STAR TREK: BROKEN BODICE
A parody by Micky Budarrap
Disclaimer: Star Trek, its characters, locations and plots are not my creations and are used without permission. No profit has been or will be made by their use in this story.
“Broke Bodice” is not intended for consumption by minors. If you are below the adult age in your country, state or county then read no further and delete this file from your computer. By reading this disclaimer you agree to take full responsibility for continuing.
The author does not encourage or condone the enormously disrespectful and frequently criminal things that are done to women in this story. The activities performed in this fictional work should never be inflicted on people in the real world.
This is a work of fiction that features rampant exploitation
of women in parody of the depictions of species and societies in Star Trek.
Where the TV shows and films only suggest for cheap titillation value, “Broken
Bodice” takes it to its sleazy conclusions. The story focuses on the perils and
misadventures of Deanna Troi (Star Trek: The Next Generation), T’Pol (Star Trek:
Feedback can be directed to Mickt80@hotmail.com.
PROLOGUE
There was a warren of chambers and corridors beneath the stadium, all cramped, poorly lit and occupied by too many caged women to easily count. All around were females of species from across the Quadrant: Humans, Cardassians, Trill, some that might be Vulcan or might be Romulan. This waiting area was lit only by the occasional slice of light coming down through slits in the ceiling, but it was enough to see the shameful condition of the captives.
They were typically young, with only a few rare captives over thirty. They varied from pretty to beautiful, from the slim to the curvaceous, but they would all fetch good prices. Ankles were shackled, wrists bound and necks collared. What little clothing the women were allowed was usually revealing: silks that were transparent, shirts that were tight enough to show nipples, skirts that were short enough to flash bottoms and vests that couldn’t entirely close around the breasts of the women wearing them. There was bare flesh everywhere, thighs and asses and cleavage as well as worried faces, tear-filled eyes and trembling lips.
A sudden roar from above them made the captive females duck, women and girls flinching from the sound of approval produced by the enormous crowd. They couldn’t guess how many spectators were present in the stadium above but they knew why they were here.
Some of these women had been captured by slavers, taken in raids on colonies and shipping lanes, with the youngest and most beautiful females ending up here. Some had been captured in simpler snares, like a ship responding to a distress signal finding itself in distress, the females of its crew suddenly beamed into captivity, wives and daughters snatched away. Some had already tasted slavery and were being sold to new masters.
But there were three women here who had taken a far less conventional route to come here. These three would be drawing far more attention than some mere colonist’s daughter.
The three heroines stood back to back, watching their surroundings with beautiful dark eyes. They held themselves were more poise and self-confidence than the other captives but still their own trepidation was clear. When the crowd above rumbled they lifted their eyes, knowing that their turn would come soon.
The small cage the three heroines shared was suddenly washed with jets of cold white gas that shot up through small holes in the floor. Squealing and flinching from the icy gas the trio sought escape: just then the door of their cage swung open.
The first captive that staggered out had skin as pale as snow and long dark hair. She was only five foot three but had a figure rich with curving hips, a round ass and a lovely pair of generous breasts. Those tits were on full display at the moment, because her wrists were bound firmly behind her back. This prevented the young woman from making any attempt to cover her nudity. Her imperiously beautiful face was flushed with shame at her nakedness and her black eyes were wide with fear.
Counselor Deanna Troi of the USS Enterprise drew in a tit-lifting breath, her nipples erect on the tips of her tits from the cold gas that had forced the naked twenty-nine year old into the open. It was almost unthinkable that she could be here in this stadium: she was a Starfleet officer, the daughter of the Betazoid ambassador, and a valued officer aboard the Federation flagship. And yet here she was, naked except for the shackles that pulled her wrists back and thrust her trembling breasts forward.
The second captive was an even less likely sight. Her figure was athletic with a taut ass, long firm legs and a trim waist. With mid-length brown hair and sensual dark eyes she was still a strikingly attractive woman despite the small crests on her forehead revealing her Klingon ancestry. Her breasts added to her appeal, soft but high and proud, tipped with big brown nipples.
This woman definitely should not have been there among these slaves-to-be. She should have been on the other side of the galaxy, stranded in the Delta Quadrant. But instead B’Elanna Torres, a former Maquis criminal and chief engineer of the USS Voyager, found herself here in the Alpha Quadrant completely naked and with her wrists bound behind her back, forcing to her leave her mouthwatering figure exposed.
But if Troi and Torres were unlikely captives, the third and final woman that staggered naked out of the cage with tit-bouncing steps was an impossible sight. The roundness of her ass and the plump fullness of her generous breasts contrasted her long slender legs, slim arms and narrow waist. Her brown hair was cut boyishly short and her face was haughtily beautiful with angular eyes and full pouting lips.
Both B’Elanna Torres and Deanna Troi had learned this woman’s
name in school: she was T’Pol, the science officer and second-in-command aboard
the old NX class
Her fame had not saved her. Like her companions T’Pol had
been defeated, stripped naked and bound with her hands behind her back. Her
generous melons quivered on her chest, her Vulcan poise and demeanor sorely
tested by her humiliating ordeal. Then her brown eyes moved quickly as she heard
a voice growl at her.
“
Deanna Troi, B’Elanna Torres and T’Pol stood nude and shaking before their captives, their teats erect and stinging from the cold gas that had forced them from their cage. Flashlights ran up and down the bare curves of the three Starfleet officers’ bodies before lingering on their generous tits.
The flashlights revealed one last humiliation. B’Elanna, T’Pol and Deanna each carried the words “FOR SALE” written on in thick black ink on their bare breasts!
They knew the name of the Ferengi leading these men. Golga’s smile revealed sharp teeth as he grinned at the sight of the three naked and shamed Starfleet officers. “Time for you ladies to earn your paycheck,” he sneered, eyeing the trio of gorgeous brunettes before him.
Golga was flanked by three huge goons, a green-skinned Orion, a reptilian Gorn and a mandible-faced Nausican, all taller and stronger than any of the three women. The nude officers were grabbed by the upper arms and manhandled onwards, towards a distant lift that would take them to the stadium above. “Unhand me!” T’Pol ordered uselessly, her bare breasts bouncing and jiggling invitingly.
“How dare you!” Troi objected as she was pushed forward, her long pale legs awkward beneath her as she staggered forward naked and bound.
A hand closed around B’Elanna’s left tit, giving it a firm squeeze. “You bastard!” The fiery lieutenant tried to pull away but her captor, a seven-foot tall Nausican, easily pulled her close with a boob-jiggling yank. His big fingers closed around her left nipple, catching Torres’ erect teat between thumb and forefinger. As the Klingon bit her lip in distress the other guards took advantage of their own captives. Troi’s dark Betazoid eyes widened as her ass was fondled, while T’Pol’s pouting lips parted in a groan of distress as green Orion fingers diddled her snatch.
