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Now I know why all those Latin words that mean to crush and to trample also mean to copulate with a male. I used to study Latin a lot, fascinated by their military way of life as expressed through their language and their culture. They've an impressive history.

I now know why T. E. Lawrence referred to sex between men in equal amounts of shame and wonder. I have been crushed. The shame is great. The wonder is more. He ran me through that night. He held me, gentle but firm. I was suddenly without a precedent. I had been crushed.

I submitted. He held my wrists in his one hand, and pushed his cock into me. I screamed and bore down on him. I think I startled him, and he made sure that I was okay, running the knuckles of his other hand over my cheek, before he continued his assault. My mouth was open, my cheek against the pillow, and I could not breath. He pushed me to my side, and slid himself behind me, never breaking his internal contact, and started thrusting again. This time he conquered me with his long, muscular arms. He wrapped them around me, holding me to him, protecting me. His mouth alternated between pleading for surrender and biting into my shoulder, another way to secure me.

One of my arms twined with his around my torso. The other lay on the sweet curve where his back merged with his ass. I could feel the surge of his muscles beneath his skin. His raw power excited me. I was the officer superiorly trained in defense and offense, but this man, if he desired to, could kill me with his bare hands. I shivered and cried out at this realization, which was completed by the sudden buildup of pleasure deep in my body.

He let out a little whimper at each deep thrust into me. One of his hands slid down to my cock, and started to stroke it. He was pleasuring me while he was pushing my body further onto him. His whimpers turned into miniature sobs, and I don't know whether I wanted to stop and comfort him or to urge him faster.

I felt my body tighten. It was too much. What was happening to me? I'd never felt this before, this pleasure so great it was indistinguishable from pain. I tried to fight him, to pull away, and to end this torture.

He held me closer and cooed beautiful words with his soft lips. They were words of love and devotion, of passion and of pain that he shared.

I cried out his name, and he mine. My cock shot its seed out onto the blankets, onto me, and onto his hand. He grabbed my torso tighter, his wet hand smearing my release all over us, and his last thrust seemed to break me in two. His cock jerked inside of me. His breath hitched, as if he was crying. My own was quite the match.

His sticky hand came up to my face, and he turned my head so that he could take a kiss. I gladly gave it to the victor. He pulled back to gaze at me some more. I must have looked silly with my seed smeared all over my cheeks and chin. His eyes merely darkened, and he kissed me again with increasing vigor.

He slowly pulled out of me, and I hissed at the unexpected sting. He spoke soft, little nonsensical words to me as he pressed his lips to all parts of my face. Soothing, gentle, he ran his hands up and down my body repeatedly. He allowed me to turn over, and he rewarded me with a most sweet kiss.

I must admit that my hands were as busy on his own body, inspecting his face, his hairy chest, his glorious ass, the seemingly huge cock he managed to fit inside me. Earlier my hands had gone numb, terror of the unknown I suspect, but the feeling in them was returning.

Since then I have had time to digest what happened and to watch my conqueror for any signs of tyranny. He has been a most loyal and giving ruler of my heart. Oh, now look at me. I'm getting all sappy.

He comes up to me now, a plate with a slice of cake in each of his hands. The others surround him, Trip, Hoshi, Travis, T'Pol, even Phlox. He smiles at me. "Happy fifth anniversary, Malcolm," Jonathan Archer says before handing me a plate. I take it, but before I can say anything he pulls me to him with his now free hand and kisses me. I can hear good-natured cheers all around me, and as we pull apart, reluctantly I might add, I hear him whisper that he loves me.

Now I know what it means to be crushed, to feel shame and wonder. I know what it means to be rebuilt afterward but not to be changed because I was deficient in any way but because I had not been created with love. It took me this long to realize it. I spoke the words my benevolent dictator, my caring Jonathan, has wanted to hear for all these years.

"I love you, too," I reply. He stops, shocked, but then suddenly looking as joyful as he did on our wedding day.

He has completely conquered me, and I have never been happier.



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