Trip sat up with a jerk.  He was trembling from head to foot.  The dreams ... he ran a shaking hand through his hair.  Just once, I'd like to sleep the night through.

The light snapped on.  Trip looked up as the Captain came over to him.  "Sorry to wake you, Captain."

"It's all right, Trip," was the now familiar response.  Archer went to the fridge, and few moments later, returned with the usual glass of hot milk.  Trip reflected that the Captain had a touching faith in the efficacy of this remedy.  He sighed; he found it difficult to share the Captain's belief.

"What's wrong?"

It's a long list, Trip thought wryly.  He sighed again.  "I don't think this," he said, referring to the milk, "is going to work.  I'm wide awake."  He looked up at the older man.  "You don't have to stay up, though."

"Don't be an idiot," said Archer crisply.  "You think I’m going to let you sit alone, staring into the dark?"  He held out a hand.  "Come on."

Reluctantly, Trip obeyed.  Part of him wanted to stay, cocooned in the safety of his bed, but another part of him – a larger part – needed the company.

He allowed Archer to lead him into the living room, with Porthos following close behind.  He sat on the couch, and Archer sat beside him.  Porthos jumped up, and laid his head in Trip's lap.  Trip absently stroked the dog's head with one hand, while staring at the glass of milk he still had in the other.

"It was pretty bad," Archer said.  It was a statement, not a question.

Trip nodded.  There was no sense in denying it.  Archer sighed.  "Want to tell me about it?"

No, he didn't.  And yet ...  He continued to stare at his milk.

"Trip," the Captain said, very gently.  "Why not tell me what you can?  You can stop anytime you want.  I won't push you."

Trip sighed.  "Where do I start?"

"How about the beginning?" Archer suggested.  Trip looked at him.  "During shore leave."

Trip sighed again.  It was an act of surrender. 

Trip wandered down the cobblestone streets of the Old City, enjoying the feel of sunlight on his shoulders.  He'd spent the morning doing the usual touristy things, taking pictures, checking out historical buildings and generally having a good time.  He was due to meet up with Malcolm later on that afternoon, but he still had time for lunch, and his stomach informed him that it had been kept waiting long enough.

He found a sidewalk café, sat and ordered. While he ate, he read more about the planet from the information available from the Vulcan database.  He was interested to learn that there was a vast network of coral-like caves off the coast.  He knew he'd never get Malcolm to agree to go diving, but the Captain liked to dive ...

A shadow fell over him.  He looked up to see a tall, beautiful woman standing over him.  She looked vaguely Vulcan, with slanted brows, dark hair and emerald green eyes.  But the smile she was wearing was anything but Vulcan.  "You’re new to the city?" she asked.

"Just visiting," he said.

"May I?" He nodded, and she sat. 

"I'm Trip Tucker," he offered.

"Zirella," was her response.  She looked at the data padd he was reading.  "You are looking for information?"

Trip nodded.  "First time here," he said.  "Got any suggestions?"

She smiled again, but didn't answer him directly.  Instead, she hailed a passing waiter.  "Two of whatever my friend here is having," she ordered.

"Oh, that's not necessary," Trip protested, all of his gentlemanly instincts aroused. 

"I insist," she replied.  "It's not ever day I see a pair of beautiful blue eyes here."

Trip could feel himself blush.  "Thanks," he managed.

They chatted idly over their drinks for a while.  Trip regretfully noted the time.  Malcolm would wring his neck if he was late, and Trip did not want to mar his shore leave by arguing with the armory officer.  "I'm sorry," he told Zirella, "but I have to go."

"No apologies are necessary."  She smiled at him.

"Perhaps we'll run into each other again," he said.

She smiled again.  "Perhaps."

Trip looked at Archer.  "The best I can figure is, she must have doped my drink.  I wasn't drinking anything alcoholic.  Pretty good sleight-of-hand on her part.  I never noticed."

Archer gave him a sympathetic squeeze of the shoulder in reply.  Trip sipped his milk, then continued.

He started down one of the narrow streets.  He was already late, and he could just hear Malcolm's dry, acerbic tones.  "Still haven't learned to tell time, Commander?"  And then a long lecture on punctuality would inevitably follow, peppered with a few remarks about the deplorable state (still) of American educational standards.  Wishing to avoid as much of that as possible, he hurried along, then suddenly stopped. 

He was feeling quite strange – like he'd had one too many to drink.  Except all he'd been drinking was the local version of iced tea.  The street was now definitely tilting upwards at an odd angle.  He had time to think, dazedly, What the hell?  And then he was able to think no more.

He awoke, barefoot, in a small, bare, windowless room.  Slowly he sat up, looked around.  Dull gray walls, ceiling and floor met his view.  The floor was vibrating, and Trip easily identified the vibrations as that being caused by warp flight.  About warp 3, he guessed.

