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Spock knocked softly on the door, before entering his quarters. “You requested my presence, Captain?” He stood one step from the exit, back straight, hands behind his back; his expression having the usual serious neutrality it was known for.
Jim stood up, and tucked his chair beneath his desk with a sigh. “I did.” His eyes locked with Spock’s. “I’m sure you are aware of why I called for you. Disobeying your Captain is a serious offence, Commander. If you had not chosen to disregard your orders today, you might have not failed your mission. Fortunately for you, I enjoy your presence enough to not report you to the federation. However, you are still deserving of a punishment.” Jim closed the gap between them as he undid his belt. “Hands out. Palms up.”
Spock did not waver as he raised his palms, but he should have. They both knew how sensitive a Vulcan’s hands were, and Jim wasn’t going to hold back.
The first lash was to test the power required to make Spock flinch. The Vulcan barely moved, his breaths unwavering, but his jaw made a slight clench, so Jim made the second lash harder. Spock’s jaw clenched tighter, so Jim continued to make the next lash harder, and the next, and the next.
Spock finally flinched on the seventh lash. His eyes had a slight wetness to them, and his jaw had never looked so tight. Lips raised in a small, tight smirk, Jim cracked the air with the belt, and slapped it across both palms. When their eyes met, Jim could almost make out an ounce of betrayal in Spock’s as a silent tear rolled down his cheek. Jim shook away the thought. Vulcans were computers built out of flesh. They were practically a race of sentient AIs. They couldn’t feel emotions like humans could.
It took the twelfth lash for Spock’s hands to swell. His palms bruised a dark green, which only grew more blackish with each following slap. By the time Jim had counted twenty lashes, his skin had split in rough, jagged lines.
“Does it burn?” Jim asked, calmly; his fingers toying with his belt.
Spock gulped, but did not audibly reply.
“I said,” Jim lashed his palms, “Does it burn?”, and lashed them again, “You have permission to speak.”, and again, “Use your words, Commander.”, and again.
“Yes, Captain.” Spock’s voice cracked with the twenty-fourth slap. A wetness layered his cheeks, and dribbled down his neck. Jim had rarely seen his 1st Officer cry. When he had, it wasn’t like this. Jim… did not know what to think of it.
He hummed. “Good.” He dropped his belt to his side, and watched a sudden, temporary relief spark in Spock’s eyes. “Knuckles.”
Spock shuddered. Jim relished in the way his breaths hitched.
“Knuckles.” Jim repeated. “Don’t make me ask you again.”
His hands shook as he flipped them. Jaw clenched, Spock’s face twisted with pain as he forced his hands into fists. He lowered his head.
“Look at me.” Jim ordered, waiting for Spock’s head to rise, before inflicting the first strike. Spock’s hands withered beneath his belt. “That’s ‘one’. Start counting.”
Spock trembled. “Two.” He forced out, almost without his voice shaking, and inhaled sharply. Jim flicked his wrist. Slap. Spock tensed with the impact.
“Three.” He croaked. Jim lashed his knuckles harder.
“Four.” Jim hit a spot that made Spock whimper.
“Five.” Spock almost sobbed from the impact.
“Six.” Spock actually sobbed from the impact.
“Seven.” Jim had to grab Spock’s wrists to prevent his hands flinching away as he whipped them.
“Eight.” Spock’s knuckles bled.
“N-n-n-n-ni-ni-nine.” He fell apart.
Jim allowed him mercy, and counted “Ten.” himself as he inflicted the final blow. “Now, what do you say?”
Spock shuddered; his chest rose and fell sharply, his shoulders collapsed into themselves, and his hands shook violently in front of him.
“What do you say?” Jim repeated, raising his voice, and cracking the air with his belt. “Apologise.”
Spock clenched his jaw.
“Apologise now.” Jim growled.
Still, Spock refused to answer. Damn Vulcans. They were too arrogant. Too prideful. If it wasn’t ’logical’, Spock wasn’t going to give in, even if doing so came with consequences.
Jim chuckled, darkly. “Perhaps you enjoy being belted by your Captain, Commander.” He mused, whipping the air. “Arms above your head. Now.”
At least Spock obeyed physical instructions. Jim reached out, roughly pulled Spock’s shirt above his head, and tossed it toward his bed.
“Turn around.”
Spock flinched, recoiling into himself, and turned around. “Captain,” He gulped; voice still trembling from before. “Is it… really necessary… to continue…?”
Jim’s belt cracked the air. “I don’t know.” He sneered. “You tell me. Is it really necessary to refuse my orders? To refuse to apologise? If you tell me you’re sorry, I’ll stop… No? Very well, I did give you a chance, but if you want to do this the hard way…” Jim inflicted his first strike against Spock’s back.
“Captain—“ He choked out.
Jim cut him off with another sharp strike. “You brought this on yourself.”
Spock squirmed; howling in pain.
It was everything Jim wanted. To watch Spock break. For him to fall apart in front of him. Jim smirked. Each sob, each whine and howl, only made Jim belt him harder and faster.
Spock collapsed onto his knees, convulsing with every hit, and screaming in gut-wrenching, soul-destroying pain.
Jim just laughed and kept going. Brutal. Vicious. Cruel. Ruthless.
“I’m sorry!” Spock wailed. Finally. “I’m sorry! Please! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
Jim didn’t stop. “What are you sorry for?”
“I-I-I’m sorry f-f-f-for disregarding y-your orders!” Spock forced out, arching back and jerking with the next strike. “I’m sorry! Please! I’m sorry I disobeyed your orders! I-I’m sorry I disobeyed you! Please! Captain, please! Please! I’m sorry! Sanu! Sanu! Sanu! Pehkau! Pehkau! Sanu! Sanu! Pehkau! Kroykah! Kroykah!”
Fuck. He’d beaten the Standard out of him. Did he even know where he was or what was going on anymore?
Jim dropped his arms to his sides.
The room fell quiet; the only sounds being Spock’s broken sniffles, whimpers, and whines. He was broken. His 1st Officer, usually so stoic and composed, couldn’t even breathe without mewling with pain.
“Apology accepted.” Jim slipped his belt back around his waist, and pulled a sweaty hand through his hair. “Just— just leave. Get out. Go.”
He watched Spock crawl and stumble, barely conscious and functioning enough to escape Jim’s quarters, and exhaled sharply.
Had he taken the punishment too far? Spock was actually acting human.