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.
EPISODE 06: A PIECE OF HER ACTION
Lieutenant B’Elanna Torres, former Maquis and once the chief engineer of the starship Voyager, settled her hands on her hips.
“I am not taking off my clothes,” the lovely firm-bodied brunette declared.
The athletic twenty-two year old was wearing a Starheart project uniform. It was a figure-hugging white outfit with sets of blue stripes that ran down the breasts and belly in front and down the bottom and legs from the back. The stripes and the close fit of the elastic material accented Torres’ athletic figure, drawing attention to the curve of her firm ass and the surprisingly fullness of the half-Klingon’s breasts.
In front of her was the hologram of Ensign Melika, a pretty Andorian teenager presently clad in a black and blue Starfleet science uniform. The hologram bit her lip and gestured in an apologetic fashion. “Pretty please?”
Torres shook her head, dark hair falling around her strikingly attractive features. “No. I am not getting naked again.”
“I’m sorry,” the eighteen year old Melika apologized, “But it’s necessary for the decontamination. Starheart’s bio-neural circuitry is far more complex than the packets of goo on an Intrepid class. It’s an entire life form, all interconnected and all absolutely vital to the ship’s operations. We absolutely cannot risk any sort of contamination and I’m sorry, but you’ll have to remove your clothes.”
Next to Torres were the Vulcan T’Pol and the Betazoid Deanna Troi. The two women were also wearing white and blue Starheart uniforms that had been produced by the ship’s replicators, except that both the slim, heavy-chested T’Pol and the voluptuous Deanna were peeling their tops off, regretfully revealing their bra-clad breasts.
B’Elanna was less co-operative. “I was stripped naked and washed with
high-pressure hoses,” she said, her boobs jiggling inside her uniform as she
gestured with one hand. “I was marched nude across a desert! I was groped by
more Ferengi than I want to think about! I had a Nausican
put his, his, his thing inside me and
these are the first clothes I’ve gotten to wear in a week! I am not taking them off!”
“It is necessary, Lieutenant Torres,” T’Pol said calmly as she unclasped her bra and let it fall away, revealing her lusciously supple but high breasts tipped with round brown nipples.
“You’re among friends here, B’Elanna,” Deanna said, also removing her bra and allowing her milky orbs to bounce free. Both Deanna Troi and T’Pol had the words “FOR SALE” printed across their tits in big black letters, cruel reminders of the auction on Ferenginar. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“This isn’t about fear, it’s about dignity!” Torres paced back and forth, folding her arms in front of her elastic-clad breasts. Beneath her top B’Elanna’s breasts also carried the words “FOR SALE”, a fact she was uncomfortably aware of. “Starheart is a cutting edge piece of technology, maybe the most advanced warp engine in the entire Alpha Quadrant. It makes the Intrepid class look like a sloth and the Galaxy class look like a snail! How is it possible that this super-advanced ship’s only decontamination system requires that I get naked!?!”
“You are a commissioned Starfleet officer,” T’Pol observed. Both she and Deanna leaned forwards as they shimmied their tight elastic pants down their legs, their dangling breasts swaying left and right as they stripped. Their boots came off. As the Vulcan and the Betazoid stripped off their panties and bared their bottoms it was revealed that both beauties had the word “SOLD” printed on their round asses, another souvenir of their time in the slave markets of Ferenginar. “How can this simple task trouble you?”
Melika’s pretty face was filled with sympathy. “I’m really, really sorry B’Elanna but you have to take off your clothes. There’s no alternative.”
“Find one,” Torres answered flatly, her hands on her hips again. She glanced over at Deanna and T’Pol who now stood completely naked except for the humiliating signs on their tits and asses. The Betazoid and the Vulcan were a mouthwatering sight, one pale-skinned and voluptuous and the other tanned and toned. It was a sight that the Klingon didn’t appreciate at the moment, the stunning twenty-two year old rolling her eyes in exasperation. “A ship this high-tech has got to have another way.”
“Alright,” Melika said regretfully, “But you’re not going to like it.”
B’Elanna felt her skin tingle with transporter energy. Deanna and T’Pol’s eyes widened. Torres looked down at herself and saw that her uniform had been beamed directly off her body! The “FOR SALE” sign on her breasts and the “SOLD” sign on her firm ass were plainly visible. Her hands flashed from her hips to her tits, palms clamping over her dark nipples.
“Oh, grow up B’Elanna,” Deanna said.
“You grow up,” the Klingon retorted, then giggled despite herself. The two women shared a light laugh, relieving the tension.
T’Pol didn’t share their mirth. She stood in a typically Vulcan posture with her hands behind her back, her shoulders thrown back and her breasts thrust forward. “Lieutenant Torres, you should learn to carry yourself with more decorum…”
A burst of white goo splattered all across T’Pol’s bare breasts. “Eeeewwww!” the Vulcan cried out in disgust and shame as she recoiled at the sight of her ick-covered tits. A second later Deanna and B’Elanna were also struck by streams of sticky white gel.
“Sorry, I should have warned you!” Melika apologized. “Decon gel. The system automatically selects and dispenses the appropriate mix for the situation.”
T’Pol ran her hands over her breasts, distastefully wiping the sticky white substance off her generous globes. B’Elanna took one look at the science officer’s face and enjoyed a wicked cackle. Deanna joined her, then covered her mouth as she tried to hold in her laughter. Finally even T’Pol shared a small smile with the other women at the unusual situation, a small break in her Vulcan demeanor.
B’Elanna shot a look at the holographic Andorian. “It must be nice being a hologram and not have to get naked at times like these.”
“It is very nice,” Ensign Melika said, “Thanks for noticing. Sorry if I’m being rude, but I’m not a contamination risk.”
“Computer,” Deanna said in a sly voice, “Remove Ensign Melika’s uniform.”
The blonde teenager gasped as her black-and-blue sciences uniform faded. Melika was left standing completely naked with every inch of her figure exposed. And it was quite a figure.
The Andorian teenager that the hologram had been modeled after was a graceful young woman, slim in the thighs, hips and waist with breasts that, while not large, were perfectly shaped, high and proud. The blue-skinned beauty’s nipples were the color of white chocolate, matching her long pale hair. Just above the delicious folds of her pussy was a triangle of white fur, a cute little arrow that pointed to her snatch. Many myths promised that Andorian women were truly beautiful creatures and Melika’s body fulfilled that promise.
Her breasts were firm but supple, well-demonstrated as the teenager clamped her hands over her boobs, titflesh squeezed between her fingers. “Why did you do that?” she squealed.
“Equal treatment workplace,” suggested Troi, rubbing gel up and down the curves of her hips.
“I disagree,” T’Pol said, tilting her elegant neck as she rubbed decontaminant jelly into her neck and shoulders, “To be truly equal Melika would need to have the words “For Sale” and “Sold” on her breasts and posterior.”
“Now there’s an idea,” agreed a breathy Torres, running both gel-covered hands up between her boobs, pushing her tits apart before letting them bounce together again.
Melika stared at the three women in shock and outrage, and then she saw the little smiles on their lips. The Ensign’s pretty face tipped and she bit her lip to hold in her own laughter. “Alright,” she surrendered, “I don’t have any right to complain consider what you three went through.” With a nervous intake of breath she lifted her hands from her boobs, her blue cheeks darkening as she blushed bare-chested. The Andorian shook her long blonde hair out of its knot, allowing a swath of snow-white hair to fall down her back almost to her tight bottom.
