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:
For a clearer idea of what these characters look like, check out www.memory-alpha.org and use the search feature to find the characters by name.
Feedback can be directed to Mickt80@hotmail.com.
EPISODE 14: IF WISHES WERE WHORES
The intensity of the Vulcan sun turned the dunes yellow-gold and almost too bright to look at. Heat shimmered from the desert floor, warping the air into mirages. From one of those shimmering pools a pair of figures emerged.
They were running side by side. Alia Belles was Deltan, revealed by the smooth baldness of her scalp and the complete lack of hair on her sensual full-figured body. In her late twenties she had already developed a reputation as an innovative and daring teacher, taking her students on lengthy treks that proved as educational as they were entertaining.
Running beside her was the Bajoran Lanlee Milos, a Vedek in the holy orders of her people. A redhead with a fiery passion for her faith, she had succeeded where many had not: Lanlee had successfully negotiated the release of precious Bajoran artifacts from the Cardassian Union, which had cruelly occupied her world only a few short years before.
The Deltan wore boots while the Bajoran wore sandles and socks that traveled mid-way up her pale thighs. Beyond that the two beauties were naked, without a single stitch of clothing to protect their long-legged, full-breasted figures from Vulcan’s sun as they ran across the sand. Perspiration beaded on their bare skin and their ample breasts bounced vigorously with the pace they were forced to maintain. Both Alia and Lanlee’s wrists were shackled behind their backs, giving them no choice but to run bare-breasted, their tits leaping without the support of a bra or even their hands. Their faces flushed with shame and discomfort as they continued their humiliating run.
A dark shape emerged from the mirage behind them. A sun-burnished hoverbike hummed as it coasted above the sand, effortlessly carrying its rider along. She was a slim, milk-skinned creature with dark curly hair and inhumanly pale eyes. Her lithe body was clad in a brief vest that only barely closed over her bosom and a short skirt that left her long slim legs exposed. The Vorta Papilia sat sidesaddle, a Dominion plasma rifle resting across her bare thighs as she watched her two prisoners run on, asses wiggling and tits bouncing.
And then the rest of Papilia’s prisoners emerged from the shimmering heat. They numbered nearly thirty and none of them were above the age of nineteen. Some were bald-headed Deltan schoolgirls, students of Alia Belles who had fallen into the Vorta’s trap along with their teacher. The rest had a small bony wrinkle on the bridge of their noses, revealing them to be Bajorans. These teenagers were acolytes in Vedek Lanlee’s holy order. School uniforms and religious robes had been stripped from slim teenaged bodies and their wrists locked behind their backs as they, like their leaders, were forced to run naked across the desert.
They had been traveling for more than an hour and the strain of the journey was showing. Teenagers staggered up dune slopes, leaning forward heavily with their bare breasts swaying and dangling beneath them. They staggered down the descending slopes, tits jumping on their chests as they fought to keep their long slim legs beneath them. Some of the girls tripped and fell, coating their perspiration-slick skin with sand.
Papilia swung her hoverbike about, coming up behind the group and corralling the strays. Teenagers looked up at her with wide fearful eyes, their bare breasts heaving as they sucked in much-needed air, and then they turned and continued to run, slim legs pumping and teen tits bobbing as they kept up the pace.
It was not the first time Alia Belles, Lanlee Milos as their teenaged charges had been forced to run naked across the Vulcan desert. But there was something different about this trek.
When they had first been captured some of the young women had possessed humble bosoms, their breasts only budding. But after Papilia’s wicked treatments each of the captives sported a generous pair of tits, plump and full and resilient. And every single pair of breasts among the captives ached from the long milking sessions they had endured in the Vorta’s underground base as she milked their modified mammary glands for a substitute for Ketrecel White, the drug that the Jem’Hadar were dependant upon.
But that was not the only difference from their previous desert crossing. Lanlee’s long pale legs guided her a little closer to Belles, the two beauties running naked only a foot apart from each other. “I do not see,” the redhead panted, her pink nippled-boobs leaping with her strides, “T’Pol or the other Starfleet women.”
Alia nodded and swallowed dryly. “I only see your sisters,” the Deltan answered, her words made brief by the effort of maintaining their embarrassing tit-jiggling pace, “And my students.” She turned her bald head left and right, her hazel eyes moving over the group. “I don’t see any Jem’Hadar either.”
“Do not doubt that they are there,” Vedek Milos warned. “The Vorta would not venture from her base without protection.”
The redhead lifted her blue eyes to the Vulcan sky. There was a tinge of green high above: charged copper oxides and other compounds that interfered with sensory systems. With despair Lanlee lowered her face, returning her attention to the sight of her own bobbing breasts and pumping thighs. As long as they remained beneath that green-tinged sky there was no hope of rescue. Their humiliating captivity would continue.
Another, steeper dune slope rose ahead of them. “Can we not go around?” Alia begged, perspiration trickling between her leaping tits, “My girls are exhausted!”
“Good,” Papilia smirked from where she sat comfortably on her hoverbike, “Tired cows are easier to corral. Up you go, baldy! You too Red!”
With exhausted sighs and weary groans the naked captives began the climb. Girls leaned forward heavily as they ascended, firm teenaged bottoms shining with perspiration. Feet slipped in the sand, girls coming down hard on their bare breasts. Papilia drew her vehicle along behind the group, sweeping left and right, urging them on with the presence of her rifle and her pale staring eyes.
Alia and Lanlee,
climbing side by side, approached the dune’s peak. Some of their fitter
students had beaten them to it and now stood at the crest, panting and
perspiring, some leaning forward for air and some falling to their naked rumps,
while others remaining defiantly upright, denying their cruel captor the sight
of their weakness. But every girl on the crest was staring down into the valley
below. The schoolteacher and Vedek reached the top
and looked down at what had caught the teenagers’ attention.
A blocky rectangular shuttle had landed in the cover between two steep dunes. Around it were a dozen figures, many carrying rifles, all looking up with interest at the small army of nude girls on the dune’s peak.
Papilia waited until each and every captive was on the crest of the dune. Then, with a sly smirk, she over-revved the engine of her hoverbike. The sudden roar of power made the girls flinch and step away, inadvertently moving onto the steep slope. The packed sand gave way between their feet and the rush down the sandy hill had begun.
Bajoran and Deltan teenagers fell down the dune in a tumble of long legs. Alia Belles fell among them, coating her moutherwatering figure with sand that clung to her damp skin. Other captives managed to keep their feet beneath them, running out of control down the slope. Lanlee Milos’ breasts jumped uncomfortably as she tried to control her rapid descent, her curvaceous bottom wiggling and her red hair flying.
They reached the bottom, flushed and panting and thoroughly humiliated. The girls universally dropped to the sand on knees or bottoms, worn out by the exhausting journey. Bare breasts rose and fell quickly as they labored for air.
Then a number of the teenagers shrieked as they realized they were only a few feet away from the armed men they had spotted earlier!
Some of the green-skinned men waiting for them were lean while others were broad and bulky. But each was fearsome in appearance and heavily armed with phasers and disruptors in holsters and on slings. Dark eyes grinned at the sight of the twenty-nine naked women before them, arms bound behind their backs so that they could not cover themselves. “Orions!” gasped Lanlee.
“Bajorans!” one of the Orions mock-gasped, eyeing Lanlee’s deliciously voluptuous figure. The Vedek blushed in embarrassment, turning her naked body away so that he could only enjoy the view of her pale heart-shaped bottom. “And some cute little Deltans,” the green-skinned man added, the nude schoolgirls quaking as he looked over their uncovered bodies.
“I hope I didn’t leave you waiting long,” Papilia said conversationally as she guided her hoverbike down beside the captives and landed it. With demure movements she stepped off her vehicle, slinging her plasma rifle as she gestured to the naked girls under her control. “I was limited to the pace of the slowest pony, you see.”
“And it’s quite a herd you have there,” one of the Orions admitted, running his eyes over the humiliated Deltans and Bajorans. This man appeared to be the leader of the group. His clothing was a better cut and his rifle was loaded up with expensive fixtures. While he was muscular he was not bulky, and under other circumstances the captive women might have considered him handsome. These were not those circumstances. “I’m Kafra. I speak for the Boss.”
“Can you buy?” Papilia questioned. “Because I’m selling.” At her words a tremor of fear went across the assembled girls. Defrocked Bajoran nuns exchanged horrified looks with out-of-uniform Deltan schoolgirls.
“After everything she has done to my sisters,” Lanlee whispered in helpless outrage, only Alia beside her hearing, “She would sell us to the Orions as slaves?”
Belles’ hazel eyes moved from the Orions to Papilia and then to the trembling nakedness of her teenaged students. “I thought the Vorta needed us for her plans!”
“If you’re selling then I’m buying,” Kafra answered. “You’d make me a happy man if you said you’re looking to unload all of these pretty ponies today.”
“Not all of them.” The Vorta produced a miniature datapadd from her belt and threw it to the Orion, who caught it deftly. “That’s the per-unit price, take it or leave it.”
Kafra read the small screen and laughed. “Maybe you’ve got this back to front, lady? You’re selling the Deltans at half the price of the Bajorans!”
As the other Orion men laughed at this, the bald schoolgirls in the group trembled at the knowledge that they were on special. The crinkle-nosed Bajoran girls flushed in sympathy for their youthful companions.
Papilia didn’t care. “I did have a use for them but my situation has changed. For the long-term investment, I’m thinking about Vulcans. These girls are taking up storage space that I may not have spare.”
“Vulcan slaves?” the leader of the Orion slavers said skeptically. “That’s your hassle. They’re too strong and too smart. Deltans are great squealers, far easier to control. Almost any other species is easier to slave than Vulcans, except maybe Klingons.”
“You’re right, it’s my hassle,” Papilia said calmly, regarding the Orion men as if they were bugs before her. “I can sell up to ten of the Deltans and eight of the Bajorans. You can take your pick of the best, of course.”
Kneeling naked on the sand with her wrists tied behind her, Alia Belles stared at the Vorta’s back and drew in a tit-lifted breath of anger. “Why is she so cruel? Splitting up my students!”
