Farewell By Candlelight


Ruth Gifford

Rated: NC-17

E-mail:  lady_volumna@yahoo.com

Pairing:  Picard/f

Disclaimer:  Picard is the property of Paramount; McNeil is the property of the author.

Summary:  Sara says good-bye to Jean-Luc in a way that threatens to expose their carefully concealed feelings for each other.

Warning:  BDSM

Note:  The first story I posted was a little offering called "The Captain's Saddle."   I had so much fun writing about the bdsm games that Jean-Luc Picard plays with his good friend Captain Sara McNeil (of the Starfleet Corps of Engineers) that I followed the first story with two more: "Later That Same Leave . . . " and "Dom-Space Communications."  This story is the last in this series, because the good captains are running out of time (and maybe just possibly energy ;-)  ).  It is possible that somewhere along the way I'll tell a few more stories about Picard and McNeil (and no, her nickname is not Mary Sue; how could you think such a thing?) filling in some back story and taking them forward as well.  But for now, the time is late 2365 (the second year of Enterprise's mission) and Picard and McNeil are spending their last evening of a three day leave together.  I have also posted all the prior stories just before  posting this one.  As usual, thoughtful comments (good or bad) and gratuitous praise are welcome; insults and flames will be ignored.

Series:  The McNeil Stories
The Captain's Saddle
Later That Same Leave . . .
Dom-Space Communications
Farewell by Candlelight

  Farewell by Candlelight
  by Ruth Gifford
         (c) 1995

Sara McNeil looked down at her lover with intense satisfaction.  He was lying on his stomach; his wrists were bound to the corners of the headboard and his ankles were likewise bound to the footboard.  The only light came from dozens of candles scattered around the room, their warm, flickering light caressing the planes and angles of his body.   "You are so gorgeous," she said softly.  To her amusement he blushed slightly.  It was really quite funny; this man who had not been embarrassed by any of the things they had done in the past two days couldn't take a simple compliment.  One that was, moreover, a statement of fact.  She chuckled softly as she walked around the bed.

Jean-Luc Picard wondered if he was blushing.  Women had told him on many occasions that he was good looking and he could never bring himself to believe them.  Now Sara was looking at him the way he'd once seen her look at a drawing she had considered buying.  Her hand brushed lightly against his rear end, following the curve down to the back of his thigh.  "You're here just for me," she murmured. Her voice, which had so
often snapped out icy commands, was warm and seductive and he wondered just
what she had in mind for him.  "I like having all of this," her gesture indicated his entire body," at my disposal."

"Whatever pleases you, Maitresse," Jean-Luc replied softly, responding to the mood she had created.  He realized that he had no interest in fighting her, that he had already surrendered to whatever she had planned.  Sara smiled at him and brushed a finger lightly across his lips.  He responded by trying to kiss it and she allowed it. Then she
moved to the dresser and returned with a box she had pulled out of her case.  In her other hand she held the scarf that he had used that morning to blindfold her.  Now it seemed like years had passed since he had bent her over a counter in the bathroom and fucked her with his fist.

In the intervening time, they had gone for a long rambling walk and he had listened to Sara as she talked enthusiastically about her newest starship design.  "Bio-neural gel packs instead of opti-cable; the computer system is truly amazing!  And get this, you can land it on a planet." she had said, her gray eyes bright with enthusiasm .  "We'll start actually building the class prototype in three weeks."   She gestured aimlessly with her hands and Picard had smiled.  She frequently got so caught up in the wonder of building starships that she became inarticulate.

"You're a true engineer," he said, grabbing hold of her hand.  "If you had a padd or a master board at your disposal, you could describe every ODN junction in the Intrepid without pausing for a breath."

"You should be glad I'm a true engineer, Jean-Luc.  You have me, and the Corps, to thank for your ship."  She had delivered a swift smack to his rear end, which he had ignored with a show of dignity.  Changing the subject, she had indicated a fork in the path.  "If we go left we'll end up on a bluff that over looks the whole colony."

Now Picard felt a rush of gratitude wash over him for the way she always orchestrated their time together so that they had occasionally dropped back into the "real" world.  He smiled as she carefully wrapped the scarf around his head.

