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:
Additional: the characters Elizabeth Shelby, Robin Lefler and Hedril were played by Elizabeth Dennehy, Ashley Judd and Kirstin Dunst respectively.
Feedback can be directed to Mickt80@hotmail.com.
EPISODE 10: STRUMPET SNARE
“Sensors detecting three ships,” reported T’Pol, the lights from the science station illuminating the lush curves of her breasts, her skin-tight catsuit lovingly following the lines of her stunning figure. “At our present speed and course we will reach visual range in two minutes.”
The brunette in the helm chair narrowed her lovely dark
eyes. “What are they doing out in the middle of nowhere?” queried Deanna Troi. Like the Vulcan, the
The rear entrance of Starheart’s bridge hissed open and B’Elanna Torres ran in, her melons bouncing in her tight top with the quick steps of her long athletic legs. “What did I miss?” she asked, lifting her hands to run her fingers through her dark hair, the movement stretching her top and creating interesting pressures on the twenty-two year old’s tightly-confined tits.
“We’ve found something strange,” Melika said, “Three vessels just sitting dead in space. No sign of weapon fire or debris from damage, but we’ll need to get in closer to be sure.” The holographic Andorian also wore a white-and-blue Starheart uniform, similar to those worn by Deanna, B’Elanna and T’Pol except the eighteen year old Ensign’s slim body did not fill out the top and hips quite as well as her companions did.
The four of them were the crew of Starheart, an experimental Starfleet ship thought to be lost in a test run of its high-speed engine. Crashed and isolated, it had drawn on its memory banks and transporter systems to summon reproductions of three women who had participated in its creation: Deanna Troi, the counselor of the Enterprise-D, the former Maquis terrorist B’Elanna Torres and the Vulcan T’Pol, the science officer of the NX-01.
With the assistance of Melika, a
holographic recreation of an Ensign who had also participated in the trial
runs, the three brunettes now used Starheart’s advanced engine for their own goal: freeing
women from slavery under the Ferengi. It was a bitter
fate that Troi, Torres and T’Pol
had each tasted and now sought to save others from.
As well as their skin-tight uniforms, each woman wore a thin sheen of perspiration. Starhear’s organic parts were vital for its operations, and they required heat and humidity to function. Thanks to their moist skin each heroine’s outfit clung even closer to their figures, creating enticing cameltoes between their thighs and revealing the bumps of nipples on the tips of their breasts.
“We’re coming into visual range,” Deanna reported from the helm chair.
The viewscreen displayed the ships
they had found. The three craft were docked together, with the two smaller
ships dark as they piggybacked on the larger vessel. Melika’s
blue eyes swept over the ships, the hologram mentally accessing Starheart’s
databases. “The big one is a Bajoran Orb class Ferry.
As for the other two, one is a Starfleet Danube class runabout marked as the
T’Pol’s hands elegantly moved over
her console, her tight outfit clinging to her hips and bottom as she shifted
her balance from one long leg to the other. “No power and no lifesigns detected from the
The ship trembled slightly, the lights flickering for a second. “Ow!” exclaimed Melika, her hologram also flickering, “Power fluctuation!”
“We just lost the impulse reactor,” B’Elanna reported,
leaning over the engineering displays, her catsuit
bottom tight over her firm ass. “
Deanna adjusted their heading as they approached the three drifting ships. “If we’ve flown into some kind of power-draining field, that could explain what these ships are doing here. They could have flown in and found they couldn’t fly out. Starheart is the only ship in the Quadrant with this kind of special reactor.”
“Then we’re those peoples’ only hope of rescue,” Melika said. Her pretty eyebrows frowned. “They’re not responding to hails. In fact I can’t pick up any of the usual long-distance chatter we were hearing a few minutes ago. The damping field must neutralize communication as well.”
“We can’t beam over,” Torres said, “Without the battery systems the transporter buffer is useless. We’ll have to dock.”
+++++
B’Elanna Torres, Deanna Troi and T’Pol stood three abreast as the airlock door before them unlocked and slid aside. Standing on the far side were a blonde, a brunette and a redhead.
All three women wore the new new-style Starfleet uniform: a black two-piece suit with grey shoulders. “Captain Shelby of the USS Sutherland,” began the blonde before her blue eyes opened wide in astonishment at the sight of the catsuit-clad Betazoid. “Commander Troi?”
“
As nods were exchanged
“That’s complicated,” Troi evaded.
She didn’t want to have to explain her unique “creation”, that she, Torres and T’Pol were actually duplicates of the real women who shared
their names and faces. Her black Betazoid eyes turned
on the two women accompanying
“Lieutenant Robin Lefler,” answered the young woman with a sideways tip of her head, causing the long dark braid running down her back to flick against her bottom, which was perfectly proportioned. “Lieutenant Junior Grade really. It’s good to see you, Commander, regardless of the circumstances.” She was a stunningly attractive figure of a woman, slim but with the right curves in all the right places.
Lefler’s green eyes fell on the lean yet full-chested Vulcan standing behind Troi. “Your name is T’Pol? Not… the T’Pol, right?”
“What do you think, Ensign?” B’Elanna said dryly.
Lefler’s pixy-cute nose wriggled skeptically. “It doesn’t seem likely, does it?”
The redhead standing beside Lefler seemed painfully shy by comparison. The teenager’s blue eyes were lowered, one pale hand lifted nervously to her red hair. She bit her lower lip nervously as she met Deanna’s beautiful black eyes.
Suddenly it clicked in Troi’s memory and she realized who this gorgeous young woman was. “Hedril?”
The Cairn nodded, the movement causing her red hair to shift slightly and reveal her bald temples, normally concealed by the cut and style of her hair. “Ensign Hedril,” she said quickly, “First year on the Sutherland.”
“We met during the first diplomatic contacts between the Cairn and the Federation,” smiled Deanna as she explained her history with the cute redhead to her comrades. Then her smile was tempered by a sadder memory. “My mother was deeply affected by it. By co-incidence Hedril resembles my late older sister, and it brought up bad memories.”
“Your sister?” B’Elanna said, regarding the curvy and cute redhead thoughtfully. “I thinks she looked more like the girl from Spiderman. You’re the first Cairn I’ve met,” she nodded politely.
“You’re the first Klingon,” the
teenager replied, her pale eyes moving up and down the twenty-two year old’s firm catsuit-clad figure.
“Hedril is the first of her
species to join Starfleet,”
“I take it that Cairn puberty did ‘hit’?” queried T’Pol, running her
brown eyes up and down Hedril’s lovely figure, noting
her curving hips, slim waist and the generous set of breasts pressed inside the
eighteen year old’s Starfleet uniform.
The redheaded Hedril nodded. “Six months ago, just before my eighteenth birthday. I needed a new uniform nearly every week as I grew taller and, um, larger,” she finished, her hands lifting helplessly towards her boobs and then dropping. “We have problems here,” she blurted, blushing as the Cairn tried to change the subject away from her lush body.
“That’s no exaggeration,”
“No one noticed you were gone?” asked B’Elanna.
“They won’t for another week,” Robin Lefler answered, the junior Lieutenant reaching behind her head to adjust her long braid, her peaches shifting inside her uniform.
“She’s right,”
“They said they were off course,” added Hedril. “They’re not sure why.”
“We could not hail you,” T’Pol noted, “The field damps communication?”
