#tblwic round robin

[startrekexistence-blog]

This is my first published fanfic,  I'm continuing @cyrelia-j 's round robin challenge.

Rules: You can tag anyone you might like to see pick the story up but anyone can continue. So copy the story so far, be sure to credit past contributors [unless they request otherwise] and add your continuation. Also use the tag “TBLWIC round robin” so it’s easier for everyone to see the different threads they want to work off of. If it gets long, be sure to use a cut and have fun!

The Best Little Whorehouse in Cardassia

The war with the Dominion wasn’t so much a war as it was a business acquisition. The capitulation of the Cardassian Union was surprising but when one considered the terms, it wasn’t really. The planet was terraformed to once more be a world of lush greenery and gardens, infrastructure enhanced, citizens fed and the existing colonized worlds bolstered with additional security forces. Given the choice between destruction and prosperity for a “small cost”, the Council after a 70/30  percentage split vote surrendered. There was a fear that more worlds were to follow but that never came to pass, the Federation/Klingon/Romulan Alliance signing a treaty soon after.

After all, the Dominion wasn’t the Borg. They needed to maintain a careful balance of “acquisitions” and allies. The Ferengi were especially eager to form an alliance as business partners and as it went, the efficacy of their operations increased steadily. Patronage to the newly christened “Pleasure Capital” of the Alpha Quadrant that was Cardassia Prime was immediately robust in spite of the Federation’s initial protests. Federation citizens were at first forbidden from visiting the repurposed world; the Federation didn’t condone or endorse sexual slavery. But little by little curiosity seekers, visitors with lesser scruples and ethical concerns found their way there.

“Cum visit The Esteemed Founder’s Newest Acquisition Cardassia Prime! A rare gem in the Alpha Quadrant! Lovely Lizards are waiting for you!”

was how the planet was advertised and in a few years time it was a thriving [if profligate] world of cabarets, massage parlors, brothels and other types of pleasure houses.

And at the center of our sordid tale is one such establishment in Cardassia City known only to outsiders as “Weyoun’s”, a bright and profitable establishment featuring some of Cardassia’s most expensive talents: Elim “Black Cat” Garak, Kelas “Bad Nurse” Parmak, and Corat “Big Daddy” Damar…

A Nurse’s Itch

The Klingon’s hands were large on Kelas’ round ass, barely covered by the Cardassian’s short costume skirts.

“It’s true, right?” the Klingon asks. “You used to be a doctor?”

Kelas nods. “It’s true.”

“I think I like you better like this.”

“You flatter me,” Kelas teases, grinding their hips against the Klingon’s thigh, the Cardassian’s tail swaying just slightly with anticipation.

“You’ve got the prettiest ridges,” the Klingon says, “even if you are a Cardassian whore.”

Kelas raises a brow ridge. “Now you’re being mean.”

The Klingon chuckles. “Are you going to bite me?”

Kelas tilts their head, considering it. “Maybe. But you’re better off with the Cat if you like being bit.”

The Klingon’s hand slides up, under Kelas’ short skirt unceremoniously, rubbing at the Cardassian’s slit. They’re wet, slit swollen with the need to evert. The Klingon forces two thick fingers into the Cardassian, forcing Kelas’ eversion, the Cardassian digging their nails into the fabric of the Klingon’s shirt.

Kelas unfastened the Klingon’s trousers, pulling out both cocks. For a long moment, Kelas ground against the Klingon, smearing slick over both cocks.

“Such a little tease,” the Klingon grumbles.

“I can’t have you breaking me,” Kelas says, keeping their voice sweet. “I’m delicate.”

“True,” the Klingon says, biting at Kelas’ neck ridges. “You’re such a dainty little thing, nurse.”

Kelas lowers themself onto both cocks, one in their genital slit and one in their ass. That’s the one advantage to Klingons: They can scratch every itch at once.

The Klingon’s hands grip Kelas’ wide hips, fingers digging into the scaled flesh there. Growling, they pull Kelas down, stretching the Cardassian wide. Kelas’ eyes water, jaw dropping in a silent scream of pleasure.

“You like that, lizard slut?” the Klingon growls.

Kelas nods furiously, as though their neck is broken.

“I bet you’d like more cocks, hmm?”

Kelas nods, tail swaying harder just imagining being forced to suck on both of this Klingon’s cocks at once. It sends a shiver up their spine and more fluid dripping from their slit.

“Horny little slut,” the Klingon teases. “I’m going to fill you up really good.”

Kelas groans, riding the Klingon as though their life depends on it. The Klingon cums hard into Kelas, the Cardassian overflowing. It takes a moment before the Klingon comes down from his high.

He pats Kelas’ thigh. “Go clean yourself off, nurse.”

Kelas blinks. “Shower with me?”

Kelas smiles, handing over the latinum to Weyoun. The Vorta raises a sharp brow, scratching at the nap of Kelas’ neck.

“You’ve been exceptional in bringing in profits,” Weyoun notes.

“Not all of us appreciate shock collars and painsticks,” Kelas hisses.

The Vorta blinks, unfazed with Kelas’ tone. “I wish we could do something about your mouth, Parmak. It is unfortunate the Founders frown upon mutilation.”

“Well, you can put in a request to have them modify me,” Kelas says.

Weyoun’s eyes are hard to read, but cold, Kelas suppressing a shudder. “Perhaps, Parmak, I will."

Garak's Nausiccan

Garak grimaced as yet another Nausiccan walked into Weyoun's . "I'm Black Cat", he said, trying to keep his voice chipper. The Nausiccan put a bar of latinum on the table, his gaze level. "Ah, the silent type, I see." Garak nodded , chin arched upward.

The Nausiccan ripped off Garak's flimsy shift. Despite the poor material, Garak winced. *That's a tailor's instinct, Elim* Garak chided himself. 

The Nausiccan removed his clothes, then began to stroke Garak's genital slit. Garak guided his own hand to the ridged, pointy thing that was the Nausiccan's cock.

As he stroked, Garak everted. The Nausiccan stopped touching him, instead spinning him around so his cock was resting on Garak's ass.

Knowing that Nausiccan were self-lubricating, Garak pushed himself backward on to his cock.

Garak bobbed up and down, feeling the spines ripple through his anus. God, he hated the Naussicans. The Nausiccan bit Garak, sharp teeth gliding into Garak's shoulder, and he wondered if in another reality, it was Bashir biting him.

But there was no room for idle thoughts here. 

Clawed fingers holding Garak's arms felt much like those teeth, and Garak bobbed faster, hoping this encounter would end soon. Indeed, the Nausiccan grunted, then thrusted one final time.Garak felt cold milky liquid flow into his ass, the cold being another reason Garak hated fucking Naussiccans. Odd, the man hadn't spoken throughout the exchange.

The Nausiccan recollected his clothes, then swept out of the room, placing another bar of latinum on the table. Garak shivered slightly, pulling out a dermal regenerator, and the glistening cresents on his neck and arms faded.

Time for another customer. 

Garak walked towards Weyoun's door, noting Kelas' aloof departure. He has made around above average today, a Nausiccan holiday causing an influx of less vanilla customers, but sadly, more Naussicans.

As Garak turned in his money, he again noted that Weyoun was stony-faced. So they'd had a disagreement. Garak worried for his friend, Weyoun could be a cruel man when prompted. He could remember being punished for not making the necessary amount once. Suffice to say, he had been careful since, and Kelas was more sensitive than he. 