“Hands off the merchandise,” Golga snapped, “We can’t have bruises on them now.”
Their turn had come. They had fallen as far as it was possible for Starfleet officers to fall.
B’Elanna Torres, T’Pol and Deanna Troi were about to be sold as slaves on the auction blocks of Ferenginar.
As she was led forwards Deanna Troi turned her thoughts towards how she managed to go from holding the rank of commander aboard the Federation flagship to here, stark naked, hands bound, tits marked with “FOR SALE” and about to be sold as a sex slave.
EPISODE 01: WHAT ARE LITTLE GIRLS MADE OF?
SEVEN DAYS EARLIER
Deanna Troi’s dark eyelashes fluttered as she struggled to rouse herself.
The
The realization that she was wearing nothing shocked Deanna fully into the waking world, her dark eyes going wide. “Mmmmpphh!” she said, her words muffled by the mask over her mouth. She wiggled, turning her head left and right, her dark hair shifting around her pale shoulders as she took in her situation.
The twenty-nine year old found herself standing inside a narrow tube made of thick transparent plastic. She was also completely naked. The narrowness of the cylinder meant that her pale bottom pressed against the back wall while the orbs of her breasts were flattened against the front. The transparent tubing was chillingly cold, making her dark nipples go painfully hard as they pressed against the freezing surface.
“A cryogenic stasis pod?” she wondered, wriggling inside the tube. Her struggles only served to make her boobs wiggle against the plastic, her nipples producing a faint squeaking noise. She halted her sexy struggle, her dark eyes rolling as she tried to look around and make sense of where she was.
There was a mask strapped over the lower half of her face with a tube inside that intruded into her mouth, enough to keep her teeth apart. “Is that a feeding tube?” she wondered, working her tongue over the nozzle in her mouth. “How long have I been in this pod?” She reached around, feeling out the naked curves of her hips. Because of the narrowness of the pod that forced her breasts to press against the plastic, Deanna could only reach her hips and crotch.
The counselor heard a sound come from outside her cylinder, made very faint by the thick layer of plastic. It was a woman’s voice. “Final scans completed. Patterned reconstitution one hundred percent successful.”
Through the transparent walls of the tube the brunette beauty saw that she was inside a small chamber, and that she was not alone. There were two other tubes containing two other occupants.
On her left was a long-limbed, heavy-chested woman with short dark hair and pointed Vulcan ears. Her tanned limbs were long and lean, her waist trim and taut, contrasting the two generous melons on her chest. Troi could see the Vulcan’s breasts very well as they were pressed firmly against the inside of the woman’s tube. The Vulcan was also masked, her head lolling left and right as she tried to regain consciousness.
The third occupant was a tanned athletic young woman, trapped, naked and masked just as the Betazoid and the Vulcan were. The brunette appeared to be at least half-Klingon but was still a strikingly attractive woman. Probably in her early twenties she had only small ridges on her forehead and a hairline that was almost human. Her dark hair was cut to just above shoulder length, short and practical but not tomboyish. She had a taut stomach, trim thighs, a firm ass and high proud breasts, all of which Deanna had a magnificent view of right now.
Troi could see that the young Klingon woman inside was awake. The brunette was looking at the counselor with dark eyes showing a mixture of trepidation and frustration, her toned body jerking against her transparent cage, her bare knees kicking, making her tits and ass press even harder against the plastic. It was clear that the thick plastic was not going to break easily.
“How did I get in here?” wondered Troi, sinking slightly in her tube, causing her breasts to lift slightly as they clung against the cold transparent plastic. Hoping to find an escape route Deanna craned her neck and examined the inside of her cryo-tube but couldn’t find any weaknesses.
Suddenly the mask unclasped from her face and hissed upwards as fast as a viper, leaving Deanna’s mouth free. A second later the masks on her Klingon and Vulcan neighbors also retracted, leaving the nude trio gasping with relief.
The Vulcan seemed to gather herself, her lean full-breasted figure straightening in her tube. The short-haired woman shouted but Deanna couldn’t make sense of her words through the two thick layers of plastic between the two captives. And then the plastic moved.
Each cylinder retracted towards the ceiling, sliding up into concealment while leaving their captives behind on the deck. Thanks to the tight fit of the tubes around the three curvy women, their tits were forced to press against the plastic as it rose.
The three captives’ bare breasts produced squeaking noises as their nipples rubbed against the chilled plastic tubing. All three women squealed as their sensitive teats were stimulated by the contact, their generous tits rising as the friction with the retracting plastic dragged them upwards.
And then the plastic was up and away from them. Three sets of delicious breasts bounced free, no longer confined within the narrowness of the cylinders. The three brunettes shuddered and dropped to the deck, landing on all fours with their asses in the air and their breasts dangling beneath them.
“Ohhhhh,” groaned the voluptuous Deanna.
“Mmmmmm,” moaned the Vulcan, her hands cupping and massaging her tender boobs.
“Someone’s gonna pay for this,” complained the athletic Klingon, rolling onto her back and covering her tits with her hands.
The Vulcan rose to her feet, one arm wrapped around her generous bosom and making it rise into a mouthwatering cleavage. “Where are we? And how did we come to be here?”
“This ship is a Starfleet design,” the Klingon noted as she cast her dark eyes over the walls and ceiling, “At least cosmetically.”
“This is no Starfleet interior I have ever seen,” disagreed the short-haired Vulcan.
“Wait a minute.” Deanna brushed her raven hair back from her dark eyes, staring hard at the long-limbed Vulcan woman before her. Now that she was no longer wearing the life-support mast her face was. Troi recognized her regal features, her generously pouting lips and the angles of her eyes. “You’re T’Pol!”
The Vulcan looked over at the Betazoid. Despite the degrading state in which she had awoken the short-haired beauty was already assuming typically Vulcan expression of elegance and calm. “Have we met?”
“She can’t be T’Pol,” the Klingon dismissed with a wave, the gesture making her bare breasts jiggle deliciously. “She’d be like three hundred years old and even Vulcans don’t stay young that long.”
T’Pol directed a regal look into the Klingon’s direction. “I am sixty seven,” she declared, which for a Vulcan was comparable a human’s late twenties. Her composure shifted slightly, a small look of concern marring her elegant façade. “What year is this?”
“2369,” Deanna offered.
“2371,” countered the Klingon. Her dark eyes widened slightly and she wrapped her arms around her bare body uncomfortably, pushing her boobs together in the process. “But we could both be wrong. If you’ve been in here for two hundred years then who knows how long we’ve really been in here.”
