This story is a work of colorful and slashy fiction. Names, 
characters, places and incidents have been long-standing slaves of 
Paramount Pictures. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or 
persons, living or dead, is probably because the author has written 
too many of these already. 
Forgive her. 
 
STAR TREK: DEEP SPACE NINE is a Registered Trademark r of Paramount 
Pictures.  Copyright (c) 1996 by Paramount Pictures.  
All Rights Reserved. No infringement was meant.  Well, not 
consciously anyway. 
 
 
TITLE:   MISLEAD GASTRONOME 
AUTHOR:  BGM 
RATING:  R 
PAIRING: Garak/Bashir 
NOTE 1:  This is all written in the mirror-universe. 
 
 
--------------------------------------------------------- 
 
Gul Garak mumbled in his sleep, shifting aside fitfully as he tried 
to rest properly on the myriad of cushions decorating his low bed.  
Over in one corner a male slave lay on his knees, a studded collar on 
his neck and very little else.  He was scrubbing the floor with a 
crude brush, wiping his brow with his forearm.  Off in another, a 
female Terran was kneeling, head bowed with a tray of fruits and 
various other meals resting over her lap as she waited obediently for 
her master to wake up.  Not a sound broke the stillness of the lavish 
quarters, not even the thrum of the air recyclers which Garak had 
ordered to be silenced upon his arrival on Terok Nor.  Aside from the 
Intendant's, he possessed the richest quarters in the Outer Habitat 
ring. 
 
He mumbled again, turning on his other side while he tried to 
concentrate on slumber.  It had been a long day, filled with the 
whinings of the Intendant coupled with a few Terran execution that 
hadn't been as neat as he'd intended.  Garak prided himself on being 
good at his job.  In fact, he relied on it.  And when something he'd 
calculated diverted, his own disapointement pressed on his conscience 
far more than the Intendant's scolding. 
 
The Intendant.  There at least was something he could look forward to 
in a few hours.  He smiled, his eyes closed as he pictured exactly 
what he'd do to her when she stepped her leather boots in his 
quarters.  Revived by these new preparations, Garak sat up in bed and 
looked at the slave scrubbing the floor.  "My Golden.  Get up, go 
fetch my uniform.  I hope for your sake you spit-polished it last 
night." 
 
The young man left the brush on the floor and lifted himself with 
grace, his long limbs cracking with the new position.  He winced, 
then scurried to the storage room, all the while murmuring under his 
breath how he'd get his revenge for this humiliation.  Undercover.  
Bah. He'd have a little talk with Smiley when he got rescued.  IF he 
got rescued ... He sighed, and retrieved the hard plates and smooth 
body suit along with the calf-high leather boots, inspecting them for 
the slightest blemish. 
 
Garak, in the meantime, tangled himself in luxurious folds of 
bedsheets and drapped himself over the cushions toward the other 
slave.  "Hmm ... my dear Beverly," he smiled lazily, reaching a gray 
hand to her.  "Come here my dear.  I'm a little hungry." 
 
The fiery-red headed woman stood with the tray, her eyes lowered as 
she strut over to the large bed where her master lay.  She knelt 
again, her waist leveled to the edge of the bed.  Garak cooed at her, 
brushing away the graceful curls of hair to admire her face.  Even 
with eyes lowered, she held a magnificant beauty.  He traced his 
finger over a delicate eyebrow, down a prominant cheekbone only to 
pause at her full lower lip.  He gave her his usual syrup-rich 
chuckle before waving at the tray meaningfully.  She took a rasberry, 
and offered it to his lips. He smiled just before reaching forward to 
suck at the fruit, along with her fingers.  She never blushed.  His 
smile grew wider and he laughed, his mouth full of delightful juice.  
He swallowed and lay back, watching as his delightfully bronze slave 
scurried back to his side with the heavy uniform in hands.  Garak sat 
up, nodding.  "Excellent.  Now we only have an hour left."  He 
fluttered his eyelashes and grinned his prized grin.  "I want you 
both to make me beautiful for the Intendant!" 
 