"Garak, did you have a Nausiccan customer who didn't speak today? " Weyoun asked. Garak nodded briefly, "Yes, I must admit he was very peculi -" Weyoun cut him off, " He's wanted by The Dominion. He doesn't speak because The Dominion made an exception and chopped out his tongue. "

Weyoun's eyes glinted as he said, "I mentioned to Parmak that I might be able to make a similar exception for him. If he comes back, talk to me."

Tagging: @borg-apologist because you got me into this, and anyone who wants in on this

[cyrelia-j]

So I didn't include all the previous parts but they can be searched with the tag TBLWIC Round Robin

Previous part from @boldlygowherenodoghasgonebefore

Damar stood over Keevan, considering his next move. When he had failed to show, Garak went to Keevan’s quarters to “retrieve him”. Damar hadn’t asked for details, but Keevan was suddenly extremely compliant. Garak stood in the corner of the room, expressionless, dressed all in black, a knife resting casually in his hands. Garak seemed barely aware of holding it, but Keevan couldn’t take his eyes off it. Damar had ordered him to strip and lie on his side, and he complied meekly. There was fear on his face for the first time since they’d met. “We thought this would be a good opportunity to get to know each other better,” began Damar in a soft voice, “since we’ll be sharing so many experiences together soon.”

Garak finally stirred, moving around the bed and looking Keevan up and down. Keevan’s gaze followed him closely as he circled, his expression resembling that of a cornered animal. “Get the toys.” Damar obliged, finding their bag of carefully chosen implements, and settled on the chastity belt. It was so seldom used, but extremely effective when their masters decided to use them during their off times. They knew the slaves often worked off their frustrations by engaging with their fellow inmates, and it was an effective punishment to use the belts on them for a few days.

Keevan’s eyes widened and he shivered. It was cold in their quarters. The vorta claimed it was to keep the guests comfortable; most people weren’t used to the heat of Cardassia. When they asked about turning up the heat while they slept, however, the vorta admitted it simply wasn’t cost effective. He turned the chastity belt over in his hands then placed it carefully on the nightstand. Damar rifled through the bag and felt for the twisted plug. “Garak. Secure the prisoner.”

Garak approached Keevan impassively, securing his hands over his head and tied them to the bedpost. He placed a blindfold and nodded in satisfaction. They heard a whimper from Keevan. This was perfect. Damar palmed the twisted plug and ran it gently over Keevan’s back. It had small spikes, and the rough edges pricked his skin. He shifted, confused but wary. Then Keevan felt the plug gently pushing into the opening of his ass. He started thrashing about, but couldn’t go far with his bonds. Garak said quietly, “hold still, or I’ll use the knife instead.” Keevan did, shaking all over. “Please,” he begged, “don’t do this. Please.” “We’ll see,” said Damar, “it depends on how cooperative you plan to be.” He continued to run the spikes lightly all over Keevan’s body, occasionally teasing his entrance. He was a sobbing mess by the time the questioning began. They’d barely touched him.

My part:

It was hard to bring his breathing under control once the tears began. It was hard to speak once he allowed that emotion to overtake him. But Keevan knew that he had to do it or else they might actually start using those implements that they were threatening him with. He had no illusions that the Cardassian, Garak he remembered his name was, wouldn’t delight in venting whatever grievances that he had with the Dominion on Keevan. He imagined the same held true for all of them. He also didn’t have any illusions of playing to their kinder natures. He’d been in command of enough Jem’Hadar, enough attacks and razing of worlds, to know that those standing in the way of the Dominion virus would always grow desperate and bitter enough to show their would be oppressors no quarter.

No, the emotional display wasn’t for mercy, but rather to try and ease that lust for blood. They wanted fear? They wanted his tears? They could have them. It was nothing compared to what the Founders had already taken from him. It might have been overdone, but better they think him a weakling, a coward who would bend to their will easily. Keevan drew in a shaky breath, looking away, not seeing the shrewd way that Garak was regarding him. “I… I can be very cooperative I think you find just… I’m sorry. I can’t abide the feel of that.” “That”, being the spiked toy which ceased its motions from Damar at his complaint. It was only for a moment as Damar said quietly, “then you’d better talk fast.”

Keevan swallowed at that. “Of course,” he whispered, drawing another shaky breath. He thought a moment about asking for assurances, but that could wait. He had other moves to play, that he would be careful to hold back. “What if I told you that I could help you escape?” he asked after a brief pause. Let that sink in, he thought, feeling a measure of relief that the toy had stopped moving. Keevan instinctively squirmed away from it, still careful to show nothing of his irritation, only apprehension. It wasn’t a difficult emotion to feign, he still didn’t know what they would do to him. He deliberately didn’t look at Garak even knowing that his fate likely lied with that one. He just continued to breathe, ear twitching slightly as the two Cardassians seemed to converse between themselves in hushed tones at the corner of the room.

back to @boldlygowherenodoghasgonebefore

[boldlygowherenodoghasgonebefore]

@Boldlygowherenodoghasgonebefore continued

Damar stood over Keevan, considering his next move. When he had failed to show, Garak went to Keevan’s quarters to “retrive him”. Damar hadn’t asked for details, but Keevan was suddenly extremely compliant.

Garak stood in the corner of the room, expressionless, dressed all in black, a knife resting casually in his hands. Garak seemed barely aware of holding it, but Keevan couldn’t take his eyes off it.

Damar had ordered him to strip and lie on his side, and he complied meekly. There was fear on his face for the first time since they’d met.

“We thought this would be a good opportunity to get to know each other better,” began Damar in a soft voice, “since we’ll be sharing so many experiences together soon.”

Garak finally stirred, moving around the bed and looking Keevan up and down. Kaevan’s gaze following him closely as he circled, his expression resembling that of a cornered animal.

“Get the toys.”

Damar obliged, finding their bag of carefully chosen implements, and settled on the chastity belt. It was so seldom used, but extremely effective when their masters decided to use them during their off times. They knew the slaves often worked off their frustrations by engaging with their fellow inmates, and it was an effective punishment to use the belts on them for a few days.

Keevan’s eyes widened and he shivered. It was cold in their quarters. The vorta claimed it was to keep the guests comfortable; most people weren’t used to the heat of Cardassia. When they asked about turning up the heat while they slept, however, the vorta admitted it simply wasn’t cost effective.

He turned the chastity belt over in his hands, then placed it carefully on the nightstand. Damar riled through the bag and felt for the twisted plug.

“Garak. Secure the prisoner.”

Garak approached Keevan impassively, securing his hands over his head and tied them to the bedpost. He placed a blindfold and nodded in satisfaction. They heard a whimper from Keevan. This was perfect.

Damar palmed the twisted plug and ran it gently over Keevan’s back. It had small spikes, and the rough edges pricked his skin. He shifted, confused but wary. Then Keevan felt the plug gently pushing into the opening of his ass. He started thrashing about, but couldn’t go far with his bonds.

Garak said quietly, “hold still, or I’ll use the knife instead.” Keevan did, shaking all over.

“Please,” he begged, “don’t do this. Please.”

“We’ll see,” said Damar, “it depends on how cooperative you plan to be.”

He continued to run the spikes lightly all over Keevan’s body, occasionally teasing his entrance. He was a sobbing mess by the time the questioning began.

They’d barely touched him.

[cyrelia-j]

Cardassian Brothel Round Robin Continuation

Although it’s more like Pong at this point haha…  My addition is at the bottom so you can click an scroll to read the most recent bit. This is getting long so I threw it behind a cut after the first paragraph.