T’Pol looked over her two companions, one a milk-skinned brunette with lush curves and the other a tanned, toned athletic figure with Klingon features. “Who are you?”
“Commander Deanna Troi, USS Enterprise,” the voluptuous Betazoid said, then added, “Enterprise D, Galaxy class. There have been several Enterprises since the 22nd century.” She noticed T’Pol’s eyes grower slightly wider with surprise.
“Lieutenant B’Elanna Torres, chief engineer USS Voyager.” Torres was looking over a nearby console, her arms folded to cover her boobs. Her fingers found her nipples still stiff and uncomfortable after her confinement in the freezer-tube. “There isn’t any power to the controls,” she said with a shake of her head, short dark hair flicking around her attractive features. “But this doesn’t look like a cryo system. It looks more like a transporter display…”
Heading for the door, Deanna self-consciously stepped around T’Pol, aware of how close her voluptuous naked figure was to the long-limbed, heavy-breasted Vulcan. She cupped and covered her boobs in her hands as she looked towards the door. “Well, we should probably try to get out of here.”
+++++
There was only one exit from the cryo-chamber but like the console it was without power.
“One, two, three,” said Deanna, “Pull!” The trio of Starfleet officers hauled on the door’s edges, Troi on one side, Torres on the other and T’Pol standing inbetween. Muscles tensed and breasts trembled with effort as the three nude brunettes slowly dragged the door opened a few inches and then refused to open further.
T’Pol looked over their work, her pouting lips pursed in thought. “There appears to be a physical catch we cannot shift,” she observed, considering the narrow opening they had been able to produce. “I doubt we can open it any wider with brute strength but this should be enough to squeeze through.”
“You really think you can fit through there??” B’Elanna said doubtfully, eyeing the Vulcan’s generous breasts.
T’Pol turned sideways and stepped one long slim leg through the narrow gap. As she side-stepped through the opening she encountered exactly the problem Torres had predicated. The Vulcan’s tits were simply too big for easy passage, and her round bottom was producing a similar problem. With a little lifting, squeezing and the biting of her lip T’Pol managed to squeeze her magnificently proportioned figure through. B’Elanna followed, the Klingon not faring much better when it came to maneuvering her firm ass and proud high breasts through the narrow space, jiggling her athletic figure up and down as she shimmied between the doors.
But it was the voluptuous Deanna Troi who had the most
trouble.
“Now this is definitely a control room of some kind,” B’Elanna said, walking around the new chamber the three nude heroines found themselves in. “Looks like everything’s on emergency power only.”
“If this is a bridge it is a very small example of one,” observed T’Pol, brushing her short hair back over one pointed ear, “Intended for a minimal crew? A shuttle, or a prototype ship?”
“A prototype!” gasped Deanna. “My god, I’ve here before! I remember this ship!” The curvaceous brunette looked around, reaching out to touch her fingertips to one of the consoles. “This is the Starheart!”
B’Elanna was looking at a partially-lit deck display, the orange glow from the LCARS system illuminating her bare breasts. The Klingon lifted her face in surprise at the sound of that name. “When did you work on the Starheart project?”
Troi shrugged her naked shoulders, unknowingly making her melons jiggle deliciously. “I was involved in negotiations with the Ferengi Consortium for use of some of their territory for field trials. I took the tour. You worked on it?”
The Klingon leaned over a console to make the most of the half-lit LCARS display, her boobs dangling and her big brown nipples nearly brushing against the surface. “Back in the academy I worked on some of the engine designs, on request of one of my instructors. I took part in some of the installations too.”
“What is this ‘Starheart’?” T’Pol questioned. The Vulcan’s elegant face was lifted as she looked over the ship’s interior.
“It’s an experimental engine concept that taps into the subspace differential produced by a star’s gravity and uses it for power and propulsion, instead of using a warp core,” Torres answered. “You could build a very fast ship that doesn’t need to carry antimatter or dilithium.”
T’Pol’s full lips parted and her eyes went distant with memory. “Tallas ki trelna,” the Vulcan said in her native tongue. “It is what we called a similar project on my homeworld. I worked on it in my youth.”
“It’s the same project,” Troi said. “The Vulcans never got it to work. Years later Federation teams tried to finish it. It’s been on and off again for more than two hundred years! Surveyors located a stable star system in Ferengi space that they believed they could use as a predictable power source for trial runs. I was brought in to help negotiate for use of territory around it. But they were still trying to make it work last I heard.”
“I heard it disappeared during an automated test flight,” Torres contributed. “What I want to know is does it work now?”
“I would rather know where we are now,” countered T’Pol. “And when.”
A crackle of light flashed in the middle of the bridge, making the three nude heroines leap back. It existed only for a split-second before disappearing. Then a moment later it blurred into life again, a swirl of blue and white accompanied by a hiss of static, like a poorly received transmission.
A single word emerged from the garbled noise. “…link…” For a moment a figure was visible in the swirl of color and static, a slim feminine shape, and then it was gone.
“Hologram,” Torres reported, moving from console to console as she tried to wheedle the ship’s systems into compliance. “Memory could be damaged, or not enough power to run it.”
“Do whatever you can to bring it back, lieutenant,” Troi ordered. “That hologram might have the answers we need.”
After a moment’s work B’Elanna straightened and banged one palm flat on the console in frustration, making her tits jiggle. “This is ridiculous! The power reserves are practically dry!”
“I presume that means no computer access,” T’Pol said pointedly.
“I barely have diagnostics,” Torres said. Her dark eyes moved over the console again. “But there might be some good news. Our problem isn’t a lack of fuel, we have plenty of that. The problem is the energy to get Starheart’s reactor running. Once the backup batteries charge up from ambient heat and light sources, we might be able to get the ship flying again.”
“How long?” the Vulcan queried.
“From these readings, maybe a week.”
“Then we’ll have time to check the other compartments in the ship,” Deanna suggested. “We should make sure Starheart is safe to switch on again.”
“And find out what happened to the crew,” added T’Pol.
+++++
B’Elanna Torres’s dark eyes fell on the open container. She flicked back her dark hair with a relieved sigh that made her bare breasts rise and fall. “Clothing. Thank god.”
The
The Klingon and the Vulcan joined the Betazoid and began pulling on the much-welcomed clothing. “I’ve got a question for you Vulcan,” B’Elanna began, pulling panties up her trim thighs and settling the fabric over her bottom and snatch.
“Regarding what?” the Vulcan replied, cupping the generous handfuls of her breasts in a bra and shifting them until her boobs were comfortable in their new home.
