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She wants him to respect her. Sure, he says he does, but his actions today certainly seemed to indicate otherwise. Elizabeth still burns at the memory of Sergeant Bates overriding her wishes and opening the gym doors, a decision that nearly ended in tragedy.
Of course Major Sheppard made up for his mistake, and did it beautifully, although in the moment when they couldn't reach him by radio, Elizabeth had felt her heart stopped beating, so she's not sure she's forgiven him for that, either.
She tries to give him a piece of her mind afterwards, in her office, but he's still awfully smirky, and later, in her quarters, she can't stop thinking about it. She wants to wipe that smile off his face. She wants him to admit who's really in charge. She wants to see him on his knees, calling her "Dr. Weir" and begging her to forgive him.
Elizabeth stares at her face in the bathroom mirror, not exactly sure where that thought came from. Of course the major is pretty easy on the eyes. It's not like she didn't notice that from Day One. But she's never actually thought of him quite like this.
But it's late and she's alone and it's been a hard day, and she really doesn't see the harm of it. It's not like Major Sheppard will ever know.
Elizabeth goes back to her bedroom and settles on the bed, rucking up the t-shirt she wears to sleep in and slipping off her panties. She reaches for her nightstand and gets a good dollop of hand cream on her fingers, then slides them between her legs, into her folds. It's been awhile since she's done this. Too long. She needs release, a good fantasy. And Major Sheppard -- okay, here he can be John. John on his knees in front of her fits the bill perfectly.
"You've been a very bad boy, Major," she imagines saying to him. "I think you need to make it up to me."
"Anything," he says, those hazel eyes wide and pleading, looking up at her. "I promise, Dr. Weir. I'll never disobey you again."
Elizabeth's fingers circle her clit, and it's good. Really it is, but there's something not quite right about the scenario, because she can't picture John saying that. Not really, and this is her fantasy so it shouldn't matter, but it does.
"I'm sorry," she tells him. "I'm afraid that's not good enough."
"Oh, come on," John says, and that's more like it, that's the infuriating, stubborn man Elizabeth knows. "What do you want me to do, beg you to spank me?"
Elizabeth's whole body goes warm at the thought. "That would be a start," she imagines telling him. "Go on, John. Beg me."
John gets that flirty smile, because of course he would. "You don't really mean that."
"Try me," Elizabeth says.
"Elizabeth," John whines, and it shouldn't be hot thinking of him like this, but it is.
"Believe me, John," she tells him, "you don't want to be on my bad side."
"Of course not," John says, gratifyingly quickly.
"Well?" Elizabeth says. "I don't hear any begging."
John kind of rolls his eyes, but she stares him down until he's shifting uncomfortably on his feet. "Okay, fine," he says. "Go ahead and spank me."
"I'm not hearing any begging," Elizabeth says, and in her fantasy she pretends she's not smiling.
He lowers himself slowly to his knees, like he has to force himself to do it, and his voice doesn't sound very sincere when he speaks, even if the words are right. "Please, Elizabeth. I've been bad. I need a good spanking."
It's as good as she's likely to get from him, even in her head, so Elizabeth relents. "Pull down your pants," she says. "I want you over my lap."
He rolls his eyes again, but he knows she's serious, so as she watches he undoes his belt and fly and drops his pants to his knees.
"Boxers, too," Elizabeth says, because this is her fantasy and she's going to do it right.
John shakes his head and wrinkles his nose at that, but he pushes the boxers down, too. He's nicely hung -- not that Elizabeth knows that, but then again, she's not blind, and that holster he wears kind of shows off his package. He's not aroused, but Elizabeth's not concerned about that.
"Over my lap, John," she says, and he slowly complies.
She's sitting in a chair -- no, on her bed, so he can lie down across her. When he gets into position she can feel his soft cock and balls against her thighs, and his ass is nice and round and pale. She can't see his face like this, but she doesn't care, because when she brings her hand down hard across his buttocks he gasps and his head jerks up.
"Yes, John," she tells him. "Just like that. You've been very, very bad. I'm afraid we're going to have to do this for quite some time."
"Crap," he mumbles, and she sets to work, smacking those pretty round cheeks until they're bright red from her palm. John squirms with every hit, and after four or five, Elizabeth realizes why -- he's getting hard against her legs.
She slaps him harder. "That's for disobeying me," she says. Whack. "And that's for not groveling, afterwards." Whap. "That's for endangering Teyla, too." Smack. "And that's for making me think we'd lost you."
Elizabeth's fingers are rubbing right around the base of her clit now, and her breath is coming in shallow little pants. She can feel the sensations building with every imagined slap. "Such. A very. Bad. Boy."
"Elizabeth," John says, and when he lifts his head she can see that the tips of his ears are bright red. "Look, you should probably know...if you keep going, I'm gonna..."
She smacks him again. "You're going to what, John?"
"Come," he groans, and just for that she hits him again, as hard as she can. Once. Twice. Three times.
"Fuck," John moans, and bucks against her lap. Elizabeth feels the hot flood on her bare -- this is her fantasy, so they're bare if she wants them to be -- legs, and she spanks him again, over and over, as he jerks and spurts and cries out.
"Well just look at the mess you've made," she says when John's done but still gasping. "I think you need to clean it up." And with that image in her head -- John sliding off her lap without a single protest and proceeding to lick her clean -- Elizabeth lifts her hips and slides her finger over the head of her clit and lets go.