The Best Little Whorehouse in Cardassia

The war with the Dominion wasn’t so much a war as it was a business acquisition. The capitulation of the Cardassian Union was surprising but when one considered the terms, it wasn’t really. The planet was terraformed to once more be a world of lush greenery and gardens, infrastructure enhanced, citizens fed and the existing colonized worlds bolstered with additional security forces. Given the choice between destruction and prosperity for a “small cost”, the Council after a 70/30  percentage split vote surrendered. There was a fear that more worlds were to follow but that never came to pass, the Federation/Klingon/Romulan Alliance signing a treaty soon after.

After all, the Dominion wasn’t the Borg. They needed to maintain a careful balance of “acquisitions” and allies. The Ferengi were especially eager to form an alliance as business partners and as it went, the efficacy of their operations increased steadily. Patronage to the newly christened “Pleasure Capital” of the Alpha Quadrant that was Cardassia Prime was immediately robust in spite of the Federation’s initial protests. Federation citizens were at first forbidden from visiting the repurposed world; the Federation didn’t condone or endorse sexual slavery. But little by little curiosity seekers, visitors with lesser scruples and ethical concerns found their way there.

“Cum visit The Esteemed Founder’s Newest Acquisition Cardassia Prime! A rare gem in the Alpha Quadrant! Lovely Lizards are waiting for you!”

was how the planet was advertised and in a few years time it was a thriving [if profligate] world of cabarets, massage parlors, brothels and other types of pleasure houses.

And at the center of our sordid tale is one such establishment in Cardassia City known only to outsiders as “Weyoun’s”, a bright and profitable establishment featuring some of Cardassia’s most expensive talents: Elim “Black Cat” Garak, Kelas “Bad Nurse” Parmak, and Corat “Big Daddy” Damar…

@boldlygowherenodoghasgonebefore added:

Damar paced his living space, fuming. Of all the things about living in this infernal brothel, the thing that really set his teeth on edge was watching Dukat preen.

He could hardly have said so. Even in captivity, Dukat had managed to retain some authority. Weyoun recognized the usefulness of a supervisor among the slaves. It was an old tactic, and for good reason; any talk of resistance would be difficult with Dukat living amongst them.

Of course, they could try to sway Dukat into using that authority as a means of resistance. Their captivity worked for Dukat, however. Arrogant as he was, all it took was some attention, a little flattery, and the recognition that was still “in charge”.

Damar managed to stifle his anger for the most part, but he shut down completely when Dukat went off on his savior complex. To hear him talk about it, their surrender had not only saved the Cardassian people from ruin, but had transformed their city into a.. what had he called it?

A shining beacon of civilization with attractions that draw people from all over the quadrant.

Demar spent his days plotting an imaginary resistance. In another life, he might have had the chance to win the hearts and minds of the Cardassian people. In reality, he was simply a slab of meat, sold to the highest bidder.

Garak endured their surroundings with a predictable mixture of scorn and indifference. He was used to exile of one form or another.

Garak played the long game better than anyone he’d ever encountered; he had surely examined all the angles and would leap at any advantage that came his way. Any such plans, however, would certainly not include Damar.

Parmak was a relatively new player in Cardassian politics. Despite his nickname, he insisted on ministering to everyone in the brothel. He ensured that abusive customers were blacklisted, demanded STD testing for the “hosts”, and provided aftercare and comfort to young cardassians who were particularly vulnerable after a rough session with a client.

Kelas would certainly have welcomed the idea of resistance, but he would never follow Damar’s lead. He was a man of honor. It was almost amusing to Damar that such men even existed.

The look on Garak’s face when Parmak insisted on taking care of their captors, claiming that the Hippocratic oath compelled him to do no harm… it had almost been worth the concession for the satisfaction of witnessing Garak’s utter exasperation.

It was an open secret that Garak and Parmak fucked every change they got. It was probably relaxing after a long day of satisfying less savory creatures. It was impossible to read Garak’s emotions, but Kelas was clearly smitten.

Poor bastard.

@cyrelia-j added:

Damar gave a start at the rap on his door. The locks provided an illusion of privacy but that’s all it was when both Weyoun and Dukat held the codes. He grunted, opening the door to see Dukat’s face peering brightly back at him. He was tempted to slam it shut again. But he had to remain respectful; it was one of the few mercies he would have hoped to have been granted once they were no longer in the military. Guls, given the myriad of places, of work that they could have been assigned to he would have been glad to never see Dukat again and be left to mourn the death of his wife and son in peace.

But then there was Weyoun.

“Weyoun’s” was the foremost attraction for visitors of means to Cardassia Prime namely because of the notoriety of their “stock”. Skrain Dukat, the former Gul who brokered the deal with The Dominion, former overseer of Terok Nor, Corat Damar his second, and puppet for the Dominion, Legate for a brief time before Dukat negotiated the surrender behind his back with the council, Elim Garak, nefarious Obsidian Order agent, former spy, assassin, one of the few who could in fact be excused to execute clients who displeased him; after all, that danger was part of the excitement of having “Black Cat”. One never knew when the claws would come out. Kelas Parmak was a curious case until Damar learned he was Enabran Tain’s former personal physician and important figure of the old resistance.

There were a few dozen others of similar station who lived in the massive multiplex which was more a sprawling compound than just one building. If Damar could be thankful for small mercies it was that his private quarters - private though they really weren’t - were separate from the rooms where they serviced those who would visit. Which was why Dukat’s visit off his shift was particularly unpleasant.

“We’ve received a request for “The King” tonight,” Dukat informed him with a lack of dignity - or rather a pride in his debasement that Damar found revolting. Still, he kept those thoughts to himself.

“I’ll be ready, sir,” he agreed brusquely. “What time should I meet you in the…” he stayed neutral as he continued, “King’s Court?”

“Twenty two hundred hours, Damar. And I would wear the black outfit,” he offered with a leer that made Damar swallow bile. “Our fans seem to especially enjoy that.”

“Of course,” Damar agreed again, making no move to step aside and grant him entrance. The space was monitored but by the State unless he was up to something they felt was untoward they allowed him that illusion of privacy. “Was there anything else, sir? I might begin… preparations early.”

“You always were so efficiently punctual, Damar. No, that will be all. I should do the same.” Another smiles, another leer, another tic of times Damar wished he could push him out of the fourth floor window to see if he could fly like the preening bird he was. Damar was sure his answering smile was nothing pleasant but it satisfied Dukat’s ego at least.

He let out a breath as he watched Dukat sauntered off down the long hall. Damar’s room faced the railing before the massive winding staircase down. One slip, one push and right over he’d have gone. It would almost be worth it… Damar swallowed down that thought. Skrain “King” Dukat had a somewhat unique position of all the workers. He serviced few clients himself but rather was the star of one of the performances held by request.

Those in power rather enjoyed seeing the mighty Dukat “brought” low by his common second and Damar found himself in - what some might call - the enviable position of the one who got to “debase” him over his own throne in a variety of positions. And he might have taken advantage as well were the “delicate” Dukat not the one with all the true power. No, Damar would play his part and Dukat would overact, be a horrible lay and it would at least spare him the night of some unpleasant mystery guest.

Damar sighed, about to shut his door when he caught sight of an interesting figure shuffling out of the room next to his. Now Damar was no Elim Garak when it came to the matter of observation but he liked to think of himself as having alertness befitting a former military man. However, it didn’t take any particular skill to know that Garak and Parmak were eager lovers when one shared a wall with Parmak.