“Hostages,” Lanlee Milos whispered. “She does not want the girls revealing what is happening here on Vulcan. She keeps some of the prisoners to ensure the silence of those she sees fit to release.” As the hazel-eyed Deltan looked at her in frowning curiosity, the redhead shrugged her bare shoulders, her udders shifting deliciously. “Cardassians did the same in their sex camps,” the Bajoran explained.
Their discussion was cut short by an order from Kafra. “Get them lined up and on their feet. Let’s see the goods.”
Orion slavers moved among the captives, pulling them up onto their long trembling legs. Teenagers flushed with humiliation as they were forced to form a line, slim bodies presented towards the Orion Kafra. The men needed little excuse to grab a bare breast or trembling buttock to ‘reposition’ each girl to best display her nakedness. One by one they were pushed forward so the slaver could examine them.
“The redhead’s pretty,” he commented as he lifted and squeezed Vedek Lanlee’s bare breasts. Her blue eyes glared at the Orion as her melons were molested. “She’s got a lot of hate in her, too. That can be trouble.” He released the Bajoran’s boobs, then gave them a quick slap that made the holy woman flinch in embarrassment. “But it can be good too.” Then he turned Lanlee around so that he could fondle her bottom. The humiliated Vedek cringed as she was groped helplessly before her acolytes.
Kafra went through the line entirely too slowly for the captives’ liking. Breasts were squeezed. Nipples were pinched and tweaked. Bottoms were fondled and thighs felt for firmness. Green fingers diddled at pussies, making Bajoran teenagers whimper in embarrassment and too-sensitive Deltan schoolgirls mewl in unwanted pleasure.
“Oh my,” the Orion smiled as he came to Alia Belles. Kafra drank in the sight of the gorgeous Deltan schoolteacher, his eyes moving from her slim thighs to her bald pussy, her wide curving hips, up her narrow waist and out across the swell of her full breasts. He couldn’t resist reaching out to grip one of those delicious tits, brushing the layer of sand off her skin and squeezing her melon in his fingers. The bald beauty groaned in pleasure as her easily-pleased Deltan physique responded to the touch. Then Alia bit her lip, silencing her cries as she remembered the presence of her students.
“No, don’t be quiet,” Kafra said encouragingly, stepping around behind the Deltan, “You’ve got a beautiful voice.” Keeping one hand on her tit he let his other slide down to Belles’ bald pussy. His fingers found her nether lips and pinched them together.
“Uhhh aaahhhh!!” The schoolteacher was unable to prevent herself from crying out loud, her full lips parting, her back arching and her face turning to the desert sky. She was panting and flushing with shame as the Orion released her snatch and tit. The sight of the smirk on Kafra’s face made Alia almost miss the impersonal gropings of the Jem’Hadar. To the soldiers of the Dominion, exploiting the naked bodies of their captives was work not pleasure.
“Beautiful face too,” he commented, touching Belles’ jaw. Kafra looked to one of his men. “Get behind her and hold her up. I want to see how flexible this Deltan bitch is.” Alia was barely able to gasp before one Orion grabbed her arms from behind while Kafra took hold of one of her long legs.
“What are you doing to her!” demanded Lanlee. The redhead’s shout turned into a mewl of discomfort as one of the bulkier Orions silenced her by grabbing on the Bajoran’s right tit. She was pulled close to him, her face lifting in helpless shame and discomfort as the burly guard massaged and squeezed her bare breasts, in full sight of her trembling teenaged followers.
Meanwhile Kafra was forcing Alia Belles to perform the splits. “Please no!” the Deltan cried out as one long leg was lifted while the other stayed on the ground. The Orion holding her from behind ensured she would not fall as the Deltan stretched, her lifted foot rising and rising, her thighs parting wider and wider, her delicious pussy fully on display to Kafra and his slaver comrades. Alia’s beautiful mouth opened wide, her body leaning backwards, her trembling tits pointing towards the sky.
The Deltan schoolgirls whimpered as they watched their beloved teacher being forced to spread her legs, one foot lifted high while the other trembled to stay on the ground. “Very flexible,” Kafra said approvingly, releasing Belles’ leg and allowing her to straighten up, gasping and flushing with embarrassment.
The slaver turned back to Papilia. “So they’re pretty and have good bodies. Can they perform?”
The Vorta’s pale eyes rolled. “You know, I have no idea. Try a few.”
With a cry of defeat Alia Belles was forced down to her knees, her tits jolting with the force of her descent. Regarding the beautiful Deltan before him with a smirk of anticipation, Kafra unbuckled his trousers.
“No!” yelped the red-haired Lanlee as she too was pushed down, made to kneel before the burly Orion who had been groping her tits. Her blue eyes showed pure shock as the slaver produced his tool from his trousers.
With cries of distress two teenagers were pulled out of the group, one Deltan
and one Bajoran. They too were forced to their knees
before slavers, and then watched with wide terrified eyes as they came face to
face with green Orion cocks.
Just as Orion women were famed for their sexual energy, Orion males were legendary for their stamina and the scale of their tools. The penises before Belles, Lanlee and the two teenagers were all at least nine inches in length and broadly built with bulbous green heads.
The Bajoran Vedek’s blue eyes were horrified and outraged. “You disgusting pigs mmmmpph!” Lanlee’s protests were muffled by the broad mass of an Orion meatstick shoving into her mouth. An instant later the two teenagers also emitted muffle cries of disgrace as they too were forced to take cocks between their lips.
But Kafra took it slower. “You’re a big girl,” he told Alia, massaging his meat in his fingers, proffering it before the Deltan’s beautiful face. “I’m sure you know what to do.” Her hazel eyes defiant but her lips obedient, Belles took the man’s cock into her mouth and began to suck.
The Deltan species was not afraid of sex, although their ordeal over the last week was far beyond the norm for Belles and her students. But this was a technique that the two bald beauties knew well. Even her eighteen year old student was proficient in oral pleasure. Alia and her student bobbed and sucked, lips tightening around shafts and tongues swirling over the heads of the cocks in their mouths. With skillful if reluctant movements they pleasured their Orion antagonists, looking up at the men with angry but helpless eyes.
The Bajorans, on the other hand,
found this an alien and disgusting practice. Their only experience with
fellatio was with the Jem’Hadar, and neither Lanlee nor her acolyte had developed any taste for it. The Vedek and the teenager shut their eyes tightly, green
fingers in their hair forcing them to move their lips up and down the Orions’ dicks. Both tried their hardest to prevent their
tongues from coming into contact with the salty cocks in their mouths. The
redheaded
Kafra sighed in satisfaction, groping and squeezing Alia’s breasts as she worked his cock. “Skilled,” he smiled, then grabbed the Deltan’s ears so he could push his meat deeply into the schoolteacher’s mouth. He cummed, firing his load down the young woman’s throat. Belles found herself held in place, her mouth filled with cock, until she swallowed. She recoiled away the instant he let go, flushing with shame, only to have her humiliation double as the Orion ejaculated a second time. Hot semen splattered on Alia’s face and bare breasts.
The Bajoran and Deltan teens watched in dismay as the schoolteacher took the man’s load on her beautiful features. Seconds later the Deltan schoolgirl finished her job, herself receiving a hot, sticky mess of cum across her trembling teen tits and fell back, wide-eyed and panting.
Kafra looked over to the bulky Orion who presently had Lanlee Milos’s mouth all over his cock. “How’s red performing, Yolad?”
“Hating every second of it.” A firm hand in the Bajoran’s red hair kept the Vedek’s lips running back and forth along the length of Yolad’s meatstick. Her eyes were still shut, the crinkles in her Bajoran nose deepening with her humiliated disgust. The slaver called Yolad finally dragged his cock out of the incompliant redhead’s mouth and instead pumped it vigorously, his eyes on her beautiful flushing features. “She’s still pretty though.”
Vedek Lanlee’s blue eyes locked on the Orion with outrage. “You beastly corrupt animal, you mmmmpph!” Once again she found her mouth stuffed with penis, her blue eyes almost going cross-eyed. But Yolad had pumped himself to the edge of his orgasm. Once inside the Vedek’s mouth he let loose, filling the fiery redhead’s mouth with his hot seed.
“Mmmmpphh!” objected the Bajoran, trying to pull away but finding one hand over the back of her head and another pinching her nostrils shut. She bucked and writhed, creating a sexy show as her hips gyrated and her bare breasts trembled. But in the end Lanlee had no choice and swallowed, defeated.
When the cock was finally free of her mouth she gagged and
cringed, but gathered herself for a fresh tirade. “Monstrous Orions, the Prophets will uuugghhhh!” The Vedek’s tirade became a shuddering
groan of disgust as Yolad shot the rest of his load
across her beautiful face and generous tits. A shocked and humiliated Lanlee fell onto her back, her semen-spattered breasts
rising and falling and her eyes wide.
A moment later her acolyte suffered the same humiliation, the Orion cock in her mouth firing a blast of semen down her throat before shooting a second load across her pretty features. She cried in shame, turning her face away, only to catch more cum in her blonde hair.
Papilia looked over the humiliated women with mild interest in her unearthly pale eyes. “That seems to work well,” she commented. “So Kafra, how many will you be taking?”
The Orion did not answer until he had buckled up his trousers. “How many? I think… all of them.” The slavers lifted phasers and disruptors. A dozen muzzles were suddenly pointed at the Vorta.
The corpse-pale Papilia seemed unbothered by the threat. “I told you, I can only let you buy ten of the Deltans and eight of the Bajorans.”
“Silly bitch,” laughed Kafra, “You think I’m buying? Drop that rifle,” he ordered, eyeing the plasma weapon slung over the Vorta’s shoulder, “Slowly.”
As Papilia shifted the sling off her shoulder, letting the rifle drop to the sand, the head of the Orion slavers walked towards her. His eyes moved up and down her slim figure, admiring how her brief clothing showed off her long legs and firm cleavage. “I didn’t get to inspect all of the stock today,” he smirked, a pistol comfortably held in his hand. “Take off that top, slut.”
The Vorta’s hands stayed by her side. “Kafra, I’ll give you another chance to agree to the deal I proposed.”
