Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“So, I’ll just talk you through it.” The Colonel concludes, as if he was not just promising the world was made of chocolate and it rained cookies. Absurd, that man, as always, but his confidence and the cocky smirk harked back to the day he told her he ‘liked women’ and Sam wonders if maybe she should consider his offer. 

“Sir,” she begins, then pauses, because really they didn’t cover this sort of thing at the Academy. She crosses her arms over her chest, the thin silver dress she has been forced to wear stretching with the movement. 

“Carter, I know it is a violation, of course, and I’m sorry, and you are welcome to obviously report me, but I can’t really let you die over it.”

“I know how to fake an orgasm, Sir!” She snaps, frustration palpable in her tone, and then, mortified, looks at her feet. The concrete floor of the holding cell speaks of some sort of industrial revolution, and neo industrial, too, as they described it, because the floor pulses and glows with Sam’s emotions. 

She knows he can’t help but grin, because the smile is evident in his voice. “I’m sure you do, Captain.” And then the tone changes, and he is serious, and her CO “but their machines seem exact. I don’t know how they know that you haven’t ...”

“Haven’t been able to achieve Completion” Sam quoted the Head Chieftain, turning away from the Colonel to fiddle with the items left on the long metal desk. 

“Carter. It happens. To a lot of women. A lot of people, actually.”

“Does it now?” She knows she sounds bitter, but this has been such an awful point of contention with Jonas. 

“Sure youbetcha. Our study showed that about 15% of women never achieve orgasm.” That startled Sam. “Our study, Sir?”

“I got up to mischief as an undergraduate, Carter. Biology, psychology, the looser sciences.” He smiles, and it forces Sam to grin back. 

“Look, if I say I know what I’m doing, are you going to chalk it up to male bravado or scientific fact?” The bastard. 

“Scientific fact?” Her voice is shrill now. “I’ve read every book on the topic, I’ve tried everything, it just doesn’t work. That’s ok, I got over it.”

“Carter, it would be unlikely that there is some biological issue. You just overthink it.”

Sam thinks maybe she is going to hit him, and he must realise that’s the case, because his whole attitude shifts. 

“Carter, Sam, Samantha” his voice is low, cajoling, and the lights in the room flicker as he walks towards her, crowding her between the wall and the table. 

“Sir.”

“See, I went to a lot of of the testing events. Carried a clip board and everything. What leads to orgasm is prolonged and intense arousal. What we need to do..” his voice drops as he leans in closer, reaching for the edges of the table, pinning her against the ledge. 

“Yes?” Sam exhales.

“We need to find what it is that arouses you.” His nose brushes against her hair, a whisper of movement, and Sam’s feels herself shiver. “How do you like it? Do you want to be loved slowly?”

His eyes, whisky warm, seem to drown her. Sam catches herself glancing away from them, captivated by his mouth. 

“No? You don’t want to be worshiped, a man at your feet, fingers and mouth working busily, stroking, touching?” He is so close, she can smell him; mountains and frost and something male and powerful. 

“That’s never worked before.” Sam acknowledges, the truth feels as if it has been ripped from her. His voice is low in her ear. Surrounding her. 

“Ah! Too intense? Too much, right? Maybe something situational. What about being taken up against a desk, just like this? Is that something you have fantasises about, when you touch yourself?” The words bring a flood of images into her mind, of him pushing her up against the table, her holding onto his strong forearms, lost in him, as he urges her to touch herself. “Samantha?”

“I’ve tried, in the shower.” Sam confesses, her voice a mesmerised whisper. 

“And with Hanson?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me what happened?” He orders, stepping forward so their hips are flush. Sam wants to squirm, to see if he would be hard against her thigh, like he had been in Antartica, and wasn’t that the absolute power rush. “I would finger myself till my hands cramped with no success. He took it personally after a while, disappearing for days at a time.” Something flashed in the Colonel’s eyes that she couldn’t identify. He hid them from her, burying his face into the crook of her neck, his breath making her shiver.

“What kind of sex feels good?” The words danced against her skin. She couldn’t tell him that! Choosing instead to misunderstand - “With Jonas? Sometimes, when he came back from a mission, and he was, well, quiet, specific, easy to please.”

“Specific? Samantha." A pause. "Do you need to be told what to do?” Her breath catches and like a shark sensing blood, she can feel his interest spike. 

“Yes. No. I mean. I know what to do, it’s just...” she knows she sounds panicked.

“Ah, fantasises of control, then. That makes sense, no fear of failure if you’re not the one in charge.” His mouth is at the shell of her ear. “Who have you fantasised about? One of your professors, perhaps” his grip at her hips tightens. “No? Really? Doctors?” Sam stands frozen. “Police officers? Someone in authority, I would think. A General? Surely not your CO?”

“Sir.” Her exclamation is admission enough, breathy, shaky, eyes downcast. She would be mortified if she wasn’t so turned on. 