Deanna, T’Pol and Torres began to build up a lather as they rubbed the decontamination gel over their naked skin. “Ensign Melika,” T’Pol said, lifting her breasts to soap up the lower slopes of her titflesh, “You said that you are not actually the Starheart’s computer?”
The holographic eighteen year old settled her hands on her hips. “Correct. I was programmed in by my creator, the real Ensign Melika, to serve as a systems analysis tool and a user guide to the ship. I do not have access to ship controls, otherwise I would have been able to power up the ship’s systems myself and beam you aboard. The ship still needs a crew.”
Troi massaged gel across her belly and hips before letting her hands slide up to her generous breasts. “And the ship is alive?”
“Starheart’s components could classify as a life-form due to its complexity.” The blue-skinned hologram appeared a little embarrassed as she watched the women soaping up their lovely figures. “The gel-packs on the Intrepid class were from early application of the technology. Starheart is much more advanced, and much faster. We’re able to establish subspace links to nearby stars, although our range of usable stars is narrow at the moment. But this provides a tremendous source of power without the need for dangerous elements such as dilithium or antimatter onboard. It’s the reactor of the future.”
B’Elanna ran gel down her long athletic legs, hands sliding down thighs and calves before her hands rose up to her firm ass. “I would have liked that awesome power source to power a some more substantial weapons than just a few phaser strips. Starheart doesn’t even have torpedoes.”
“He’s experimental,” Melika answered. “If Starfleet was developing a parallel program for a combat craft I wasn’t made aware of it.”
“You called the ship a he,” T’Pol noted, gently massaging gel around her bald pussy and inner thighs, leaning forward as she did so. “I believed it was Starfleet naval tradition to consider ships female.”
The holographic teenager flicked her hair, pale locks falling down her shoulder over one blue breast. “The gene sequences that Starheart’s organic components are built from are, biologically speaking, male.”
Deanna lifted her dark eyes to the ceiling. “The ship is a man?” The Betazoid looked slyly at her companions. “You don’t think he’s… watching us, do you?”
Melika folded her arms in front of her breasts. “Very funny. No, Starheart’s cognitive functions don’t function on that level.” The blue-skinned beauty turned, unknowingly giving her shipmates a view of her firm blue ass. “The next decon sequence is about to begin. Brace yourselves.”
“For what?” Deanna asked. Then she was struck by dozens of streams of icy water. “Oh goodness!” she cried out as the jets struck her breasts and nipples, bottom and pussy, all her sensitive places, in fact everywhere on her body. Tiny ports in the floor, ceilings and wall fired cold water intended to rinse the decontaminees inside the chamber.
The three women flinched but held steady. “Spread your arms
and legs!” yelled Melika over the sound of the water
jets. The hologram was completely untouched by the water, not
manifesting a physical presence but remaining only an image. “Let them reach
everywhere!”
The three officers did as instructed, exposing their naked bodies to the water’s touch. Almost immediately they were panting and closing their eyes, pleasure swelling up within their bodies. During their imprisonment on Ferenginar each had received advanced Orion conditioning, which among other things made each woman far more sensitive to physical contact. The jets of water didn’t feel good. They felt great.
“Oh goodness,” Deanna repeated, her ample boobs rising and falling with her quick deep breaths as streams of water struck her thighs, buttocks and breasts. Beside her T’Pol was pursing her pouting lips as she tried to control the ecstasy building her body, involuntarily turning her full chest towards the streams and shutting her eyes as her erect nipples were struck directly. B’Elanna let out a mewl of pleasure as a particularly poorly-aimed jet of water streamed against her clitoris, her firm ass wiggling and her bare breasts trembling.
Then the spray ceased. A few seconds later it was replaced by powerful gusts of warm air rising up from apertures in the deck of the decontamination room.
“In that case!” T’Pol said, her voice lifted over the sound of the drying process, “How did I come to be transported more than two hundred years into the future?”
“The original science officer T’Pol worked on the precursor to the Starheart project on Vulcan in the 2140s,” answered Melika. The holographic Andorian stepped calmly through the windstorm, her beautiful blue body and pale hair completely unaffected by the updraft. “And she did more work on it in the 2160s. The project never produced a working engine but it did create the core gene base that we are still using today. Its memory depth is staggering. It must have recorded a transporter pattern of you from that time period and used it to target you from the present.”
B’Elanna Torres ran her hands through her dark hair as it
streamed upwards in the warm wind. “And it did the same to me, using a scan of
me from back when I was working on Starheart in the academy? And of Deanna
when she was involved in the program?” Droplets of water still clung to
the Klingon’s tanned skin. The wind blew them upwards, traveling up her lean athletic
figure, rivulets forced to climb the slopes of her lovely breasts.
Melika nodded. “I would assume so. I believe that what passes for Starheart’s consciousness perceived in you three some sort of understanding, that you comprehended its existence in a way the other people involved in the project didn’t. When the unmanned flight computer failed and the ship crashed outside the testing ground, it reached out for you three to be its crew.”
“But replicating living tissue is supposed to be
impossible,” Torres said, her hair streaming above her as she ran her hands
down from her neck, over her tits and down her hips. “How could it possibly
make us?”
“And there’s also the question of our memories,” Deanna said, the Betazoid’s raven locks flying above her head in the wind. The counselor ran her hands energetically up and down her thighs, belly and breasts, hastening the drying process. “If B’Elanna was scanned when she was in the academy, why does she have memories of years after that? The same applies to me and to T’Pol. I have memories from long after my association with the Starheart program and this ‘T’Pol’ remembers 2154, not the 2160s.”
The wind died and suddenly the four nude beauties were left in silence. “I only have a limited understanding of what Starheart did to bring you three here,” Melika admitted. “I believe it used the old transporter patterns to target you, but the link you share is something more than just a sensory scan. Starheart’s neural bundles, its tissue, its ability to process information, was based and is still based on Vulcan DNA. I believe that the ship has a form of Vulcan telepathy and it has a link to you three that’s more than just a transporter pattern. It’s mental, reaching across both space and time.”
“The vision we had,” Deanna breathed, “When we were unconscious in the vats being conditioned. It was Starheart trying to reach us!”
Melika shrugged her naked shoulders, making the round treats of her white-nippled boobs shift. “He’s the only one of his kind. All alone in a big universe and when he needed help he thought of you three. He needed you to rescue him, just as much as you needed him to rescue you.”
“It was unfortunate that we took so long,” T’Pol admitted.
“Spending a week in Golga’s company wasn’t our idea,” said B’Elanna dryly, massaging her breasts in recollection of the embarrassing gropings she had endured.
A fine white powder began to fall from the ceiling, gently
coating their skin. “It’s safe to breath,” informed Melika,
“In fact you’re supposed to breath it. Deep breaths.” Obediently the three Starfleet officers drew
air into their lungs, causing their naked breasts to rise invitingly.
“Could I just say one thing?” B’Elanna ran one hand across her tits, her fingertips tracing the words “FOR SALE” printed on her melons in big black letters. “Does this state-of-the-art decon system have a way of removing magic marker? Because all that soap and water and a giant hairdryer didn’t do the trick.”
