DISCLAIMER: All characters belong to Paramount, Ive borrowed them for a time, but promise to put them bak when Im done.
AGE RATING: 18, Slash.
This story may be offensive to some people as it contains m/m rape.
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Humming lightly to himself, an old child’s rhyme (when had he first heard that?), Garak opened his little tailor shop.
The partition clicked open, a familiar sound that spoke of the order of his life. The comforting tedium of being ‘plain, simple’ Garak. Garak, the tailor. Garak, the token Cardassian.
Pausing in his humming, Garak called out cheerfully,
“Lights.”
As the shop lights flickered into life, Garak went back to his little ditty, whistling it this time. His eyes fell on the bolt of blue Bolian silk that rested across his work table, where he had placed it last night.
The silk had only been delivered yesterday, and already he had plans for it. Both Major Kira and Lt. Dax had spied its arrival, and immediately ordered a dress of the rare and beautiful fabric.
With nimble fingers, Garak unfurled a length of the cloth and began cutting and shaping the cool material into a sleek dinner dress for the Major, as the Promenade slowly came to life, outside his shop.
Draping a length of the fabric over a tailor’s dummy, Garak took satisfaction in the way the article grew, under his skilled administrations.
“Do I actually enjoy tailoring?” Garak wondered briefly. Certainly he applied himself to his current role, brought to it the perfection he always demanded of himself, but did he actually enjoy it?
Still pondering this question, Garak selected a tool and began fusing the raw edges of the dress’s skirt into a seamless fall of fabric.
As he worked he hummed, occasionally murmuring
half-remembered words to the child’s rhyme. As time passed and the bodice began to take shape, above the skirt, Garak grew vaguely irritated with the tune that played incessantly in his head.
Behind him, the door swished open. Glancing at the clock that graced the back wall, Garak was grateful for the interruption, yet surprised to discover that it was still so early.
“I’m afraid Major, that I’m not yet ready for your first fitting, perhaps if you were to come back at the time we agreed.………….”
Garak began, dropping the tool back onto his workbench and flexing his slightly stiffened limbs, with a gentle sigh. Then he froze, the words dying on his lips, as the scent reached him.
The scent itself was pleasant, a warm and spicy scent that many Cardassian males had favoured, in years gone by. Garak detested that scent. The words ‘feared it’ sprang to mind, and illogical as it was, Garak was ashamed to admit that was true.
Garak stood rooted to the spot, quite incapable of movement, feeling like the small and fearful boy he had once been and suddenly felt like again.
His breath quickened in his chest, his blood roaring and pounding through him, and he was humiliated as tears suddenly sprang to his eyes.
“I…I’m afraid….afraid you’ll have to….to leave. I’m feeling a …a little…unwell…..”
Garak's voice quivered and shook, despite his best efforts to control it, to control himself.
How quickly all the years of training fled, became meaningless, when confronted with childhood fears.
Behind him, Garak could hear the rasping breath that he remembered so well.
Suddenly, he recalled where he had heard the tune that had been plaguing him all morning. It was from his childhood, something that a household servant had sung to comfort him after his father’s visit’s, long ago, in a time he had buried deeply, in the darkest parts of his memory.
“Please…please, you.…you have to…to…”
A tear unexpectedly streaked down his cheek, his guts cramped, with the sudden need to vomit.
Garak clenched his teeth, restraining the urge through will alone.
The scent grew stronger, the rasping panting, louder.
Then, against the back of his neck, he felt the warmth of breath against his skin.
Garak couldn’t repress a small whimper, an animal’s noise of fear.
Behind him, he heard a low chuckle, a mirthless, cold laugh, that he remembered so well.
A hand touched him, its gentleness a rude lie, caressing his shoulder and trailing languidly down his back.
“Not a word of greeting for your father, Elim?”
The voice hissed close in his ear, and smelled vaguely of Charo nuts.
Out of the corner of his eye and reflected in the standing mirror in the far corner of the shop, Garak could see his father, as arrogant and youthful as he had been, when Garak was a child. As he had been, when these little episodes had started. As he had been, so long before he died.