That was who he saw now slowly shuffling wearing an impractically long robe standing far taller than normal, the… sandals? peering out being quite tall with three elongated teeth instead of proper soles or heels. The robe was long, brightly colored red with splashes of orange flowers, a thick belt with an ornate bow behind it, he arms in front covered with an equally garish drape of fabric. He was a towering figure as Damar looked up, seeing his paleface painted even more pale, lips red cheeks pink and the most obscene pink blush over his chufa. His usually long white hair had been pinned up in some ring atop his head decorated with gold rods, ribbons.

Damar noticed he wasn’t wearing his spectacles and was about to voice his fear of Parmak tripping and injuring himself when he noticed Garak following behind looking almost equally ridiculous, holding the end of the robe from dragging the ground. Damar opened his mouth to say… anything when Garak sighed loudly enough for him to hear.

“It would seem,” he said acerbically, “that cultural appropriation is the theme of this evening.”

“It’s the theme of every evening, Elim,” Parmak added with a few halting steps. “Though I should think they would have more consideration. There was a similar injury last week from this theme and I said the shoes should be permitted to be saved for the entrance to the parlor but ah… I’m no longer a doctor so what would I know about such things?” Of course. The Vorta and their digital “collection” of intergalactic courtesan themes were never on a more grand display than they were at “Weyoun’s”. Damar only hoped that Parmak didn’t break a leg on the way to the lift.

@boldlygowherenodoghasgonebefore added:

A figure appeared beside him as he watched them walk by.

“Fascinating. Those costumes seem to please so many clients. I wonder about the shoes. Do the clients enjoy seeing Parmak helpless, barely able to walk on his own? What a peculiar preference,” said Weyoun.

Damar’s urge to push Dukat off the railing was nothing in comparison to his plans for Weyoun. The little Vorta seemed to find their entire world nothing more than a sociological experiment.

“With any luck, the claws will come out tonight. I think Garak might just torture the client for his poor dress sense. That costume is revolting.”

He sighed.

“I suppose that’s half the point. The humiliation. Speaking of which, I’d best go prepare for the king.”

Damar retired to his quarters, meticulously making preparations. Despite his revulsion at the coming event, he could never shake his training as a soldier. Damar was efficient, reliable, prepared for any eventuality. A bit comical given how predictable such evenings were. He placed his costume carefully, ironing out the wrinkles, adding the finishing touches.

Regarding himself in the mirrors, he fingered the rainbow collar self-consciously. He could never understand the appeal of such adornments. Dukat seemed particularly fond of fondling this piece of his costume. He simply couldn’t fathom the significance.

Then again, he’d long since given up trying to puzzle out this world.

At 2200 hours, Damar made his way to the King’s Court.

Dukat was already in the ring, eager for the show to begin.

Preening, egomaniacal idiot.

Not for the first time, Damar contemplated using the knife in his hand for something other than removing Dukat’s clothes. The audience loved the mock violence of their show, the knife to Dukat’s throat, the slight drawing of blood as Demar gained the upper hand. It would be so easy to let his hand slip, move the knife all the way across Dukat’s throat.

If he thought he would be summarily executed for it, he might even consider it. But the dominion wasn’t bloodthirsty in the same manner as Cardassians. Weyoun would make an example of him.

He shuddered. Despite his long military career, Damar had a very low pain tolerance. He wouldn’t last long under torture, and he was sure the dominion would know just how to inflict pain without allowing the subject the release of unconsciousness or death. It would be hours of pain.

Or maybe they’d go a different route. After all, this was a pleasure planet. Perhaps Weyoun would simply cut off his balls to see whether he could continue to service their customers. A novel attraction. A replacement for Dukat in the King’s Court.

Weyoun wasn’t sadistic. He was curious. It was almost worse. Any punishment in the whorehouse was interesting and new. Vortas weren’t created with pleasure centers, so Weyoun treated the house as something of a learning experience.

Damar turned back to the matter at hand. Dukat was screaming unconvincingly, and the crowd was yelling and cheering.

Damar sighed. The show must go on…

@cyrelia-j added

           It rains; that’s what some of the humans call it. Damar detests the pungent smell of human arousal. It hangs heavy in the air thick, human, like a mouthful of vinegar and rotten vegetables. When he concludes his performance, Dukat a sodden and thoroughly used mess on the dais, Damar cleans himself off with one of Dukat’s more valuable scarfs. It’s one of the few petty revenges that he can steal for himself. And as Dukat likes there with a sanguine expression the humans seated around them on the floor and the second and third story balconies throw their paper. Paper; it’s some Dominion representation of currency that they force their conquered worlds to use it. The docking stations on all Dominion inhabited words exchange credits and latinum for these brightly colored pieces of paper. The Vorta, Damar has learned have poor eyesight and the excessive bright colors of the “money” are easy for them to track into their computers.

           The milling of such a frivolous thing would have been unthinkable before their Gamma Quadrant technology allowed for the rainforests and greenery to flourish again. Damar tries not to think too hard on the years that have passed since then. He looks up now seeing those brightly colored scraps “raining” down on them stopping a moment, fists at his sides debating whether or not he really wishes to debase himself the way that Dukat does. Dukat preens, rolls around in their “gifts” and greedily gathers as much of the currency as he can, putting on a show even as Damar’s seed covers and leaks from him. Damar feels a roil in his stomach as he sighs, waves to the crown with a smile, and indulges in giving his former Commanding Officer a rough shove as part of their “act”. He doesn’t chastise him though; he’s already tried finding it futile.

“You don’t find it demeaning, humiliating to debase yourself for the Dominion like this?”

“Ah, Damar, Damar, this is why I never would have promoted on you my own. You’re too limited. Don’t you see in this new world these slips of paper are power, they’re prestige. Just like my collar,” he bragged fingering the scrap of rainbow fabric. “One can almost appreciate the Ferenagi obsession with the acquisition of “wealth”…

           Right. Because the Dominion is clever. They’re sure to dangle those incentives, those little treats for their slaves. The paper saved buys pretty trinkets, buys recreational drugs, buys slaves other slaves and even buys contracts with Vorta to run their own houses and entertainment centers. That’s why Damar gathers the Guls damned things after Dukat, hating each cheer as he does. He doesn’t even know why he does it anymore. He doesn’t know what he’s even saving them for. He gathers obediently and doesn’t so much as spare Dukat a glance when he’s thanked for his “exceptional work” as always, thinking he’s sooner stick his prUt in one of those paper mills than in Dukat again.

           He’s exhausted both physically and mentally by the time he makes his way back to his room. So when he sees a figure standing in the middle of the hallway his tired eyes almost mistake it for Weyoun. Except it isn’t Weyoun. It’s another Vorta of similar stature but a bit more delicate, lips painted blue- nearly the same electric as his eyes, face wearing a thin covering of makeup. He also has a thin silver collar around his neck and a simple pair of loose white pants and long sleeved shirt. The look he gives Damar as his eyes sweep up and down his body is far from impressed. His mouth is turned down in what seems a perpetual disapproving frown.

           “Are you the one that’s supposed to see to me?” he asks imperiously. Damar debates a moment how to answer him. The Vorta are to be addressed respectfully at all times. But he’s never seen one wearing a collar like the rest of them before. Damar hesitates.

           “Tsss…” he hears hiss between teeth in irritation. “As I told the mongrel at the door, Yes, I’m a Vorta. Yes, I’m in the right place. Yes, I’m going to be staying here awhile so that I can… learn my proper place amongst you chattel, so are you the one who’s supposed to see to me or not?”

@boldlygowherenodoghasgonebefore added:

A smile crosses Damar’s face.  It would be more prudent to treat the Vorta respectfully, but that collar gives him pause.  And the comment about “you chattel” rankles, but the Vorta should know better than to give away so much information at a first meeting.