He looked around again.  He wasn't on Enterprise, that was for sure.  He frowned.  The last thing he remembered was walking down a street of the Old City.

The door opened, and two very large and very well-armed humanoid males entered.  One of them grabbed Trip by the arm, pulled him to his feet, and indicated quite clearly that he was to accompany them.  He struggled, and the other raised an arm, ready to strike him.

"Stop that, you fool."  It was Zirella.  She was followed by a tall man who, based on the strong resemblance he bore to her, was probably a close relative. 

He confirmed that.  "You heard my sister."

The guard stopped.

"What's going on here?" Trip demanded.

His demand was ignored.  Instead, the alien man looked him up and down in an appraising manner that made Trip very uneasy.  "For once, you were not exaggerating, Zirella," he said to her.

She laughed.  "I thought you would agree."  She smiled at Trip.  "My brother Arex tends to be somewhat cynical about my finds."

"Not this time, dear sister," Arex said.  "Not at all."

Zirella nodded to the guards.  "Bring him."

"Hey!" Trip protested.  No one listened to him.  Instead, he was literally dragged out of his cell and down the hall.  Arex and Zirella sauntered behind.

"My dear sister – must you insist on sampling the merchandise?  Again?"

"Don't tell me you're planning to refrain?"

And they both laughed.

Trip shivered slightly.  Archer kept carefully quiet.  The engineer took another sip of milk, looked at the glass, and sighed again.  He ran a distracted hand through his longer-than-usual hair.  Then, squaring his shoulders, he continued.

He was dragged into another room, one that was much more luxurious than his barren cell, and which was dominated by a large bed.

Zirella followed him in, while Arex stood at the door.  "Ladies first," he smirked, and left.

"Just what the hell is going on here?"  Trip demanded.  "You can't –"

"Shut up," Zirella ordered.  "I didn't bring you here to talk."

She gave him another one of those long, appraising looks.  "Take your clothes off."

He gaped at her. 

"Are you deaf?"

"I'll be goddamned if I do!" he snarled in response.

She sighed theatrically.  "Just once," she said to no one in particular, "I'd like someone to do as they're told."  She nodded to the guard, who produced a hypospray, and injected him.

"Must have been some sort of neural agent," Trip said.  "I couldn't move.  Felt like a dime store dummy." 

Archer nodded.  "Must have been pretty frightening," he said.

"No kidding."  He took another sip of his milk.

Paralyzed, all he could do was watch as the guards quickly and efficiently stripped him bare.  Then Zirella walked around him.  "Oh, yes," she said.  "I was right." 

She nodded to the guards, and Trip found himself on the bed, tied hand and foot.  Even if he hadn't been under the drug's influence, he wouldn't have been able to move.

Zirella looked at the guards.  "Excellent.  You may leave us now."

Barely hiding their smirks, the two men left.  Zirella, humming to herself, left Trip and went into another room.  He lay, staring at the ceiling, hardly believing what was happening to him.  It was like some dreadful dream.  But as feeling returned, the bite of the restraints at his hands and feet assured him that this was no dream, but cold hard reality.

She returned, clad only in a light flowing robe.  "Starting to feel better?" she asked.  He didn't reply.  Instead, he stared at the ceiling.  His silence didn't seem to bother her.  She ran a light hand down his chest.  Angrily, he tried to squirm away, to avoid her touch.

"Behave yourself," she told him.  "You're going to have to get used to being touched."  And she continued stroking him.  "It won't be too bad," she continued.  "No hard labor for you, beautiful.  No, I think you're going to have a very luxurious life someone.  Once you learn to obey, that is."

Trip glared at her.  "Bitch!"

She simply laughed.  "Oh, naughty, naughty boy.  But you'll learn manners soon enough."  She continued her touches.  He clenched his jaw, stared resolutely upwards, willing himself not to respond to her.

"Go ahead," she teased.  "Fight me.  I like a little spirit."  She continued her caresses, drawing one elaborately-painted fingernail across his chest.  "That's right.  You be strong.  I like a strong man.  Only," and she smiled, "I have all the time in the universe.  Think you'll be able to hold out forever?"

She bent, flicked her tongue across his nipples.  His hands clenched into fists.  "Don't deny it.  That feels good, doesn't it?"

"It would if I had something nice to look at," he sneered.  "And you, lady, ain't it."

Her face darkened, and she slapped him.  Despite the stinging pain of the blow, he grinned.  "I was right, wasn't I?" he asked her.  "This is the only way you can get any, isn't it?  You wouldn't be able to get a man to give you the time of day, otherwise."

"You'll end up giving me more than that when I'm through with you," she hissed.