“Transmissions can only travel the shortest distances before
they’re blotted,” the blonde Captain of the Sutherland
confirmed as they moved deeper into the ferry’s interior. From the inside
the Bajoran craft looked less like a transport ship
and more like a temple with large buttressed ceilings, sconces in the walls and
images of Bajoran saints in paint and stained glass,
frozen in poses of religious ecstasy or martyred grief. “We couldn’t call for help,
or warn others away,”
“Trapped in a spider’s web,” breathed Deanna, pulling her elastic top down to settle it, the fabric stretching around her ample boobs.
“But then where’s the spider?” Torres queried, looking at a particularly vivid image of a Bajoran saint, her garments torn from her body by her Cardassian captors. It was clearly an image from the occupation.
“The Chastity has been trapped here for seventeen days,” Ensign Hedril stated in a matter-of-fact way, “And in those seventeen days they haven’t been attacked or hailed or scanned.”
“But one thing is sure,” Lefler stated,
“There is nothing wrong with our engines. I’ve examined the Chastity’s warp drive and the Deltan engine. Hedril and me spent eight hours in space suits working on the
“The spider may simply be in no rush,” T’Pol concluded.
Deanna, B’Elanna and T’Pol
followed the blonde, the brunette and the redhead as they headed up a broad
flight of stairs. At its top was an arched entrance elaborately decorated with
sconces and candles and delicate woodwork in the shape of winged beings: it was
clearly a shrine. “We were able to convince the
Deltans and the Bajorans into co-habiting on the Chastity,”
“But there have been problems between the Bajorans and the Deltans,” Lieutenant Lefler added with a roll of her eyes.
“What do you mean by problems?” Troi asked as they entered the shrine.
“Well isn’t this a surprise?” came a sharp voice from ahead of them. Standing in the shrine’s entrance area was a fair-skinned woman in her twenties with thick strawberry blonde hair that fell to the small of her back. Tiny ridges on the bridge of her noise revealed the redhead to be Bajoran. Completely covering her figure was a long-sleeved robe, its style indicating that she was a devoted follower of her planet’s religious beliefs. On one ear she wore a short loop of chain, a piece of traditional Bajoran jewelry: simple and severe in this case. Large blue eyes looked at the three catsuit-clad newcomers with sharp distaste. “More tramps.”
“We don’t need to add
more conflict to the problems we already have, Vedek Lanlee,”
The Bajoran redhead touched her huge sleeves together. Presumably her fingers inside were meeting. “I have made compromises for you and your kind, Elizabeth Shelby, but I despair at our shrine being constantly tainted by women with no moral values or sense of modesty.” Her blue eyes dropped briefly to T’Pol, Deanna and B’Elanna’s elastic-clad tits. “At least you are not Deltans,” she sniffed.
“I am Deanna Troi,” the Betazoid said, stepping forward with her chin lifted imperiously, “My friends are named T’Pol and B’Elanna Torres. We have failed to provide assistance to Bajorans in the past,” she said seriously, “I thank you now for giving us the opportunity to aid you and correct past sleights.”
The diplomatically convoluted offer seemed to ease the redhead’s discontent. “I accept your thanks,” she said primly, “And any aid you are able to provide.” Meanwhile Torres and T’Pol exchanged a look, not quite understanding what the counselor had done to ensure co-operation.
“This is Vedek Lanlee
Milos,” the blonde Elizabeth Shelby introduced,
“Spiritual leader of the Bajoran nuns that crew the Chastity.”
“My sisters are being sorely tested by this ordeal,” the prim but stunning redhead stated. “First they fear we are abandoned by the Prophets, then they are tempted by the wicked ways of those Deltans.” She screwed up her cute nose as she said the word. “It was disgraceful that this shrine was befouled by Cardassians for so long, and positively tragic that Deltans are permitted to here now.”
T’Pol lifted her brown eyes to the ornately decorated entrance at the top of the stairs. “This ship is a holy site?”
“This shrine, and the works of art it held, was stolen by the Cardassians during their occupation of our homeworld.” Lanlee had an excellent speaking voice, full of rising and falling tones as if every sentence was a performance. “It was taken brick by brick by a selfish Gul who cared only of the value of his stolen horde. Recent negotiations allowed us to take these treasures back to our home.”
“Go Bajor,” said B’Elanna. A former member of the Maquis, Torres knew what it was like to have the Cardassians as an enemy.
“My sisters were filled with pride at their accomplishment,” Vedek Lanlee said, lifting her beautiful face for a second before lowering it again. “Perhaps too much pride. Now we are trapped, and some of my younger sisters are claiming to hear strange noises in the ship’s spaces and see shadows moving out of the corners of their eyes.”
“Noises?” Deanna asked. “What do you mean?”
“Over-active imaginations,” Robin Lefler asserted. “The ship’s power systems are cold. The frame and hull are cooling, and as they cool they contract. It makes a popping sound. There is nothing here.”
“We’ve done multiple scans,” added Hedril, “Swept all three ships top to bottom. We’re alone out here.”
“But you three, who are armed, were the only ones who greeted us at the airlock.” T’Pol’s haughtily beautiful face looked towards the weapons clipped at the three Starfleet officers’ belts. “You believe there is a threat.”
“Rule ninety one,” Lefler said dryly, “Always watch your back.”
“We believe,” Elizabeth Shelby said firmly with a glance at her subordinate, “That we have twenty-seven teenaged girls on this ship who need to believe that we will protect them. It’s for show. Besides, the Vedek refused to carry one.”
“The Prophets will protect their devoted servant,” the strawberry-blonde
Lanlee said serenely. Then her pretty face became
stern again. “But maybe a little fear would do my younger sisters some good.
Some have begun to fraternize with the Deltans, risking contamination with their
harlotry. Their very faith is in danger!”
“You mean they’re starting to see the world outside your stained-glass windows and they find it’s not so bad,” said the figure in the shrine’s entrance. The woman stepped forward into view and Deanna, B’Elanna and T’Pol each stared in awe.
The Deltan before them was perfection. Her body was a perfect blend of slimness and curves with fantastic legs, gorgeous hips, a narrow waist and generous yet firm breasts. Her olive skin was flawless and bare of any hair, as was her bald head. Her lips seemed on the verge of a smile and her hazel eyes looked over each woman in the room with a kind of fondness and recognition, as if she had known them her entire life.
“You will not take my sisters from me, Belles,” Vedek Lanlee Milos said in a sharp voice.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said the Deltan, leaning against the doorway, “But they’re going to choose a life some time. It should be when they’ve got lives ahead of them to live.” She wore a narrow band of woven leather around her head, tilted at a playful angle. In fact her entire outfit seemed to be made out of belts. One was wrapped around her breasts, covering her nipples and not much else, creating both a mouthwatering cleavage above and an eye-opening under-cleavage below. A thicker belt was slung around Belles’ hips, almost but not quite a skirt, just enough to cover the Deltan’s bottom and snatch. On her feet were boots made of soft leather that traveled half way up her calves.
The three heroines were struck dumb by the sight of the gorgeous Deltan. It was B’Elanna who found her voice first. “Are you the Captain of the Deltan ship?”
The bald beauty regarded the half-Klingon’s
athletic figure through her skintight outfit with a cute lift of her eyebrows.
“I collected the permission slips, yes. I am Alia
Belles, renowned high school teacher. Well, renowned
if you’ve ever been to Delta Primus’
“Fifteen minxes with almost no morals,” said Lanlee in a prim voice, “Led by one minx with no morals at all! Troi, T’Pol, B’Elanna, you should be careful amongst these strumpets.”
“We’ve made compromises to ease your conscience, Vedek,” Belles said innocently. “None of my girls have touched your nuns, although it would probably make the time pass faster.”