Damar returns the imperious gaze, holding the Vorta’s gaze long enough to see the chinks in his armor.  He swallows hard and says, “Who are you?”

Damar sneers and asks, “I could ask you the same question.  Aren’t you here to learn your place?  What’s your name, slave?”

The Vorta bristles but clearly doesn’t know Damar’s role any better than his own.

“I am Keevan.”

“I know exactly who you are,” drawled a voice behind them.

Garak walks down the hallway, looking disdainfully at Keevan.  The Vorta gulps audibly in recognition.   Garak does nothing to ease his discomfort, staring at him as if he were a tasty treat. 

Damar and Garak exchanged looks.  This was an interesting turn of events.  A Vorta in a position of servitude.  Some form of crude punishment?   

What the hell.   They had so little to look forward to these days.

Damar stepped forward, looked Keevan from head to toe, and said, “he’ll do.”

Turning to Keevan, he said, “Go get settled and be back here in an hour. There’s an initiation required for all new hosts.”

After Keevan had left the vicinity, Damar wiped tears from his face. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed this hard.

Garak stood there with the same predatory look his face, until Damar demanded, “Who is he?”

“Scum.  The worst kind.  During the war, we were stranded on a planet with him and a complement of Jem’Hadar. He sold out his own men for his survival, and a comfortable place as a federation POV.”

Garak paused, confused, and continued, “But I thought he was dead. Killed by a group of Ferengi, if you can believe that.”

He could see Dammar’s attention faltering.  

What did it matter how he got here?   It was time for their hosts to see how they played the game.

@cyrelia-j added:

Keevan doesn’t know if the Cardassian’s eyes are on him as he walks down that dimly lit hallway to the room where he was assigned. He generally assumes they are. Even if his isn’t, theirs are. The Founders are always watching and if nothing else, he intends to show them that this him is just as defiant, just as spiteful just as much of a… he recalls one of the Jem’Hadar in the last unit he’d led actually hated him so much it was able to in completely defiance of its programming refer to him as a “filthy Vorta bitch”. That made him smile. He was almost sad that he had to make an example of Limara’Son. They could use a little more spirit in their ranks. The victory in the Alpha Quadrant had made some of them careless and indolent, seeking more conquest rather than putting out the little fires.

Keevan was one of the firefighters though he was just as likely to start a war as he was to end one.

They had determined after his seventh incarnation that the line was defective.  Or rather, the seventh him was the incarnation which prompted them to finally “rehabilitate” him. The other Vorta were easy. Once terminated the “corruption” rarely passed to the next clone. In his case, however... He smiles - it’s an expression that looks almost painful on his pretty features - Keevan Six dying to those Ferengi was humiliating. Seven was perfectly prepared to annihilate the entire planet before the treaty was signed. He did enough. But this time rather than deactivate him they decided a rehabilitation of a different sort. Perhaps, the cruel, whimsical gods reasoned their defective son could be reprogrammed by living as one of the solid “chattel” for awhile. Perhaps it was not the reminders of the gods that he needed to recall his place, but the reminders of the solids themselves to “correct” his attitude.

Keevan threw himself onto the bed dramatically.

Just let them try.

He didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until the strange dreams took him as they always did.

“You don’t suppose he ran off, do you?” Damar stares at Garak from across the Kotra board waiting for him to make his move. He takes forever, Damar nearly nodding off at the end of each turn only to find the move, when finally made, makes his jaw clench in irritation. Garak always was sneaky.

“It wouldn’t surprise me, but more than likely it’s some play for power to force us to go to him.” Damar hissed. Of course it was. Typical Vorta. They’d allowed an extra half hour but Damar frankly wanted to get some sleep. He’d already showered, heard Garak and Parmak throught he wall for a good twenty minutes and finally had the two of them join him in his room for the initiation. Garak had brought all the necessary “implements” mostly for the purpose of scaring though Damar was rather looking forward to imposing some measure of torturous sexual restraint like a chastity belt or plug.

The three of them were unsure if the Vorta would require “breaking in” or not.

Parmak looked particularly put off by the notion. His hear was a wild messy fall and he’d told Damar that having to keep it pinned up like that painfully all night while his client engaged in strange ritutals with his feet was its own sort of trial and if Damar’s sensibilities took issues with it then he could very well bury him. It wasn’t Parmak’s hair that Damar objected to but rather the lewd way that he was drapped across Garak’s lap reading a book in nothing but a silky slip. Parmak had already bowed out of any “breaking in” which left Garak and Damar. He didn’t trust Dukat not to just try and curry favor which really wouldn’t be doing the Vorta any favors. Not that Damar was all to keen to have to touch such a creature himself. He was rathre thankful that his duties didn’t involve many alien interactions; seeing Scales burned by Bolian fluids, scratched by feline claws, bruised by tentacles and powerful jaws well... there were worse things than Dukat.

Garak for his part looked like he might relish such a thing a little too much. Really, Damar hoped that it wouldn’t be necessary, that the Vorta would be experienced enough like the rest of their little senior clique was. Still, he thought as he eyed a rather nasty twisted plug, that didn’t mean they couldn’t put the fear of the State in the nasty little monkey...

“Got your Legate,” Garak declares smugly and as he shifts, Damar really hopes that Parmak is only laying on his lap under the table. Well then looks like it’s up to him to drag the thing back. He only hopes that Dukat doesn’t sniff out the opportunity first.

volley back to @boldlygowherenodoghasgonebefore

[cyrelia-j]

TBLWIC Round Robin Continuation

Although it’s more like Pong at this point haha...  My addition is at the bottom so you can click an scroll to read the most recent bit. This is getting long so I threw it behind a cut after the first paragraph.

The Best Little Whorehouse in Cardassia

The war with the Dominion wasn’t so much a war as it was a business acquisition. The capitulation of the Cardassian Union was surprising but when one considered the terms, it wasn’t really. The planet was terraformed to once more be a world of lush greenery and gardens, infrastructure enhanced, citizens fed and the existing colonized worlds bolstered with additional security forces. Given the choice between destruction and prosperity for a “small cost”, the Council after a 70/30  percentage split vote surrendered. There was a fear that more worlds were to follow but that never came to pass, the Federation/Klingon/Romulan Alliance signing a treaty soon after.

After all, the Dominion wasn’t the Borg. They needed to maintain a careful balance of “acquisitions” and allies. The Ferengi were especially eager to form an alliance as business partners and as it went, the efficacy of their operations increased steadily. Patronage to the newly christened “Pleasure Capital” of the Alpha Quadrant that was Cardassia Prime was immediately robust in spite of the Federation’s initial protests. Federation citizens were at first forbidden from visiting the repurposed world; the Federation didn’t condone or endorse sexual slavery. But little by little curiosity seekers, visitors with lesser scruples and ethical concerns found their way there.

“Cum visit The Esteemed Founder’s Newest Acquisition Cardassia Prime! A rare gem in the Alpha Quadrant! Lovely Lizards are waiting for you!”

was how the planet was advertised and in a few years time it was a thriving [if profligate] world of cabarets, massage parlors, brothels and other types of pleasure houses.

And at the center of our sordid tale is one such establishment in Cardassia City known only to outsiders as “Weyoun’s”, a bright and profitable establishment featuring some of Cardassia’s most expensive talents: Elim “Black Cat” Garak, Kelas “Bad Nurse” Parmak, and Corat “Big Daddy” Damar…

@boldlygowherenodoghasgonebefore added:

Damar paced his living space, fuming. Of all the things about living in this infernal brothel, the thing that really set his teeth on edge was watching Dukat preen.