"Maybe.  But not willingly.  You just remember that."

But by now, she had regained her composure.  "In the end, it won't matter," she said serenely.  "You'll see."

She started again.  He looked away, thought of engineering schematics, non-linear equations, multi-dimensional geometry – anything except what was happening to him.

For a while, it worked.  She stood.  "Fine," she said tightly.  "Fine.  You wish to be difficult?  Go ahead.  I have the remedy for your stubbornness."

She opened a drawer on the bedside table, brought forth some scented oil.  "Now," she murmured, "we shall see what we shall see."  She applied a few drops, first to his nipples, and then his unresponsive member.  She sat back and smiled in satisfaction.  "Now," she repeated, "we will see."

For a few minutes, nothing happened.  This did not seem to disturb her, instead, she sat on the edge of the bed, humming to herself, and idly stroking the inside of his thighs.

Then the oil began to do its work.  His nipples tingled, faintly at first, and then with more intensity.  Despite his best efforts, he could feel himself stiffen, and he closed his eyes in shame and defeat.

Zirella laughed at him, and began her caresses again.  This time, with her using the oil, he had no choice.  He became fully aroused, and she began to tease him, stroking him lightly, touching him with her tongue.  He kept resolutely silent, determined not to give into her.  "Still stubborn?" she asked.  "You'll learn to behave otherwise."  He refused to answer.

She took more of the oil, and applied to his torso, his legs, and his ass.  Then she began again.  Trip had to bite his lip to keep from crying aloud.  Every nerve was singing, stretched to the limit, screaming with agonized pleasure.

She held his erect member in her hand.  "What time is it?" she asked.  He kept silent.  "Still fighting?  It seems to me that the battle is over.  You have lost, my friend."

"I'm no friend of yours," he told her through gritted teeth.  "And you had to have help.  If it wasn't for that wonder oil of yours, you wouldn't have been able to get to first base."

"That's right," she said, shrugging.  "You tell yourself that, if it makes you feel better.  But what I'm holding here, " and she squeezed slightly, "tells me a very different story."  She squeezed again, and despite himself, he arched his back.  "I think I'm well past 'first base'," she taunted him.

She continued to tease him, stroking, caressing, bringing him to the edge and then drawing him back.  His hips shifted, and he closed his eyes.  She laughed at him, and with the sound of her laughter ringing in his ears, she mounted him.

Trip shivered.  "She used me," he told Archer.  "I tried so hard to resist.  I really did."  He shivered again.  "But in the end ... "

Trip gasped.  ""First base'?" Zirella asked softly, her face appearing in his field of view, while she continued to rock on top of him.  He closed his eyes, but there was no escaping what was happening.  His hands clenched.  "Oh, I think much more than 'first base', don't you agree?"  His head turned helplessly from side to side.  "You like this, don't you?"  He kept silent.  "You do," she told him.  "I see it.  I know.  You can protest all you want, but in reality ..."

He groaned as his climax hit him, and arched his back again. 

"First base," she said again, with satisfaction.

Carefully, Archer put his arm around Trip.  "She laughed at me," the younger man said.  "And told me that I liked it.  That I really wanted it to happen."

Archer sighed.  "Of course she did.  All part of her game, Trip.  She liked torturing you any way she could."  Trip did not respond.  "I think they're something you should know," the Captain continued.  "Something Phlox found out."  Trip looked at him.  "The oil they used on you?  It's actually pretty long-lasting.  It gets absorbed through the skin, and ends up staying in your system for quite a while.  Makes it easier the next time.  You know what I mean?"  Trip nodded.  "And the more times it's used, the more it builds up in your system.  You understand?"

Trip nodded again.

"Of course, they weren't going to tell you that," Archer said grimly.  "They're not going to let you know that you're being medicated into responding.  Makes it easier for them – psychologically – to convince you that you must have not resisted enough.  And that makes you vulnerable.  Puts you right where they want you."

"Thanks for telling me, Captain."

"Thank you, Trip."  Trip looked at him in surprise.  "You've given us a description of that pair.  Now we know how they captured you.  I can let Starfleet and the Vulcan High Command know.  They'll be on the lookout for them, and I think it won't be long until they're caught, and stopped.  Congratulations.  You've saved a lot of people from suffering the same fate."

It was evident that Trip hadn't considered it in this way at all.  The look on his face would have been comical under other circumstances.  Archer smiled.  "So you're a hero, Trip. Again."

Trip looked away.  Porthos, whined.  Absently, Trip stroked his head.  "Even Porthos agrees with me," Archer pointed out.

Trip shook his head.  "I don't feel like a hero," he said huskily.

Archer gave his shoulder another squeeze.  "Trust me on this one."

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