Both slaves exchanged an inconspicuous glance before they undertook 
their chores. 
 
~~~ 
 
Garak was decked out in his powerful guise as the Intendant rang his 
chime.  He smiled and waved at both his slaves to leave to their 
respected abode.  Both nodded, and left silently.  He tugged at his 
uniform, then called to Kira to enter. 
 
She was as ravishing as always.  Tightly decked in her catsuit, Garak 
could almost see her claws extended as she strut inside, her feline 
smile in place.  When the doors closed, she gracefully sank to her 
knees, bowed her head and adopted a soft, rolling intonation.  "Gul," 
she said simply, and he grinned admiringly.  Ah if only he could make 
public just how he manipulated the Intendant.  By offering herself 
time and time again this way, she assured herself protection against 
his wiles of assassination, while she gave him in return her utter, 
and complete submission.  He smiled deliciously, and his hand brushed 
over the golden plate Beverly had left in her haste.  "I thought we 
could do something different tonight my pet." 
 
Kira cocked her eyebrow at him but said nothing as he circled her, 
his heavy boots clopping against the shining, recently-polished 
floor. 
"You see, I've spent my off-hours sleeping, unfortunately.  My day 
was long and I was tired.  Yet this also prevented me from indulging 
in one of my most passionate ... pleasures," he purred, letting his 
hand stroke through Kira's hair, tracing her tiara seductively as he 
would a body's curves.  "Eating." 
 
Kira's eyes widened, and Garak laughed.  "Oh don't worry.  We 
Cardassians aren't cannibals ... by nature.  I didn't mean to eat 
_you_ my dear, though under these circumstances, one could very well 
phrase it that way ... if I could permit myself to be rude." 
 
*You?  Rude?  Perish the thought ...* Kira thought, still staring at 
the floor while Garak caressed down her neck.  She closed her eyes, 
her head tilting into his touch.  "But I am still hungry ... for 
consistant food, and since my time of rousing was close to your 
arrival, I thought I could ... satisfy both my hungers with a 
compromise," he grinned, his bright blue eyes scintillating in the 
dim light. 
 
"I serve my Master," she murmured between her ruby lips, and Garak 
felt his uniform tighten. She could be even more exquisite than his 
Golden sometimes.  He smiled widely and his hand which had been 
caressing down her shoulder suddenly wrenched at her hair, pulling 
her up then pushing her forward.  She yelped, twisting in his grasp 
until he flung her over his bed, smiling sharply. 
 
"Then serve your Master.  Undress," he said crisply.  "Or rather ... 
peel ..." he chuckled, again that rich laugh echoing menacingly in 
his own quarters.  She nodded quickly and undid several select 
clasps, undoing her catsuits efficiently.  Garak watched with rapt 
attention, his hands absently fixing the dishes he'd ordered before 
her arrival. 
 
When she was quite utterly naked save for her tiara, Garak smiled and 
took an ornate bowl made of an exotic terra-cota material along with 
a delicate brush with the other.  He appraoched her sitting form with 
the pace of one who was about to pounce a prey.  She clutched at the 
bedsheets as he loomed over her.  "Now," he smiled as he deposited 
the bowl and brush at the bedside table,  "As I like my meals to 
_remain_ still while I eat, I shall _have_ to make sure you won't try 
and get away," he grinned, knowing she would not even if he left her 
unbound. 

But where was the fun in that? 
 
Pulling chains and cuffs and a collar that went remarkably well with 
her tiara, Garak went about securing her to his bed.  When she was 
left squirming quite helplessly under his hungry gaze, he picked up 
the brush and bowl, then looked at her prominant breasts as he would 
a painter upon a blank canvas.  "Now ... what shall I ... ah!" he 
smiled.  "As you make us all quite aware of _which_ animal _you_ like 
to compare yourself to, I believe I can start with that."  He 
grinned, and dipped the brush into the bowl, slipping it out dripping 
of hot, chocolate sauce.  He smacked his lips before he began his 
work.  He had tons of other bowls to work from ... raspberry sauce, 
caramel, tons of cherries and strawberries, kiwis and peaches from 
which he'd dribble fruit juice over her pert nipples and lap at 
hungrily.  The sauce he would mingle and paint with, drawing her as a 
delightful cat stretching and moaning with abandon.  Trailing various 
roads of sauce to the ultimate delectation.  He lapped at his lips, 
while Kira looked at him under long, dark lashes. 
 
~~~ 
 
A few hours later, overseer Odo smirked outside of Garak's quarters 
and morphed into his proper form.  He licked his fingers, smiling, 
then went on whistling down the corridor toward the Intendant's 
quarters where she was waiting for him.  He'd always known she'd be 
eternally gratefuly for him for undertaking that ... duty instead of 
her.  This way he got what he wanted while everyone else was 
satisfied.  Odo performed for Garak without emotion, Kira performed 
for Odo, for whom she had FAR less disgust than Garak, and Garak, 
unsuspecting, went on keeping his 'career advancement plans' on hold. 
 
THE END