Title: In The Hands Of The Enemy 
Author: Ainzfern 
Series: DS9-M/U 
Code: Weyoun/Intendant Kira 
Rating: R (NON CONS) 
Parts: 1 

Disclaimer: Paramount owns STAR TREK ... etc and so on and
so forth! My only pay here is personal joy.
Summary: Left behind in the Mirror Universe so that his
beloved Founder can escape  Weyoun falls into the hands of
Intendant Kira 

Archiving:  Certainly- if you want to- please let me know. 

Feedback: Yes please! All comments welcome.
Author's Note: I got to wondering  What would "little
miss nympho nut-bag" do with her very own Weyoun? Thinking
about the kind of uh...games she likes to play, I came up
with this...

In The Hands Of The Enemy

"No...I will not. I live to serve the Founders."

"Oh come now, Weyoun. She abandoned you here. She left you
behind, you poor thing...like so much forgotten baggage."

The room was dim and his large eyes, genetically inferior,
could hardly see. But he could hear. Oh yes...every timbre
and nuance of that voice. That sweet, soft, purring HATEFUL

Every day, the Intendant would come. It had gotten so that
he recognized the sharp metallic click of her heels echoing
down the outer corridor well before she reached his room.

Every day. The same time. The same game.

This time...would he break? It was possible. He'd never
known such torture before.

"No." He responded again. "The Founder did NOT abandon me.
The Founders do all things for a reason. This is
merely...part of a larger plan." Even to his own ears, he
sounded like he was trying to convince himself. Where were
his famed skills of negotiation now? Had it really only
taken a few weeks to turn him into something this
transparent, this pathetic?

She laughed. She ALWAYS laughed. The sound grated on his
sensitive ears.

"There was no PLAN! She was out of her depth here  Out of
her PLACE! She realized that and ran away like a frightened

He struggled momentarily against the metal bonds that held
him shackled against the wall. He was not strong. But if he
could only get his hands on her, around her neck, he would
shut that voice off forever!

"And she left you behind." Softer now, every syllable
dripping with false compassion.

She moved in closer, right up to him. Only a hair's
breadth separated them. He could feel the heat radiating
from her body. He could smell her hair.

He could see her face. Her beautiful, cruel face. So much
like the other Kira and yet nothing like her at all.

She would touch him soon. She always did. Then the agony
would begin.

"I could make you feel wanted, Weyoun." She whispered,
breath soft and warm against his face. "So pretty...so
different. I could make you feel LOVED."

"A Vorta does not need love. A Vorta lives to serve the

"Oh Weyoun, Weyoun." She crooned. "How abused you are! How
cruelly they've used you!"

She reached out with one slender hand and pressed her plan
to his crotch, cupping him lightly.

Weyoun felt his lower lip begin to tremble and he
mercilessly clamped it between his teeth. A soft, plaintive
sound rose in his throat.

She was moving her hand now, caressing him through the
fabric of his pants. The sound of her long sharp nails
scraping over the rough material seemed very loud in the
small room.

"I could teach you to love, Weyoun." She rested her smooth
cheek against his shoulder and pressed her face into his
neck. "I could teach you MANY things!"

As always, Weyoun fought desperately to control his body's
response to the unfamiliar stimulus, and as always, with a
deep sense of shame he failed. He was not used to such
petting. He had not had the opportunity to be tactile with
others and so had virtually no defense against it.

The strange transformation of his flesh was happening
again. The achy fullness between his legs, a low throbbing
beginning there. He found it difficult to breath. He could
feel himself growing hard under the Intendant's touch, and
he shuddered and groaned pitifully at the sensation.

"Mmmm..." She murmured, lips against his skin. "You DO
like that, don't you?"

"Please stop!" he whispered desperately, knowing that she
wouldn't, knowing it was hopeless. The heat in his lower
belly was building. Helpless to stop it, his hips began to
rock slightly against her hand.

"Oh no, my sweet...you don't want me to stop. Not now. Not
when we've just gotten started!"