Torres’ fingers tested the elastic of her panties by pulling
on one hip and then releasing it with a snap. “How many years were you assigned
to the NX class
T’Pol frowned as she pulled a uniform top over her head, pulling the stretching material over her abundant titflesh. “Four years, from the last recollection I possess before awakening here. Why?”
Deanna nodded in understanding. “I think I see what Torres is
getting at,” the counselor said, leaning forwards to pull a pair of elastic
pants up her thighs with ass-wiggling, tit-swaying movements. “T’Pol, you
weren’t kept frozen for two hundred years. The T’Pol we know from history books was aboard
the old
“So either you’ve traveled through time,” Torres suggested, “Or you’re not really the real T’Pol but a clone or reproduction.”
“I am not lying to you,” T’Pol said in a firm voice.
“I wasn’t saying that,” B’Elanna said, lifting herself on the tips of her toes as she pulled her pants up into the crack of her ass, her nipples dancing as she hopped. “I don’t want to be right about this. But if you’re some kind of flash-memory clone, or a replication of the real thing…”
Troi’s beautiful dark eyes were wide with mild horror. “Then maybe me and Torres are copies as well,” she finished. “It’s very possible that we were made.”
“But by who?” queried the Vulcan science officer, “And for what purpose?”
Once they were dressed the three Starfleet officers took a moment to look each other over. The uniforms were pristine white with a pair of narrow blue stripes running down the front and down the back, one set over the breasts and the other riding down their bottoms. The material was elastic and quite tight.
Deanna looked self-consciously at her own curvaceous figure and at those of her two companions. “These don’t leave much to the imagination. But the stripes are slimming, I must admit.”
“I don’t think these are meant to make us look slim,” B’Elanna disagreed, noting how the blue stripes on their outfits lovingly rode their breasts and bottoms, drawing attention to their curves.
“This is better than going naked,” concluded T’Pol, sliding her hands down her uniform to smooth the material over her bosom and belly. Then the demure Vulcan directed her gaze to an as-yet unopened door. “We should continue our search.”
+++++
With the three heroines pulling on it, the door finally opened. The trio immediately had to shield their eyes from the hot brightness of the next room. This chamber was the largest yet and instead of a far wall it had a large hanger door, presently open to the air outside. Beyond it was an endless desert landscape with rolling golden dunes baking under a mercilessly bright sun, the heat blazing in on them.
B’Elanna looked left and right across the chamber. “This must be the ship’s cargo bay,” she said as the trio advanced towards the open hanger entrance, each drawn to the terrain outside.
The three women stepped out and found themselves on the steep slope of a dune. “It appears as if most of the ship is buried,” T’Pol commented, looking back to see the ship’s hanger area only slightly protruding from the sand.
The ship’s warp engines also emerged from the dune’s slope on either side of the buried hanger. “Starheart must be a small ship from the look of those nacelles,” Torres commented.
Troi wiped one hand across her forehead, feeling perspiration already beading on her pale skin. Less than a minute exposed to the desert’s heat and she was already feeling it. “I wouldn’t bet on finding habitation nearby.”
The three catsuit-clad heroines stood shoulder to shoulder on the steep edge of the dune, looking out across the terrible desert. T’Pol spoke. “In its low-power mode I doubt the ship is capable of lift-off, but we may be able to transmit a distress signal…”
A phaser beam struck the dune slope beneath them. The tight-packed material gave way in a great rush of sand and the three brunettes were suddenly falling in a sandy avalanche. B’Elanna, T’Pol and Deanna tumbled and rolled, long legs kicking and breasts bouncing as they fell down the steep slope with undignified yelps and huffs.
The slope leveled out and they rolled to a halt, sand sliding around them, getting in their hair and inside their uniforms. The three women found themselves lying tits-down on the sand. “Not exactly the salvage I expected the find,” said a voice that positively sneered with satisfaction. The three Starfleet officers lifted their heads and looked up at the peak of the next slope to the speaker.
A short robe-clad figure stood with the sun at his back, the brightness making the three women squint. Even with the glare behind him the Ferengi’s enormous jug-like ears were clearly visible.
So was the phaser in his hand, as well as the three heavyset guards that flanked him. Suddenly two rifles and a long spear-like weapon were pointing menacingly at the three Starfleet officers.
“Hands in the air,” the Ferengi ordered, leering at the three catsuit-clad heroines lying on the sand before him.
+++++
The three brunette beauties rose cautiously to their feet, their hands lifted above their heads. Now they had a better view of their assailants. The Ferengi, clad in a dust-covered coat, was accompanied by three giant creatures: a reptilian Gorn with mud-brown scaly skin, a mouth full of sharp teeth and glittering compound eyes, a barrel-chested Orion with green skin and enormous arms and hands, and lastly a hideous Nausican with deep-set eyes and a mouth hinged by pointed mandibles. Each of them stood at least seven feet tall, towering over the Ferengi, yet the tiny orange-skinned, big-eared man had an air about him that made it clear he was their leader.
As they stood up Deanna, T’Pol and Torres each had the uncomfortable feeling that the four men on the ridge were staring at their catsuit-clad figures. Suddenly their outfits were entirely too tight and revealing for the three women’s’ liking.
It was the lush-figured Betazoid who spoke first. “I am
Commander Deanna Troi of the starship
“My name’s Golga, honest trader,” the Ferengi declared, “So Miss Enterprise, where is your starship right now? This solar system looked pretty clean when I was coming in.”
“Um. Any action taken against us would be considered an attack against the Federation,” Troi rallied.
The enormous Orion reached out with a surprisingly quick hand, his finger and thumb pinching at T’Pol’s right breast. “Hands off!” the science officer said, slapping the man’s hand away and retreating a step, alarm showing through her usual Vulcan calm.
“These don’t look like ordinary Starfleet uniforms,” the Orion said with a grin, rubbing his fingers together.
“Do you really want to take that risk?” B’Elanna warned.
There was a touch of doubt in Golga’s eyes. From his robe a compact communicator emerged which he held up to one enormous ear. “Golga here, I’ve found some top shelfers walking around down here who say they’re Starfleet. Check our records for their peoples’ names, a Dina Troi…”
“Deanna!” corrected the Betazoid. “And B’Elanna Torres.”
“Uh Troi, maybe you don’t want to do that,” Torres warned, touching one hand to the Betazoid’s arm.
“Don’t try anything,” growled the Nausican standing behind Torres. B’Elanna stepped away from Deanna, eyeing the monstrous goon with caution. Meanwhile the Nausican eyed Torres’ taut elastic-clad ass with leering interest.