Deanna shook her hair as tiny white particles accumulated in her dark locks like snowflakes. “I’d like to second the motion,” the empath said, cupping and lifting her boobs so that she could look at the letters on her tits with an annoyed expression.
T’Pol dusted flakes off the slopes of her breasts. “It may be that we will have to wait until it fades of its own accord.”
“Suppose I don’t want to wait,” suggested Torres in a pointed
tone. “Suppose I want it off my boobs now?”
“Starheart will scan the compound in the ink and try to produce an appropriate chemical to remove it, without damaging your skin,” Melika promised. “Whatever Ferengi use in their pens it’s not like the inks and dyes we use. But I have one good piece of news.”
“Which is?” T’Pol queried.
Melika spread her arms and instantly her nude blue body was clad in a figure-hugging white and blue Starheart uniform. “We get to wear clothes again!” she said with a bright smile on her beautiful features.
+++++
Deanna Troi’s dark eyes lit up with anticipation. With the greatest of care she lifted the bowl from the replicator compartment and settled it down on the console beside her. “This will be wonderful,” she said breathlessly.
At another console across Starheart’s bridge B’Elanna Torres brushed back her uncomfortably warm dark hair so her locks wouldn’t fall over the roast chicken she was busy devouring. “It’s just a chocolate sundae, Troi.”
“This is more than a chocolate sundae, Lieutenant.” Deanna’s spoon avoided the scoop of ice cream and chocolate sprinkles in the centre and instead circled the edge of the bowl, collecting rich fudge. “Suppose we three are some kind of patterned replications. That means we’re new: we were literally born into this world just last week. And that means that this is the first chocolate sundae I have ever tasted.” She lifted her chin with a little smile as she pulled on the neck of her uniform to cool her skin beneath. “Which means it will also be the best I have ever tasted. Technically.”
“Technically,” added T’Pol, perspiration on the Vulcan’s cheeks as she crunched down on a celery stick, “It will also be the worst you have ever tasted.”
“You’re no fun.” Deanna took a spoonful of chocolate heaven into her mouth and savored it, closing her eyes and sighing. “Fudge,” she breathed, and took another spoonful.
B’Elanna ripped another bit of flesh from her roast chicken. She was ravenous, as they all were. Their previous meal had been a tube-fed mix given to them while they had been suspended nude and unconscious in a vat while the Orion K’Nysa had been conditioning their bodies for their future lives as sex slaves. Real food was something sorely missed.
“T’Pol,” Torres said delicately, “How are you doing? I was separated from Voyager but at least I know this time and this world. But you, you’ve been pulled two hundred years out of your life.”
The Vulcan was cutting up an apple with a knife and fork, her elegant jawline shifting as she chewed, then swallowed. “I have been considering all that I have
missed over the past two centuries.”
“I don’t know how you can stand it,” Deanna said emphatically.
Touching the cool sundae cup to her cheek the voluptuous young woman leaned
forward in her chair. “Your crewmates for example.
Almost everyone in the Federation is taught in school about your missions,
about the NX class
T’Pol nodded with distant eyes. “Captain Archer, Commander Tucker, Doctor Phlox, Ensign Sato, all dead for more than a hundred years.” She pumped one fist. “Yes!” She calmly returned her attention to her apple. “You did not see or hear that.”
Torres and Troi stared at the Vulcan. “I guess we didn’t.”
Leaning back and settling her long legs up on her console, B’Elanna lifted the waistband of her uniform and bared her lean midriff in an effort too cool herself. “I was just thinking about Voyager and the Maquis stranded in the Delta Quadrant and Melika, why is it so hot in here?”
The holo-Andorian appeared in a flash, her pretty features touched with concern. “I’ve been looking into what I could do about that but it doesn’t look good.”
Deanna looked at the blue-skinned teenager over a spoonful of ice cream. “What doesn’t look good?”
Melika flicked back her long blonde hair. “Many of Starheart’s critical components are organic and possess some fairly strenuous environmental requirements, like high temperatures and humidity levels. Now that everything onboard is operational again and we’re using the engine, it’s going to get very hot in here. And it’s going to stay hot.”
“I take it that coolant is a lost technology in the twenty-fourth century?” T’Pol asked pointedly.
The slim young Andorian woman shook her head. “If we cool the parts they won’t work anymore. If Starheart were larger we could position them on the far side of the vessel and insulate them, but Starheart isn’t that large. The vital systems are all around us.”
B’Elanna shot a look at the demure T’Pol, still eating her apple. “Why are you sweating Vulcan? Aren’t your people from a desert world?”
“An arid world,” corrected T’Pol, “Not a high humidity one. And I like to remain indoors,” the gorgeous heavy-chested Vulcan added.
The sound of stretching elastic made both the Vulcan and the
Klingon look over. Deanna Troi had pushed back her
sundae and was peeling her top off, the tight elastic resisting as she hauled
up over the generous swell of her breasts. She struggled to get her thick dark
hair through, the counselor’s tits jiggling inside her bra. Finally it was off
her and she cast it aside. “Better,” she sighed, and then stood up and began to
shimmy her elastic pants down her legs, her bra-clad boobs swaying as she
leaned forward.
T’Pol took one look and began to peel off her own top. B’Elanna sighed in defeat, feeling perspiration running down her back. “So much for the days of clothing,” she resigned, folding her arms and wiggling as she pulled her top off. For a delicious moment both the science officer and the engineer struggled to pull the elastic over their heads, their tits shaking in their bras and threatening to spill out into the open.
They kicked off their boots. As the Vulcan shimmied her pants down her long legs, B’Elanna
Torres stole a look at T’Pol’s firm round ass.
Concealing a faint sigh, the Klingon turned and
started sliding her own pants down to her ankles, not realizing that the
Now wearing only their bras and panties, Deanna, B’Elanna and T’Pol exchanged wry looks and got back to their meals.
+++++
Deanna’s sundae was a melted mess in the bottom of its bowl. It was her second, but she had only just begun working on it before giving up. Now the voluptuous twenty-nine year old reclined in her chair, gently touching the upper slopes of her breasts where the words “FOR SALE” were almost visible, trying to inch up out of her bra. She traced the humiliating letters with a fingertip.
Finishing off the last of her chicken, B’Elanna looked over at the glum counselor. “What’s the matter? Not enough chocolate?”
Clad in only her underwear the voluptuous raven-haired counselor smiled sadly. “It’s great. Delicious. But I was thinking about being on Ferenginar.”
T’Pol pushed away her empty plate, demure despite her state of near undress. “I would rather not think about being on Ferenginar.”
Deanna drew in a deep breath, her moons rising against the cups of her bra. “T’Pol, I think we have an obligation to. We escaped, but think of all the women who didn’t? Who can’t? Women who have nothing left to look forward to but a life of shame and humiliation and Ferengi poking them every way that they can?”
The
Her words made B’Elanna and T’Pol lower their eyes, considering the grim fate of so many other women in Ferengi space. “What are you thinking, Betazoid?” Torres said quietly.
“I’m thinking that we should do something about it,”
“Former Starfleet officers on a crashed Starfleet ship,” T’Pol noted, twisting in her chair, her bra-clad boobs
pushing together.