The Orion sneered at her. “We’ve swept this place with sensors. We know every weapon-hiding trick in the Alpha Quadrant. You’re alone, freak, and now you’re going to pay up. With everything you have,” he added, eyeing the snow-white woman’s slim thighs.
Papilia yawned.
A second later the Orions were surrounded by unshrouding Jem’Hadar. With lightning-fast blows they slammed weapons out of hands, delivering brutal hits to necks, knees and heads. The slavers were beaten like drums, a rapid series of strikes that lasted less than two seconds. In the span of a breath each and every slaver was on his knees, phasers and disruptors knocked far out of reach as they were left reeling from the fists of the Jem’Hadar.
There were shrieks of shock from the teenagers kneeling nude on the sand. Thirty Jem’Hadar had appeared out of nowhere, disarming and disabling the Orions effortlessly, and without taking the life of a single man. Each of the slavers was still alive and conscious, merely cowed and overwhelmed. “Scan for hidden weapons,” ordered First Tan’Alac.
“Maybe you should read up on Gamma Quadrant tricks as well, Kafra,” Papilia suggested. She walked up to the now-kneeling Orion, ignoring the rifle she had dropped a moment before, and stood within an arm’s reach of the muscular green-skinned man.
“Bitch,” he spat, then recoiled as he was struck across the face by First Tan’Alac’s grey fist. The Jem’Hadar shook Kafra like a doll and shoved him down onto his palms, forcing him to bow deeply before his Vorta.
Papilia sighed, shrugging her pale shoulders. “Alright, let’s start again. You can buy up to ten of the Deltans and eight of the Bajorans. Who do you want?”
“Your’re…” Kafra looked up at the Vorta in confusion. “You still want to do business? After I tried to capture you?”
The Vorta settled a hand on her hip, looking down at the Orion with a smile. “The man who signs your pay slip? I want his co-operation. And once he realizes what I represent he will most certainly want mine. Neither of us should let a little oversight by an underling like you get in the way.”
The Orion’s shoulders shifted in a sigh of relief. “You’re quite a woman.”
“Aren’t I just?” Papilia stared at Kafra, her pale eyes cold and dead.
A pulse of force shot from the Vorta’s face. The Orion was smashed back into the sand, bones shattered and flesh pulped.
Teenaged girls squealed in terror, huddling naked on the
sand. Orion slavers groaned at the sight of their leader, now a broken mess of
tissue and green blood. Alia Belles and Lanlee
“I’d look weak if I didn’t extract some price for your clumsy double-cross,” Papilia said conversationally to the shattered corpse. Her pale eyes moved over the group to the only other Orion she knew the name of. “You can speak for your boss now, Yolad.”
Jem’Hadar hands lifted the heavyset slaver to his feet and pulled him over to kneel in front of the Vorta. “I’m sure my master will be eager to do business with you,” he said quickly, his eyes on Kafra’s corpse as green blood seeped from his broken tissue, “He wouldn’t want a misunderstanding to ruin a good business opportunity.”
A smile on her pale face, Papilia looked down at the new head of the slaver team. “Back to my original question. You know, we could have saved so much time if your friend had just answered me in the first place. Up to ten Deltans, up to eight Bajorans.” She gestured back to the quivering naked women behind her. “Who would you like?”
“Vorta.” First Tan’Alac lifted his grey face from a scanner that K’Mataclan was holding before him: the Jem’Hadar Ninth had discovered something. “They lack the latinum to buy them.”
“What?” was Papilia’s icy reply.
“It’s true,” Yolad stammered, “We thought this would be a Federation trap. I mean, slaves being sold on the Vulcan homeworld? So we didn’t bring enough latinum to purchase this kind of product. So we would claim innocence if Starfleet arrested us!” His eyes moved from Tan’Alac’s face to Papilia. “We were meant to gauge if you were serious and we would make a purchase later!”
The Vorta sighed. “I suppose that makes sense. First, do they have any latinum?”
The scar-faced Jem’Hadar grimaced slightly. “Enough to buy one of the Deltans, perhaps.”
“Hmm.” Papilia turned, looking about for the nearest Deltan. Alia Belles’ hazel eyes opened in fear.
“No,” breathed one of her students, the teenager’s eyes on her beloved teacher. “No!”
Alia let out a cry of distress as the Vorta gripped her handcuffed wrists and pulled upwards sharply. The Deltan’s hands were forced into the air behind her, making the beautiful young woman lean forwards heavily. Her students watched their teacher’s helplessly wiggling rump in fright, pussy lips peeking between her thighs, while the stunned Orion slavers watched Belles’ lovely boobs sway and jiggle beneath her as they dangled.
Papilia forced the gorgeous Deltan towards the kneeling Yolad, presenting the flushing and trembling young woman to the Orion. “Nice piece, isn’t she?” the Vorta commented, reaching beneath Alia’s body to squeeze one of her supple breasts.
Yolad’s eyes lingered on Belles’ fantastic body, seeing the tide turning in his favor. “Spectacular,” he agreed.
The Vorta smirked. “Well, you’re not getting her today.” With a cruel flick she shoved Alia onto her back, the Deltan’s breasts heaving with her relief. Then she flinched as Papilia pointed a sensor and took a snapshot of her, digitally rendering Alia Belles’ incredible body in three dimensions.
The Vorta turned, the sensor in her hand producing another flash as it scanned the naked curves of Lanlee Milos. The Bajoran flinched away too late to hide her delicious body from the sensor.
Papilia threw the little device to Yolad. “A taste of the goods,” she explained, “To show to your master. You should also take Kafra’s body back, to prove that this wasn’t a Federation sting. After all Starfleet wouldn’t execute a man without a trial, would they? Send word that you’ll make a serious bid and we’ll do business. Tan’Alac?”
The Jem’Hadar first nodded to his men. One of the soldiers lifted his rifle and fired a shot into the shuttle’s engine. It flashed and crackled, smoke pouring out of the drive. “Just to slow you down in case you have any thoughts about flying around strafing us in your ship,” Papilia explained. “Take your time repairing it. Vulcan authorities might get curious about a damaged ship in orbit of their homeworld.”
The Dominion soldiers vanished, shrouding themselves. The Orions looked around in fright, knowing that the giant men were still there but unable to spot a trace of them. Meanwhile Papilia strode back to her hoverbike, scooping up her fallen rifle and not even looking at the young women kneeling naked and bound behind her. “On your feet girls, we’ve got quite a way to go.”
With demure elegance she seated herself sidesaddle on the hoverbike and engaged its engine. As the vehicle rose from the sand the Vorta tipped her head towards Yolad. “A pleasure to meet you.”
+++++
Once again the Vedek Lanlee Milos and the schoolteacher Alia Belles ran nude across the Vulcan desert. Their teenaged charges followed, arms still bound behind their backs, teenaged tits bouncing bare on their chests. The Vulcan sun made their naked skin glisten with perspiration. Their faces were flushed, but not just with effort or the shame of their humiliating Trek. Now they had a genuine fear of the woman riding shotgun as she guided them back to her base of operations, making them go back in their tracks across the sand.
The Vorta did not need a weapon to ensure their obedience. She had the Jem’Hadar, shrouded as they followed the captives, stepping in the teeanger’s tracks so that their invisible presence would not be revealed. And she had another weapon, concealed in her genetically-engineered mind.
Alia and Lanlee crested a dune, their boobs rising and falling as they labored for oxygen. But before they could begin the tit-jiggling descent Papilia hovered past them on her bike, a hand lifted. “Hold up. We’ll take this entrance.” Tapping a control on her bike she revealed their destination.
An entire dune face shimmered and disappeared, revealing that beneath the holographic sand was another entrance to the Vorta’s underground base.
The teenaged girls stared in shock at the opening. They had ran for more than hour to reach the Orions, and now Papilia revealed an entrance only fifteen minutes travel from the rendezvous!
“Why?” gasped a panting Vedek Lanlee, the redhead leaning forward, her breasts swaying beneath her as she drew in much-needed air. “You humiliated and exhausted my sisters, making them run naked across this desert! When all the time we could have used this entrance here? Why?”
“To wear you out,” Papilia answered lightly. “You run when I say, rather than run when you want to escape. And after being cooped up underground, I think you girls needed the exercise. Besides,” the Vorta added, “It was better for the Orions to see a few miles of tracks from the air.”
Schoolgirls and nuns slumped to the sand, slim bodies exhausted. Alia Belles moved over to her teenaged students, trying to meet each one at the eyes, making them remember that she was still with them. Then she lifted her beautiful hazel eyes to the Vorta. “You talk about selling my girls. Are we that expendable?”
“It’s like I said,” insisted the pale-eyed woman, “Vulcans are a better investment. I’ve made great strides thanks to that cow T’Pol. Soon you may all be completely redundant! But not yet,” she said thoughtfully. “Tan’Alac has told me that some of the embryos are late in maturing. We should buffer our cryogenic supply. And,” she said, lifting her eyes to the pitilessly hot sky, “It’s such a beautiful day to be outside.”
Lanlee’s blue eyes were confused. “What do you mean?”
The Vorta smirked and clapped her
hands. “I mean, more
eggs! Tan’Alac!”
Thirty Jem’Hadar unshrouded all around the captive women. Grey hands grabbed for naked flesh. Teenagers squealed in protest as breasts and thighs and asses were squeezed and fondled. Lanlee Milos moaned in despair as Tan’Alac adhered an Orion pacifier to her pelvis, just above her pussy lips. Then she was bent forwards, her pink-nippled tits dangling and her rump pushed out behind.
“Don’t bother with the stimulators with the Deltans,” Papilia called out, “I want to see how they do without them.”
Alia Belles cried out in trepidation as K’Mataclan lifted one of her long legs, baring the lips of her snatch. Then her hazel eyes widened as she felt the muscular prehensile penis of the Jem’Hadar Ninth nuzzle at her nethers.