“Fuck.” The Colonel seems surprised, hands falling slack at his side. 

“Sir, Please.” She begs, following his movement, missing that brief contact, the press of his knuckles against her hips. 

“Look at me, Samantha.” He orders, guiding her to face him with steady fingers. His eyes are darker than she has ever seen them, contrasting the flickering grey walls of the room. When he speaks, his voice is husky and low, and his words coil pleasure through her core. 

“I will talk you through this.” 

“Yes, Sir.”

He seems to be focusing on the thin straps at her shoulders. His hand trails across her face to tangle in her hair, fingers gently pulling till he exposes the side of her neck.

His mouth is warm against her skin. A gentle flicker of his tongue and he is tasting her, the sensation making Sam mewl and clutch at the table. 

“Your pleasure belongs to me.” Each sentence is punctuated with a gentle bite across her neck. All she knows is his body against her, his teeth and the warmth of his breath and oh, oh, she feels dizzy. “Your body belongs to me. You can’t orgasm because I have not given you permission.” In that moment, she believes him. “Your body knows me. Obeys me." 

He steps back, and her heart is beating so loudly and her blood is rushing, but he forces her to look at him. "Tell me, Samantha.” She so desperately needs to look away, but his gaze holds her captive. 

“Yes, Sir.”

“Yes, Sir, what?”

“I belong to you.”

“Good. Let’s being.”

“Begin, Sir?”

“Aroused, Carter, you need to be so turned on that you can’t breathe.”

“Oh God, I am, Sir.”

“Hardly. You may be wet, but your legs are still shut. You’re not grinding yourself on me. Yet. You haven’t begged.”

“Sir, please.”

“That’s a good start, Major.” the Colonel’s hand is gentle and warm at the back of her neck, as he guides her to face the other way, her back to him. “Hands on the table. Flat. Grip the other ledge, Samantha.” The position is incredibly revealing, forcing her to bend forward, thighs pressed against the metal, her body held in position by his. Sam wonders for a brief second if he is going to push inside her roughly, making away with the clothing and barriers between them, and fuck her. She wouldn’t say no, not to him, but she knows it wouldn’t make her come. 

“How do your breasts feel? Are your nipples tight?” He whispers, body leaning over hers. 

“I, uh, Sir?”

“Touch them over the silk, slowly, Carter. Slow down, gently, run your fingers across the underside. Spend time stroking them. Feel the fullness as you cup each one. Now, slowly, gently, feather light, run your fingers over the nipple. Let go. Again.”

His voice continues to tantalise her, instructing her again and again as she touches her breasts. “Pinch.” He orders, and when she moans, she can hear an almost displeased tone when he adds “Harder, Major.” “Sir?”

“Now the other one.” Sam’s breathing, she notices, is laboured. Each pinch and stroke of her hands against her nipples feels like an electric current running from her breasts to between her legs. 

“Push the neckline down so you can properly touch each one.” At his order, she rushes to comply, nearly ripping the silver silk. 

“Eager, are we?” He teases. 

“I need” she begins, but she isn’t even sure how to finish the sentence. 

“You need to be owned and taken against this alien table until you can’t walk tomorrow, yes?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Carter, spread your legs.” He orders. This is it, she thinks. He is going to fuck me. She wants him to, but she's so scared to disappoint him. "Legs, Carter!" he orders. The moment she does, she can smell how wet she is, and she knows by the way his hands grip at her thighs that he too is now aware. When she reaches to pull up the dress, he pushes her hands away.

“Not yet.” 

“Sir?”

“Press your hands back against the table.” 

Again, Sam has her body against the cool metal. Her breasts feel heavy and full, her breathing steaming up the metal. 

His feet press against her bare ones. Boots against skin, and the vulnerability of her position is again reinforced. He doesn’t kick them apart, but he orders her - “Wider.”

Sam shuffles, her stance now unnaturally wide. The cool air of the room coils about her dripping panties. He steps closer to her, hands gliding across her back. The movement forcing Sam to push back towards him.

“Carter. Are you ready for me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You need to be always ready for me. To take me into your body. To please me. No more underwear, Carter, when we are off duty.” 

“Yes, Yes, Sir.”

“Take then off.”

He doesn’t move, and she’s forced to push up her dress and pull down her knickers, her face still against the table. She’s so wet, but his hands on her hip keep her steady, and she’s unable to take the opportunity to grind herself against him or clench her legs together to ease the ache.

“On the table.” He orders, and she places the sodden underwear next to her head. 

“Legs spread, no underwear, when you’re off duty. Soon we will get you used to being wet and aroused on command.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The Colonel pulls up her dress, inch by inch, letting the silk fall against her exposed backside and slip between her legs. It feels like there is an endless moment of cool cloth and then she is exposed to him. 

He takes a step back, and then another, and Sam knows he is watching her. Legs spread, face and upper body against a table, sex exposed. 

“Touch yourself.” He orders. 

