.
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"Hey!" Tom shouted, his arms flailing wildly, which set his body to swinging.
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"Keep quiet, White Man," Chakotay replied as he tied off the rope to a leg of the bed.
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Still swaying, Tom blurted, "What!"
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Chakotay killed the incandescence in the living area then returned and set the light level to normal in the bedroom. He stood before Tom, who was still swinging gently, as if blown about by a breeze, and thought again what a great idea installing the pulley had been.
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After contemplating Tom's red face for a moment, he tried to state neutrally, "You are my captive. I will do as I wish with you."
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Tom used his hands to stop his moving body and in a wheedling tone, he asked, "How about you wish to show off your sexy outfit so I can see it right-side up?"
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Adopting a stone-faced expression, Chakotay considered the request, then answered, "Only if you are in no condition to escape. Your scalp, such as it is, might be worth something out here among the edges of my people's territory." Ignoring Tom's scowl, he began to remove the pale one's clothing.
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The top half came off easily, though the long-sleeved shirt with blue chalk marks on it had to be used for wrist restraints and a loose gag. Tom whined far too much to be a hardy settler from the ancient West, he thought. Besides, he didn't need Tom's fingers making forays beneath his groin covering.
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That task done, he freed Tom's hard cock, but left him dangling in mid-air, then stepped back and regarded his handiwork. Tom looked good like this: hands tied behind his head, erection bobbing freely. The only problem was the man's pants kept falling down. Chakotay decided to remedy that by snatching a very large, sharp knife out of the bottom drawer of the bureau.
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He saw Tom's eyeballs bug out and heard whimpering noises, so he hurried to cut off the fabric, then put the knife away. Tom relaxed and Chakotay said, "Much better. I think I like you this way."
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"Mmmmph!"
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Chakotay stroked Tom's ass a time or two and set him spinning slowly. Tom rolled his eyes and Chakotay got the message fast. He stopped the motion and climbed onto the bed. Positioning himself just so, he kneeled and spread his legs so that at least Tom could look up his loincloth. Then he proceeded to suck his captured lover into pure mush.

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Tom had never before had an orgasm while hanging upside-down. He had to admit, though, that it had been extraordinary. Surprised that he was still conscious, he thought this must be close to that auto-asphyxiation experience he'd read about that had occurred in earlier centuries.
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Chakotay released his feet and the gag, then settled him on the bed in a comfortable position. He spent many minutes inhaling deeply though his mouth, trying to rebuild his oxygen supply before he had enough breath to say, "That was amazing."
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His dark lover just smirked at him silently and rubbed a finger over his war-painted chin.
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Wiggling his still-bound wrists near the headboard where they'd been secured, Tom, in spite of Chakotay's unnerving silence, tried to sound confident as he said, "Nice costume, Chief. Or are you just a Brave? I only see one feather in your headband."
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Chakotay removed the feather and sat on Tom's legs. "I'm a Chief, never doubt that. But, I only need one feather to prove it to you."
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Warily, Tom watched the feather move toward his ribs. He flinched and licked his lips as it moved closer. When it made contact, Chakotay leaned down for a kiss.
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Tom bucked under the dual assault, laughter warring with renewed arousal. When Chakotay sat up again, he writhed as the feather swept over his nipples, soft end first, followed by the light scratching of the end people once used for pens. He panted, "What's the occasion, Chief?"
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Chakotay kept tormenting Tom as he slipped off the loincloth. Then, as he assumed his position once again, he replied, "It's Native American Day. And I've gone native."
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Trying not to sound too desperate for more stimulation, Tom gasped, "Does that mean when you're done using me for pleasure that you'll trade me for trinkets and firewater?"
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Slowly, Chakotay moved the feather across Tom's throat. "No."
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"Why not?"
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Chakotay smiled down at him, dimples doing double-time, brown eyes reflecting as much amusement as arousal. Tom shut his eyes when he felt the hardness of Chakotay's cock slide against his own, and heard that soft voice say, "Wrong tribe."

THE END

Comments? Suggestions?
E-mail me at Britta