Melika appeared in a shimmer of light, the hologram’s cute rump seated comfortably on Deanna’s console. With a wiggle of her nose her uniform transformed into a simple bra and panty set identical to those the three officers were wearing. “Starheart was classified. I don’t think we count.” The slim Ensign looked down into Troi’s chocolate sundae. “That looks nice.”
B’Elanna’s dark eyes were filled with thought but in the end the Klingon shook her head. “Starheart has got speed but no real firepower. We can’t do rescue missions. And even if we could, the Ferengi Consortium would come after us and,” the twenty-two year old turned away nervously, unwittingly revealing to her shipmates how her panties had inched up between the cheeks of her firm ass, “I’d rather not have their attention again.”
“Unless,” T’Pol said, considering Deanna with new respect, “Commander Troi is not thinking of military rescues.”
The counselor nodded. “The best way to free those women is to buy them. The Ferengi put a price tag on everything. And we can pay for it easily.” The voluptuous twenty-nine year old stood up and began to walk around the experimental ship’s bridge, her boobs bouncing inside her bra with each step. “Starheart is faster than anything in the Quadrant and we’ve got a decent sized cargo bay. We could make deliveries quicker than any vessel in Ferengi space and charge them through the nose for it.”
“And then buy women from them with their own money,” B’Elanna breathed. She paused to adjust her uncomfortably-wedging panties, pulling them down a few inches and briefly flashing her bald pussy before pulling them back up in a less cheek-squeezing position. “You know it might just work. We can’t carry much cargo but we could focus on smaller higher-value items instead of bulk stock. When the Maquis were short of funds we used to do security jobs protecting the odd Ferengi freighter. But we’re so fast nothing could catch us.”
“We could undercut the competition and take their most expensive clients from them,” added T’Pol, unaware that her perspiration was making her bra transparent, her large nipples visible as big brown circles on her tits. “I believe I saw hover-dollies and other equipment for moving cargo down below earlier today.”
B’Elanna folded her arms, her breasts pushed up in her bra by the movement so that the upper half of either nipple peeked out. “Well, I don’t really have much to look forward to if I go back to the Federation. Except a long prison sentence for being a Maquis, I mean. Sticking it to the Ferengi seems like a better career choice. I’m in.”
T’Pol nodded her assent. “As you have said, everything I knew in my life is gone. While we were fortunate enough to escape, too many women are not. I am with you.” The underwear-clad Vulcan’s eyebrows dropped in a frown. “But are you with us, Commander Troi? You are a Starfleet officer with a posting on the Federation flagship.”
“There’s another Deanna Troi filling that role right now,” disagreed the black-eyed beauty. “That man I spoke about earlier, Tom Riker, a copy of the real thing? He had a lot of trouble finding a place for himself. And if I go back, I’d probably be interrogated for months while they tried to figure out if I was some kind of doppelganger spy. No.” The Betazoid lowered her voluptuous body into her chair, demurely placing her hands in her lap. “This is my idea and I’m going to see it through.”
“I should mention this now,” Melika said carefully, “Starheart’s engine is very particular about the stars it draws its power from through subspace. The entire reason it crashed was that it ventured beyond its range. The engine became unstable when it returned and tried to restore the subspace link. I’m not sure it would be safe to even try to fly to the Federation. You would have leave to us behind.”
“We’re not leaving Starheart behind,” B’Elanna said firmly, settling her hands on her hips, not realizing that her brown nipples were peeking over the cups of her bra. “I think we know a little of what it’s like to be stuck in Ferengi territory. Woops,” she added, adjusting her top to cover her tasty teats.
“And the Ferengi would eventually find the ship and strip it,
him, for parts and technology,” T’Pol added, “Or sell it. This technology should not fall
into hostile hands.”
“Then it’s settled.” Troi looked around the faces of her newfound friends. “We’ll do this. The hardest part will be getting started. We need someone who will pay us to move cargo.”
“I can help with that,” B’Elanna offered. “When I was with the Maquis we had a few regulars, bottom-end traders who were desperate enough to hire rag-tag renegades and criminals for protection. They’d jump at the chance to hire a nice shiny ship like this.” The Klingon leaned forward over her console, her bra-encased boobs swaying beneath her athletic body even as the posture showed off her firm rump. “I’ll make it happen.”
“That leaves us with only three difficulties to overcome,”
said
T’Pol’s fingers caught the top edges of her bra and gently pulled it down, baring herself to her big brown nipples and exposing the words “FOR SALE” printed on her breasts.
“These might give
us away.”
+++++
B’Elanna Torres arched her back, her face lifted to the ceiling. “Keep going,” she panted, “Harder!” The twenty-two year old’s sexy body wiggled and quivered, sandwiched between T’Pol and Deanna. “Harder!” begged the Klingon.
“I can’t!” Troi objected.
Torres’ hands gripped the Betazoid’s dark hair. “Please harder!” Intense urgency filled the Lieutenant’s voice. Deanna obeyed, redoubling her efforts and causing B’Elanna to gasp and groan with fresh energy. Balanced on the peak between pain and pleasure Torres arched her back even further, offering her bare breasts to the Betazoid. “Oh gawd, don’t stop! Please, don’t keep anything back!”
“We are not!” T’Pol’s plump lips were tightly pursed as she worked B’Elanna’s rump as the Klingon’s firm rear wiggled and bucked.
The Lieutenant looked down with wide eyes, her mouth open and her entire body shaking. “It’s impossible!” she gasped, “It just can’t be!” At long last the Klingon surrendered, her athletic figure going limp as she yielded. “I give up!” she wailed, her nude body slumping between her two companions.
T’Pol and Deanna stepped back, holding up their scrubbing brushes and looking at the results of their work. Despite their most vigorous efforts and B’Elanna’s incredible courage in the face of the discomfort (and the humiliating pleasure), the words “FOR SALE” and “SOLD” remained clearly visible on the bare breasts and firm ass of Voyager’s chief engineer. Torres’ boobs were pink and aching, as were her buttocks, but the ink remained unfaded.
“Twenty minutes,” the Maquis panted, sinking to her knees on the floor of the decon room, her hands cradling and cupping her aching tits. “I can’t believe it. What is this ink made of, neutronium?”
“This approach has yielded no success,” observed T’Pol.
“Well spotted Vulcan!” snapped Torres, her temper as sore as her pink bottom and equally pink tits.
Deanna sighed, looking down B’Elanna’s naked body with disappointment. “Okay, so we can’t remove the signs. Not yet, anyway,” the Betazoid added, not yet willing to give up. “We have to find another way to deal with them.”
“If we cannot disguise our own origins,” T’Pol
suggested, “At least we can disguise Starheart’s.”
+++++
“On three,” Deanna said, crouching low with her generous breasts touching her knees, “One two three!”
The three women stood and pulled, dragging a long broad strip of adhesive away from Starheart’s hull. Sunlight danced on their perspiration-wet breasts, three pairs jiggling as Deanna, B’Elanna and T’Pol walked backwards, peeling the adhesive away to reveal the paintwork beneath.
They had found Starheart a secluded landing spot on a beach on an isolated world far from prying eyes. There the three Starfleet officers had set about transforming the experimental ship into something that would draw less attention. Onboard replicators had provided instant-drying spraypaints that would be safe for their eyes and lungs, as well as adhesive template sheets to guide their paintwork. All three women had blue, black and white stains on their feet and hands from where stray spraypaint had struck them.