The redheaded Bajoran lifted her chin, her blue eyes wide with outrage. “And I have made compromises as well! I removed my headdress and allowed many of my sisters to do the same!”
“I thought that members of the Bajoran militia wore uniforms that were just as figure-hugging as the ones the Vulcans wear,” B’Elanna pointed out.
“And in result we suffered the Cardassian occupation and the
discovery of the barbaric Dominion on the far side of the
“What efforts have you made to affect an escape?” T’Pol asked, politely changing the subject.
“We’ve tried every possible alignment of dilithium and matter-antimatter
injection system in the
T’Pol nodded in understanding, her melons bobbing slightly inside her skin-tight outfit. “Such a rocket could carry a distress beacon to clear space and call for aid.”
“Rule thirty six,” Lefler said, “You gotta go with what works.”
“I want to read your rulebook, Robin,” said Hedril quietly, “I’m sure you make them up.”
“Work on the rocket has been slow going,” Alia Belles admitted, pulling at the strap wrapping her breasts, making her cleavage shift and reminding every women in the room of how soft and supple the Deltan’s breasts would be in their hands. “We have no working replicators or machining facilities so we’ve been borrowing parts from anything that can fit or making it by hand. The Bajoran girls are actually pretty good at it.”
“We made much by hand during the occupation,” Lanlee stated, “Even rockets to use against the Cardassians.”
“We don’t have working computers to do the calculations, but Hedril is a very smart young woman.” Belles smiled warmly at the redheaded teenager, who blushed at the attention and folded her hands in front of her pelvis, unaware that her arms now pushed her boobs together inside her uniform in a delicious way. “The biggest problem right now is finding a safe way to test-fire the rocket to be sure it works.”
“You don’t need to,” Deanna said, one hand settling on her elastic-clad hip. “Our ship’s reactor is different from yours and hasn’t been affected by the draining field. We can fly you all home.”
Lanlee’s blue eyes widened. “Thank the Prophets! But what about the shrine aboard Chastity?”
“That could be harder,” admitted Torres. The twenty-two year old pulled on the bottom of her uniform’s top, straightening the elastic over her lovely melons. “We could tow you out with our tractor beam but that will stress the Chastity’s frame. Your structural integrity field needs power that you don’t have. Given how slowly we would have to tow you and the size of the damping field, it could take days or longer to tow it clear.”
T’Pol turned to speak to Lanlee, giving the other women a lovely view of her round rump. “I am afraid you may have to temporarily abandon Chastity.”
“But we’ll be coming back.” Deanna folded her arms before her elastic-clad breasts. “Better we get you all to safety first, then see what we can do about the ships and the shrine.”
“Then I suppose we’ll be coming for a ride,” Alia said with surprise, adjusting how her beltskirt rested on her curving hips while she kept her lovely
hazel eyes on Deanna Troi’s voluptuous figure. “I
hope your little ship has enough bunkrooms for all of my students and the Vedek’s chaste girls.”
Blushing slightly from the Deltan’s playful gaze the Betazoid lifted her communicator to her full lips. “Starheart should be close enough for us to communicate. Melika? We’ll be bringing back passengers.”
“Deanna, I think I may have found something.” Melika’s voice was quick and excited over the comm channel. “I was reviewing our sensor logs from the instant our impulse reactor failed and the batteries started draining. There was an energy flow – several of them, in specific directions that point to a uniform pattern. I think there’s a grid of energy-damping devices out there. And our phasers still work,” the Andorian added.
+++++
Seconds later Deanna, T’Pol and B’Elanna’s breasts were bouncing inside their elastic tops as they descended the stairs of the shrine at a quick pace.
“We’ll sit tight until you get back,” said Alia Belles, the Deltan’s magnificent bosom also jiggling inside her belt-bra as she, the Vedek Lanlee, Shelby, Lefler and Hedril accompanied followed to the airlock. “It’s not as if we can go anywhere anyway.”
“The damping field will block comms once you move your ship
away,”
“Just destroy whatever evil force is holding us here as quickly as you can!” Milos Lanlee ordered imperiously, her efforts to keep up handicapped by the heavy Vedek robe hampering the movements of her legs hidden beneath. “Then the Deltans can go back to their ship and I can finally bear our holy place back to where it belongs.”
Torres, T’Pol and Troi stepped into the docking airlock, ready to return to Starheart. “Everything is going to be alright,” Deanna said in a strong and serious voice, “I promise.” The door slid shut and only seconds later the five women could hear the docking clamps retracting as the ship disengaged and headed out.
As the five young women headed back towards the shrine entrance, the barely dressed Deltan schoolteacher lifted one slim and elegant hand and spoke. “Question: what’s a famed Starfleet officer and diplomat, a Vulcan from two hundred years ago and a Maquis terrorist doing here saving a bunch of nuns, schoolgirls and a wayward science roadtrip?”
“I merely thank the Prophets that they are here,” Vedek Lanlee said piously, “Even if they dress like strumpets.”
A scream echoed down the Chastity’s corridors. The women turned sharply at the sound. The sound of feet hitting the deck grew louder and a trio of girls, a Deltan and two Bajorans, ran into view coming down one of the passageways, sprinting towards the shrine’s steps. In their haste the acolytes had lost their sandles, sprinting in their socks. “Vedek!” one of the teenaged Bajorans cried, “They’re here! They’re everywhere!”
“Make sense girl!” the fair-skinned redhead said, her youthful face assuming a stern expression as the two acolytes gathered around her, panting and panicked. Meanwhile the Deltan girl ran headlong into Alia Belles’ arms. The bald teenager was just as scantily dressed as her teacher, wearing little more than belts around her breasts and nethers. The girl’s small belt-clad tits mashed against Belles’ larger, fuller melons as the Deltan teenager sobbed in terror and gratitude.
“Tell me what’s happening,” Alia said gently, cradling the shaking and clearly terrified girl.
Eyes made large with fear stared at her teacher. “They appear out of nowhere. They’re enormous and made of armor and their hands are so fast please stop them!” The Deltan buried her face in her teacher’s generous breasts and shuddered in terror.
Another terrified wail echoed down the corridor, dying to a series of sobs. Lanlee Milos gestured up the steps of the shrine. “Go, children, take refuge in the arms of the Prophets. Take the Deltan with you,” she added sympathetically, “But don’t let her touch anything!”
Elizabeth Shelby drew her phaser
out, her expression cool and professional. “Lefler, Hedril, take up cover positions on either side of that
door,” the blonde ordered. “Set phasers to maximum
intensity. Anything less will have no effect within the damping field. We may
only have a few shots before the power cells are completely depleted.” With the
Ensign and the Junior Lieutenant quickly obeying,
“Nothing could get past our scans,” Hedril said, the teenager’s voice carrying a slight tremor of fear.
“It won’t get past our phasers,” answered Robin Lefler, her gaze fixed on the corridor. Then her green eyes widened as she saw two figures running down the passageway towards them.
One was a Bajoran acolyte and the other was one of Belles’ Deltan students. Both were sprinting as fast as their slim legs to drive them, their eyes wide with fear.
Both of the teenagers were naked. The acolyte’s robes had been torn open and pulled back around her wrists, tying her hands behind her back. The belts that had wrapped the Deltan’s breasts and hips now secured the teenager’s elbows behind her. Two sets of pert teenaged breasts bounced on their chests, the girls awkwardly swinging their shoulders as they ran. Tears of fear ran down their cheeks as they desperately raced towards safety.