The Deltan schoolteacher and the Bajoran Vedek both wailed in pleasure as their pussies were filled with Jem’Hadar cock. The Bajorans’ pleasure was enhanced by the Orion-designed stimulators brought along for this very purpose, while the Deltans had only their super-sensitive bodies. But that was more than enough. Twenty-seven teenaged girls added their voices, screaming and shrieking and squealing in unwanted ecstasy as they were penetrated, once again, by the ruthless troops of the Dominion.
Papilia watched with a smile of approval as her prisoners bucked and wiggled on the cocks of the Jem’Hadar. Whimpers of trepidation were replaced by cries of pleasure. Deltan schoolgirls kicked their legs with pleasure, thighs spreading, while Bajorans thrashed their heads and made their hair fly around their faces. The observant Vorta noticed how quickly the girls were reciprocating, pushing hips back against the organs thrusting into them, their gyrations making their breasts shake enticingly.
This was the third time these girls had been mounted by the Jem’Hadar, and the promise of helpless ecstasy was taking its effect. “Looks like my little herd of whores are starting to loosen up and enjoy themselves,” Papilia said with satisfaction, seeing Milos Lanlee’s wiggle her sexy body from hips to tits, setting her breasts to swaying, while Alia Belles looking down at her dangling boobs with a pleasured lick of her lips and a roll of her eyes. A chorus of ecstatic cries rose around her as the Vorta’s prisoners began to orgasm, cumming hard around the organs in their pussies. Whether Deltan schoolgirls or Bajoran nun, every captive’s slim naked body was moving eagerly in time with their assailants, urging the cocks of the Jem’Hadar even deeper between their tender folds, their lips parting in needy gasps.
In two hours time Alia Belles, Lanlee Milos, and their teenaged charges would be back underground being fitted into their harnesses, drugs rendering them insensible as machines slowly but steadily milked their plump ripe tits. But first they would be vigorously fucked, impregnated and forced to give birth on the hot sands of the Vulcan desert.
+++++
“This, Tan’Alac,” Papilia said as she smiled to herself, “Has been a very productive day.”
“The Vulcan T’Pol is awake,” Ninth K’Mataclan said suddenly.
This drew the attention of Papilia and her Jem’Hadar First immediately. The three stood at consoles in the storage control room, overlooking one end of the long chamber where the captives were held drugged and docile as their breasts were milked for the synthetic White compound. Through a large observation screen they watched as a line of Bajoran teenagers were moved back into position, their milking rigs riding the rail with firm slim bodies strapped into place. The teenagers’ heads rolled and jerked as anesthetic was pumped through their masks. The crinkles on the bridges of their Bajoran noses deepened as they moaned their objections to this humiliating yet pleasurable treatment.
Bare breasts jiggled as they the rail system shuffled them into position for storage. Their pacifiers had been removed: the anesthetic pumped through their masks, the vibration of the waste-reclaimers buried in their nethers and the sensation of their nipples being milked would be enough to keep them from putting up any fight.
The Vorta stepped towards the observation window, her pale eyes narrowing as she sought out the familiar sight of T’Pol’s delicious naked form out of all the other nude beauties she held in captivity in this chamber. “You are sure, Ninth?”
K’Mataclan moved to the medication console, looking over the life-support systems that controlled sedation, feeding and the reclaiming of waste: each woman suffered life-support tubes plunging upwards into their vulnerable pussies and asses and masks that force-fed them, their bodily functions remotely cared for. “According to the system the Vulcan is fully sedated but I saw her eyes open and turn towards us.”
“We should not leave anything to chance,” Tan’Alac stated.
Papilia gave her pet Jem’Hadar a wicked smile. “Or maybe you just want another chance to play with our fat-lipped science officer.” She sighed. “I don’t blame you, those tits even get me interested. K’Mataclan, pull her from storage and bring her here. We’re going to have a little chat with the Mother of the Federation.” With the push of a few buttons the milking harness to which the Vulcan was bound was pulled from storage, its milking and life-support systems pulling away from T’Pol’s lush body as the machine rode the rail towards where Papilia waited.
Her bare breasts jiggling between the straps that held her
in place, T’Pol was delivered to the control room
through a sliding metal door. The
“No need to fake it T’Pol,” Papilia said, setting her hands on her hips in annoyance. “I know you’re awake.”
“I can give her a stimulant,” offered K’Mataclan.
“No need.” The Vorta stepped forward and slapped T’Pol sharply across her generous melons. “Best way to get a Vulcan woman’s full attention,” smiled Papilia, striking the science officer’s abundant boobs again. The Vulcan flinched, eyes opening in distress as the globes of her tits leapt on her chest, but her eyes quickly rolled back in her head and her eyelids fluttered and closed. “No, there’s a better way. Tan’Alac?”
With the smallest smile on his scarred face the Jem’Hadar First stepped forward, stripped away the velcro straps holding T’Pol in place. Before the Vulcan could fall forwards Tan’Alac gripped T’Pol by her big brown nipples and pulled upwards.
“Aaahhh aaaaeeeeiiii!!” cried out the Vulcan, standing on tip-toe to relieve the stress on her tender nips. In a flash T’Pol was turned around and pressed tits-first against the observation window, forced to look out into the storage room as her naked and helpless fellow captives were moved into position for another milking session. Now definitely conscious, T’Pol groaned with her aching breasts flattening against the transparent surface.
“I thought that since you so badly wanted to watch,” Papilia said, eyeing T’Pol’s trembling bottom as she was forced to lean against the window, “That we could give you a front-row seat.”
The Vorta stepped up to the window and looked out approvingly at the thirty-four defeated women in the storage area. “Out there, T’Pol, is the future. One day soon the women of the Alpha Quadrant will find homes in bases like these. Humans, Betazoids, Trill, Cardassians and yes, even Vulcans. In fact I’d say that this is the proper place for a woman like you.”
“Monster!” gasped T’Pol. “You’re a aaaaahhhh!” she yelped as Tan’Alac slapped her hard on the ass, tits flattening even further against the window.
Then the short-haired brunette saw something strange in the chamber beyond. Women’s eyes were opening. Masks that had delivered tranquilizers to the nude captives’ lungs now gave them stimulants. Women turned their faces, taking in their surroundings, and began struggling sexily within their bindings. Hips swayed and breasts jiggled as they fought their restraints. The mechanical arms of each rig that held suckers to breasts, masks to faces and reclaimers to pussies and asses pulled back a few inches, not fully retracting but leaving their captives free to move.
As one every woman’s face turned towards the far end of the chamber. An exit door had just slid open, revealing a long tunnel that lead out of storage. In the far distance was Vulcan sunlight. A rail ran down that passageway, marking that it was some kind of cargo transfer route to the surface. But for the thirty-four captive women it was a means to escape the Dominion base.
A peek over her shoulder showed T’Pol the truth. “K’Mataclan is standing at the control console,” the Vulcan thought, hope flaring inside her despite her nudity and bondage. “He must be remotely disengaging the machinery. He’s doing this!”
Papilia and Tan’Alac were too intent on the Vulcan woman’s humiliation to notice what the Jem’Hadar Ninth was doing behind them. “I would feel truly vindicated if you would just admit how perfect my plan is, T’Pol,” the Vorta said, breathing into the science officer’s ear. “I’d like the Mother of the Federation’s approval.”
“It is brilliant,” T’Pol admitted, taking both the Vorta and the First by surprise. “Anything to buy a few more seconds,” she added mentally.
“Just brilliant?” Papilia said in annoyance. “I don’t think you get the big picture. First?”
Tan’Alac spun T’Pol about and gripped both of her generous breasts. The Vulcan flinched as she felt her melons hefted and squeezed, once again forcing her to stand on tip-toe to relieve the stress of being pulled upwards by her tits. Naked with her hands bound behind her back T’Pol could offer no resistance, only able to wiggle sexily as her breasts were molested.
The Jem’Hadar First smiled at the Vulcan, knowing that Papilia would not see his expression. T’Pol shuddered at that smile, a glimpse of all the things the Dominion soldier wanted to do to her. “We may need one additional Jem’Hadar egg,” he suggested, “Perhaps two or three. As we already have the Vulcan out of storage, Papilia, I suggest that…”
That was as far as Tan’Alac got before his head turned around a hundred and eighty degrees, his neck snapping in K’Mataclan’s powerful hands.
“Ninth!” shrieked Papilia in fright, her eyes wide with shock. Then the Vorta squealed in embarrassment as K’Mataclan lunged forward and tore her belted skirt from her hips. Her pale legs were long and slim, topped off by a firm round ass tightly wrapped in the briefest panties, which a flushing Papilia immediately covered with her hands. “Second, Third, kill K’Mataclan!”
The rear entrance to the storage control room opened. As if in slow motion T’Pol saw the muzzles of rifles tilt into view as the Jem’Hadar outside responded to the Vorta’s call for help, moving in with plasma weapons ready. K’Mataclan was looking at T’Pol, holding Papilia’s skirt and belt in his hands. His fingers shifted, pressing a button on the gravshack control unit clipped to the Vorta’s belt. Immediately T’Pol felt her wrists freed from behind her back, as did every captive in the storage room.
The Jem’Hadar Second and Third were in the doorway now, rifles lifting to point at K’Mataclan. Papilia was leaping back out of their way, her pale eyes fierce as she waited for bolts of plasma to boil the rogue Jem’Hadar alive. T’Pol saw K’Mataclan’s fingers shift on the skirt again, finding the other remote control the Vorta had carried, and she realized what the Jem’Hadar Ninth was about to do.
“No!” T’Pol screamed, lunging forwards with an arm outstretched, tits leaping as her long bare legs pushed her towards the Jem’Hadar, but she was too late. K’Mataclan stabbed his thumb against the killswitch control.
Immediately every Dominion soldier in the base felt the Ketrecel White in his blood turn to poison.
The two guards in the doorway crumpled to the ground, one firing his rifle into the ceiling and vaporizing a patch of metal to thin air. K’Mataclan stiffened, eyes suddenly weeping white, and he fell back against the control console twitching and convulsing. Papilia shrieked with rage and dismay, her fury-filled eyes moving from the Ninth to T’Pol, her gravshacks no longer locking her wrists behind her back.
Then the Vorta’s eyes moved to the fallen rifles in the doorway.