He could hardly have said so. Even in captivity, Dukat had managed to retain some authority. Weyoun recognized the usefulness of a supervisor among the slaves. It was an old tactic, and for good reason; any talk of resistance would be difficult with Dukat living amongst them.

Of course, they could try to sway Dukat into using that authority as a means of resistance. Their captivity worked for Dukat, however. Arrogant as he was, all it took was some attention, a little flattery, and the recognition that was still “in charge”.

Damar managed to stifle his anger for the most part, but he shut down completely when Dukat went off on his savior complex. To hear him talk about it, their surrender had not only saved the Cardassian people from ruin, but had transformed their city into a.. what had he called it?

A shining beacon of civilization with attractions that draw people from all over the quadrant.

Demar spent his days plotting an imaginary resistance. In another life, he might have had the chance to win the hearts and minds of the Cardassian people. In reality, he was simply a slab of meat, sold to the highest bidder.

Garak endured their surroundings with a predictable mixture of scorn and indifference. He was used to exile of one form or another.

Garak played the long game better than anyone he’d ever encountered; he had surely examined all the angles and would leap at any advantage that came his way. Any such plans, however, would certainly not include Damar.

Parmak was a relatively new player in Cardassian politics. Despite his nickname, he insisted on ministering to everyone in the brothel. He ensured that abusive customers were blacklisted, demanded STD testing for the “hosts”, and provided aftercare and comfort to young cardassians who were particularly vulnerable after a rough session with a client.

Kelas would certainly have welcomed the idea of resistance, but he would never follow Damar’s lead. He was a man of honor. It was almost amusing to Damar that such men even existed.

The look on Garak’s face when Parmak insisted on taking care of their captors, claiming that the Hippocratic oath compelled him to do no harm… it had almost been worth the concession for the satisfaction of witnessing Garak’s utter exasperation.

It was an open secret that Garak and Parmak fucked every change they got. It was probably relaxing after a long day of satisfying less savory creatures. It was impossible to read Garak’s emotions, but Kelas was clearly smitten.

Poor bastard.

@cyrelia-j added:

Damar gave a start at the rap on his door. The locks provided an illusion of privacy but that’s all it was when both Weyoun and Dukat held the codes. He grunted, opening the door to see Dukat’s face peering brightly back at him. He was tempted to slam it shut again. But he had to remain respectful; it was one of the few mercies he would have hoped to have been granted once they were no longer in the military. Guls, given the myriad of places, of work that they could have been assigned to he would have been glad to never see Dukat again and be left to mourn the death of his wife and son in peace.

But then there was Weyoun.

“Weyoun’s” was the foremost attraction for visitors of means to Cardassia Prime namely because of the notoriety of their “stock”. Skrain Dukat, the former Gul who brokered the deal with The Dominion, former overseer of Terok Nor, Corat Damar his second, and puppet for the Dominion, Legate for a brief time before Dukat negotiated the surrender behind his back with the council, Elim Garak, nefarious Obsidian Order agent, former spy, assassin, one of the few who could in fact be excused to execute clients who displeased him; after all, that danger was part of the excitement of having “Black Cat”. One never knew when the claws would come out. Kelas Parmak was a curious case until Damar learned he was Enabran Tain’s former personal physician and important figure of the old resistance.

There were a few dozen others of similar station who lived in the massive multiplex which was more a sprawling compound than just one building. If Damar could be thankful for small mercies it was that his private quarters - private though they really weren’t - were separate from the rooms where they serviced those who would visit. Which was why Dukat’s visit off his shift was particularly unpleasant.

“We’ve received a request for “The King” tonight,” Dukat informed him with a lack of dignity - or rather a pride in his debasement that Damar found revolting. Still, he kept those thoughts to himself.

“I’ll be ready, sir,” he agreed brusquely. “What time should I meet you in the…” he stayed neutral as he continued, “King’s Court?”

“Twenty two hundred hours, Damar. And I would wear the black outfit,” he offered with a leer that made Damar swallow bile. “Our fans seem to especially enjoy that.”

“Of course,” Damar agreed again, making no move to step aside and grant him entrance. The space was monitored but by the State unless he was up to something they felt was untoward they allowed him that illusion of privacy. “Was there anything else, sir? I might begin… preparations early.”

“You always were so efficiently punctual, Damar. No, that will be all. I should do the same.” Another smiles, another leer, another tic of times Damar wished he could push him out of the fourth floor window to see if he could fly like the preening bird he was. Damar was sure his answering smile was nothing pleasant but it satisfied Dukat’s ego at least.

He let out a breath as he watched Dukat sauntered off down the long hall. Damar’s room faced the railing before the massive winding staircase down. One slip, one push and right over he’d have gone. It would almost be worth it… Damar swallowed down that thought. Skrain “King” Dukat had a somewhat unique position of all the workers. He serviced few clients himself but rather was the star of one of the performances held by request.

Those in power rather enjoyed seeing the mighty Dukat “brought” low by his common second and Damar found himself in - what some might call - the enviable position of the one who got to “debase” him over his own throne in a variety of positions. And he might have taken advantage as well were the “delicate” Dukat not the one with all the true power. No, Damar would play his part and Dukat would overact, be a horrible lay and it would at least spare him the night of some unpleasant mystery guest.

Damar sighed, about to shut his door when he caught sight of an interesting figure shuffling out of the room next to his. Now Damar was no Elim Garak when it came to the matter of observation but he liked to think of himself as having alertness befitting a former military man. However, it didn’t take any particular skill to know that Garak and Parmak were eager lovers when one shared a wall with Parmak.

That was who he saw now slowly shuffling wearing an impractically long robe standing far taller than normal, the… sandals? peering out being quite tall with three elongated teeth instead of proper soles or heels. The robe was long, brightly colored red with splashes of orange flowers, a thick belt with an ornate bow behind it, he arms in front covered with an equally garish drape of fabric. He was a towering figure as Damar looked up, seeing his paleface painted even more pale, lips red cheeks pink and the most obscene pink blush over his chufa. His usually long white hair had been pinned up in some ring atop his head decorated with gold rods, ribbons.

Damar noticed he wasn’t wearing his spectacles and was about to voice his fear of Parmak tripping and injuring himself when he noticed Garak following behind looking almost equally ridiculous, holding the end of the robe from dragging the ground. Damar opened his mouth to say… anything when Garak sighed loudly enough for him to hear.

“It would seem,” he said acerbically, “that cultural appropriation is the theme of this evening.”

“It’s the theme of every evening, Elim,” Parmak added with a few halting steps. “Though I should think they would have more consideration. There was a similar injury last week from this theme and I said the shoes should be permitted to be saved for the entrance to the parlor but ah… I’m no longer a doctor so what would I know about such things?” Of course. The Vorta and their digital “collection” of intergalactic courtesan themes were never on a more grand display than they were at “Weyoun’s”. Damar only hoped that Parmak didn’t break a leg on the way to the lift.

 @boldlygowherenodoghasgonebefore added:

 A figure appeared beside him as he watched them walk by.

“Fascinating. Those costumes seem to please so many clients. I wonder about the shoes. Do the clients enjoy seeing Parmak helpless, barely able to walk on his own? What a peculiar preference,” said Weyoun.

Damar’s urge to push Dukat off the railing was nothing in comparison to his plans for Weyoun. The little Vorta seemed to find their entire world nothing more than a sociological experiment.