The next few seconds seemed to take place in slow motion. Something darkened the air behind them. The two girls’ mouths opened with fresh shrieks of fright as they heard heavy footfalls closing in. Elizabeth, Robin and Hedril all aimed their phasers but could not fire for risk of shooting the two naked teenagers running towards them. Slim thighs pumped beneath teenaged pussies as the two girls ran as quickly as they could, their bare breasts bouncing with each terrified stride.
Then the door to the shrine chamber began to close. True horror bloomed in the two girls’ innocent eyes. The chamber where the three armed women waited, where safety could be found, was being sealed off while they were trapped on the other side!
They doubled their pace. The Deltan shrieked as something caught her heel and she fell flat on her bare breasts with a cry of discomfort and despair. The Bajoran raced on, her braided hair bouncing and flying. She couldn’t have been more than nineteen years old, her pubic hair only a light dusting of blonde above her pink pussy lips. But she was not fast enough.
Her head jerked back as a hand grabbed her blonde braid and
pulled her back. “Noooooooooo!!!” came the girl’s despairing cry as
the barrier slid down in front of her, trapping the two teenagers on the far
side with the things that had been
chasing them.
“Who closed that door?” demanded Belles, moving with tit-jiggling paces down the shrine’s stairs. “Who…”
They could hear more screams through the metal. Each cry was
filled with defeat, wrenching for the women on the safe side of the door to
hear. One girl’s wails became sobs of despair while the other produced a
high-pitched squeal of humiliation. Words came through the shrieks. “Please no! Please, please… Mommy!” wailed one of the teenagers, all dignity
stripped away as something was done
to her.
“We’re opening that door,” Elizabeth Shelby ordered grimly, knowing
without having to look that Lefler and Hedril shared her determination. The blue-eyed blonde lifted
her own weapon and stood ready to fire at whatever threat loomed on the other
side of the barrier. “Do not hit the
girls.”
Robin Lefler tapped commands into the door’s control panel. “Captain, this isn’t right. According to this the command to close the door was given from this control panel. Inside the door.”
It was
Her breasts bounced free. The blonde didn’t even have the time to look down at her own exposed tits before she was shoved forwards, her top pulled back around her forearms and tightly tied. Her phaser was slapped from her fingers.
Elizabeth Shelby, one of the fastest-rising officers in Starfleet and Captain of the USS Sutherland, now found herself topless with her arms bound behind her by the torn remains of her own uniform!
The creature that had bared the blonde’s breasts was
suddenly visible behind the gasping captain. Hedril and
Robin both trained their phasers on
The two womens’ phasers hit the deck. Alia and Lanlee gaped in terror at the three tall, broad figures
that had simply appeared out of thin air behind the three Starfleet women. With
quick movements they yanked Robin, Hedril and
Stripped naked, bound and defeated with her bare breasts pressing against the deck, Captain Elizabeth Shelby looked around herself with terrified blue eyes. The men standing over them were tall and powerfully built figures, their skin grey and weathered like rhino hide and their faces frames by short tooth-like growths. They were Jem’Hadar, the genetically-engineered soldiers of the Dominion, and they had stripped the three women naked and hog-tied them in less than ten seconds! Now Shelby, Lefler and Hedril lay nude on the deck, tits pressed against the cold metal floor, their exposed rumps quivering with their helpless terror.
“Lanlee get in the shrine and lock the door!” screamed Belles as she dove towards a fallen Starfleet phaser pistol. The Deltan’s nearly-naked body rolled gracefully as she brought the weapon up to aim at the nearest attacker. But her shot sizzled into the ceiling as her arms were knocked upwards by a lightning-fast Jem’Hadar, her wrists clasped in one large powerful hand.
The Dominion soldier then grabbed Alia’s belt-bra and ripped it away from her full chest with a whipcracking sound, the Deltan’s melons suddenly freed. With another sharp crack her belt-bra was swung up and around her uplifted wrists, binding Belles’ hands together above her head!
The Deltan cried out as her elbows were bent, her hands pulled behind her bald
head, leaving the schoolteacher no way to cover her bare breasts. A quick kick
to her legs made her fall to her knees, tits bouncing, and then she cried out
in shame as her skirt-belt was torn from her hips leaving Alia
Belles kneeling naked in the hands of the Jem’Hadar.
With economic movements the genetically engineered soldier bound the Deltan’s hands to her ankles, hog-tying her. But unlike the Starfleet women who now lay on their chests, Alia Belles stayed on her knees. The schoolteacher’s attempt at heroism ended with the lovely Deltan whimpering in humiliation as she knelt nude with her back arched, her tits trembling on her chest and her thighs spread to reveal her delicious bald snatch.
Vedek Lanlee Milos had no time for heroics. The redhead fled up the shrine’s steps, her escape encumbered by her heavy Bajoran robe. “Close the temple doors! Seal the shrine!” she shrieked but feared that her acolytes would be too deep within the temple to respond in time. Her long sleeves swished around her hands as she ascended with terror in her blue eyes and a scream ready on her lips.
And she screamed loudly when she felt a Jem’Hadar grab her wrists. Shrieking helplessly the Bajoran was pulled backwards into the soldier’s arms. Lanlee’s long sleeves came in handy to bind the Vedek’s wrists behind her back as she continued to wail in terror, her long red hair flying as she thrashed her head uselessly.
“Prophets save me!” she wept, forced to turn and face her Jem’Hadar assailant. “Why are you doing this?”
The soldier grabbed the front of the Vedek’s robe and ripped it open from neck to hem. The redhead gasped in shock, then squealed in humiliation as the garments she wore beneath the robe were torn from her body.
Now Lanlee Milos was standing fully nude before the monstrous Jem’Hadar soldier. Beneath her religious garb the Bajoran had concealed a delicious figure. Her pale skin was silky smooth with a perfect curve from her thighs to her hips to her slim waist. Her long bare legs quaked beneath her. The redhead’s breasts were soft and heavy orbs tipped with large pink nipples, presently trembling with her terror. “What do you want from us?” the young woman wailed.
Then Lanlee screamed in shame as she received the Jem’Hadar’s answer. “These,” he said, grabbing and squeezing the Bajoran’s delicious breasts.
More Jem’Hadar appeared on the steps, disengaging their shrouding abilities and becoming visible. “There will be more within the shrine,” the soldier holding the Vedek’s bosom said, “Only harm them if necessary.”
The Bajoran redhead flinched in shame as her robes were pushed off her shoulders and left to bunch up over her wrists behind her. Stripped naked on the steps of her temple, wearing nothing but her socks and sandals, the humiliated Vedek Milos Lanlee sunk slowly to her knees and leaned forward in defeat, her pale breasts swaying beneath her.
More screams came from within the shrine, accompanied by the ripping sounds of clothing being torn from teenagers’ bodies.
+++++
A red beam hissed from the phaser strip on Starheart’s saucer. Under its hot glare the small generator drone sizzled and blackened, then exploded in a burst of light. Starheart flew through its debris field, bits of wreckage bouncing off its shields.
“One more offline,” reported Deanna, enjoying a little smile at her success as she piloted the small ship. “We’ll be done here and heading back to Chastity in minutes.”
“The next amplifier is one thousand two hundred kilometers distant,” T’Pol reported, enduring the heat and humidity of Starheart’s bridge fully-clothed, her perspiration making her outfit cling closely to her tasty figure. “Melika, your information was invaluable.”