The two women charged for the guns. Papilia got to one weapon first but T’Pol was right behind her, grabbing the rifle by barrel and butt-stock and shoving it against the Vorta’s chest. They struggled, both trying to get the weapon’s muzzle to point at the other woman. T’Pol’s full breasts pressed hard against Papilia’s vest-clad cleavage.
Under normal circumstances the Vulcan’s superior physique would have ended the fight quickly but days of bondage, drugging, milking and impregnation had sapped her strength and reflexes. They struggled over the rifle, Papilia in her vest and panties and T’Pol completely naked, both women’s tits jiggling as they pulled and shoved and wiggled against each other.
In the storage room captives were reacting quickly to their newfound freedom. From the main control console K’Mataclan had switched their anesthetic to a stimulant, reviving each of the women with a burst of adrenaline. Now that the gravshacks on their wrists were inactive they were free to tear away the simple velcro restraints that held them in place. “Come on, run!” B’Elanna shouted, waving one arm to signal the others, “Head for the surface!”
Nude schoolgirls and bare-bodied nuns raced towards the sunlight at the end of the tunnel, Deltans and Bajorans running side by side, bare breasts bouncing in time. Alia Belles and Vedik Lanlee Milos moved among the restraining harnesses, tearing away the Velcro straps that held the naked bodies of their teenaged followers. Slim girls fell out of their restraints, their long bare legs shaky beneath them, before the words of their mentors pushed them on. “Run!”
Surrounded by the naked bodies of Deltan
and Bajoran Teens, was Ensign Hedril
followed, the redhead’s hands pressed to her aching tits, with Lefler beside her, the young woman’s braid swinging and
slapping against her perfect wiggling ass as she ran.
The group raced up the long narrow chamber for the exit
tunnel in the distance, bare bottoms wiggling as their long legs pumped,
following the cargo transfer rail as they ran naked for freedom.
In the control room Papilia tried to jerk the rifle around to fire at T’Pol. The Vulcan pushed her aim off at the last second and the high-intensity plasma struck the front of the observation room, annihilating Tan’Alac’s corpse and vaporizing the observation window itself, creating a hole connecting the storage room to the control area. With a cry of effort T’Pol yanked the rifle back over and behind her head, her tits pressing hard against Papilia’s chest, and she headbutted the Vorta. The two women parted and both lost balance, the rifle bouncing out of their hands as the heroine and the villainess both landed on their asses.
Again Papilia went for the gun. T’Pol lunged after her, grabbing the Vorta’s panties and yanking them down to her knees, slowing her while she made her own dash for the rifle. But the Vulcan was tripped up by the other woman’s hand on her ankle and landed hard on her aching tits with a cry of discomfort. Papilia kicked her panties off her long legs and lunged past T’Pol for the gun again, only to find the science officer’s hand on the back of her vest trying to yank her back. With a sound of popping buttons the vest split open, Papilia’s round melons bouncing into view.
The Vorta’s large pink nipples quivered, thrusting forward as she let her arms bend back, pulling herself free of the vest that T’Pol was pulling on. Now naked except for her footwear Papilia tried to leap for the fallen rifle, but now T’Pol’s hand was in her thick curly hair.
“Aaaahhh!” the Vorta cried out as she was yanked back, bare breasts jiggling. The two naked beauties shrieked and pulled at each other’s hair, all combat training and dignity forgotten as their struggle became a catfight.
T’Pol slapped Papilia sharply across the face. “Bitch!” screamed the Vorta as she returned the favor with a catty smack across the Vulcan’s generous tits. With a banshee shriek she tackled her and the two women fell out the gaping hole where the observation window had been, their naked bodies rolling on the cold metal floor of the storage room. By then the captives were all on the run, none of them looking back as they dashed for freedom. The struggling T’Pol found no aid from her fellow prisoners.
“I’ll show you your place!” Papilia snarled, slapping at T’Pol’s regal features as she straddled the heavy-chested science officer. The Vulcan lifted one long leg and managed to snare it around Papilia’s head and neck and pulled her back. With the Vorta now lying naked on top of her T’Pol slapped as hard as she could at anything available, that being Papilia’s now-exposed snatch.
“Aaaaaaeiii!” she squealed, wiggling sexily as she tried to free herself from T’Pol’s long leg. The two woman rolled away from each other and got to their feet, both in low crouches with their bare breasts dangling as they circled each other.
The two women screeched as they collided, grabbing at hair and soft parts. The Vorta shrieked as her tits were squeezed tightly in T’Pol’s fingers. The Vulcan wailed as her short dark hair was yanked, then yelped repeatedly at Papilia slapped hard at her bare bottom. “You, have, been, a very, naughty, girl!” screamed the Vorta as she spanked the Vulcan escapee. Then she cried out in discomfort as T’Pol’s elbow struck her hard in the left tit, and squealed as the Vulcan made her breasts bounce with a powerful smack. But T’Pol’s next blow was caught by the Vorta who twisted her around, standing behind her opponent. Papilia’s hand slid around the science officer’s body as she pinched T’Pol’s pussy lips together as tightly as she could!
The science officer’s fill-lipped mouth opened in a wail of distress and pleasure as her slit was molested. She stamped down hard on Papilia’s foot with her heel as she tried to break free of her hold, but the Vorta had a firm grip on her softest parts and was not letting go.
The Vorta put all her weight against T’Pol’s body, forcing the Vulcan to lean forward so that her generous melons dangled beneath her body. Papilia’s hand left the science officer’s snatch and grabbed at those hanging fruit and squeezed hard, pointing T’Pol’s brown nipples down as she tightly groped her delicious udders. The Vulcan moaned deeply as her breasts, over-stimulated during her captivity, throbbed with pleasure. She could feel her teats burning with the need to release milk.
T’Pol bent her legs under her and kicked back hard in a burst of Vulcan strength. The two women fell onto their backs, the Vulcan on top of the Vorta. T’Pol wriggled around and straddled Papilia, grabbing her wrists and pinning them above the woman’s head so that she could no longer strike. This position made the science officer’s generous boobs dangle towards Papilia’s mouth. She snarled and bit at those dangling treats, her teeth coming within an inch of T’Pol’s tender nipples.
“Enough pussy-footing around, Vulcan bitch!” spat Papilia. Her eyes set like stone as the Vorta summoned up the last ace up her sleeve, if she had been wearing sleeves or any clothing at all.
Telekinetic energy pulsed from the Vorta’s face and wrapped firmly around T’Pol’s breasts. The Vulcan screamed in shock as she felt her boobs tightly compressed by invisible force, and then lifted! Her back arching at the impossible torture, T’Pol was hauled off Papilia and hoisted into the air by her tits!
“Aaaeeeiiii!!!” wailed
“Not so high and mighty now, you pointy-eared slut!” Papilia stood up, pale eyes burning with the need for vengeance. She lifted her hand and clenched her fingers, augmenting the force lifting T’Pol into the air. Immediately the Vulcan cried out at a higher pitch, her tits squeezed tighter, stretching further and heightening the unbearable mixture of pleasure and discomfort blazing through her Orion-conditioned body.
Jerking her hand back Papilia cruelly applied her powers to T’Pol’s tender nipples, pulling her buds upwards. With a wail of defeat the Vulcan’s teats released two jets of milk, her altered boobs surrendering their cream. She was utterly helpless in the Vorta’s psychic grip.
“You still don’t get it, do you?” the Vorta
smirked, victorious. “What does it take for you to understand, you skinny, big-titted cocksucking Vulcan bimbo? You belong to me!”
Then something large and metal rushed between the two women. It was a milking rig riding the rail down the middle of the chamber, racing towards the exit at great speed. Papilia was knocked aside by the hurtling metal, her slim body spinning like a top and striking the wall of the chamber hard. As the Vorta fell to the ground like a rag-doll T’Pol felt a passing hand grab her arm and yank her out of the now-fading telekinetic field.
Clinging to the rapidly moving rig with one arm was K’Mataclan. In his other powerful hand he held tightly to T’Pol’s wrist as he pulled the woman to safety. The speed and acceleration of the rail system was amazing, making the naked science officer’s long-limbed body lift against the wind-resistance. The Jem’Hadar’s hand around her arm did not slacken despite the now-toxic Ketrecel White pumping through his veins.
He pulled T’Pol towards him, the Vulcan woman grabbing onto his body and holding on for dear life. Her long legs wrapped around K’Mataclan’s waist, her breasts squashed against his chest and her face buried in his shoulder, sobs of relief and gratitude wracking her lovely body as her Vulcan self-control broke under the strain of the last few days. She felt K’Mataclan’s free arm wrap tightly around her waist, holding her close as they sped along the tunnel to freedom.
They passed into sunlight. The Vulcan sky was blindingly bright compared to the dim tunnel. At the end of the rail line the rig stopped suddenly, sending both K’Mataclan and T’Pol flying off the halted machine and rolling across the sand. T’Pol got her long legs beneath her, shaking from the rough landing, and staggered over to where the Jem’Hadar lay.
White bled from his eyes and mouth. He lay on his back, only barely able to turn his head as the gorgeous Vulcan knelt over him, her heels touching her round bottom and her breasts dangling like ripe fruit. “Keep still,” she ordered, T’Pol’s self-control and repression reasserting itself in the face of this new problem. “Papilia’s killswitch must have been less effective than we thought.”
“Effective enough,” the Jem’Hadar grunted painfully. After the last burst of energy that had allowed him to drag his body to the rig and rescue T’Pol, the Ninth seemed to have nothing left in him. “I can only sense you now. It is over.”
“If we can contact Vulcan authorities we can put you into stasis until we can treat you,” T’Pol said with professional calm. She checked the Jem’Hadar’s pulse and respiration, leaning over heavily to feel his breath on her cheek, her ass in the air and her delicious tits dangling so that her nipples brushed the hot sand.
“T’Pol.” K’Mataclan’s words were a fading gasp. “Your emotions are beautiful. You should not hide them.”
“Vulcans repress emotions,” T’Pol answered sharply, looking away from the Jem’Hadar as if insulted by the idea, “And I am a Vulcan.”
When she looked back a second later K’Mataclan was staring up into the sky with blind dead eyes.