“With any luck, the claws will come out tonight. I think Garak might just torture the client for his poor dress sense. That costume is revolting.”

He sighed.

“I suppose that’s half the point. The humiliation. Speaking of which, I’d best go prepare for the king.”

Damar retired to his quarters, meticulously making preparations. Despite his revulsion at the coming event, he could never shake his training as a soldier. Damar was efficient, reliable, prepared for any eventuality. A bit comical given how predictable such evenings were. He placed his costume carefully, ironing out the wrinkles, adding the finishing touches.

Regarding himself in the mirrors, he fingered the rainbow collar self-consciously. He could never understand the appeal of such adornments. Dukat seemed particularly fond of fondling this piece of his costume. He simply couldn’t fathom the significance.

Then again, he’d long since given up trying to puzzle out this world.

At 2200 hours, Damar made his way to the King’s Court.

Dukat was already in the ring, eager for the show to begin.

Preening, egomaniacal idiot.

Not for the first time, Damar contemplated using the knife in his hand for something other than removing Dukat’s clothes. The audience loved the mock violence of their show, the knife to Dukat’s throat, the slight drawing of blood as Demar gained the upper hand. It would be so easy to let his hand slip, move the knife all the way across Dukat’s throat.

If he thought he would be summarily executed for it, he might even consider it. But the dominion wasn’t bloodthirsty in the same manner as Cardassians. Weyoun would make an example of him.

He shuddered. Despite his long military career, Damar had a very low pain tolerance. He wouldn’t last long under torture, and he was sure the dominion would know just how to inflict pain without allowing the subject the release of unconsciousness or death. It would be hours of pain.

Or maybe they’d go a different route. After all, this was a pleasure planet. Perhaps Weyoun would simply cut off his balls to see whether he could continue to service their customers. A novel attraction. A replacement for Dukat in the King’s Court.

Weyoun wasn’t sadistic. He was curious. It was almost worse. Any punishment in the whorehouse was interesting and new. Vortas weren’t created with pleasure centers, so Weyoun treated the house as something of a learning experience.

Damar turned back to the matter at hand. Dukat was screaming unconvincingly, and the crowd was yelling and cheering.

Damar sighed. The show must go on…

(Here’s my updated part)

           It rains; that’s what some of the humans call it. Damar detests the pungent smell of human arousal. It hangs heavy in the air thick, human, like a mouthful of vinegar and rotten vegetables. When he concludes his performance, Dukat a sodden and thoroughly used mess on the dais, Damar cleans himself off with one of Dukat’s more valuable scarfs. It’s one of the few petty revenges that he can steal for himself. And as Dukat likes there with a sanguine expression the humans seated around them on the floor and the second and third story balconies throw their paper. Paper; it’s some Dominion representation of currency that they force their conquered worlds to use it. The docking stations on all Dominion inhabited words exchange credits and latinum for these brightly colored pieces of paper. The Vorta, Damar has learned have poor eyesight and the excessive bright colors of the “money” are easy for them to track into their computers.

           The milling of such a frivolous thing would have been unthinkable before their Gamma Quadrant technology allowed for the rainforests and greenery to flourish again. Damar tries not to think too hard on the years that have passed since then. He looks up now seeing those brightly colored scraps “raining” down on them stopping a moment, fists at his sides debating whether or not he really wishes to debase himself the way that Dukat does. Dukat preens, rolls around in their “gifts” and greedily gathers as much of the currency as he can, putting on a show even as Damar’s seed covers and leaks from him. Damar feels a roil in his stomach as he sighs, waves to the crown with a smile, and indulges in giving his former Commanding Officer a rough shove as part of their “act”. He doesn’t chastise him though; he’s already tried finding it futile.

“You don’t find it demeaning, humiliating to debase yourself for the Dominion like this?”

“Ah, Damar, Damar, this is why I never would have promoted on you my own. You’re too limited. Don’t you see in this new world these slips of paper are power, they’re prestige. Just like my collar,” he bragged fingering the scrap of rainbow fabric. “One can almost appreciate the Ferenagi obsession with the acquisition of “wealth”…

           Right. Because the Dominion is clever. They’re sure to dangle those incentives, those little treats for their slaves. The paper saved buys pretty trinkets, buys recreational drugs, buys slaves other slaves and even buys contracts with Vorta to run their own houses and entertainment centers. That’s why Damar gathers the Guls damned things after Dukat, hating each cheer as he does. He doesn’t even know why he does it anymore. He doesn’t know what he’s even saving them for. He gathers obediently and doesn’t so much as spare Dukat a glance when he’s thanked for his “exceptional work” as always, thinking he’s sooner stick his prUt in one of those paper mills than in Dukat again.

           He’s exhausted both physically and mentally by the time he makes his way back to his room. So when he sees a figure standing in the middle of the hallway his tired eyes almost mistake it for Weyoun. Except it isn’t Weyoun. It’s another Vorta of similar stature but a bit more delicate, lips painted blue- nearly the same electric as his eyes, face wearing a thin covering of makeup. He also has a thin silver collar around his neck and a simple pair of loose white pants and long sleeved shirt. The look he gives Damar as his eyes sweep up and down his body is far from impressed. His mouth is turned down in what seems a perpetual disapproving frown.

           “Are you the one that’s supposed to see to me?” he asks imperiously. Damar debates a moment how to answer him. The Vorta are to be addressed respectfully at all times. But he’s never seen one wearing a collar like the rest of them before. Damar hesitates.

           “Tsss…” he hears hiss between teeth in irritation. “As I told the mongrel at the door, Yes, I’m a Vorta. Yes, I’m in the right place. Yes, I’m going to be staying here awhile so that I can… learn my proper place amongst you chattel, so are you the one who’s supposed to see to me or not?”

@boldlygowherenodoghasgonebefore you’re up! :D

[cyrelia-j]

Cardassia Brothel AU Round Robin continued

Rules: You can tag anyone you might like to see pick the story up but anyone can continue. So copy the story so far, be sure to credit past contributors [unless they request otherwise] and add your continuation. Also use the tag “TBLWIC round robin” so it’s easier for everyone to see the different threads they want to work off of. If it gets long, be sure to use a cut and have fun!

@cyrelia-j started:

The Best Little Whorehouse in Cardassia

The war with the Dominion wasn’t so much a war as it was a business acquisition. The capitulation of the Cardassian Union was surprising but when one considered the terms, it wasn’t really. The planet was terraformed to once more be a world of lush greenery and gardens, infrastructure enhanced, citizens fed and the existing colonized worlds bolstered with additional security forces. Given the choice between destruction and prosperity for a “small cost”, the Council after a 70/30  percentage split vote surrendered. There was a fear that more worlds were to follow but that never came to pass, the Federation/Klingon/Romulan Alliance signing a treaty soon after.

After all, the Dominion wasn’t the Borg. They needed to maintain a careful balance of “acquisitions” and allies. The Ferengi were especially eager to form an alliance as business partners and as it went, the efficacy of their operations increased steadily. Patronage to the newly christened “Pleasure Capital” of the Alpha Quadrant that was Cardassia Prime was immediately robust in spite of the Federation’s initial protests. Federation citizens were at first forbidden from visiting the repurposed world; the Federation didn’t condone or endorse sexual slavery. But little by little curiosity seekers, visitors with lesser scruples and ethical concerns found their way there.

“Cum visit The Esteemed Founder’s Newest Acquisition Cardassia Prime! A rare gem in the Alpha Quadrant! Lovely Lizards are waiting for you!”

was how the planet was advertised and in a few years time it was a thriving [if profligate] world of cabarets, massage parlors, brothels and other types of pleasure houses.