“Deanna Troi,” Golga was reporting to his communicator, “B’Elanna Torres and… hey legs, I’m talking to you. Vulcan! What’s your name?”
“T’Pol,” she answered. Then the Vulcan bit her plump lips in concern.
“The last one is a Vulcan, says her name is T’Pol.” The Ferengi switched off his communicator and gestured to his guards. “Bring them up here.”
Deanna felt a big hand shove her shoulder, making her boobs tremble in her tight top. She stepped forward, directed to walk alongside B’Elanna and T’Pol as the three women walked up the slope of the dune towards Golga. They leaned forward as they climbed, unwittingly giving the Ferengi ahead of them an interesting view of their dangling elastic-clad tits while offering the three guards that followed them an eye-opening look at their asses.
As they climbed, B’Elanna, Deanna and T’Pol exchanged glances. The Vulcan leaned forward a bit more as she climbed, her fingers digging suggestively at the sand. Torres shifted a shoulder, gesturing towards the guards behind them. The Betazoid counselor gave a tiny nod. All of these tiny gestures could only be seen by the three women as they silently shared their plan of attack.
“Well I like those outfits,” Golga grinned as the three brunettes reached the crest of the dune. “Better than the clothing you Federation females usually wear…”
Deanna threw a scooped handful of sand into the Ferengi’s face. T’Pol and Torres cast more sand back into the eyes of the three guards, the Gorn, the Nausican and the Orion all reeling back. The three women ran back down the dune, shoving the three giant men as they passed and making them fall tumbling and rolling down the slope.
“Back to the ship!” yelled B’Elanna. With tit-jumping strides the three heroines ran down the dune and up the other slope, racing towards Starheart’s open hanger door. Their long legs pumped and their elastic-clad asses wiggled as they half-ran, half-climbed up the steep incline, sand sliding around their feet.
“Almost there,” panted Troi as she raced up alongside the other two brunettes. The three giant guards were still blinking sand out of their eyes and climbing to their feet, and had no hope of stopping them.
The three heroines were within feet of the hanger entrance when a phaser blast hit the dune slope beneath them. For the second time the steep surface collapsed in a miniature avalanche, bringing T’Pol, Deanna and B’Elanna tumbling down to the bottom of the dune. Lowering his phaser Golga grinned in satisfaction as the three brunettes rolled and slid right into the waiting arms of the three giant guards.
“Let go of me dammit!” B’Elanna struggled but wasn’t strong enough to pull free of the Nausican holding firmly onto her upper arms. She writhed and bucked, her boobs jumping inside her top.
“This is criminal!” objected Deanna Troi as the counselor was gripped around the waist and lifted off her feet, her legs kicking uselessly. Her kicking grew more frantic as the Gorn holding her moved one hand up to the swell of her breasts, taking advantage of the chance to grip the Betazoid’s ample melons.
“This is kidnapping ow!” T’Pol’s complaint was cut short as
the Orion guard grabbed her from behind, his big green hands closing around the
Vulcan’s tits and squeezing hard, pulling her close to him. The
Golga scratched behind one of his enormous ears. “You girls have got some fight in you,” he said as he brushed sand out of his coat, “I like that. Who am I kidding, I fucking hate that. Tie them.”
“What with?” the Nausican growled.
The Ferengi looked at the three brunettes, their attractive figures clad in skin-tight elastic. “Their uniforms look good. Use them.”
Deanna, B’Elanna and T’Pol’s eyes all widened.
The Orion, the Gorn and the Nausican had been waiting eagerly for this moment. Before the three heroines could react the burly thugs sprang into action. The Nausican’s clawed hands gripped the neck of B’Elanna’s outfit and pulled outwards, tearing the material wide at the shoulders, and then yanked down hard. Suddenly Torres’ top was bunched around her hips and effectively pinning her arms to her sides. Gasping with only her bra covering her tits B’Elanna found herself tied up with her own uniform! “You bastard!” she swore.
Where Torres’ shirt had gone down, Deanna’s top was yanked up. The Gorn grinned as he pulled the Betazoid’s uniform up over her face and twisted the fabric into a knot, effectively tying Troi’s arms together above her head. “Don’t!” the counselor yelped in fright, briefly blinded by the fabric over her face until she was able to shake her head free. Then the counselor stared down in shock and fear at the sight of her own bra-clad breasts, now lifting deliciously as she was forced to keep her arms raised to the sky.
T’Pol found her elbows grabbed from behind by enormous green fingers. “But we are Starfleet officers!” She struggled with all her Vulcan strength but the Orion was even stronger, pulling her arms behind her until he could grip both of her slim wrists with one giant hand. Pulling the struggling brunette close he reached around her with his other hand, gripped the waist of her uniform’s top and then dragged it upwards.
T’Pol eyes went wide as she watched the Orion bare her belly, then her bra and finally haul the elastic material of her top over her head. With a quick jerk the green-skinned giant pulled T’Pol’s top back around her arms, securing her elbows behind her and tying off the slack. Like her companions the science officer was now bound by her own uniform. “This is not necessary!”
Golga looked over the three women, now with only their bras covering the delicious treats on their chests. “Let them keep their underwear,” he grudgingly allowed. “But we don’t want them running away either,” he added.
With leering grins the three brutes gripped Deanna, T’Pol and B’Elanna’s pants and yanked them down to their knees. The tight material served as a hobble, making it impossible to kick and limited how quickly they could move. It also left them with only their panties covering their bottoms and snatches.
With a satisfied smile Golga looked over the three humiliated Starfleet officers. Torres, T’Pol and Troi now stood with their arms bound and their long legs hobbled by their own uniforms. Each was drawing in panicked breaths, making their tits rise invitingly inside their bras, already threatening to spill out into the hot desert air. The three women glared at him in silent anger and humiliation.
“Bring them up,” he ordered again. Once again Troi, Torres and T’Pol trudged up the slope of the dune, but this time they could offer little resistance. Their long legs made only short awkward motions as they climbed the steep slope, three sets of cleavage quivering in their bras with each step.
As they climbed a buzzing sound from Golga’s communicator
drew the Ferengi’s attention. He lifted the device to his ear and listened to
the report offered by his crew. “Looks like the
“Deanna!” the voluptuous brunette corrected again.
“And the only Klingon named Torres in the records is a Maquis rebel and wanted criminal,” Golga added, jerking his head towards Voyager’s chief engineer. “And as for you calling yourself T’Pol, Vulcan, you wish you’ll have tits like that when you’re three hundred.”
B’Elanna and T’Pol both trembled inside. While Torres had been awarded the rank of lieutenant by captain Janeway, Voyager was on the other side of the galaxy and no one in the Alpha Quadrant knew she was anything but a Maquis criminal. And who would believe that this Vulcan was the legendary T’Pol from more than a century in the past?