T’Pol stared at the Jem’Hadar’s corpse for a moment. Then the Vulcan’s plump lips twitched. She slowly leaned forward, her breasts pressing against K’Mataclan’s armor without regard for her sore and aching nipples. Tears ran down her cheeks and her naked shoulders heaved as she held in her sobs as she buried his face in the dead Jem’Hadar’s chest.
+++++
They had covered K’Mataclan’s body with a small mound of sand. T’Pol, B’Elanna Torres and Deanna Troi stood around the makeshift grave, the three Starfleet officers wearing nothing but their boots and the now-inactive gravity shackles still on their wrists.
Deanna folded her arms in front of her breasts, making her lush mounds rise. “Someone should say something.”
B’Elanna Torres stepped forward. The heat of the desert was already making perspiration bead on her tanned skin, rivulets running over the curves of her bare breasts, down her taut stomach to her bald snatch. She wiped her hands down her slick skin, fingertips running down the side slopes of her breasts and down to her hips. “Ninth K’Mataclan served his Founders even to the cost of his life, and saved us from Papilia’s treachery. It was the act of a dutiful and honorable man.”
Troi flicked her too-hot dark hair over her pale naked shoulders, the motion making the counselor’s udders jiggle. “He was a skilled soldier. I’ll never forget his…” The Betazoid trailed off as she remembered the sensation of K’Mataclan’s meatstick buried in her pussy, swelling within her as he banged the voluptuous brunette into unconsciousness. She decided not to mention that part, although it was true that Deanna would never forget it. “He showed that there was something special inside me, I mean inside the Jem’Hadar,” she blushed, her hands involuntarily moving to cover her delicious bald slit, “Empathy and the ability to feel beyond one’s own experience. It gives me hope in the face of the Dominion threat.”
It was T’Pol’s turn. The Vulcan folded her hands before her tits. Then she unfolded them uncomfortably, her hands sliding across her flat perspiring stomach to her hips, then her bottom, and then clasped behind her back. “K’Mataclan saved my life,” the science officer said, her glorious breasts thrust forward as she stood in a typically Vulcan posture, her composure restored after their earlier lapse. “Not just now but during our trek across the desert. I was falling and he risked himself to save me. The decisions he made after he became empathic might have been made by any Jem’Hadar. But his decision to save my life was his and his alone. There was something good in him even then.”
The three beauties looked at the little mound of sand for a moment. “Well, we have new problems now,” B’Elanna said. The twenty-two year old looked down the dune slope to where the thirty-two other escapees waited.
Humans, Bajorans and Deltans assembled on the shady side of the dune, each one of them nude except for their footwear and inactive gravshacks. The gorgeous redheaded Lanlee was leading several of her acolytes in a prayer, the slim nude girls kneeling in a row, bare breasts and firm bottoms lined up. Amazingly there were two Deltans among them, their bald heads bowed as they participated. A short distance away Alia Belles was tending to several girls with her Deltan neuro-manipulation skills, delicately touching her fingers to aching nipples and sore pussies, easing the discomfort of several of her Deltan highschool girls, a few Bajoran acolytes and one blushing Ensign Hedril. Captain Shelby and Lieutenant Lefler were climbing to the top of a nearby dune to get a better look at the surrounding terrain, leaning forward as their climbed with their bare breasts dangling.
“We’ve got a total of thirty-five women here,” Torres said, settling her hands on her lovely hips, “Without so much as a hat or a pair of panties between us, and we’re in the middle of the Vulcan desert.”
“No food and no water,” added Deanna, pushing back her long dark hair, her bare breasts lifting and bobbing with the movement.
“And I have not been able to signal Vulcan authorities using K’Mataclan’s communicator,” T’Pol admitted, drawing in a deep tit-lifting breath as she stood with her hands at the small of her back. “Indeed, we have problems.”
“We’ll have to go back into the base,” suggested B’Elanna. “At least their will be shade, and Papilia had to have some sort of supplies to keep her prisoners alive. I know that no one is going to like going back into that milking shed,” the Klingon added, folding her arms uncomfortably in front of her glorious breasts, “But I think we have to.”
B’Elanna was not the only one who thought they should return to Papilia’s base.
Just as T’Pol opened her full-lipped mouth to agree the Vulcan’s gravshacks snapped together behind her back, her full breasts jiggling as she was forced to thrust her chest-treats even further forwards. B’Elanna and Troi’s gravshacks activated as well, locking their wrists in front of their bodies, their generous boobs pressed together by their upper arms. Squeals of fright and yelps of shock rang out across the sand as Bajorans, Deltans and Humans all felt their gravshacks activate and lock their wrists together.
Then each set of gravimetric shackles became impossibly heavy. Attracted to the ground the bracelets forced each and every woman to her knees. Bare breasts trembled as the nude beauties knelt against their will, bottoms and bare snatches hitting the hot sand and causing secondary yelps of discomfort. Where the Betazoid and the Klingon were made to kneel forwards, tits dangling as they were forced to set their palms on the ground, T’Pol had no choice but to kneel while leaning uncomfortably backwards. The science officer’s thighs spread wide by the awkward posture and her melons trembled on her chest, nipples pointing towards the Vulcan sky.
A solitary figure strode over the dune’s peak, having emerged from the same tunnel the women had used to escape a short while before. Papilia had a bruise on one side of her face from her close encounter with the high-speed milking rig that had knocked her unconscious, but she was very much alive. The Vorta was also naked except for her footwear, her long legs, tiny neat thatch, firm round bottom and the large pink nipples crowning her proud high breasts on full display as she approached the suddenly-helpless women with a rifle hefted in one hand.
In her other hand Papilia carried the ripped remains of her skirt and belt, clipped to which was the grav-shack control system. “Oh no, no no no,” the Vorta chided, “You’re not getting away that easily. You’re not getting away at all. All you lovely girls are staying right here with me. You see, you owe me.”
The Vorta halted in front of T’Pol, smiling at the sight of the First Modern Vulcan kneeling naked and bound before her, bare breasts trembling on her chest and her long thighs spread to expose her bald pussy. “It takes time to replace those Jem’Hadar. Not much time, but it’s a setback. And you’re going to make it up to me.”
She planted one foot on T’Pol’s chest and shoved the Vulcan onto her back. “You’re all going to make it up for me!” Papilia kicked Deanna and B’Elanna onto their sides, the women unable to resist with their wrists pinned to the ground by their gravshacks. “I’ve been entirely too generous. First I allowed you to be sedated while you were being milked. Well, that’s going to change! From now on each of you will be fully awake for every second, you skinny cows!”
Teenaged girls whimpered as the nude Vorta ranted, waving her rifle around. “And remember those pacifiers that made being raped by Jem’Hadar bearable? Not any more. I have a small army of Jem’Hadar embryos freshly popped out of you bimbos’ wombs! Once they’re all grown up they’re going to fuck your brains out and there isn’t going to be any little device above your clit keeping you happy. No, you’re going to feel each and every inch of cock inside you.”
A few of the girls were crying now, seeing their future clearly in the Vorta’s angry words. Papilia returned to T’Pol, pointing her rifle at the Vulcan’s beautiful features. “And you T’Pol, oh Mother of the Federation, oh high-and-mighty pointy-eared bitch who just had to ruin my plans, I hope you’ve enjoyed your life so far.” The Vorta hit a button on her gravshack controls, affecting only the Vulcan’s shackles. With a yelp of distress T’Pol was hoisted up with her hands above her head, then she cried out again as Papilia grabbed one of her full tits in a cruel grip and turned the nude science officer about, presenting her lean but full-breasted figure to the other captive females.
“Take a good long look at this bitch!” Papilia called out in triumph. “Because you’re going to be seeing a lot more of her over the next few years! T’Pol, you’re such a perfect dairy cow that I’m going to clone you.” The NX-01’s science officer yelped as the Vorta slapped her hard on the ass, her boobs jiggling. “I’m going to have an army of skinny, big-breasted Vulcan bimbos being constantly milked and impregnated. Once my new empire is built the great and lofty T’Pol will be remembered as a big-titted Jem’Hadar factory. I’ll have your fat-lipped face in school textbooks!”
T’Pol’s ample tits rose and fell with her frightened breaths. Her Vulcan self-control was gone as she stared at the Vorta with terrified brown eyes, appalled by the depth of the woman’s cruelty but also seeing in Papilia’s expression the desire to shoot her then and there. Only the thought of prolonged torment and humiliation was keeping the Vorta from pulling the trigger.
She pressed another button on the gravshack controls, easing the artificial weight of their shackles and locking the wrists of all thirty-five captives behind their backs. “Move those lovely asses, girls. Back inside the base!”
With whimpers of defeat the teenagers and young women climbed to their feet, bare breasts trembling and long legs shaking beneath quivering asses and exposed pussies. Heads bowed and boobs swaying, the thirty-five captives began the slow and humiliating trek back towards the base’s entrance. Deanna, Torres and T’Pol fell into line, each of them feeling complete despair.
“Double time!” ordered Papilia, “I want to see those puppies jumping!” She fired a plasma shot into the air, the discharge spurring the captives onward. Deltans, Bajorans and humans began to run, bare legs pumping, asses wiggling and breasts bouncing as they hurried to obey the Vorta’s instructions.
Her magnificent tits leaping with her strides, T’Pol obediently followed the line of women heading back into captivity. Her heart sank with defeat as she realized that despite all their efforts, despite coming so close to freedom, they had lost. She, her companions and the young women they had met would now live the rest of their lives as Papilia’s pet dairy cows and incubators. It was over.
“That’s more like it,” smirked Papilia as she watched the nude women running back towards the base.
Then the rifle in the Vorta’s hands transformed into blue energy. As the Vorta’s eyes widened in shock the gravshacks binding the wrists of her many nude prisoners disappeared in similar blue clouds of transporter energy. Even the gravshack controls were beamed out of Papilia’s hold.
The Vorta could not hide her surprise as her
thirty-five beautiful nude prisoners ceased their humiliating run and turned to
face her, now all unbound, their eyes filled with rage that was now unshackled.