Chapter Text

"Sir. I.." She knows how she looks, she's wet, she's sure she's dripping down her thighs. Her ass is in the air. She wants to obey him, but Sam just isn't sure what this will achieve, other than leaving them both so disappointed. At least if he just fucked her, she would be able to bring him pleasure. She wouldn't be a complete failure at sex. 

"Are you questioning me, Samantha?" He doesn't sound impressed and she immediately moves to obey. 

She moves her hand between her body and the table, snaking it down, until she is cupping herself. The position is so uncomfortable for her shoulder and arm, and it makes her wonder why he chose such an odd angle. 

The slap against her naked ass startles her. She cries out in surprise and shock. How dare he?

"Carter! Eyes front. Legs spread. Touch yourself. I will not have you questioning."

"Sir."

It's unbelievable, but he sits down. His face is inches from her sex and she can feel his warm breath against the exposed skin. "Getting old here, Carter."

She moves her fingers, pushes two inside of herself. For some reason, she thinks she's going to cry, but she doesn't want to stop. 

"Stop, Samantha." No!

"Slow down. Gentle, feather touches. The aim is to tease and arouse." His words make her growl low in her breath. He doesn't know what she needs right now. She obeys, slowing down her ministrations. When he doesn't say anything, she begins to worry. 

"Sir, please." He groans at that and she begins to wonder if maybe this is affecting him, too. 

"Oh Carter. Maybe this is too advanced. Here." His voice sounds nonchalant, but his hands betray him, reaching for her spread thighs and running upward, to cup her bottom. Everything she had thought about her dislike for oral sex flies out of the window. If he buried his face against her, she would howl in pleasure, she is sure.  

Instead, he pushes one hand against the small of her back, trapping her hand with her body, freezing her movements. With the other, he runs his fingers over her spread buttocks, almost but not quite brushing against her tight pink pucker, and then lower, lower, to tease against her entrance. 

"Yes, please. Please." She urges, but he isn't bothered by her demands. Meandering, his fingers dip into her, never more than a knuckle, tracing the wetness up towards her clitoris. Again and again, until she's desperately trying to push against the invading digit, her movements restricted by his hold on her. Finally, finally, he pushes the finger fully inside of her. It feels like heaven, and like it's not enough. A part of her wonders if it will ever be enough, but the thought is banished when he removes the finger to slowly, slowly, go back to drawing circles against her skin. 

The torture continues and the room is full of her heavy loud breathing and the wet sound his finger makes when it pushes deeply inside of her. A litany of pleas escape her mouth, and through the haze of pleasure she realises that she is actually begging. Not for an orgasm, but for him to just touch her *more*. 

A second finger joins the first, stretching her briefly, and then exiting, spreading her lips, tracing towards her clit, never touching it. A circle, a stroke, and then back to dip inside her again. She wants to spend forever like this. She doesn't want to orgasm, because it would make this sweet torture end. It would mean he would have to stop touching her. 

"Can I trust you to stay still, Carter?" He asks. She is too lost to the pleasure to answer, but she feels the hand pinning her to the table move, and then there are two sets of fingers touching her. One of his busy industrious hands now fully engaged with filling her with his fingers, and the other, knuckles rubbing rough circles around the front of her mound. He is patient, she realises. He isn't going to touch her clit anytime soon. 

"Just like that Samantha. Such a good girl. You're so wet on my fingers. Would you like another one?" "Sir!" she mewls - she actually mewls. And then a third finger, and she feels almost full, almost complete, as if having his undivided attention and his fingers inside of her may be just what she needs. Forever. The fingers working at her clit get closer and closer. 

"Sam, your hand is just there. If you touch yourself, I won't stop touching you." He suggests, almost gently. 

"Do I have your permission, Sir?" Sam asks, breathless. 

"Yes. You have my permission."

Her orgasm takes her by surprise. It's his chuckle that gets her going and then it's an avalanche that she can't stop. It rolls through her, potent, like magic or syrup or love. Sam realises that perhaps her brain isn't working because she's got tears in her eyes and she's screaming her pleasure into the table. 

"Very good. Just like that." He whispers, his face against her thigh, his fingers still working as she clenches around them. 

The cleanup is neither awkward nor strange. As if they had always been so intimate, she finds herself sinking into his lap, the dress pooling around her, his hands on her arms, his head into the crook of her shoulder. She feels sticky and satiated. Satisfied. She laughs at her own wonderment, and when she sees him lick the fingers that had been inside of her, the wonderment changes to arousal. The coil of it low in her belly. 

"You touch yourself like that tomorrow, and I will talk you through the rest." He orders. 

"Sir." Sam breathes, head on his shoulder, curled into his embrace. 

----

Six weeks after they return to Earth, after a terrible incident with an alien race that had kept them hostage in wine barrels, Jack gets a call at the wee hours of the morning. His sleepy "Carter?" is met with a breathy silence, and then, "Do I have your permission, Sir?".