Someone would come in, someone would interrupt what was happening………they had to! Garak’s mind protested vainly, refusing to accept what was happening, even as Garak wondered how his father could be here now, and looking as he did.
Garak remained mute, incapable of answering his father.
The hand trailed further down, pausing in the small of his back.
“I asked you a question Elim……………”
Unable to tear his gaze away from the mirror, Garak mutely shook his head, in silent denial. If he didn’t answer, it couldn’t be real, his mind clamoured.
The questing hand reached further down, touching the firm mound of Garak’s buttocks, stroking gently.
“Answer me boy!”
Tain loomed closer, Garak could feel the light brushing of his father’s lips against the back of his ear ridge, where it ran down and joined his jaw, as he spoke.
The body pressed into his back, and he could feel the crush of armour against him.
If he spoke, Garak knew his father would take it as permission to treat him as he wished. If he chose silence… Garak couldn’t continue the thought, his father had always been skilled in the ‘gentle art of persuasion’, more so than even Garak.
Another tear rolled down his cheek as the part of Garak that was still the small boy in the cellar, answered for him,
“Yes, Father.”
His voice was a small and broken whisper. In the mirror, Garak saw the cold smile lift Tain’s lips, and dread convulsed in his belly.
“That’s better my Elim, my son.”
Tain’s other hand reached around the front of Garak, curling about his waist and drawing him closer still.
“Put your hands on the table, Elim,” Tain spoke, his voice deceptively gentle.
Gripping Garak’s shoulders, digging his fingers in cruelly, Tain pushed him forward. Forced to grab the table’s edge or fall, Garak found himself complying with his fathers wishes. Bent forward at almost a right angle, Garak dearly wished to close his eyes against the mirror that insistently showed him Tain’s every movement.
Not only could he feel the stroking caresses of Tain’s hands over his body, but his traitorous eyes forced him to see it as well.
Reaching around Garak, Tain picked up the tool that Garak had so recently deposited on the table.
“Interesting little device………..”
Tain murmured, turning it about in his hand,
“Let me see now, how does it work?”
Flicking the little pad button, Tain turned the laser sewing machine on and up to its highest setting.
“Ahhh!”
He exclaimed in seeming surprised delight. Garak’s bladder clenched with a violent cramp, his father had a new toy!
Tears rolled in a steady stream down his cheeks, and he trembled continuously, in mounting terror. Tain always took delight in turning mundane objects into instruments of sexual torture.
“Should I use it like this? What do you think Elim?”
Tain made a sweeping pass down the back of Garak’s tunic. Garak whimpered as he felt the burning sting of the laser kiss against his back, not strong enough to draw blood, yet enough to draw deep, painful welts. The material parted, falling open and sliding down his arms, bunching against his white knuckled hands.
Tain ran a hand over the powerfully muscled back, not seeming to notice the tremors that ran continually through Garak.
“My, my Elim…………..all grown up, and rather nicely too!”
Tain growled, in appreciation.
“Let’s see now……….Where should we try it next? Perhaps here!”
Tain exclaimed, and, standing slightly back from Garak, he carved the trousers into ragged strips that slid off of Garak’s hips.
Tain’s eyes drank in the powerful, handsomely muscled body of his son, a ravenous, cruel smirk playing about his lips. Another swift pass of the device stripped Garak of his underwear, yet Tain still did not drop the tool.
His free hand caressed Garak’s back, stroking lazily down across the scaled hip, to once more cup the firm flesh of his butt.
His fingers bit deeply and Garak winced, groaning unhappily, as Tain’s fingers probed deeper, into evermore intimate areas. Garak flinched hard, tried to jerk away, but was held fast between the table and his father.
Garak bit his lower lip, drawing a trickle of Cimmerian blood, to repress the cry, as Tain’s fingers probed between his butt cheeks then forced passed the tightness of his anus.
Garak pulled in the direction of the table as Tain inserted his fore-finger into the tense, unwilling opening, as far as he was able.
Garak let out a gentle sob at the violation, instantly he bit back on the sound, but it was too late, Tain had heard the whimper.