Sara wondered at the smile as she finished tying the ends of the scarf together.  Knowing he couldn't see her now, she looked at him curiously for a moment, then shrugged slightly.  Moving quietly to the terminal that sat on one corner of the dresser, she called up the music she had chosen for the scenario.  Electronic jazz filled the room; it was not intrusive, but was loud enough to mask her movements somewhat.  Now Jean-Luc would have only his sense of touch left.  She slowly pulled on one of her leather gloves and picked up a couple of brushes, one a thick soft paintbrush, the other a stiff plastic brush she usually used to clean her vac suit.  "Open your hands," she said softly.  He relaxed his hands, which had been clenched into fists.  She bent over the bed and ran the paintbrush across the small of his back.  As he shivered, she slowly traced a pattern on his left palm with a leather clad finger.

"Mmmm..." he murmured, guessing (and hoping) that she was going to keep him on the edge for a very long time.  He tried his best to relax, even though his situation was not conducive to relaxation.  Suddenly he felt something stiff and scratchy brush along his left calf. Reflexively he tried to pull his leg away, but was caught up short by the restraint.  He could feel the bed move as she leaned over him and then her long hair brushed against the sole of one foot.  In spite of himself, he let out a noise that could only be called a snort.  She laughed and moved again.  He waited for a long moment; there was no sense of movement nearby.  Had she left the room?  Suddenly he felt something sharp run along his shoulder, it felt like a pin of some kind.  Every nerve in his body seemed concentrated on that one thin line of sensation.  He kept himself very still, hoping to prolong the contact, but as soon as she reached the back of his neck, she stopped.  He let out a soft sigh that caused her to laugh again.

"You're just going to have to lie there, Jean-Luc," she said calmly.  "I will decide everything that happens to you.  This time begging, pleading or bargaining will not help."  She leaned close to his ear, her hair falling around his head.  "Just relax and enjoy the ride."

Sara continued to systematically tease him.  In addition to the brushes and the hatpin, she also had a thick silk tassel, a velvet glove, a hard bristled hair brush, and a feather.  She used the element of surprise, never establishing any kind of rhythm, and she enjoyed watching as he jumped or squirmed every time she touched him.  So far everything she had done had been soft or at least gentle.  Now it was time to pick up the pace somewhat.  Without warning, she bent over and bit the back of his thigh, a long sucking bite that left a visible mark on his fair skin.  He groaned loudly and twisted against the restraints.  She went back to the gentle touches, but as soon as he relaxed, she brought her hand down sharply on his rear.  As he squirmed again, she laughed.  "Surely, Jean-Luc it can't hurt that much.  It's not like I'm using your riding crop."

Jean-Luc hung on her words.  Slowly his universe was narrowing down to just this place and this moment.  He had no idea what she would do to him or if she was even going to do anything  beyond the tease.  It was, in an odd way, harder to accept than the beating she'd given him, because there was no way to guess.   "Ahhh!" he cried out.  Wax, hot candle wax, dripped slowly onto his right bicep.  She had used wax on him before but this was different; somehow his body didn't register the feeling as pain, just as a new sensation.  And each new sensation aroused him more while at the same time pushing away the outside world.  One tiny corner of his mind clung to the word dilithium but he had no inclination to use it.  This was too amazing, and it felt too right to lie here and let her control everything.

Sara bit her lip as she paused for a moment.  In a situation like this timing was all and she didn't want to rush things.  She knew that for Jean-Luc, time had essentially become meaningless, or at least she hoped it had.  That was the point of this scenario, to push the person into the now and let them experience as much pure sensation as was humanly possible.  She bent over his ear and spoke softly.  "I'm going to undo the restraints and you are to turn over now.  Do you understand me?"

Her voice startled him as much as the hot wax had, and he wondered if he remembered how to speak.  "Whatever . . . you want . . . Ma'am . . ." he whispered. "It's . . . all . . . you . . . now . . . " He felt her hands releasing his wrists and then his ankles.

"Go ahead, Jean-Luc, turn over now," she whispered.  She quickly restrained him again and moved again to the dresser to get the ice bucket.  Smiling she set it next to the bed and pulled a strand of purple stone beads out of her box.  Grasping each end of the strand, she rolled them along the underside of one arm.  Then she carefully brushed
his collarbone with the hatpin, leaving only a faint red mark.  After a time, during which she carefully teased him, she paused and opened the ice bucket.  She had carefully avoided any of the standard erogenous zones, but he had bite marks in four different places, several lines from the hat pin and a bright red hand print where she'd smacked his inner thigh several times.  There was a line of hardened wax drips down one calf, and another moving from the hollow of his neck to just below his navel.  To Sara he looked wonderful; this truly was control.  And it was control on both their parts; while she was responsible for each new sensation, he had not tried either to plead for release or end the scene.  He was better at this than anyone she knew, easily the
best sub she'd ever worked with.  She smiled to herself as she prepared to increase the intensity; who would have thought that of Captain Jean-Luc Picard, Starfleet legend?