At the moment those patches of paint were all the voluptuous Betazoid, the athletic Klingon and the lean heavy-chested Vulcan were wearing. Clothing would have only gotten ruined during the messy paintwork. The three heroines stood buck-naked in the sunlight, perspiration making their bare skin shine.
“There!” B’Elanna said, the adhesive sheet finally all peeled away. They threw it aside and looked over their handywork. The ship’s name and experimental NX designation number were now hidden beneath dark blue paint edged in black, with white letters that proudly displayed the name of their new delivery company. There was a subspace contact number stamped beneath.
Torres settled her hands on her hips, the “FOR SALE” sign on her bare breasts rising as she drew in a breath after her exertions. She looked at the business name printed on the hull with skepticism.
“Moonlight Bounty,” the Klingon read. “Maybe we could have picked a name that didn’t sound so much like Booty by Moonlight?”
Deanna and T’Pol were already moving over to the portside flank of the ship where they had a Starfleet logo to paint over. “If we’re going to be buying women off the Ferengi slave market it would be a good idea if our company name didn’t sound like Three Starfleet Women Trying to Bring Down the Ferengi Slave Trade,” the lush-figured counselor said dryly.
“Good point,” admitted the nude Klingon. Her athletic legs pumped and her bare breasts bounced as she ran to catch up with her shipmates. For a moment the three of them spread their arms, enjoying the cool breeze coming in off the ocean. Then they returned to work, spraying quick-drying paint over the Starfleet arrow-logo that was printed on the port side of the saucer’s hull.
Then they got to work affixing an adhesive template that would guide the more delicate parts of their paintwork. T’Pol dropped to her knees and then went down on all fours. The Vulcan’s round ass lifted and her generous melons dangled as she carefully applied the sticky paper layer over the hull. “According to the news transmissions we picked up, Ferengi authorities believe that Starheart was destroyed along with Golga’s ship. Hopefully they will not be looking for a vessel with a similar configuration.”
Deanna joined the Vulcan, kneeling alongside her on the hull. “It’s a good thing we found a habitable planet that wasn’t under surveillance,” the Betazoid said, her voluptuous form a sexy sight as she worked nude on all fours. “I wouldn’t want to be doing this on a Ferengi world.”
“Enjoy it while you can.” Torres joined her shipmates on her hands and knees. The three heroines were providing an incredible view, three asses lifted with “SOLD” signs clear on their round rumps and three pairs of tits swaying beneath them, “FOR SALE” gently moving forwards and backwards. They made quick work of their task, crawling forwards as they sealed the adhesive to the hull. “Nearly every old Maquis job I can dig up involves a pickup or dropoff on a Ferengi-controlled planet, and sometimes both. And you know the rules they have about clothed females.”
“Do not remind
“That’s going to be hard with For Sale printed on our boobs,” Deanna said, “And Sold on our rear ends.” The counselor straightened so that she was kneeling, her perfect bald pussy just visible between her pale thighs. The stretch of adhesive they had been working on was now all in place. Settling her hands on her thighs Troi inadvertently pushed her melons together with her upper arms. “The second any Ferengi sees these signs he’s going to know we’re escaped slaves.”
“We could claim it is a promotional stunt,” offered T’Pol walking over to where their spray-paint equipment rested, leaning down and flaunting her rump as she retrieved a pair of paintguns.
Her athletic legs unfolding as she stood up, B’Elanna flicked her hair and turned to stare at the science officer. “Was that a joke, Vulcan? You’re making it a habit. In fact, you’re dangerously close to showing a sense of humor.”
As she knelt on the sun-warmed hull Deanna also eyed their gorgeous pointed-eared companion. “Are you trying out new things in the spirit of exploration, T’Pol?” Troi teased.
Elegant despite her nakedness T’Pol lifted her chin regally. “Vulcans have forms of emphasized criticism and analysis that could be said to approximate humor.” She adjusted the paintguns in her hands. “Although we have nothing as unsubtle as human parody, sarcasm or satire.”
“No, I think you’re a closet joker,” Deanna taunted, brushing her dark locks away from her pale shoulders. “You were the little girl that stole other children’s schoolbooks and wrote little bits of illogic in the margins to make their brains hurt. Or maybe you…”
“Close your eyes,” T’Pol said.
“Why?” Deanna asked, then gasped out a scream.
The voluptuous counselor was blasted by the two sprayguns in T’Pol’s hands. The curvaceous brunette tried to leap up but slipped and landed on her round rump, the globes of her breasts bouncing. The spraying ceased and Troi’s dark eyes opened, the empath looking down at her naked body.
The Betazoid’s pale skin was now painted black on her left side and white on the right. She stared in surprise and annoyance at the nude T’Pol, who stood with a pair of sprayguns hefted on either side of her lovely melons.
B’Elanna shrieked with laughter, arms clutching around her waist and breasts as she leaned forward.
“It is called a sense of humor,” the straight-faced T’Pol said pointedly to the spray-painted Deanna, lifting her voice slightly over Torres’ ongoing laughter.
Deanna tried to wipe the paint from her boobs but only ended up with one black hand, one white hand and a pair of pale hand-shapes on her tits. “I suppose there’s some obscure joke about one of James Kirk’s missions in all this,” she said grumbled.
B’Elanna tried to say something but was too busy laughing at the humiliated counselor’s expense. But Troi now seemed less annoyed and more intrigued. She looked down at her painted body with sudden interest. She looked back up at T’Pol. “You know, I might have an idea. But because of that little gag,” Deanna said, climbing to her feet, “I’m not going to tell you until we’re finished here.”
+++++
A few hours later their work on the hull was done. Starheart’s name, insignias and registry codes were all covered and painted over with the new Moonlight Bounty markings. The three women retired to the ship’s decontamination room where jets of water laced with special chemicals washed the paint from their naked skin.
“Dammit!” B’Elanna cursed, sliding her hands over her athletic ass, leaning forwards with her bare breasts jiggling with the vigor of her scrubbing. “It’s still there!” Sure enough the word “SOLD” was still easily visible on the Klingon’s rear. Beside her Deanna and T’Pol were massaging their boobs, mashing their melons around their chests. Black and white paint poured off their delicious bodies but the words “FOR SALE” lingered even in the chemical shower.
The three Starfleet officers felt pleasure swelling within their bodies as their hands worked vigorously tits and buttocks. The Orion conditioning the brunette trio received had made their fantastic figures particularly sensitive to physical contact and the sensation of fondling their own boobs and bottoms was far from unpleasant. With an act of will B’Elanna pulled her hands away from her ass, giving up.
Troi also surrendered with a sigh, knowing that for now at least she would still wear the signs “FOR SALE” and “SOLD” on her ripe melons and round rump. She ran her fingers through her hair as water poured down upon the nude trio. “That ink is made of harder stuff than our paint is,” she complained. The gorgeous Betazoid cast a sidelong look at the Vulcan beside her. “You can stop rubbing your boobs now T’Pol.”
The Vulcan’s hands slid away from her ample titflesh, globes dropping and bouncing deliciously. “I was merely being thorough in my examination,” she said quickly, although the science officer’s nipples were as hard as rocks and her pussy lips were puffy and excited between her thighs.