“You could have picked better lies to tell.” Golga strolled over to Deanna Troi, looking up and down her lush pale figure, admiring how her wide hips tapered to a slim waist before swelling out with her milky melons, presently trembling in the cups of her bra. He watched as the counselor dropped her dark eyes, unwilling to speak.
The Ferengi smirked. “You told a lie. You’ve lost your underwear privileges.” He reached out and yanked down the Betazoid’s bra.
Deanna Troi’s breasts popped up and out, bouncing as they were freed from her underwear. The counselor gasped, flushing in shame and trying to pull back but found the Gorn guard behind her holding her firmly by the upper arms. Forced to thrust her bare breasts forwards the twenty-nine year old rolled her dark Betazoid eyes in embarrassment. Then she cringed in pure humiliation as Golga took hold of her tits and massaged them with his orange fingers.
“Very nice,” he complimented, taking a second to rip Deanna’s bra completely away before returning to the admiration of the young woman’s breasts. “A good size and feel to them in the hands,” the Ferengi added, hefting Troi’s tits, “Big without being oversized. And very soft. You’ve got great skin Deena.”
“Deanna,” the counselor objected, her face lowered in shame as her breasts were groped. Then she let out a whoop of embarrassment as Golga gripped her panties and ripped them away from her hips. Her feet shifted as she brought her trembling thighs together, flinching as the Ferengi ran his fingers through her dark thatch.
“Not getting much action these days, counselor? You haven’t shaved for a while. Turn jugs here around,” he ordered, and the Gorn guard maneuvered Troi around so that the Ferengi could see her ass. Deanna exchanged a look of horrified shame with Torres and T’Pol. The Klingon and the Vulcan could only stand in trembling anticipation, knowing that their turn would come.
Troi yelped as her bottom was slapped. “You’ve got a lot of ass, counselor,” the Ferengi commented, fondling the Betazoid’s womanly rump. “Nearly too much ass. Remind me to keep you away from the chocolate, maybe put you on the treadmill.” As Deanna flushed with shame at Golga’s comments the Ferengi continued. “But some men like a little more in the stern. Besides, if you lost any weight those great tits of your might shrink.”
“You animal!” Deanna cried out as the Orion pulled her back into line with T’Pol and Torres. As a diplomatic officer aboard the USS Enterprise Troi was familiar with how ugly Ferengi could be with females, but she had never suffered such a humiliation at their hands.
“Bring the Klingon forward,” Golga ordered, shifting his attention to B’Elanna Torres. The Klingon was already struggling, her athletic figure wiggling and bucking against the powerful arms of the Nausican holding her. “Now you are the prettiest Klingon I’ve ever seen,” he commented, admiring the twenty-two year old’s lean toned figure as she writhed and wriggled. His orange hands flashed forward to grip the cups of the brunette’s bra and rip it away, leaving B’Elanna’s breasts bared.
“Yummy,” Golga admired, watching Torres’ tits jiggle and bounce with her useless but sexy struggles. “Bigger than I expected. More bounce too,” he added, taking hold of B’Elanna’s melons and squeezing them, “I expected a Klingon bitch’s tits to be rock-hard.” Voyager’s chief engineer turned her face away in shame, shutting her eyes as the Ferengi fondled and massaged her boobs, rubbing his thumbs over her brown nipples until her teats became erect. Golga caught B’Elanna’s nips between thumb and forefinger and twisted. “Responsive too,” he smirked, using Torres’ teats to tug her tits quickly left and right, making her soft titflesh jiggle.
“You Ferengi pig,” she cursed as her udders were tweaked, “You won’t get away with this!”
“Trim and firm body,” Golga continued, ignoring the Klingon’s complaints. Sliding his hands down B’Elanna’s waist he took hold of her panties and pulled them upward. The fabric dug into the folds of Torres’ snatch, making the young woman gasp and arch her back, her bare breasts pointing towards the sky. The Ferengi yanked up hard and B’Elanna’s panties tore free, leaving the twenty-two year old naked before him.
“Landing strip muff,” Golga observed, looking down at B’Elanna’s exposed snatch and the tiny patch of trimmed pubic hair above it. “Now you were expecting some action. Turn our Klingon bitch around. Oh, now there is an ass!” The Ferengi smiled at the sight of B’Elanna Torres’ firm rear end. He ran his hands down and over her buttocks, admiring the taut perfection of the twenty-two year old’s rump. “And on top of those thighs, that is perfect.”
B’Elanna flinched as her bottom was slapped, then opened her dark eyes to look in helpless humiliation at Deanna and T’Pol. The Betazoid, already naked and flushed with embarrassment, watched in mute sympathy. The Vulcan, still wearing her bra and panties, tried to maintain her self-controlled composure but the rapid rise and fall of her cleavage gave away the rising panic inside her.
A nude and shamed B’Elanna Torres was pushed back into line, and Golga turned his beady eyes to the last of the three heroines. “Bring up… what did she say her name was? Tit Pole?”
T’Pol was pushed forward, then held still by the Orion guard’s hands on her shoulders. Gathering up her self-control and assuming the most regal demeanor she could, the NX Enterprise’s science officer lifted her chin and gave Golga a level look. “I only assume from this ‘measuring up’ that you are considering us for mmmph!”
Golga pinched the Vulcan’s lips together, silencing her. “Nice fat, cocksucking lips,” he said approvingly. “That would draw attention even if you were a skinny flat-chested thing. Which you’re not.” His hands dropped, grabbing T’Pol’s bra and tearing it away from her chest. The Vulcan’s breasts bounced into view, plump and heavy. “Which you are definitely not,” the Ferengi breathed, gazing at T’Pol’s tits with admiration.
Suddenly self-conscious, the science officer tried to speak without actually moving her plump lips. “Cock-sucking?” she said in wide-eyed disbelief. Then her brown eyes rolled in humiliation as the Ferengi took hold of her tits and lifted them, feeling out their heft and softness. Her udders were jiggled left and right in Golga’s hands, the big-eared alien grinning at the sight.
“Oh they’re going to love you, Tit Pole.” His hands left T’Pol’s tits and found her panties. The Vulcan flinched as the last of her underwear was ripped from her nethers, leaving her ass bare and her pussy exposed. “Just a little bit of fur down there,” Golga observed, eyeing the light dusting of brown hair between T’Pol’s legs, a faint arrow pointing towards her delicious snatch. “Still, that can be improved. Turn her around.”