Anger distorted his face into a hideous parody, a bestial thing.
Wrenching his finger from the opening, he grabbed Garak by the shoulder, dropping the laser sewing machine to the table top, spinning him over and slamming him down against the table.
Garak’s breath exploded from his body in a painful rush, his back already bruising from the force, compelled to stare through tear misted eyes at his father.
“Stupid! Stupid boy! Don’t you remember how I hate cowards?”
Spittle sprayed from Tain’s lips, splattering on Garak’s face.
It was one of those times when he expected an answer, Garak knew, both dismayed and relieved that he remembered his fathers moods so very well.
“Y..…yes……yes, Father!” he blurted.
Slowly, Tain released Garak’s shoulders, sliding his hands along Garak’s arms, until he grasped the wrists that were still tangled in the ruins of his tunic. Twisting the fabric tightly, tying them together, Tain wrenched Garak’s arms over his head, moving about the table out of Garak’s line of sight. Tain fastened the temporary rope to the workbench, pulling it just tight enough to cause maximum discomfort.
With a lithe animal grace, Tain moved back to the front of the table, smiling gently once more at the prone Garak.
“What happens to cowards, Elim?” Tain asked, glancing casually at Garak as he plucked the tool from where he had dropped it.
“They…..they get ………….taught a….a lesson father”
The little boy, who was still locked in the cellar, answered for Garak.
Tain smiled and inclined his head a little,
“I’m so glad that you remembered Elim. It won’t come as to much of a shock when I do this then……………..”
Thumbing the tool back on and to it’s highest setting, Tain drew a line down Garak’s chest with it, watching as the welt grew in the laser’s wake.
Quivering with pain, unable to give voice to his agony lest the punishment get worse, Garak endured the torture. Garak whimpered quietly only when the tool was drawn across his stomach, across his nipples or across the sensitive ridges of his neck.
The tool moved lower and with dread gnawing in his gut, Garak realised his fathers ultimate goal, as his hand curled about the shaft of Garak’s penis.
“Plea ………..please father…………please stop,” he managed to utter, from between clenched teeth.
It was as if Tain hadn’t heard him. The device drew steadily lower.
As it kissed his penis, was drawn along the heavy length in such a slow, precise caress, as Tain drew it across the head and lingered there, Garak finally screamed.
Vomit bubbled from his lips in a sudden gush, but went unnoticed. How he wished he could pass out, but the blackness that crept about the edges of his vision so temptingly, so tantalisingly, was kept just out of reach by the sheer agony alive in his body.
The instant he screamed, Tain threw Garak onto his side, dropping the tool to the floor where it broke into pieces.
Spreading Garak’s butt wide with his fingers, Tain opened the front of his uniform pants, freeing his engorged organ.
With a strangely gentle sigh, Tain forced his swollen length into Garak’s tight, unwilling anus, pushing in to the hilt.
Tain thrust repeatedly, like a rutting animal, and with a savage disregard for his victim.
Garak was beyond screaming, almost beyond caring, yet as he felt something tear deep inside himself, and blood gushed down his backside and legs he found voice for one more scream………
The sounds of his own bellow still ringing in his ears, Garak sat up in bed. Sweat sheathed his trembling body.
“LIGHTS” he called, panting, in wild eyed fear.
The lights flicked on instantly, revealing his empty quarters. His clothing was laid neatly over the back of the chair, not in ruined shreds about his wrists.
“A nightmare! Just a nightmare…………….”
Dropping back against his sodden pillows, Garak gave a small nervous laugh of relief, revelling in his pain free body.
Swinging his legs out of bed, Garak stood just before his alarm was due to wake him, switching it off as it started to beep.
He headed for the shower, realising that he had yet to make the dress for the Major, that the bolt of silk still lay untouched on his work bench, that the father of his unhappy youth had not, could not, have been there.
Stepping within the cubical, Garak activated it, wondering vaguely were the scent was coming from…,,the warm spicy one, that sent a chill of fear down his spine…………….
END?……………………………………….