As the holographic Andorian beamed at the compliment
B’Elanna made a report from the engineering station. “We’ve regained eighteen
percent of our battery capacity and the impulse reactor is hovering at
ninety-eight percent threshold,” the catsuit-clad
Klingon stated. “
“As fun as this is,” Troi commented as the beautiful brunette raced Starheart around another energy-damping beacon, the ship’s phasers cutting it to smoking pieces, “These energy-dampers didn’t build themselves. Someone put them here.”
“And that someone is going to notice that they’re gone,” added B’Elanna.
T’Pol’s level voice had the tiniest hint of triumph in it. “The Chastity is powering up! Its reactors are operational and the ship is maneuvering. It is…” The science officer trailed off, frowning at the displays below her graceful fingers. “Chastity has gone to warp!”
“What are they doing?” Melika’s blue eyes flickered as the hologram examined Starheart’s sensor logs. “There wasn’t enough time for them to beam anyone back to their ships. They must still have everyone on board.” The cute blonde’s head lifted, a frown on her brow. “The Chastity’s course heading takes them directly to Vulcan!”
“Setting course to pursue,” Deanna reported, “We’ll catch up to that Bajoran ferry in no time.”
But the bright flash of a ship dropping from warp delayed their pursuit. “Incoming ship locking weapons on us!” T’Pol reported just before Starheart jolted beneath a blow from a blue energy beam. “Damage to our dorsal hull. Our shields were no defense. The attacker’s weapon went right through!” exclaimed the Vulcan in shock.
“Get us behind it!” B’Elanna shouted, “I’ll divert shield power to engines and weapons!” The Maquis’s lovely dark eyes locked on the dark blue ship on the viewscreen, recognizing the insect-like split of its hull and its widely spaced warp engines. “It’s a Jem’Hadar bug, a standard Dominion light warship. Its polaron weapons go right through Starfleet shielding but they only fire forwards. Keep us out of its gunsights!”
The Jem’Hadar attack craft swung around, trying to aim its forward cannons at Starheart but the experimental craft darted around behind it. Again the Dominion vessel turned and again the smaller, more agile ship pulled away before it could come under fire. Starheart’s phaser banks lit up and struck the larger vessel with several hits but there was no visible effect.
“These pea-shooters are almost useless against that ship!” raged Torres. “I’d take my top off for a couple of torpedoes right about now!”
Deanna gasped suddenly. “He’s going to try to blind us!” Just then two bright streams of plasma erupted from vents in the Jem’Hadar ship’s tail. Starheart narrowly avoided flying through the blazing inferno, then rolled and ducked to avoid a volley of polaron beams from the Jem’Hadar ship. Once again the small ship’s superior speed let it slip behind the larger, more powerful Dominion craft.
“How did you know he was going to do that?” Torres questioned, the twenty-two year old’s voice sharp with the tension of the fight.
“Empath, remember?” Troi reminded her, reaching across the helm controls and making her generous tits shift deliciously with the movement.
“Maybe you missed your calling when you became a ship’s counselor,” suggested T’Pol, “You seem to have appropriate talents for piloting.”
“Provided you can stop crashing into things,” B’Elanna added at a far lower volume.
Starheart’s phaser array struck the Jem’Hadar ship several more times, but while their guns were accurate they were far from powerful. But they had enough bite for T’Pol to see something on her sensory readouts. “Their shields appear weaker on their topside towards the aft,” the Vulcan reported, “Try to keep us above that ship!”
“Ready to divert all power and coolant to the phaser array on your say-so,” Lieutenant Torres said, hands poised above her engineering station. “But make it count! We’ll be amping up the phaser but we’ll lose power to other systems in return!”
Deanna flipped the ship about and guided it up and over the Jem’Hadar assault craft. “Now!” she shouted, firing Starheart’s phasers. Red energy poured down into the larger ship’s shields, which buckled and collapsed. An instant later the Dominion ship twisted itself apart in a burst of flaming metal and venting gas.
B’Elanna hissed a “Yes!” pumping her fist with tit-jiggling force while T’Pol bowed her head, the Vulcan stretching her shoulders forward.
The full-chested empath at the helm let out a breast-lifting sigh of relief, then folding her arms uncomfortably in front of her melons. “That’s about all the excitement I like for one day,” Troi said.
A few seconds later three more Jem’Hadar ships dropped out of warp, swooping towards Starheart like vengeful demons. “More of them?? We have to get out of here!”
The ship shook and jolted as they were hit several more times. “Damage to the shuttlebay, navigational sensors and the starboard warp engine!” B’Elanna reported. “I’m trying to get enough power to the main drive to get us out of here!”
T’Pol’s beautiful eyes widened as she saw the readouts on her sensor displays. “I am detecting an energy surge…” That was as far as she got before the yellow light of a transporter surrounded the Vulcan, the Klingon and the Betazoid.
It vanished abruptly before they could be beamed out. “I’ve locked down your biosigns and prevented them from transporting you away,” Melika said, then added with a nervous look in her large blue eyes “But I was a little late and they were able to beam out a few things.”
B’Elanna, Deanna and T’Pol looked down to see that each woman’s clothing had been transported off her body, leaving the three Starfleet officers completely nude! “Let’s move it before they try again!” Torres said, “All power to engines!”
“Resuming pursuit course, activating warp drive!” Deanna spurred Starheart into motion and the ship flashed ahead. The Jem’Hadar vessels vanished in the far distance behind them, lacking the warp speed to chase the experimental craft. But something was wrong: the vessel was shaking and straining around them.
“I’m getting scary readings from the damaged warp nacelle!” shouted B’Elanna.
“Our warp field is changing shape!” T’Pol reported, “We are being dragged off course and cannot correct!”
“Oh god, we’ve been pulled out of Starheart’s drive range!” Melika cried, the Andorian hologram biting her knuckles in fear as she received information directly from the ship’s systems. “We’re too far away from the stars that powered us!”
“We’re slowing,” Deanna Troi reported with a sigh of relief, “We’ll drop below lightspeed in ninety seconds, then we can engage the impulse engine and take control of our course.” Then her voluptuous naked figure stiffened in new fear. “Oh no. No.”
“What is it?” T’Pol demanded.
The counselor’s dark eyes were full of dread. “Our warp field is dragging us towards the nearest strongest gravity well. We’re going to hit the Vulcan sun in less than eighty seconds!”
A shocked silence fell over the women on the bridge. T’Pol spoke first, her arms folding nervously in front of her bare breasts. “Full reverse warp, all impulse power into the warp coils.”
“Nowhere near enough energy,” Torres answered. Her lovely dark eyes moved to the viewscreen, where the Vulcan sun was a tiny glowing point far brighter than the stars around it. It was growing larger at an alarming rate.
“What about pushing us off course?” asked Deanna urgently, her boobs rising and falling quickly with her panicking breaths. “If we pump all our available power into just one of the engines, we could push the field off-balance and…”
B’Elanna cut her off. “The effect would be negligible against the star’s gravity well.” The twenty-two year old leaned forward with her face in her hands, her elbows on her console and her lovely supple tits dangling beneath her so that her dark nipples nearly brushed the controls. “I could disrupt our subspace field with a deflector pulse but it would destroy the warp bubble and us with it. Dammit!” she said, rising up suddenly. The Maquis began to pace, B’Elanna’s frustration reflected in the energy of her impatient strides. “I need more time!”
Melika’s voice was soft. “I will transport the three of you down to Vulcan. There is a narrow window of time when we will be in range of the planet.” The Andorian hologram looked across the faces of her now-silent friends. Then the blue-skinned beauty settled her hands on her hips. “What are you waiting for girls? A box of candy? Get supplies and clothing, it’s a desert down there!”