T’Pol was pushed around, her eyes shamefully looking towards Deanna and B’Elanna. The two naked Starfleet officers watched helplessly as the Vulcan’s ass and thighs were fondled. “Great legs and a better rump,” Golga exclaimed. “You’re skinny, Vulcan, but you’ve got it were it counts. Well done.” He gave T’Pol’s ass one last squeeze farewell. “Very well done.”
Deanna, B’Elanna and T’Pol were once more forced into line. Golga let his gaze wander across the three bound and humiliated women before him, from faces flushing with shame to bare breasts heaving with panicked breathing. He savored the sight of their brown muffs and the cute little folds of pussy lips he could spy between each set of trembling thighs. “This is turning out to be a better day than I thought.”
T’Pol was staring down at the expanse of her own naked body, her eyes locked on the globes of her bare breasts as she struggled to hold on to her Vulcan self-control. B’Elanna Torres made an attempt to struggle, her tits jiggling on her chest, before the Nausican behind her pulled her close and forced her to remain still, a hand possessively on her bare hip. Deanna Troi rolled her dark eyes in helpless torment as the reptilian Gorn behind her took hold of her breasts and gave the two pale melons a gentle squeeze, Troi’s titflesh bulging between the monster’s fingers.
“But this is criminal!” complained Deanna Troi.
As it turned out Deanna Troi wasn’t able to muster much force and dignity, not while she was naked and bound with her big tits being squeezed. Golga regarded the commander with a grin. “Well then, the next time I see a Starfleet ship I’ll try not to tell them about you and your great tits, commander. Alright boys, let’s get these whores moving. It’s quite a trip back to the shuttle.”
Their giant captors shoved at each woman’s bottom, making her advance with tit-jiggling steps. At the peak of the dune they could see the vast desolation of the desert, an endless field of sun-scorched yellow that stretched out in all directions. The sight would have depressed the three heroines, if they didn’t have other things to worry about. T’Pol jumped slightly, her tits bouncing as the Orion behind her slapped her on the ass, spurring her to get moving.
Deanna Troi, B’Elanna Torres and T’Pol had been defeated, shamefully stripped naked and bound by their own uniforms. But their humiliating trek had only just begun.
+++++
Beyond the ridge of the slope was Golga’s personal ride: an aged and dirty hoverbike that allowed him to float effortlessly over the sand. The Gorn, the Nausican and the Orion had to move on foot behind their master, but each of the three giants had a long stride and showed no problem with the desert.
Deanna, B’Elanna and T’Pol were not so fortunate. With their elastic pants binding them at the knees the three brunettes found their strides hampered and with their hands bound the counselor, engineer and science officer could not even cover their nudity as they hobbled forward. Their bare breasts bounced and jiggled with their uneven steps, tits dancing deliciously on their chests, while their bottoms wiggled enticingly and provided a good show for the three brutes that followed them.
When one of them slowed they were given a hard shove in the ass, making their tits jiggle yet again and spurring them to quicken their pace. Slowly they were forced faster, until the three nude Starfleet officers were running topless and bare-bottomed across the desert.
T’Pol was faring best out of the three, her Vulcan body
already acclimatized to desert conditions. While the awkward pace was making her
generous tits jiggle as she ran and her breath grew labored, the Vulcan’s skin
remained dry of sweat. B’Elanna’s tanned athletic body, on the other hand, was
slick with sweat, droplets beading on her breasts and belly and running down her
back and legs.
But it was Deanna Troi who was suffering the worst. At only five foot three she was the shortest of the three heroines with the smallest stride, and her voluptuous Betazoid body lacked the strength of the Vulcan or the Klingon. Perspiration poured down her pale skin. Her generous tits bounced vigorously with her staggering steps. Her ass provided a magnificent show for the Gorn behind her as Deanna’s bottom wiggled and bounced.
They were climbing a particularly steep dune when Troi first
fell. She had been leaning forward heavily as she climbed, her boobs dangling
beneath her, when one foot slid through the sand and
“Ow!” she cried out, then squirmed and rolled as the hot sand stung the bare skin of her sensitive breasts. Deanna rolled onto her back, her sand-caked tits rising and falling rapidly with her labored breathing. “I can’t go on!”
Golga slowed his hoverbike, then halted it entirely to enjoy the sight of Deanna Troi lying nude and panting in the sand. As the party stopped B’Elanna and T’Pol took advantage of the break to catch their breath, both brunettes leaning forward heavily as they sucked in much-needed air, their bosoms dangling beneath them like ripe fruit and their pussy lips pouting out from between their thighs.
The Ferengi leading the band finally waved a hand at Deanna. “Get the big-titted bimbo on her feet.” On that command the Gorn guard reached down, one hand grabbing a handful of Betazoid breast and the other one gripped Troi’s tush, and Deanna was lifted back onto her feet and shoved onwards, her pale melons bouncing with every step. Both he boobs and bottom were coated with sand yet it seemed to make her voluptuous figure only more mouthwatering.
It was only the first fall of the day. During a tit-bouncing descent down a dune slope B’Elanna was next to slip, the sand giving way beneath her and bringing the twenty-two year old down on her firm ass. Voyager’s chief engineer cried out as she was lifted by onto her feet by her hair and forced to run onward. When T’Pol’s turn came it was at the crest of a dune, the Vulcan tripping and rolling down the other side, ensuring an even coat of sand across her toned bottom, thighs, back, breasts and belly. The Orion shepherding the Vulcan enjoyed lifting the science officer onto her feet, grabbing onto the two most convenient handholds: T’Pol’s magnificent breasts.
“Aaaaiieeee!” the Vulcan cried, her composure utterly broken by the discomfort and humiliation of her ordeal. Her head bowed and tears edging her eyes T’Pol resumed her shameful trek, running alongside Deanna and B’Elanna, the three Starfleet officers’ breasts bouncing and their asses wiggling.
Their three guards had no trouble with the desert terrain thanks to their long stride and desert clothing. This was in sharp contract to T’Pol, B’Elanna and Deanna Troi who felt the strain of the run more and more. Soon even the desert-born Vulcan was sweating, her head bowing as she endured the uncomfortable bouncing of her bare breasts as she continued to run.
Then Deanna fell again. The heavy-chested counselor rolled onto her back, her generous tits heaving with her desperate breathing. “Can’t!” she managed between breaths, her dark eyes shut and her imperiously beautiful face damp with perspiration. It was obvious that the Betazoid’s exhaustion was no act. Her breasts and belly rising and falling with each desperate breath, Deanna Troi silently begged for mercy.