Jean-Luc had no idea how much time had passed and he didn't care.  She had paused and he waited, completely passive to whatever she had planned.  "Ohhh God . . . " he cried out as something very cold brushed against one of his nipples.  All thoughts of passivity vanished as he twisted against the restraints.  The ice cube (that was what it had to be) disappeared and there was more hot wax, this time on the inside of one of his thighs.  He groaned; she was holding the candle a lot closer and it actually hurt.  Not too much, of course, just enough pain to push him even closer to that place he needed so desperately to get to.  The place where he could let go of everything . . .   "Unghh . . ."  The ice cube again, this time along the side of his neck.  It was followed by the
velvet glove, which brushed softly across the top of his head.  And then . . . again he twisted against the restraints as something pinched his right nipple hard.  It wasn't her fingers, the pressure remained steady, a constant low level ache that shot straight to his aching erection.  He bit his lip trying not to break down; after all, she had told him that pleading would do no good now.

Some time later, he had no idea how long, his resolve crumbled.  He had known that it would.  It was the feeling of the soft brush along the under side of his cock that finally did it, that combined with the hot wax she'd dripped on the nipple that wasn't clamped.  "Please . . . " he managed to gasp out.  That was all he managed to say, her finger brushed across his lips.

"Have you really reached that point?" she asked softly.  The moment stretched out, as he struggled to think.  Before he could answer, she spoke again.  "I'm going to give you a bit of a break."  He felt her climb onto the bed and straddle one of his thighs.  "You're not the only one that needs something."  He felt her then, wet and hot against his
leg.  He could feel her arms brush his sides as she braced herself against the bed and her hair brushed across his chest.  "You . . . see," she said, somewhat unevenly,  "I don't . . . have . . . to let you . . . get . . . off at all . . . ohh . . ."  She was rubbing against him, a fast hard rhythm.  She was incredibly wet and he could feel her slick skin move over his leg.

Sara tried to keep her eyes open as she moved against him.  Part of what was so exciting was seeing him there, unable to do anything either to help or hinder her pleasure.  His fists were clenching  and unclenching and he was rolling his head from side to side.  "Who . . . am I?" she demanded breathlessly, wondering if he would go this far.

"Maitresse . . ." he gasped out.

"Are . . . you . . . mine?"

What a silly question, he thought. "Oh yes, Ma'am . . ." he said quickly "all yours."  Why did she think she had to ask?

Sara moved just a bit faster, pressed against him just a bit harder and shrieked like a banshee as she came.  She was still for a second and then she moved again, moaning as the second orgasm washed over her.  Carefully she moved away, slumping on the side of the bed.  After a moment, during which she caught her breath, she ran her hand along his leg and then brought it to his mouth, where he eagerly licked it clean.
The she reached into the box and pulled out the last item, a bottle of oil.

Jean-Luc smelled it first, something dark and earthy like the perfume she always wore.  Then he heard her hands slipping together, and then . . .  A slippery hand brushed softly against his balls.  He groaned loudly as she caressed them gently.  Her hand then traveled down slightly, one of those slick fingers sliding carefully inside him and
he moaned again.  Her touch was extremely slow and careful; he knew that she would let him come in her own good time.  He was moaning continuously now; it had become part of his breathing as he hung on the edge.

Sara looked down at him and was surprised by a strong rush of feeling.  His whole body was tuned to her now, and he was trying so hard not to beg.  She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath.  All the games, all the rituals, came down to this moment when he gave up himself and trusted her to give him what he wanted.  Slowly she slid another finger inside him and began to gently stroke his cock.  His moaning increased, but she
didn't increase either her speed or the pressure of her hand.  When she knew that he was close, she stopped, removing her hand from his erection and leaving her fingers inside him.  "Remember who did this to you," she breathed.  "Remember who can do this to you."

"You . . . Maitresse . . ." he said voice trembling.  "I'm . . . yours . .."