After a second of hesitation the three Starfleet officers moved, quick and professional despite their nudity. B’Elanna grabbed three sets of boots and three belts, loaded with phasers, sensors and communicators. Deanna gathered up rations, canteens of water and other survival supplies, while T’Pol hauled uniforms out of a replicator and slung them over her lean toned shoulder.
“Melika,” B’Elanna said, her dark eyes wide and earnest, “I just want to say…”
The hologram lifted one hand, her blue eyes closed. “It’s okay. I’m not really alive, Deanna.”
“Don’t say that!” Troi’s voice was pained. “If you make it somehow, find us.”
The blonde Andorian nodded, then lifted her eyes as if watching a clock. “Here it comes. Energizing.” Deanna, T’Pol and B’Elanna vanished as the ship’s transporter carried them away to safety.
Melika turned around and looked at the viewscreen, where Vulcan’s fierce sun had grown so large that it filled the screen with its blazing fury. “I suppose flying into the sun is one of the cooler ways to go,” the hologram said before everything turned white.
+++++
T’Pol, Deanna Troi and B’Elanna Torres stood naked at the peak of a sand dune. Uniforms and equipment and rations had been dropped to the sand as the three Starfleet officers looked up at Vulcan’s intense sun. There was nothing to reveal Starheart’s fate.
“I crashed the ship,” Deanna whispered. “I killed Melika.”
“You didn’t!” B’Elanna said sharply, then spoke softer. “We’ve got to get moving.”
As they knelt down to retrieve their equipment each of the three nude woman became immediately aware of two things. Firstly the desert that stretched out around them in dunes and plains was hot, with heat rising in shimmering curtains from the sand. The second was that the planet Vulcan had higher gravity than standard on a Starfleet vessel, greedily pulling their lovely bosoms a half-inch closer to the ground.
“Oh!” B’Elanna breathed, cupping and cradling her bare breasts. “That’s exactly what I didn’t need, an entire planet pulling on my boobs. T’Pol, pass me a bra.”
The Vulcan stared at the uniforms she had brought, her plump lips parting in realization. “I neglected to bring any in my haste,” she apologized, drawing in a deep breath that made the orbs of her tits rise. “We will have to make do without underwear.”
“Liberating,” said Deanna in a dry voice, still cupping her boobs against Vulcan’s gravity.
“Perhaps we can engage in more constructive discussion,” T’Pol suggested, “By explaining to me exactly what these Jem’Hadar are.”
“They’re genetically engineered soldiers who fight for the Dominion,” B’Elanna Torres explained, her melons jiggling as she shimmied her pants up her long athletic legs. “They’re dependant on a drug called Ketrecel White, making them easier to control and kill off if their creators, the Founders, need to.”
“That’s horrible,” Deanna breathed, pulling her uniform top on, working to stretch the elastic over her ample tits. The counselor had missed out on a few years of Federation political developments, although not as many as T’Pol. “Who are the Founders?”
“Changelings,” B’Elanna answered. The Klingon pulled her pants up tightly, unknowingly creating a delicious cameltoe between her legs as the material kissed her pussy. “But they aren’t the problem right now. The Jem’Hadar have an ability they call ‘shrouding’ that gives them a kind of invisibility, and they’ve very strong, fast and tough.”
“Has there been war?” questioned T’Pol, the Vulcan settling her globes within the tight confines of her top.
“It’s right on the edge,” Torres said grimly, pulling her uniform top over her head and shoulders, her brown nipples jiggling as she struggled to pull the elastic down over her full chest. “The Dominion is in the Gamma Quadrant, and their only way in is the Bajoran Wormhole. The first we heard about them they were destroying the New Bajor colony on the far side.”
As the trio finished dressing T’Pol activated her communicator. “This is a general distress signal. We have been forced to make an emergency transport and are now stranded on the Vulcan surface.” The science officer squinted out at the horizon as she tried to get her bearings. “If you are receiving this transmission, know that we are located on the edge of a dune field with the sun at approximately eighty-seven degrees…”
The science officer fell silent, her eyes in the sky. “What is it?” Deanna asked, looking up. The yellow sky was tinted with green.
“Copper oxide and other compounds, charged with static by dust storms into unique excited patterns,” T’Pol explained. “It is a common phenomena on my world. It was likely those patterns that dragged our transport to this location. It will also prevent sensors from detecting us, and will block communication. We cannot expect local authorities to detect or rescue us.”
“That’s perfect,” said Torres bitterly. The Klingon hefted a pack of rations and canteen over her shoulder, her dark eyes narrowing as she looked out at the horizon. “I guess we walk out from under it.”
+++++
“I think,” panted Deanna Troi, “That we should consider moving at night and resting during the day?”
Their pointy-eared companion was doing far better. The arid heat of her homeworld was something the lean, full-breasted T’Pol was used to. “If we find suitable cover we should consider it,” the science officer said, walking down the slope of a dune with tit-bouncing steps, B’Elanna and Deanna following with their own lovely orbs jumping inside their catsuits as well.
“You know when we get to a Vulcan settlement we’re going to have to explain who we are and what we’ve been doing,” B’Elanna pointed out, gripping and lifting the waist of her uniform’s top, fanning her taut stomach and supple breasts with air in an effort to cool down. “Without Starheart to fly around in, we’re grounded. I suppose I should call a lawyer, too.”
“We won’t let them put you in prison, B’Elanna, Maquis or not,” Deanna promised. “You’ve done so much good. You’re simply such a good person.”
The twenty-two year old half-Klingon smiled coyly at the Betazoid with whom she shared her bed. “I thought I was better than good,” and thrilled as she saw a blush appear on Troi’s beautiful features. Walking slightly ahead of the others, where they could not see her face, T’Pol allowed herself a smile and a roll of her eyes. Then the Vulcan began to daydream about what the three of them could get up to if they could find shelter from the sun, their sweat-slick bodies pressing together in the shade…
The empathic Deanna Troi sensed the T’Pol’s idle thoughts. Quickening her steps to a boob-shaking jog the counselor caught up with the Vulcan, eyeing her round posterior. “Quite an imagination you have for a science officer, T’Pol,” the Betazoid teased.
A surprisingly pretty smile spread across B’Elanna Torres’ features as she
watched her lovers flirt and play word games. Her beautiful dark eyes rolling
wryly she gripped the waist of her catsuit and peeled
her top off, dragging the tight sweat-soaked garment up, the elastic clinging
briefly to her mouthwatering breasts before allowing the twenty-two year old’s chest treats to bounce free. Topless in the heat B’Elanna felt an enormous relief.
Torres was opening her mouth to invite her companions to strip off as well when a damp rag was pressed over her face from behind.
A powerful arm wrapped around B’Elanna’s arms and waist, preventing her from fighting. Torres’ athletic legs tensed as she tried to shift herself out of the man’s grip but he was simply too large and too strong. The rag smelt cloyingly sweet, making her head spin. Her bare breasts trembled as she struggled uselessly against her attacker’s superior strength.
The empathic Deanna sensed her companion’s distress and turned. To her horror she saw B’Elanna Torres wriggling sexily in the arms of a Jem’Hadar soldier. He was six and a half feet tall, fall larger and heavier than the Klingon struggling helplessly in his arms. B’Elanna had been at the back of the group, the most vulnerable. Now her bare boobs bounced as she wiggled furiously for her freedom.
The Jem’Hadar quickly acted to neutralize B’Elanna’s leverage. With one powerful hand he gripped the waist of her tight elastic pants and pulled up hard, lifting the brunette’s feet from the sand and denying her the ability to push and heave with her athletic legs.