Her fingers shifted against him, seeking and finding the
front opening of his trousers. Then warm and gentle fingers
pushed aside the material and wrapped around him, holding
him firmly.

The heat of her hand against his naked sex was
agonizing...exquisite. The feeling both frightened and
repulsed him, even as his hips increased their slow
undulation, pressing his member harder against her palm.

Low, helpless moans rose out of him. He felt her hand move
down to stroke the soft skin at the base of his shaft,
before pulling slowly upwards so that her thumb could rub
slow, firm circles under his glands.

Her breath against his neck came faster and faster. Her
whispers in his ear, sending shivers lancing down his side.
"Oh that's lovely, Weyoun...just like that! Don't fight it,
Oh...I'll make it so GOOD. Trust me..."

His breath quickened, his cries became frantic, tinged
with incomprehension. Nothing in his short life had
prepared him for sensations like this...he was lost. He had
no reference with which to compare. She would always bring
him keening and gasping to this point so quickly, and there
seemed to be nothing he could do to stop her!

And worse was to come. He knew this now from brief, bitter
experience. She would rub him and stroke him, her hand
never still. Building the fire in his belly until he
thought he must faint from the sheer pain of this strange,
unformed need. Then, expertly judging her moment...

She stopped.

Her hand froze in its rhythmic assault, and she pulled
back to look carefully into his face.

"Would you like me to finish this, Weyoun?"

Shaking and sweating, the cords in his neck standing out
tightly under the terrible agony, he nodded desperately,

Her hand on him, still locked in place. Exerting no
pressure, making no movement.

"Yes." She whispered, "...and it'll feel so good. So very
good! And then, you'll be let out of this terrible room,

He nodded again. His throat clicked loudly as he swallowed.

"I'll treat you so well, pretty Weyoun. So kindly...it all
starts here!" She looked down, the slender fingers around
his shaft shifting slightly.

Weyoun whimpered.

"All you have to do is say it, my sweet. Just say the

Oh...it was unbearable! His thrumming body yearned towards
this inconceivable release of which he had no real
understanding. All he knew was that he wanted it very, very

He looked at her, lilac eyes wide and pleading.
"Please..." He whispered.

"No no no, Pretty Weyoun!" She chided, her dark eyes
gleeful. "You must say the words first!"

His mouth opened, his jaw worked. No sound emerged.

She chuckled softly, low and husky.
"The...Founder...abandoned...me." She coached him slowly,
as if speaking to a child. "Four little words, my sweet.
How hard can it be?"

She squeezed him slightly for emphasis.

"Oh!" The sound slipped from him, against his will.

"Yes..." She breathed.

His lips parted, his breath hitched in.

"Yes..." Her hand shifted again.

He twitched. "The...the..."


"I live to serve the Founders!" he screamed suddenly,
overcome with shame and remorse. Anguished at allowing her
yet again, to bring him this close to betrayal.

For a brief moment, he saw the flash of fury and
disappointment in her large dark eyes. Then, with a blink,
the look was gone. The sultry smile was back.

Slowly, she released her grip, one finger at a time
delicately lifting away from him.

"So near, Weyoun!" She said. "You were doing so WELL up
till then. This was the closest you've been so far, my

In spite of her failure, she looked well pleased with
herself. "You won't take too much more, pretty Weyoun. I
can see that. You'll be mine soon."

She looked at him through lowered lashes, her eyes
flicking to his straining, swollen member. "Very, very
soon!" She purred.

Then abruptly she turned and left, leaving him hanging
there, unsatisfied and trembling. Hurting all over, aching
through his groin. His poor wakening body would stay in
this state of heightened arousal for hours. She would be
counting on it.

Tears came to his weak eyes. Spilling down his face,
burning in his throat. He would not last much longer, he
knew. He might have succeeded today, he may succeed
tomorrow. Even perhaps the day after that.

But the Intendant had been right. She would have him.
Very, very soon.

"Founder..." He whispered through his constricted throat.