"Yes, you are," she replied.  Her hand moved quickly to remove the clamp on his nipple.  "All mine."

He felt nothing for a moment except relief, and then . . . painful fire as all the nerves came to life again.  It all happened at once, her fingers moved hard into him and her hand slid up and down his cock with just the right amount of pressure.  He had been in the eye of the hurricane, but now the full fury of the storm washed over him and lashed every nerve in his body.  Once again time became meaningless, for he had no idea how long the orgasm lasted.  When it finally subsided, he lay on the bed exhausted and shaking.  Every few seconds he would feel another wave of feeling pulse through him, gradually becoming weaker until he was limp and quiet.  Somewhere along the line the music had stopped and now the room was wrapped in warm silence.  He was so attuned to her that he could hear the quickly indrawn breath before she spoke.

"Release 458," she said quietly.  Jean-Luc felt all four restraints click open, and at the same time she removed the blindfold.  The first thing he saw was her face.  She looked down at him with an expression of gratitude and awe and then leaned over and kissed him gently.  He raised his hand to brush her face and wasn't surprised to find that he was still shaking.


Sara had blown out the candles save one while he showered, and when he slipped back into the bed he saw that the ceiling had somehow become translucent.  He laughed and pulled her into his arms.  "Nice touch, the governor lives well."

"She built this place.  I mean literally; she and her husband worked along with the construction team."  Sara's voice was subdued and Jean-Luc grew concerned.

"Sara?  Is something wrong?"

Sara sighed and answered after a long moment.  "I . . . I'm sorry, Jean-Luc."

"Sorry?  What on Earth for?"

She didn't want to discuss it, didn't want to have to explain, but he deserved that much from her.  "I went too far this time.  I . . . did something that I . . . I told myself I would never do."

He had no idea what she was talking about.  He propped himself up on one elbow and wished that he could see her face better.  Her head was half tuned away from him and after another moment she looked at him.  "I told myself that I would never try to . . . own you.  This is supposed to be . . . just a game."  To his amazement a tear rolled down her cheek.  "And now I've ruined it."

He slid out of the bed and she sat up reflexively to watch in shock as he moved to kneel at the bedside.  She couldn't believe her eyes as he held up his hands to her, wrists together.  "But you've owned me for a long time now."  She looked at him, sure she had heard him wrong.  "I suppose it would be more accurate to say that you've owned part of me.  The part that . . ."  It was his turn to hesitate.  " . . . the part of me that wants . . . that needs to be owned."  She looked at his face; only half of it was visible in the faint candlelight.  What she could see looked utterly sincere.  He was still holding up his hands and now he said, " . . . please Maitresse?" Sure that this was some kind of dream, Sara leaned forward to grip his wrists tightly.

"And you . . . don't . . . mind?"

"Mind?"  Jean-Luc smiled and leaned forward to kiss her fingers.  "I'm yours," he said softly.  She looked down at the top of his head and breathed a sigh of relief.  He did understand what lay behind the games; he was like her.  Oh he probably didn't consciously understand the matters of control and power that she had studied with the intensity of an acolyte, but he instinctively understood them, and, more importantly,
he understood both sides of the equation.  Plus and minus, top and bottom, yin and yang . . . dom and sub.  Sara sighed, wishing things were different.  Well, she told herself, they aren't.  Take advantage of what you do have now.

"Really?"  As he nodded, she pulled sharply on his wrists.  "Then get up into  this bed."  She fell back against the pillows as he climbed onto the bed.  "Surely you have a non-verbal way of . . . communicating your devotion, Jean-Luc.  After all, you're so eloquent . . ."  As she let her voice trail off, she spread her legs.  He laughed softly and moved between her legs, slowly kissing the insides of her thighs.


The next morning, Captains McNeil and Picard stood to one edge of  the busy landing field of Starfleet's Y Dara Research Center.  The warp-driven shuttlecraft Hawking had been checked and re-checked by the two, and now they stood next to it.  "I'll see you . . . somewhere along the line," Picard said, smiling ruefully.  He smiled and held his hand out.  Instead of shaking it, she grasped his wrist hard.  His eyes widened, and felt a shock run through him as if he'd brushed a live wire.

"Yes," she said simply, "you will."  She let go of his wrist, turned, and walked away briskly.

The End

"Take me while you can
Even if you shine a light into the mirror
You won't see me any clearer"

"Take Me As I Am"

October Project

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