Papilia’s pale eyes set hard as she readied a blast of telekinetic force to defend herself. But then clouds of transporter energy appeared around her limbs. Suddenly the pale-eyed villainess was wearing multiple sets of gravity shackles, transported directly onto her wrists, ankles, knees and elbows!
The restraining devices activated. The Vorta was hoisted upside-down into the air, screaming in shock and shame as she dangled nude by her feet, her hands shackled together behind her back. Her tits dangling towards her face Papilia wiggled sexily in the air, her concentration broken. She screamed in frustration and outrage and humiliation, suddenly reduced to the same level of helplessness as her victims.
“A transporter!” Deanna breathed. “But who?”
Her answer came in the form of a small but sleek ship dropping out of the sky, hovering over the assembled women with its curving bow pointed at the Vorta dangling helpless, naked and upside-down. “How do you like a taste of your own medicine, bitch?” boomed a woman’s voice from the ship’s speakers. Deanna, T’Pol and B’Elanna found themselves laughing in victory and relief.
The ship was Starheart and the voice belonged to Melika, the holographic Ensign programmed into the vessel’s computer system. The ship had survived its crash and had returned to rescue them.
+++++
“So we flashed right into the sun, boom!” Melika gestured with both hands as she walked alongside Deanna and B’Elanna. The holographic Andorian wore a digital representation of a skintight Starheart uniform, the outfit hugging her slim and delicious figure. “Shallow angle impact and still at warp! The navigational deflector effect impacts the surface layers of solar plasma and suddenly woosh we have these constricted bands of plasma energy spiraling around the ship, and they’re registering warp fields!”
“An external warp coil system?” B’Elanna said in amazement, the twenty-two year old’s firm, tanned body still completely bare of clothes, the Klingon walking with tit-bouncing strides beside the hologram. “Of course! Running enough power through an appropriate conduit is the entire basis of how warp engines work!”
“I was able to utilize our remaining power to redirect the new warp field forming around us,” answered the blue-skinned blonde. “The star’s own gravimetric field simply expelled us like an opposing polar force.”
“I’m sure that made sense to someone other than me,” Deanna admitted,
the nude Betazoid’s ass wiggling as she walked. Neither she nor the other
captives had found the opportunity to secure clothing in the few short minutes
since their miraculous rescue. “But what’s important is that you made it!”
Melika nodded and tossed her long blonde hair. “Skimmed the surface and punched right on through. The trip burnt out most of our components on the way through and self-repair took days just to get flight control back, which is why I took so long to come for you.”
Outside Starheart’s transporter room they came across T’Pol, the gorgeous Vulcan science officer in conversation with the Bajoran Vedek Milos Lanlee. “You found it?” T’Pol was saying. Both the short-haired brunette and the long-haired redhead were still naked from their ordeal.
In the heat of Starheart’s interior Lanlee brushed her uncomfortably warm red locks back over one shoulder, unwittingly providing a better view of her soft pink-nippled tits. “The Jem’Hadar buried the Chastity in a canyon some forty kilometers east of the base. The Vorta must have hoped to make use of it in some other evil plan of hers. But its engines are badly damaged and it will not fly again without significant repairs. It will have to remain on Vulcan for now, but it will return to Bajor one day and it will bring our shrine home.”
The gorgeous redhead turned her bright blue eyes from T’Pol to her companions, her expression humble. “I owe you all an apology,” the Vedek admitted. “I judged too quickly by appearance and not by action. When we met I believed that Belles’ Deltan students were sin incarnate, but I have discovered that what lies beneath our robes is not so different from what is beneath those Deltans’ clothes, as skimpy as they might be,” she said with a nose-wrinkling sniff, indicating that the Bajoran had not fully overcome her prejudices.
“But I have seen darkness now,” the Vedek continued, “And in comparison Alia’s girls are creatures of light, all worthy of the Prophet’s love and respect. And so are you. I, and my sisters, are in your debt for all that you have done.”
“Thank you,” said B’Elanna softly, nodding her head in gratitude. “Our own opinion of you, I have to confess, was not that great either. But you and your acolytes have been so courageous in all of this.”
“I hope Alia Belles feels the same way,” the redheaded Lanlee sighed. “You were a warm up. I have a bigger apology to make to her, once I find the courage to say what must be said.” The Bajoran beauty departed, giving T’Pol, Deanna, B’Elanna and Melika a lovely view of her round womanly bottom as she walked away, the long red hair running down her back not quite long enough to hide her beautiful rump.
The four remaining women moved on to the transporter room. Waiting inside were Alia Belles, Shelby and a trio of Deltan schoolgirls.
Despite their nudity the bald teenagers stood at mock-attention, thighs together and breasts pushed forward. “Ready to transfer the prisoner,” one of the Deltan teens said with a playful grin, nodding her pretty face towards their captive.
Hanging from the gravshacks around her ankles was Papilia. The Vorta was still nude and bound with her wrists behind her back, but now she suffered an additional indignity. A blindfold covered her eyes, preventing her from effectively aiming her psychic powers. “You bitches won’t get away with this!” she shrieked, wriggling in her bonds, shaking her shoulders and making her bare breasts dance. “You can’t hand me over to Starfleet like this! I’m naked!” she wailed.
Melika’s blue eyes were completely
innocent. “Oh, I’m afraid not. Our power reserves are very low, and we can’t afford to replicate even underwear for the people
we do care about. It might be days
before Starheart
is completely adapted to operating off other stars.”
“But you’re beaming me across the planet!” cried out Papilia. “You’ve got enough power for that!”
“Most of the power load is being handled by the transporter pad on the other side,” the blue-skinned teenager answered quickly. “Honestly I don’t see why you’re so bothered. So you’re naked, upside down, blindfolded and shackled and about to get carted off to a Federation prison. That’s still nowhere near as much as you inflicted on some of these Deltans and Bajorans. You’re as tough as a teenaged girl, aren’t you Papilia?”
“Actually,” T’Pol interrupted, walking towards the suspended Vorta, her bare hips slinking left and right with each step of her long lovely legs, “What Papilia is about to endure is closer to what she inflicted than you realize. As a servant of the Dominion, and a technology specialist, she knows a great many things that Federation scientists and tacticians will want to learn.”
The nude and bound Vorta jerked in her restraints and then grew very still, her head cocked as she listened to T’Pol’s words, her bare breasts quivering slightly as they dangled upside-down.
“Thanks to what she knows as a Vorta,” the Vulcan continued, her brown eyes regarding their former captor without the slightest trace of sympathy, “She can be assured that Starfleet intelligence will make every effort to squeeze her for information about the Dominion.”
T’Pol reached out with one slim hand, taking firm hold of Papilia’s left breast. The Vorta tensed, gasping, her shoulders jerking and her tits wiggling as she struggled against her restraints. The Vulcan leaned forward and spoke softly.
“Between Deanna’s empathy and Melika’s scans, we found your suicide implant,” the science officer said, “And disabled it. I imagine it is standard issue among Vorta? It doesn’t matter. You don’t get to die, Papilia, and we’re not going to kill you. We’re going to leave you just like you intended to leave us.”
T’Pol’s voice was cold and hard as
ice. “Helpless, chained, every inch of what you are and what you know examined.
Milked for life.” The nude Vulcan leaned forward and
whispered in the Vorta’s ear. “Milked for life.”
The Vulcan stepped back and nodded to
“You CUUUUUUNNNT!” Then the Vorta was gone, transported to a Federation holding facility, her last howled curse fading into an echo that bounced around the chamber. “CUUUUUUUNNNT!”
“That’s quite an echo,” Belles commented. The lovely schoolteacher settled her hands on her magnificent naked hips and looked to her students. “You girls make sure everyone else is comfortable. I have some matters I need to clear up.” She left the transporter room, her magnificent hips swaying and her perfect breasts bobbing.
“Troi,”
“Ethically,” Troi answered, unconsciously gripping and twisting a lock of her dark hair before one full breast, “The Prime Directive would require Starfleet to tell the Ferengi about what we’re doing.”
“That would make it impossible for us to continue our work,” added B’Elanna, her arms folding and pushing her tits upwards into a mouthwatering cleavage.
“I hope,” T’Pol finished, clasping her hands behind her back and unwittingly causing her boobs to thrust forward, “That you can accept our dishonesty in this situation.”
The Captain of the Sutherland rubbed her palms against her still-tender boobs. “I have to admit I’m planning on leaving a few things out of my official report,” she added, biting her lip nervously.
+++++
Deanna, B’Elanna, T’Pol and Melika continued their inspection of the ship. “We’re out of room,” Troi commented as they passed a bunkroom packed with teenaged girls. A glance through the door allowed the foursome to see a two-bunk room with six young women within, slim teenagers seated three to a cot as they chattered and laughed. The crinkles on Bajoran noses deepened as they giggled at a Deltan schoolgirl’s naughty joke, bare boobs quivering. The long bare legs of the girls in the top bunk dangled by the faces and shoulders of the girls in the lower bunks. They playfully pushed them away, their hands familiar on the other teenagers’ lovely legs.
The four heroines stopped briefly at Starheart’s small medical bay. Inside was Robin Lefler, the still-unclothed Ensign holding a medical tricorder as she scanned over the dozen young women inside. The green-eyed Lefler was looking apologetically at the generous breasts of a slim Bajoran blonde. “They’re permanent.”
“Really? I mean, damn,” the acolyte said quickly, blushing slightly, her hands lifting to cover her melons. The dozen young women in the medical bay were all the ‘Class Three’ captives, the girls whose breasts had been enlarged by Papilia’s treatments. Most were self-conscious of their new proportions, although one Deltan was playfully jiggling the new heft of her tits with a smile on her youthful face.
“The Vorta had been pumping us
with hormones in our feed mixes,” Ensign Lefler
explained, “And without them our, um, boobs aren’t going to produce Ketrecel White any more. But the, um, enhancements are permanent. They’re not going to shrink. And I
think we’re all going to be a bit more sensitive around there,” she added,
Robin wrapping one arm across her bare tits. “A lot more sensitive,” the Ensign
breathed, her green eyes widening as the pressure she was exerting on her round
aureoles caused twin spikes of pleasure to burst in her enhanced boobs.