Golga considered the gorgeous sight of the
Themselves sweaty and breathing hard from the trip, B’Elanna and T’Pol watched as the exhausted Troi was rolled onto her chest, her generous tits squashing against the sand. She was forced to bend her knees and elbows back, positioning the counselor in a humiliating hog-tied position. The brunette commander was too short of breath to complain, only able to turn her head and stare with large dark eyes at what the men were doing.
Like the other women, Deanna was bound by her own uniform wrapped around her forearms and knees. The Gorn’s staff was positioned on Troi’s back and hooked beneath those two bunches of elastic fabric. The Gorn and the Orion each lifted one end of the stick and with a cry of shame counselor Troi was hoisted up between them. The Betazoid was now hanging from the bindings at her knees and arms, her voluptuous figure dangling and swaying in her new humiliating position. The Starfleet commander was to be carried like a trophy animal, though few trophy animals had such incredible tits to dangle beneath them.
The awkward placement of the bindings meant that Deanna had to arch her back as she hung, presenting her delicious tits even more prominently. “Perfect,” Golga declared, “Let’s keep moving.” The Orion and the Gorn each held one end of the staff on their shoulder with the nude counselor suspended between them.
“Oh god this is so humiliating!” Deanna complained as they began to run. Her bare boobs bounced and jiggled with the rhythm of their steps and there was nothing the counselor could do to cover herself. B’Elanna and T’Pol were pushed back into line, the lieutenant and the commander resuming their degrading tit-jiggling run.
Golga guided his hoverbike close to where Deanna was being carried, shedding a few more inches of altitude until he was riding alongside the naked and shamed counselor. “You’re an animal!” the Betazoid complained in her accented voice.
“Whatever,” the Ferengi answered, reaching out for Troi’s hair. Her raven-black locks were falling down over her shoulders, threatening the view of the counselor’s lovely breasts. Golga drew her hair back, ensuring a clear view of the commander’s jiggling tits, then took advantage of the opportunity to grip one of those dancing orbs and give it a squeeze. “These are nice Donna,” he commented, feeling the supple heft of Troi’s boobs. “Are they real?”
“Get away from me!” Troi yelled, wiggling in her restraints and successfully pulling her tit free of the Ferengi’s hand. “And my name is Deanna!”
Golga shrugged then eased up on the throttle, rising and gliding his bike over to where T’Pol and B’Elanna were running side by side. He idly enjoyed the sight of the Vulcan and Klingon as they moved, sweat running down their toned tanned bodies, their sand-coated tits bouncing, while both directed their dark eyes angrily in his direction. Then he pulled the throttle back, slowing and falling behind so he could savor the sight of the two women’s asses in motion as they ran.
“Alright,” the Ferengi said finally, “Time for water rations.”
T’Pol and B’Elanna slowed to a halt, then both gasped as the Nausican settled his powerful hands on their shoulders. Both women were forced to their knees with tit-shaking force, the Vulcan struggling to hold a calm demeanor while the Klingon glared with dark and angry eyes. But both were helpless to do anything about their situation.
The staff to which Deanna was bound was lowered, the brunette’s lush breasts kissing against the hot sand. “Ow, ow ow ow!” the counselor complained as she lay on her belly on the sun-baked slope of the dune. She was rolled onto her back, her generous sand-coated melons shifting with a mouth-watering motion.
Canteens of water were unscrewed as Golga and his men took swigs of water, savoring the cool relief from the desert’s heat. The three nude and bound women stared at the men with envy and anger, each heroine’s bare skin wet with perspiration, bare bosoms rising and falling from their exertions, but still their captors drank without considering them.
Then Golga waved a hand in the direction of the kneeling
Torres and T’Pol. “Give them enough to keep them going.”
The canteens were upended over the three women’s faces. B’Elanna and T’Pol tipped their heads back, mouths open eagerly as they tried to catch what water they could in their awkward kneeling posture. They leaned forwards and back, gulping and tonguing at the cold flow of precious fluid, water splashing on their bare breasts.
Deanna coughed, spluttered then tried to swallow as water was poured onto the beautiful counselor’s face. The Gorn that was tending to the Betazoid grinned as he directed the water instead to her generous chest, seeing the icy cold fluid wash her pale jugs clean of sand and quickly make her large dark nipples go hard and erect. “You bastard,” Troi gasped even as her tits were washed, then desperately resumed her swallowing as the canteen was tipped over her face again.
“Enough,” ordered Golga. “Danni, are up ready to run again?”
“De-anna!” was Troi’s accented complaint, and then she shut her dark eyes in shame as the Gorn goon gave her left tit a gentle slap, making Deanna’s melon jiggle across her chest.
“The bimbo sounds better,” the Ferengi said. “Get her on her feet.”
+++++
The three heroines were gasping as the crested the last dune. Troi sank to her knees with T’Pol and Torres beside her leaning forward as they all panted for air. Droplets of sweat gathered on their dangling, swaying tits as the three Starfleet officers groaned in the aftermath of their exhausting journey.
Their destination was Golga’s shuttle, parked just at the bottom of the next dune. The Orion, the Nausican and the Gorn got to work, pulling Deanna up on her feet, and shoving her into line with T’Pol and B’Elanna. Three sharp smacks on the ass made the three heroines begin their descent down the slope, feet skidding in the sand and boobs bouncing as they moved three abreast.
Golga’s shuttle was a broad triangular piece of ugly metal. There was a large garage-like entrance in its tail flanked by its engines, presently belching clouds of dust. “Can we make orbit?” demanded the Ferengi, directing his shout to a figure standing beneath the shuttle’s wing with his head inside the machinery.
“Won’t be a smooth ride,” answered the Cardassian engineer, ducking and turning to glance at his boss, his guards, and his three naked captives before returning his attention to the little ship. “She’ll shake and sputter…” The sight of the nude trio registered and he looked back sharply, banging his head on the wing.
“Forgot to tell you,” Golga said from on his hoverbike, gesturing to the three nearly-naked Starfleet officers following him, each flanked closely by the Ferengi’s giant bodyguards. “I found these three wandering around the salvage site.”
Rubbing his head, the Cardassian stared at the bared breasts of B’Elanna Torres, Deanna Troi and the Vulcan T’Pol in surprised appreciation. “Fan-fucking-tastic,” he said after a moment’s appreciation. “Are they its crew?”
“They’re cream in the deal,” Golga said, “Pure profit on top of what we get from the crashed ship out there. Find a place onboard to strap them in nice and tight. Then get on the comm to my ship.”
He watched as the Vulcan, the Klingon and the Betazoid were led into the shuttle, the Ferengi’s eyes lingering on the gorgeous asses of the three shamed Starfleet women. “The crew should be told I’ll be bringing up a little surprise,” Golga said quietly, smirking to himself.
TO BE CONTINUED
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