But the cruel maneuver had another affect on the luscious B’Elanna Torres. As her pants were yanked upwards the fabric pressed up intimately into the folds of her snatch, made super-sensitive thanks to her Orion conditioning. The twenty-two year old’s dark eyes widened as pleasure burst between her thighs. “Mmmmpphhh!” Torres’ wail of ecstasy was muffled by the drug-soaked rag over her mouth. Her cheeks flushed with humiliation as she climaxed in the Jem’Hadar’s arms, her legs lifted, her thighs spread and her breasts bared.
And in the aftermath of her orgasm Torres involuntarily drew
in a deep breath, and the chemicals in the rag dropped her deep into
unconsciousness.
Meanwhile Deanna and T’Pol pulled out their phasers, but neither had a good shot at the Jem’Hadar with B’Elanna’s slackening body in the way. “Go left!” the Vulcan shouted as she ran right across the dune slope, “Get around him!” The counselor obeyed, her melons bouncing and her ass wiggling with her hurried steps.
But before either could get a clear line of fire the Jem’Hadar simply vanished. B’Elanna fell to the sand like a rag doll. Her sweat-slick breasts quickly rose and fell as she panted in the wake of her unwanted orgasm, but her eyes were closed in unconsciousness. Deanna turned her pistol left and right, trying to find the invisible soldier. “Watch the sand for footprints!” the counselor said, her eyes wide with urgency.
T’Pol approached the fallen Lieutenant Torres with careful steps, her brown eyes sweeping over the sand for any sign of their attacker. Then a handful of sand was tossed up in front of her. From the cloud a blurring figure charged too quickly for T’Pol to aim and shoot. Immediately they were wrestling over the phaser in her hands, the lean-limbed, heavy-breasted woman pitting her Vulcan strength against the Jem’Hadar.
Deanna didn’t have a good shot with T’Pol blocking the way. The Vulcan fired her phaser, trying to strike the Jem’Hadar but found her hand knocked aside. The stunning discharge spat into counselor Troi’s ample chest. With a shriek of shock the Betazoid fell back onto the sand, her suddenly-naked tits bouncing with the impact. The stun-power shot had sizzled a broad patch of her uniform away to bare her boobs, but left her skin unmarked. The unconscious brunette rolled down the slope to lie on her chest, her uncovered breasts pressing against the hot Vulcan sand.
The pistol fell out of reach. T’Pol struck the soldier with her elbow, then swung her curving hips as she drove her knee into his stomach, then punched him across the jaw. She lunged forward, pressing her advantage as she tried to get both hands to the man’s shoulders to apply a paralyzing Vulcan nerve pinch. But the Jem’Hadar was faster, knocking both her arms aside, gripping the collar of T’Pol’s uniform, yanking the elastic wide over her suddenly-naked shoulders and pulling it down to her waist.
T’Pol’s bare breasts bounced with the force of her stripping. She gasped, finding her arms were now pinned to her hips by her own uniform. Then she shrieked in pleasure and distress as the Jem’hadar delivered a pair of cruel open-palm blows to her ample melons, knocking the helpless Vulcan backwards. As she fell he grabbed the waist of her uniform and tore it down, stripping T’Pol’s pants down to her knees and baring her round bottom and bald snatch.
The Jem’Hadar’s eyes were dark in the grey armor of his horned face. He glanced over at Deanna and B’Elanna, confirming that the two brunette beauties were unconscious. Then he placed a boot on T’Pol’s stomach, preventing her from making any movement except the most useless and sexy wriggling, and pulled a communicator from his belt.
“This is Sixth K’Mataclan. Mistress, I have immobilized the three responsible for prematurely freeing the captives. Orders?”
The voice that replied through his communicator through was that of a woman. “Terminate them. No,” she corrected, “Maybe we can find a use for them, K’Mataclan. Describe our would-be-heroes.”
The Jem’Hadar looked down at T’Pol as she lay bare-chested beneath his boot, her thighs clenching beneath her bald pussy. “One Vulcan female.” He strode over to where Deanna Troi lay, her uniform phasered away over her chest to expose the counselor’s milky orbs. Not far from her was the deliciously topless B’Elanna Torres. “The other two are females. Scan registers as a half-breed Klingon-human and a half-breed Betazoid-human. All healthy and prime age.”
“Half-breeds? Interesting.” The woman’s voice sounded uncomfortably familiar to T’Pol. “Show me what they have to offer my little experiment.”
K’Mataclan reached down and grabbed a handful of the back of Deanna’s uniform. The brunette was lying on her chest, her tits pressed against the warm sand. Her body jerked as her top was torn away. Then the Jem’Hadar rolled Troi over so that her breasts were visible to him.
Holding his communicator up the soldier began a video-scan, transmitting the image of Deanna Troi’s bare breasts to his master. With his free hand he fondled and squeezed the counselor’s mams, lifting them to demonstrate their weight and firmness. T’Pol’s plump lips opened in astonishment as she watched the Jem’Hadar grope Troi’s tits. The twenty-nine year old Betazoid moaned as her melons were molested, her Orion-conditioned body trained to respond to such contact with pleasure. Even unconscious Deanna was aroused by hands on her breasts.
“Yummy,” the woman on the communicator channel admitted, “Show me the next.”
Moving on, the Jem’Hadar gripped B’Elanna Torres’s tasty tits. The unconscious twenty-two year old possessed soft round breasts, surprisingly large given her athletic physique. K’Mataclan played with the Klingon’s boobs, gently slapping them around her chest even as he recorded and transmitted the view to whoever was giving him orders. As with Troi, Torres began to wiggle and shift with unconscious pleasure as her titflesh was toyed with.
“Nice pair,” commented the Jem’Hadar’s mistress as B’Elanna’s brown nipples became erect, “More than ample enough for my needs. Show me the third.”
Leaving B’Elanna writhing and panting in her drugged stupor, K’Mataclan returned to where T’Pol lay bound and helpless. She tried to wriggle away on her bottom but the Jem’Hadar was far too fast, a hand snaking out to grip and lift her left breast. He squeezed tightly, T’Pol’s broad nipple pointing skyward. The science officer couldn’t help but moan in pleasure as her Orion conditioning kicked in, ecstasy swelling deep inside her as her tits were molested.
The sensor the Jem’Hadar held scanned over T’Pol’s face and bared body, transmitting the data to the soldier’s home base. Even as she shut her eyes and clenched her teeth in unwanted pleasure she could hear K’Mataclan’s mistress through the communicator.
She was laughing. “My oh my, T’Pol!
What are the chances of finding you here? Thank you K’Mataclan,
you can leave the poor woman’s treasures alone for now. These girls are Orion
conditioned to class eight, practically Deltan level. It will be very easy to keep them pacified. Meet up
with First Tan’Alac and bring T’Pol
to me, as well as her companions. I definitely
have a place for them.”
K’Mataclan looked T’Pol in the eyes. “You are fortunate that your body is so
pleasing, Vulcan.” With a short jerk he ripped the science officer’s pants away
from where they had been bunched around her knees. Her long legs were now
completely exposed but she was free to walk. “On your feet,” the Jem’Hadar ordered.
+++++
T’Pol was naked. Her uniform had been entirely torn away from her lean tanned body, salvaged for material to tie her wrists behind her back. With her generous tits, bald pussy and round ass exposed to the heat of Vulcan’s sun, T’Pol marched across the desert of her home world.