Melika’s hologram appeared, her long blue legs, snow-white thatch, cute small bottom and white-nippled tits bare as she sympathetically shared her shipmates’ nudity. “One of the names on Lieutenant Torres’ list has signaled us. He’s interested in a high-speed secure cargo transfer. Fourteen tons of computer parts. The good news is that the cargo pickup is outside of consolidated Ferengi worlds, so you could wear uniforms over the, um…” she gestured with a blue hand at the humiliating signs on their naked bodies left there by Golga, their Ferengi former owner. “No one would know. That’s the good news.”
“Let me guess the bad news,” B’Elanna said, her “FOR SALE” breasts jiggling lifting as she scrubbed her fingertips through her dark hair. “The drop off point is on a Ferengi world?”
“And Ferengi are so anti-theft that they almost never allow transporters to be used for moving cargo,” Deanna added, her pale boobs rising as she folded her arms in front of her chest.
“Which means we will have to deliver the shipment in person,” finished T’Pol, her slim waist turning as she looked down at the “SOLD” sign printed on her shapely rump, “Literally in the flesh.”
B’Elanna flicked her wet hair back. “Did you make up a replicator pattern for those caps I asked you to?”
“Of course,” Melika said. Then the Andorian teenager gaped at the three nude beauties before her. “You’re not actually thinking of accepting the job, are you? The drop off point is on Ferenginar! The second they see those signs on you they’re going to check their computers for escaped slaves! They’ll know who you are in minutes!”
The blue-skinned hologram’s voice revealed her disbelief. “Between
the three of you, you were sold for over a thousand bars of latinum!
No one on Ferenginar will let three slaves like you get away! You could be back
in the auction dome being sold to new owners within hours! Although they’ll
probably keep you for a few days,” the cute blonde girl added, her big blue
eyes growing large at the thought of what might happen to her new friends.
T’Pol cast a regal look towards Deanna Troi. “The counselor has come up with a plan that should minimize that possibility.”
+++++
Only hours later Starheart was docked to a deep space station as they made the pickup.
Deanna put her thumb to the scanner, confirming the receipt of the cargo. The Betazoid, like her Vulcan and Klingon companions, was clad in her white and blue Starheart uniform. The pale outfit hugged her voluptuous curves and the vertical stripes running down her chest, bottom and legs accented her already curvaceous body. On B’Elanna’s suggestion they had included one more item in their costume: baseball caps that bore the blue and white Starheart logo and more importantly concealed T’Pol’s Vulcan ears and Torres’ Klingon forehead. Troi used the cap to pull her dark hair back into a cute tail that ran down her back, as well as revealing the elegant lines of her neck.
But even clothed and capped the three beauties were still drawing attention. Their figures were lush and their outfits tight, defining the curves of their breasts and embracing their round rumps. As they pushed cargo crates into their waiting ship they had drawn a great deal of attention from the station’s cargo crew with more than a few men lounging around enjoying the view of the three gorgeous brunettes at work, tight elastic straining around their well-endowed bodies.
“All done,” Deanna said, adjusting the brim of her cap as she handed the datapadd back to the cargo foreman, a Trill. The man took the padd, making a show of looking over its screen when his eyes were actually an inch higher, gazing at Troi’s elastic-wrapped tits. He idly imagined taking those breasts in his hands, feeling their supple heft overflow in his fingers. The Betazoid found it all too easy to sense what he was thinking about.
“You’re some new delivery company, aren’t you?” the Trill said. He looked up, a pretence to watch Torres and T’Pol’s asses wiggling in their skin-tight uniforms as they pushed hover-dollies loaded with cargo through the docking area. “Is your entire crew female?”
“Our entire crew is devoted to the quick and safe delivery of cargo on behalf of our clients,” Deanna answered promptly. “Thank you, and I hope you use Moonlight Bounty again soon!” The counselor turned and walked back to her companions.
The Trill foreman sighed at the sight of Deanna Troi’s round bottom wiggling as she departed. “I should
have taken the posting on Ferneginar instead,” he
cursed himself. “Then I’d get to see that ass for real.”
+++++
“Moonlight Bounty,
this is Ferenginar orbital traffic control. You have permission to approach for
descent.”
Starheart’s experimental engine had gotten them to the Ferengi homeworld in record time. Stripped to their bras and panties in the ship’s hot and humid control room the three heroines watched the planet grow larger and larger on the viewscreen. “This is it,” B’Elanna said, slightly nervous. Perspiration had made each woman’s underwear damp and transparent, nipples brown circles against their bras and panties kissing up against their snatches in delicious cameltoes.
“This can be done,” T’Pol said in a firm voice, poised and elegant despite her teats showing through her damp bra. “We proceed as discussed.”
Deanna Troi looked at the planet on the viewscreen with her dark Betazoid eyes. The last time they were on Ferenginar they were naked except for their shackles, stamped like livestock for sale, paraded nude before potential buyers, made to humiliatingly orgasm before an enormous crowd and finally each sold off to the highest bidder.
But she also knew that there were tens of thousands of other women down there, probably
far more, who experienced Ferengi’s perverted cultural laws day after day with
no hope of escape or release. To free them would take latinum
and this is what they would need to do to get it.
With a resolute expression Commander Deanna Troi reached behind her back and unclasped her bra, letting it drop away from the milky orbs of her breasts. “It’s time we got to work. Suit up. I mean, suit down,” she added, her pale cheeks blushing.
+++++
Basnick was a sour, heavyset Ferengi, generally unloved by the workers who operated under him in the landing port. “Alright you lazy worms, on your feet and be ready to take this new delivery!” His men were standing around watching the strange crescent-moon shaped craft as it descended. “You’re not being paid to spot ships! Are you a traffic controller? Really? I’ve got some traffic coming up your ass if you don’t get off it!”
As his men lazily got into position the incoming vessel rotated, positioning its large hanger doors towards the cargo area, and touched down. “Moonlight Booty,” one of his workers was saying to another. “Weird name.”
“It’s Bounty you twit.”
“It’s still a weird name.”
“Shut your holes,” Basnick growled as Starheart’s cargo door began to lower, transforming into a ramp, “Stop gawking at the ship and keep your eyes… on… the…”
The hanger ramp lowered to show the ship’s interior and the crew waiting to exit. First revealed were three baseball caps each carrying the words Moonlight Bounty, the name of their delivery company. Beneath the brims of their caps Troi, Torres and T’Pol’s beautiful features were serious, each woman hiding her trepidation behind a professional demeanor. Below their faces were bare shoulders, hinting that each woman was topless. Then the ramp lowered further and revealed Deanna, B’Elanna and T’Pol’s breasts.
Each woman sported a dark blue oval painted onto her chest,
hugging every curve and bump of their breasts, nipples poking up through the
blue. On that dark blue background was printed the words Moonlight Bounty, their delivery company. The “FOR SALE” signs on
their boobs were impossible to see, covered by their painted logos.
The ramp continued to lower, revealed slim flat waists and curving hips. Each woman wore a broad equipment belt slung sexily around their hips, hanging low enough so that they nearly but not quite covered their snatches. A tiny and delicious peek of pussy lips pouted into view between their thighs. The ramp finished its descent, revealing the three heroines long legs finished off with sturdy utility boots.