“They seem to be handling it well,” Torres said dryly as she, T’Pol, Deanna and the holographic Melika continued to walk through the ship’s corridors.
“Overcrowding will only become a problem if further social issues arise between the Bajorans and the Deltans,” T’Pol surmised as the four beauties walked on, hips swishing and breasts swaying with their steps. “Regardless of their shared experience here on Vulcan there are some gulfs between their societies that will not be bridged.”
“I don’t know about that,” Deanna Troi said knowingly, the empath lifting one hand to her lips for quiet as they approached another bunkroom. Following their cue from the voluptuous Betazoid, they moved to the next open bunkroom entrance silently and peeked in.
Within were Alia Belles and Lanlee Milos. “I also have to apologize to you,” the spectacular redhead was saying, her clear blue eyes lowered slightly and her arms wrapped below her breasts, her plump tits pushed forwards and upwards deliciously by her uncertain posture. “I had no patience or understanding for you and the young women in your charge. But the aid you gave my acolytes, and the strength your example lent me, is undeniable. I am ashamed of my earlier words towards you,” the Vedek admitted, her beautiful blue eyes downcast.
“There’s no need for that,” the Deltan insisted in a soft voice, stepping forward to bring her nakedness almost into contact with the Bajoran’s creamy-skinned figure. Belles settled her hands on Lanlee’s bare shoulders, the two women’s breasts trembling slightly as they came within an inch of each other. “I wasn’t exactly diplomatic myself. I couldn’t resist challenging your ways. And I wasn’t always trying to enrich the lives of you and your sisters. Sometimes I just wanted to make you uncomfortable. It was fun,” she joked, and smiled in apology.
Vedek Milos’ eyes lifted to match the Deltan’s. “And now?”
Both women breathed deeply, tits swelling, nipples almost touching. Alia’s gaze moved from Lanlee’s blue eyes to her pouting mouth, the Deltan’s own lips parting and closing nervously. “Now,” she said breathlessly, “Is different.” She leaned forward and gently placed her lips upon the other woman’s mouth.
Lanlee and Alia
kissed deeply, soft lips meeting and eyes closing. The Bajoran’s
hands slid up the Deltan’s incredible body to lift
and squeeze her generous breasts. Meanwhile the schoolteacher could not resist
the lure of the Vedek’s round bottom, her fingers
cupping and fondling
“No,” Lanlee objected, breaking out of the kiss. Alia stepped back, momentarily shocked and blushing with embarrassment as she realized that she had gone too far.
Then the Vedek smiled wickedly. “Wow, it is fun to make you uncomfortable.” Belles stared at her in shock, then mirrored her delicious smile.
Lanlee gripped and lifted her own
boobs, offering her pink nipples to the other woman. “Squeeze them,” she
begged, her eyes closing. With eager hands the beautiful Deltan
took hold of the Bajoran’s tits, her fingers gently
massaging and playing with the two abundant globes. “Harder,” Lanlee whispered, and moaned in pleasure as her breasts,
forever made more sensitive by the Vorta’s
treatments, were squeezed tightly in the Alia’s hands.
They kissed again, bodies pressing together.
With a few careful button presses Deanna discretely made the bunkroom door slide shut slowly and quietly, sealing off the delicious view of the two beauties kissing and embracing.
“Perhaps a few more gulfs will be bridged than I expected,” T’Pol admitted. The three brunettes and the Andorian blonde moved on through Starheart’s corridors, leaving the
Deltan and the Bajoran to their fun.
+++++
“It’s better this way,” counselor Deanna Troi said, “And I’m speaking as a psychologist, an empath and as a woman. The best people for these girls to be with right now is each other. The Bajorans have a history of solidarity and strength against adversity and the Deltans are absolutely honest about intimacy and their bodies.”
“Starheart
should be ready for full warp flight in a few days,” B’Elanna added. “We can
get them back to Delta and Bajor in a flash, and get
“Agreed,” T’Pol said. She lay back, perspiration shining on her bronze skin as she let the Vulcan sun wash over her nakedness. “But I have a question. We did not have enough power to replicate clothing for Papilia?”
“Definitely not,” answered B’Elanna Torres, the twenty-two year old lying on her chest, her magnificent ass slick with perspiration from the heat.
The Vulcan woman adjusted her sunglasses on her nose. “But we had power sufficient to replicate sunglasses and deckchairs.”
“Don’t forget the tanning cream,” Deanna Troi added, holding the bottle up as she squeezed a generous quantity across B’Elanna’s naked back. With gentle but eager hands the counselor rubbed it into Torres’ smooth tanned skin, her fingers traveling along the lovely tapering of her hips to her waist before getting extremely thorough with the Klingon’s firm ass and thighs.
There were three deck chairs positioned on the dune slope, one for each of the brunette trio. All three Starfleet officers wore sunglasses, tanning cream and nothing else.
“I’m not one hundred percent certain, but I think we may have replicated the tanning cream before we thought of giving the Vorta any clothes,” B’Elanna said, rolling onto her back. When Deanna continued to apply the cream to her hips and belly the Klingon gave the Betazoid a half-smile. “I can do my front, you know.”
Troi’s eyes smoldered. “Shut up, B’Elanna.” Then she got to work massaging the cream into the twenty-two year old’s breasts, her fingers making the Klingon’s supple titflesh roll around on her chest. Torres trembled in pleasure, watching with wide dark eyes as the voluptuous Betazoid fondled her boobs.
T’Pol lifted a cold glass to her lips and took a sip. “What about these drinks, these Mar-gar-itas?” she asked, carefully intoning the unfamiliar human word. “And Deanna’s chocolate sundae?”
“Those were replicated from the emergency energy reserves I had Melika set aside,” Troi explained, her hands pushing B’Elanna’s orbs together and then gently shifting them apart, the twenty-two year old wiggling and biting her lip in pleasure as she watched her own tits being mashed about on her chest. “In case we urgently needed to replicate margaritas and chocolate sundaes.”
“I see.” T’Pol turned her gaze down the dune slope, her attention moving to something positioned on a stretch of flat sand. “And what about that? I doubt you set aside emergency reserves to replicate that.”
“Oh, that?” B’Elanna finally was able to get Deanna’s hands off her naked body. Directing the counselor to lie back, Torres got to work applying tanning cream to the Betazoid’s voluptuous curves. “That is just two metal tubes with some cargo netting stretched between them,” the Maquis said as she played with Troi’s tits. “I didn’t have to replicate them. We have stuff like that in cargo.”
T’Pol made a little ‘oh’ with her mouth. “What about the ball?”
Deltan highschool girls and Bajoran Acolytes were engaged in a fairly enthusiastic game of volleyball. Naked in the heat, sweat making their slim firm bodies shine, the girls shouted and laughed and leapt for the ball, their long trim legs and firm asses working hard with their exertions. The volleyball was sent high, and a group of Deltans and Bajorans all leapt with their arms raised to reach it as it fell, teen tits rising and bouncing. When the ball hit the sand the winning team celebrated with jumps and hugs, naked bodies pressing deliciously together, while the losing side hastily planned their next round, huddled together with arms interlinked, asses thrust out and bare breasts dangling.
“Well, the sphere is one of the simplest geometric shapes in the universe,” Deanna suggested, arching her back as B’Elanna massaged the Betazoid’s melons. “It’s probably not very hard to replicate.”
“Hmmm.” T’Pol reached for the bottle of cream and squirted a generous quantity across the valley of her cleavage. “Suppose we accept that none of this required much power,” she said, firmly massaging her breasts and working the cream into her soft silky skin. “Suppose the sunglasses, deck chairs, tanning cream, margaritas, sundaes, the volleyball and the volleyball net and transporting these things into place for our convenience, required only a tiny quantity of power.”
“Please continue,” B’Elanna said invitingly, her tits pushed
together by her upper arms as she slid her hands down Deanna’s narrow waist to
her curving hips, grinning mischievously as she saw where the Vulcan was
heading.
“Then,” breathed T’Pol, “What about the wading pool?”
In the shade beneath Starheart’s port warp engine was a pool of clear and refreshingly cold water. Elizabeth Shelby, Robin Lefler and Hedril all leaned against one edge, three pairs of round tits bobbing just above the water level as they savored the cool shade. Bajoran and Deltan teenagers were also in the pool, but where the Starfleet women were content to relax in the shade the nuns and the schoolgirls were playing noisily, the thigh-high water leaving their naked bottoms and snatches and breasts bare as they splashed at each other and giggled. A quickly rigged up showerhead fed water from the ship’s reserves to the pool on demand. At present a trio of teenagers were clustered together beneath the cooling stream, their slim nude bodies pressing together as they all pushed for the best position.
“All Melika had to do was transport the sand out of the ground,” explained B’Elanna, finally abandoning Troi’s incredible figure and reclining on her own deck chair, “Phaser the sand into glass and drop the water in.”
T’Pol took a thoughtful sip from her margarita. “We have a commendably resourceful hologram onboard.”
“We couldn’t keep everyone inside all day, you know,” Troi said, lifting her arms above her head and arching her back, the moons of her breasts shifting on her chest as she wiggled her voluptuous body on her deck chair. “It’s too hot, too humid and too cramped. Outside it’s still hot but at least there’s room for all of us.”
“Which brings up another point,” the Vulcan added, “Room. Melika will certainly not be able to replicate additional quarters. When we take to the air our passengers will have to bunk up several girls to one bed.”
“That’ll be a hardship,” B’Elanna said sympathetically,
sipping her margarita to hide her smile.
“A sacrifice we’ll all have to make,” added Deanna, reaching for her chocolate fudge sundae.
Nude except for their sunglasses and a generous amount of tanning cream, B’Elanna Torres, Deanna Troi and T’Pol lay back on their reclined deck chairs, enjoying the heat as they sunbaked nude in the Vulcan desert. Comforted by the laughter and splashing from the wading pool and the shouts and sounds of exertion from the volleyball game, their troubles and cares faded away in the hot sun and they slept, eyes closing blissfully beneath their tinted shades.
TO BE CONTINUED
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