Each step was made slower by the water canteens that had been tied to her boots. Hobbled by the water supply they had brought from Starheart, T’Pol dragged the canisters after her with one slow movement of her long legs after the other. Their weight effectively ruined any hopes she might have had of trying to outrun her Jem’Hadar captor. T’Pol bowed her head, looking down her perspiration-slick breasts as her long legs took yet another step. Even her Vulcan biology was suffering in the heat now that she was laboring with the extra weight tied to her ankles, and had no clothing to shield her skin from the sun’s rays.
Several paces behind her was the Jem’Hadar K’Mataclan, carrying Deanna Troi and B’Elanna Torres. Both women had been stripped to their boots, their uniforms used to bind their hands and ankles together as they hung over the soldier’s shoulders. Both women were belly-down, B’Elanna’s firm rump beside Deanna’s round and womanly bottom, their pussy lips peeking out from between their thighs and their breasts pressing against the genetically-engineered warrior’s back.
T’Pol continued to walk, the canteens dragged by her boots making clonking noises as they struck each other, like the ringing of a cow’s bell. Her generous udders shone with her perspiration as the Vulcan struggled on, trying to ignore the shame of her humiliating situation.
She slipped and landed flat on her tits. “Stand,” K’Mataclan ordered. This proved awkward for T’Pol with her hands tied behind her back. Panting from the fall she managed to wiggle her knees beneath her, her round rump rising in the air and her snatch deliciously revealed to the Jem’Hadar behind her. She clambered up, her breasts, belly and thighs now caked with sand, and continued her humiliating march.
There was a shriek of outrage over K’Mataclan’s left shoulder as Deanna Troi regained consciousness. “Let go of me you barbarian!” she screamed, struggling uselessly. With her wrists tied together and her ankles bound she could only weakly thump her fists and knees against the Jem’Hadar’s broad armored torso. “How dare you! I demand that you put me down this instant!”
With a faint sigh of annoyance K’Mataclan moved his left hand from Deanna’s waist to her round ass, pushing his fingers between her thighs to play with the counselor’s pussy lips.
The effect on Troi’s Orion-conditioned body was almost instant. “You twisted ogre! Stop that! Stop that, you let go of murrmmmrrr ahhhhhh,” Deanna moaned, her protests already reduced to mindless mewling sounds and burbles of pleasure.
Keeping his eyes firmly on T’Pol’s wiggling ass, K’Mataclan shifted his hand on the hip of the ‘unconscious’ twenty-two year old on his right shoulder. “Concealing your waking state is the correct strategy, Klingon,” he commanded, hearing and feeling B’Elanna gasp in surprise. The Maquis had been feigning unconsciousness, but the Jem’Hadar had known. “I noticed the shift in your breathing several minutes ago.”
“You won’t get away with this,” warned B’Elanna Torres, although her warning lacked much of a threat as it was delivered while naked and tied over the man’s shoulder.
“You believe you can reach the weapon in my holster,” K’Mataclan surmised even as he continued to diddle Deanna Troi’s pussy with his left hand. “Your arms do not have the reach, Klingon.”
“I have long fingers,” B’Elanna insisted.
“So have I.” K’Mataclan moved his hand to Torres’ pussy and began professionally pacifying Voyager’s chief engineer.
B’Elanna shut her lips tightly to hold in her cries. The twenty-two year old writhed and wriggled on the man’s shoulder, her ass trembling with her sexy but futile struggles. Her brown nipples grew erect, poking against K’Mataclan’s back as her most tender places were stroked, rubbed, flicked and pinched. The Klingon fought it with every fiber of her being.
And Voyager’s chief engineer lost. Her Orion conditioning, her helpless and hopeless position and K’Mataclan’s skillful fingers turned the tide against her and B’Elanna Torres cummed, shaking and whimpering in pleasure as she hung naked on the Jem’Hadar’s shoulder.
Steady manipulation of B’Elanna and Deanna’s super-sensitive slits kept both Starfleet officers docile and quiet as the march across the desert continued, with T’Pol’s naked perspiration-slick figure trudging along in the lead.
+++++
“Stop, Vulcan.”
Obediently T’Pol halted, closing
her eyes as the Vulcan sun weighed on her naked body. Her pouting lips were
open as she drew in deep breaths, her heavy melons rising and perspiration
trickling down her gorgeous curves. She heard muffled moans as Troi and Torres were lowered to the sand, their wrists
unbound from their ankles and rebound behind their backs. T’Pol’s
brown eyes moved sideways, trying to see the Jem’Hadar
behind her from the corner of her vision but without giving herself away by
turning.
K’Mataclan put a hand on T’Pol’s shoulder and the science officer gasped as she was shoved to her knees. The Vulcan hit the sand with her thighs spread and her perfect hairless kitty exposed, her boobs jiggling on impact.
T’Pol listened to the slosh of water as K’Mataclan untied the canteens from her boots. Then fluid was splashing down into her short dark hair. The Vulcan tilted her head back, her plump lips opening as she eagerly drank the water. Liquid was poured over her face and shoulders, running in cooling trails down her bare breasts and belly before tickling her pussy and thighs.
“Do not move,” the Jem’Hadar warned as he returned to where Deanna and B’Elanna lay naked and perspiring on the sand, panting from the last half-hour of non-stop pussy-diddling. A splash of water and the two nude beauties struggled up to their knees, breasts quivering and their mouths open to catch any of the refreshing fluid. A minute later and the Betazoid and the Klingon were breathing sighs of relief, water wetting their throats as well as their dark hair and generous tits.
Dropping the empty canteen and slinging the other two at his belt, K’Mataclan undid the bindings around Torres and Troi’s feet. Their hands still firmly tied behind their backs, the two women scrambled onto their bottoms and stared in trepidation at the creature that had captured them.
“Now you will run,” The Jem’Hadar stated.
“Run?” B’Elanna said in sharp disbelief. “In this heat? On sand?”
“Run naked?” Deanna breathed, unable to believe her ears.
Both women gasped in pleasure and distress as the Jem’Hadar grabbed each by one generous tit and hauled the two women onto their feet. “Run!” he ordered, pushing B’Elanna and Deanna into line with T’Pol. The three heroines each yelped and jumped in sequence, their tits bouncing as K’Mataclan delivered a stinging slap to each brunette’s bare bottom. Another smack on the ass and each Starfleet officer began to run.
With their hands bound behind their backs and wearing nothing but their boots T’Pol, B’Elanna Torres and Deanna Troi ran naked across the Vulcan desert. Perspiration made their gorgeous bodies slick and wet. Their long legs pumped and their round asses wiggled. The delicious breasts of the three Starfleet officers bounced and jiggled with their long strides, nipples dancing on their chests as they were forced to keep a brisk pace by the Jem’Hadar that had captured them.
The sand slipped beneath their feet. The thin air made their
lungs work harder. The heavier gravity pulled greedily at their supple titflesh. When one women lagged
behind a sharp slap on her ass made her pick up her feet. When one fell, caking
her perspiration-wet breasts with sand, K’Mataclan
would pull her back to her feet with the convenient handholds of her hair or
tits, shoving the woman back to a running pace.
This was Vulcan, known across the Alpha Quadrant for its culture and civilization. Yet here in the heart of the Federation Deanna Troi, T’Pol and B’Elanna Torres had been captured, bound, stripped naked and forced to run unclothed across the sand.
Their ship was gone and communication was impossible. There was no hope of rescue and no chance of escape.
Their ordeal on Vulcan was only just beginning.
TO BE CONTINUED
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