Their baseball caps concealed the Klingon’s ridges and the Vulcan’s pointed ears. But no one was looking at that. Basnick and his men were staring instead at those supple painted breasts and the mouthwatering pussies peeking out from between the three Starfleet officers’ fantastic thighs.
“Act naturally,” T’Pol said quietly so that only her companions could hear. “These men live on Ferenginar. They have seen naked women before.” But the Vulcan was wrong. These men had never seen women like this before.
Deanna, B’Elanna and T’Pol advanced out of Starheart’s cargo bay, unaware that they each settled into a sexy hip-swinging, tit-jiggling stride. Their Orion conditioning had trained each woman to unconsciously alter her movements to make them more enticing. They strutted out onto the landing area and walked, bottoms wiggling and breasts bouncing, towards the warehouse where the cargo crew waited.
Like her voluptuous super-sensitive body, Deanna Troi’s empathic abilities had been enhanced by the neural conditioning. She could feel the surprise and pleasure in the warehouse as each and every man stopped whatever he was doing to stare at the spectacle of the three gorgeous women walking past, naked except for their boots, belts and baseball caps.
Troi had briefly entertained the fantasy that the paint would be like wearing a bikini but she now knew how wrong she had been. For one thing the three officer’s lovely little pussies were visible with every step and she could sense eyes gazing at them in lust. For another her nipples were almost painfully erect thanks to the cold spray paint, her shape of her hard teats easily visible even past the Moonlight Bounty logo painted on her breasts. All three women sported a stiff pair of erect buds.
As they moved deeper into the warehouse Deanna could feel eyes falling on their naked rumps. The “SOLD” signs on their asses had also been covered with blue paint and the words Moonlight Bounty, their new logo wiggling on their cheeks as they strutted towards the Ferengi foreman.
Technically they satisfied Ferenginar’s cultural laws. None of the three females were wearing clothes. And they were more than satisfying to the men working in the cargo area.
B’Elanna and T’Pol didn’t need to be psychic to know that every male on the mixed-species workforce was watching them. Ferengi leered at the nearly naked women. A Gorn lolled his tongue as he enjoyed the view. Some Cardassians and even a few humans grinned as they watched the three beautiful Starfleet officers striding across the warehouse floor wearing nothing next to nothing. The paint did not conceal their bottoms and breasts as much as draw more eyes to them, but their delicious hairless pussies were also fighting for attention.
By the time the trio halted before the foreman the warehouse was quiet as the men assembled watched the three nude Starfleet officers in appreciative silence. Basnick looked across the mouthwatering trio with a disbelieving smile.
Each woman had a different kind of beauty. T’Pol, the tallest, had long lean limbs and a healthy tan, with a narrow waist and round generous melons. B’Elanna’s figure was athletic with firm thighs and rump, a taut stomach yet still possessed a lovely pair of breasts. And the shortest, Deanna Troi, had a voluptuous full-hipped, full-breasted body and exquisitely pale skin.
They stood before the foreman three abreast, three rounded asses presented at the back, three pairs of breasts thrust forward and three bald pussies snug between their thighs.
It was B’Elanna that broke the silence. “Do you actually pay these clowns?” The Klingon turned, hands on her hips and tits jiggling and spoke in a loud voice, her lovely dark eyes shooting daggers across the warehouse. “I’m seeing a lot of professional ass-warmers around this place! How much does ass-warming pay? Half of nothing an hour? Get back to work you lay-abouts!”
Like sheepish boys the warehouse workers returned to their duties, although many continued to shoot amazed glances at the three stunning women standing mostly naked before them. T’Pol pressed their advantage, stepping close to Basnick. “Foreman, we will require the use of several of your men and hover-dollies.”
Being a Ferengi he was quite a bit shorter than the five-foot seven Vulcan, bringing her generous globes in line with his face. His eyes never left those luscious melons as he shouted “Team two get your asses in gear! I want dollies up in that ship and pulling that cargo out yesterday!”
“Satisfactory,” the Vulcan sniffed, turning back to face the work crews as they began to shift the cargo.
Deanna, B’Elanna and T’Pol stood three abreast as they oversaw the unloading of the cargo. This gave the working men a chance to enjoy the breathtaking sight of their paint-clad breasts and perfect little bald snatches, while Basnick behind them admiringly stared at their bottoms and the peek of pussy lips that pouted out from between their thighs.
Drawing in a deep breast-lifting breath Troi felt a growing thrill inside her. She could feel a strange sense of power, sharply aware of the irony that only days before they had been standing naked on the auction block of Ferenginar, stripped and fondled and humiliated before a cheering crowd. Now they had the same breed of men obeying their instructions!
In the heart of Ferengi space they were turning the order of things on its head. Their lovely bodies were still being ogled, yes, but now they were their bodies. They were no longer property to be bought and sold and groped.
The empathic Betazoid could feel similar sensations thrilling within her companions. Even the Vulcan T’Pol felt a stir at how excitingly dangerous this was. Deanna knew that the science officer could never be able to bear the crew of the NX Enterprise seeing her like this, nor could have B’Elanna imaged her shipmates from Voyager seeing their chief engineer so undressed. The voluptuous Troi knew she would have curled up from humiliation if her friends on the Enterprise-D could have seen her now, almost entirely nude, her full breasts and round bottom painted and her delicious nethers exposed.
All three women thrilled at the taboo of their actions, privately exulting in the danger of their secret triumph against the Ferengi Consortium. Men who would have cheered at their sale were now doing their work for them, earning them the latinum that would let them free more women from slavery under the Ferengi. All Deanna, T’Pol and B’Elanna had to do was stand around and look pretty. And they looked far more than pretty.
The three heroines’ hearts began to race. Three pairs of mouthwatering breasts rose and fell a little faster as their breath quickened. This made the trio even more gorgeous to the men working in the chamber, frequently looking away from their work to drink in the sight of the three brunette beauties standing practically naked before them.
As the last cargo crate was brought into the warehouse on a hover-dolly Deanna
stepped towards Basnick, her ripe melons jiggling,
and lifted a datapadd. “We will require your thumbprint as proof of receipt,”
the counselor said.
The Ferengi made a show of looking over the manifest, although his eyes were
actually an inch higher and watching Deanna Troi’s
blue-and-white painted boobs. He enjoyed a much better view than his Trill
counterpart had received when the cargo had been picked up. “This all seems in
order,” Basnick said regretfully, thumbing the padd’s sensor and returning it to the five-foot three brunette.
Troi gave Basnick a friendly smile. “Thank you for using Moonlight Bounty. I hope you have need of our services again soon.” With that the three women headed back to Starheart’s open hanger door, each unconsciously assuming a hip-swinging gait that wiggled their bottoms, shook their breasts and pinned every eye in the warehouse to their gorgeous bodies.
Their long legs climbed the ship’s ramp. Once inside Starheart’s cargo bay B’Elanna hit the door control and the entrance slowly closed behind them, concealing their fantastic figures from the men still staring longingly from outside.