And at the center of our sordid tale is one such establishment in Cardassia City known only to outsiders as “Weyoun’s”, a bright and profitable establishment featuring some of Cardassia’s most expensive talents: Elim “Black Cat” Garak, Kelas “Bad Nurse” Parmak, and Corat “Big Daddy” Damar…

@boldlygowherenodoghasgonebefore added:

Damar paced his living space, fuming. Of all the things about living in this infernal brothel, the thing that really set his teeth on edge was watching Dukat preen.

He could hardly have said so. Even in captivity, Dukat had managed to retain some authority. Weyoun recognized the usefulness of a supervisor among the slaves. It was an old tactic, and for good reason; any talk of resistance would be difficult with Dukat living amongst them.

Of course, they could try to sway Dukat into using that authority as a means of resistance. Their captivity worked for Dukat, however. Arrogant as he was, all it took was some attention, a little flattery, and the recognition that was still “in charge”.

Damar managed to stifle his anger for the most part, but he shut down completely when Dukat went off on his savior complex. To hear him talk about it, their surrender had not only saved the Cardassian people from ruin, but had transformed their city into a.. what had he called it?

A shining beacon of civilization with attractions that draw people from all over the quadrant.

Demar spent his days plotting an imaginary resistance. In another life, he might have had the chance to win the hearts and minds of the Cardassian people. In reality, he was simply a slab of meat, sold to the highest bidder.

Garak endured their surroundings with a predictable mixture of scorn and indifference. He was used to exile of one form or another.

Garak played the long game better than anyone he’d ever encountered; he had surely examined all the angles and would leap at any advantage that came his way. Any such plans, however, would certainly not include Damar.

Parmak was a relatively new player in Cardassian politics. Despite his nickname, he insisted on ministering to everyone in the brothel. He ensured that abusive customers were blacklisted, demanded STD testing for the “hosts”, and provided aftercare and comfort to young cardassians who were particularly vulnerable after a rough session with a client.

Kelas would certainly have welcomed the idea of resistance, but he would never follow Damar’s lead. He was a man of honor. It was almost amusing to Damar that such men even existed.

The look on Garak’s face when Parmak insisted on taking care of their captors, claiming that the Hippocratic oath compelled him to do no harm… it had almost been worth the concession for the satisfaction of witnessing Garak’s utter exasperation.

It was an open secret that Garak and Parmak fucked every change they got. It was probably relaxing after a long day of satisfying less savory creatures. It was impossible to read Garak’s emotions, but Kelas was clearly smitten.

Poor bastard.

[continuing] This got long I am so sorry...

Damar gave a start at the rap on his door. The locks provided an illusion of privacy but that’s all it was when both Weyoun and Dukat held the codes. He grunted, opening the door to see Dukat’s face peering brightly back at him. He was tempted to slam it shut again. But he had to remain respectful; it was one of the few mercies he would have hoped to have been granted once they were no longer in the military. Guls, given the myriad of places, of work that they could have been assigned to he would have been glad to never see Dukat again and be left to mourn the death of his wife and son in peace.

But then there was Weyoun.

“Weyoun’s” was the foremost attraction for visitors of means to Cardassia Prime namely because of the notoriety of their “stock”. Skrain Dukat, the former Gul who brokered the deal with The Dominion, former overseer of Terok Nor, Corat Damar his second, and puppet for the Dominion, Legate for a brief time before Dukat negotiated the surrender behind his back with the council, Elim Garak, nefarious Obsidian Order agent, former spy, assassin, one of the few who could in fact be excused to execute clients who displeased him; after all, that danger was part of the excitement of having “Black Cat”. One never knew when the claws would come out. Kelas Parmak was a curious case until Damar learned he was Enabran Tain’s former personal physician and important figure of the old resistance.

There were a few dozen others of similar station who lived in the massive multiplex which was more a sprawling compound than just one building. If Damar could be thankful for small mercies it was that his private quarters - private though they really weren’t - were separate from the rooms where they serviced those who would visit. Which was why Dukat’s visit off his shift was particularly unpleasant.

“We’ve received a request for “The King” tonight,” Dukat informed him with a lack of dignity - or rather a pride in his debasement that Damar found revolting. Still, he kept those thoughts to himself.

“I’ll be ready, sir,” he agreed brusquely. “What time should I meet you in the...” he stayed neutral as he continued, “King’s Court?”

“Twenty two hundred hours, Damar. And I would wear the black outfit,” he offered with a leer that made Damar swallow bile. “Our fans seem to especially enjoy that.”

“Of course,” Damar agreed again, making no move to step aside and grant him entrance. The space was monitored but by the State unless he was up to something they felt was untoward they allowed him that illusion of privacy. “Was there anything else, sir? I might begin... preparations early.”

“You always were so efficiently punctual, Damar. No, that will be all. I should do the same.” Another smiles, another leer, another tic of times Damar wished he could push him out of the fourth floor window to see if he could fly like the preening bird he was. Damar was sure his answering smile was nothing pleasant but it satisfied Dukat’s ego at least.

He let out a breath as he watched Dukat sauntered off down the long hall. Damar’s room faced the railing before the massive winding staircase down. One slip, one push and right over he’d have gone. It would almost be worth it... Damar swallowed down that thought. Skrain “King” Dukat had a somewhat unique position of all the workers. He serviced few clients himself but rather was the star of one of the performances held by request.

Those in power rather enjoyed seeing the mighty Dukat “brought” low by his common second and Damar found himself in - what some might call - the enviable position of the one who got to “debase” him over his own throne in a variety of positions. And he might have taken advantage as well were the “delicate” Dukat not the one with all the true power. No, Damar would play his part and Dukat would overact, be a horrible lay and it would at least spare him the night of some unpleasant mystery guest.

Damar sighed, about to shut his door when he caught sight of an interesting figure shuffling out of the room next to his. Now Damar was no Elim Garak when it came to the matter of observation but he liked to think of himself as having alertness befitting a former military man. However, it didn’t take any particular skill to know that Garak and Parmak were eager lovers when one shared a wall with Parmak.

That was who he saw now slowly shuffling wearing an impractically long robe standing far taller than normal, the... sandals? peering out being quite tall with three elongated teeth instead of proper soles or heels. The robe was long, brightly colored red with splashes of orange flowers, a thick belt with an ornate bow behind it, he arms in front covered with an equally garish drape of fabric. He was a towering figure as Damar looked up, seeing his paleface painted even more pale, lips red cheeks pink and the most obscene pink blush over his chufa. His usually long white hair had been pinned up in some ring atop his head decorated with gold rods, ribbons.

Damar noticed he wasn’t wearing his spectacles and was about to voice his fear of Parmak tripping and injuring himself when he noticed Garak following behind looking almost equally ridiculous, holding the end of the robe from dragging the ground. Damar opened his mouth to say... anything when Garak sighed loudly enough for him to hear.

“It would seem,” he said acerbically, “that cultural appropriation is the theme of this evening.”

“It’s the theme of every evening, Elim,” Parmak added with a few halting steps. “Though I should think they would have more consideration. There was a similar injury last week from this theme and I said the shoes should be permitted to be saved for the entrance to the parlor but ah... I’m no longer a doctor so what would I know about such things?” Of course. The Vorta and their digital “collection” of intergalactic courtesan themes were never on a more grand display than they were at “Weyoun’s”. Damar only hoped that Parmak didn’t break a leg on the way to the lift.

@boldlygowherenodoghasgonebefore back in your court if you want it