Once the door was shut and they were out of sight Deanna squealed with success, tits bouncing as she jumped into the arms of an equally ecstatic B’Elanna Torres. The softness of their painted boobs mashed together as they embraced. “We did it!” both exclaimed. They pulled T’Pol into their embrace, Troi’s hand sliding up the Vulcan’s back to her short dark hair while B’Elanna’s fingers slid down to cup the science officer’s lovely rump. The three women exulted at their victory, hugging with their tits squeezing together, the beginning of their mission to take back a little of what the Ferengi had taken.
+++++
T’Pol undid her belt and removed it from her curving hips. “Are you ready?” she asked, the belt slipping from her hands, briefly catching on the firm slope of her round ass before falling past her long bare legs to the deck.
Deanna Troi pulled her cap off and shook her head, flicking her long dark locks around her face. “I am,” she answered, her dark eyes watching the gorgeous Vulcan through the sexy tangle of her raven hair.
Deanna drew in a small breath of trepidation as T’Pol’s hands settled on the counselor’s milky globes. “Do it,” she breathed, “Before I change my mind!”
“Don’t be so impatient,” B’Elanna chided, stepping up behind the voluptuous Troi and wrapping her arms around her waist. The Klingon’s supple breasts flattened against Deanna’s back, her hardening nipples poking against the Betazoid’s soft skin. Setting her chin on the counselor’s shoulder Torres spoke. “Now we’re ready.”
T’Pol nodded. Looking deeply into Deanna’s eyes the lean-limbed, heavy-chested Vulcan leaned forward, fingertips digging at the layer of paint on the Betazoid’s shapely breasts. Then with a quick step back she began to yank the paint from Deanna’s tits!
“Yeeeoooow!” wailed Deanna as the paint fought to hold onto her soft melons. For a little while it succeeded, finding additional grip on the bumps of her aureoles. B’Elanna pulled Troi back in the other direction, tightly gripping the counselor’s arms and preventing her from involuntarily moving her hands to her boobs. T’Pol continued to pull, ignoring the Betazoid’s wail of protest. Soon the paint that had covered Deanna’s breasts was just two stretching cones of plastic-like material, with the tips of those cones being where the paint still clung to the counselor’s sensitive teats.
With one more yank T’Pol pulled the paint away. “Yeeeeeiiiii!!!” squealed Deanna and then she was panting and clutching at her bare breasts with her hands, massaging her soft orbs with her erect nipples poking into her palms. Discomfort and pleasure fought for dominance in her tits. “That really hurt Yeeeoooowww!!!” she wailed again as B’Elanna yanked the paint off Troi’s naked bottom.
“I thought I might finish the job while we were on a roll,” the Klingon said, holding up the paint that had previously advertised the Moonlight Bounty delivery service on the counselor’s rump.
Deanna sank against the wall of the decon room, rubbing her tits with one hand and her ass with the other. A glance down confirmed the bad news. “It’s still there,” she moaned. Sure enough the words “FOR SALE” and “SOLD” were still easily readable on Troi’s breasts and bottom. With dark sullen eyes she looked at her companions. “Your turn now. Maybe we shouldn’t have made the mix waterproof. We could have just washed it off.”
“And have it wash off us if it rains?” B’Elanna countered, turning around and offering her ass to T’Pol. As the Vulcan knelt down, hands sliding over the Klingon’s firm rump as her fingernails found places to grab the paint, Voyager’s chief engineer tossed her dark hair with a laugh. “We were on Ferenginar, Betazoid. We were lucky not to get rained on. You shouldn’t be such a babiiiieeeeeeeiiii!!!”
Torres shrieked and jumped away, rubbing her butt with both
hands, her painted tits jiggling with the energy of her alarmed strokes. “That
really stings,” she complained.
T’Pol’s haughty expression considered her opinion on the subject. “It is a necessary and brief discomfort,” she said, turning and casually lifting her hands to the back of her head, the posture making her heavy globes lift and shift together as she offered her rump to the Klingon. “You know this as well as I do. Self control is aaeeii! Aaaeeeiiii!!!” The Vulcan let off two yelps, one short and the following longer, as B’Elanna vindictively ripped the paint off T’Pol’s bottom one cheek at a time.
The science officer turned, glaring at the Klingon Lieutenant. “Now,” she said deliberately, her eyes dropping to B’Elanna’s painted boobs, “There is only one thing remaining.”
“Two things,” disagreed the twenty-two year old Torres, eyeing T’Pol’s generous melons. Both women stepped forward simultaneously, fingernails digging at the paint on each other’s breasts, and began to pull.
Deanna rolled her eyes at her companions’ childishness as the two women slowly peeled the paint from each others’ breasts. It was a mouthwatering tug-of-war, both B’Elanna and T’Pol’s boobs stretching into cone shapes as they yanked on the paint and in turn on each other’s tits. The Vulcan and the Klingon could not help but let out long distressed moans, discomfort and pleasure bursting through their conditioned bodies as they tormented each others boobs. Once again the paint found its best purchase on the two women’s rough nipples. The removal of those last patches proved the most uncomfortable and incredible, both brunette’s breasts stretching, both women shutting their eyes and arching their backs and cries of ecstasy escaped their parted lips.
With a final effort they ripped the paint from each other’s chests and collapsed into each others arms, freed tits pressing together. B’Elanna was laughing helplessly, tears in her eyes and while T’Pol allowed her plump lips to form a small wry smile.
Melika shimmered into view. For the sake of compassion the holographic ensign assumed the same clothing as her companions, which is to say none. Her spectacular blue Andorian body was completely bared from her round soft boobies to the triangle of snow-white fur above her snatch. A wisp of blonde hair fell cutely across her pretty face. “I’ve got good news,” the holographic Andorian announced. “We’ve got a second offer! We just got our first paycheck and another is already on its way!” she finished in a victorious squeal, jumping up and down with her fists at her chin, boobs pressed together by her arms.
“We’re going to need more though,” B’Elanna said, straightening up and massaging her aching tits. The words “FOR SALE” were, as with Troi, still visible on her boobs. “A lot more. We should build up a big pile of latinum before we start buying slaves. And we should probably go wholesale and try to save as many girls as we can. We might want to think about buying a property or something on Ferenginar too: it would give our business more legitimacy.”
“I must admit to surprise at how quickly that this plan is coming along,” T’Pol said, unconsciously mirroring Torres as the Vulcan cupped and gently squeezed her throbbing titflesh in her hands. “Only a week ago we were naked in the Ferengi Auction Dome.”
“We’ve still got a lot of work ahead of us,” Deanna said, heading over to a replicator mounted in the wall of the chamber, “But I think we deserve a little celebration. Computer, give us three champagnes! I think we need to enjoy the moment while we have it.”
The voluptuous pale-skinned counselor handed one slim glass to Torres and another to T’Pol. With a snap of her fingers Melika produced a holographic glass for herself.
Bare naked and not caring one bit, the four women raised their glasses together, four pairs of breasts lifting and shifting deliciously with the movement. “To a piece of the action,” Troi offered.
“To taking it away from the Ferengi,” T’Pol added.
“To finding something that can remove certain ink letters from my boobs!” B’Elanna laughed.
“To lost ships and lost women,” Melika said, “May they all find home.”
The four beauties drank, bare breasts quivering as each leaned back. Lowering her empty champagne glass Troi looked across the faces of her breathtaking and bare-bodied companions. “So, where to next?”
TO BE CONTINUED
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