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: Enterprise) and B’Elanna Torres (Star Trek: Voyager).

Feedback can be directed to Mickt80@hotmail.com.

EPISODE 02: A TIME TO KNEEL

T’Pol shut her eyes, trying to block out the shuddering and shaking of the shuttle. The beautiful Vulcan involuntarily licked her full pouting lips, quick and nervous. Her self-mastery had faltered and she struggled to regain it.

As one of the pivotal figures in the Founding of the Federation and one of the most important women in history T’Pol was a respected, even revered figure. At the moment she was naked, robbed of her clothing, her modesty and her dignity. The top of her uniform had been yanked back and tied around her wrists, binding her hands behind her back, while her uniform’s bottom had been pulled down to her knees to slow any possible escape. Her bra and panties had been torn from her body leaving her short brown bush bare and her ample breasts free to jiggle and quiver during the rough shuttle ride.

She had awoken on an alien planet far from her own time, with no notion of how she came to be in this time or place. T’Pol’s last memories had been from the 2150s, more than two hundred years in the past, yet the Vulcan’s lean full-chested figure had not aged a day. But the mystery of how she came to be here was secondary to the question of where she was presently going.

At the moment she was onboard a shuttle owned by Golga, the Ferengi who had captured the Vulcan only a few hours before. T’Pol was strapped into a flight chair, tied in tightly so that there was no chance of struggle or escape. The science officer lowered to her eyes to her bare breasts, noting how the belts and straps of her chair had been deliberately wrapped around her tits to push her melons together, a humiliating reminder of her helplessness in the hands of these perverse men.

T’Pol was not alone. Joining her in captivity was Commander Deanna Troi of the Enterprise-D. She was an empathic Betazoid, her milky pale body rich with voluptuous curves. Raven black hair fell down her shoulders, a few stray locks falling across her bare breasts. Like T’Pol, the lush-figured twenty-nine year old had been stripped naked and secured in a chair, straps running above and below her generous boobs so that the soft melons were pushed forward and up like delicious deserts. Tears of embarrassment traced down the counselor’s cheeks as she lowered her black Betazoid eyes in defeat.

The last of the trio was B’Elanna Torres. With a tanned athletic body, firm ass and flat stomach and high proud breasts she was a strikingly attractive woman despite the small ridges on her forehead that revealed her half-Klingon blood. Once a Maquis rebel and recently chief engineer aboard the USS Voyager, B’Elanna Torres was now stripped and bound in a flight chair by straps that were pulled tightly beneath and over her boobs, making her surprisingly soft and ample titflesh rise invitingly. Voyager’s chief engineer was flushed with helpless anger, refusing to look at her own bare breasts as they bobbed and bounced with the shaking of Golga’s shuttlecraft.

It was not the beginning of their humiliating journey. All three women had been forced to run naked across the desert, perspiration making the sand adhere to their bare skin. Even now a thin dusting of sand coated their nudity. It was not the beginning of the three heroines’ ordeal but it surely was not the end.

The shuttle shook and rattled around them. Its engines had been choked with sand during its landing and now they struggled to clear themselves. The rough ride made the bare breasts of the three heroines bounce and leap, nipples performing a humiliating dance that made their male captors leer appreciatively. In addition to Golga and his three bodyguards there were another half-dozen men inside the shuttle, all drinking in the sight of the Starfleet officers so deliciously bound and bared and flushing with embarrassment.

“This is not, not necessary,” T’Pol stammered, her sentence broken by a jarring jolt of the shuttle that made her big tits lift violently. “I’m sure Starfleet would offer a considerable reward for our safe return.”

Golga answered without taking his eyes from T’Pol’s bare breasts. “Sure they would, if you were really this Tit Pole woman. Although you sure look the part,” he leered, marveling at how two such round and generous breasts could be attached to such a lean body.

The Vulcan opened her full lips to answer but another violent shake made her boobs leap yet again. T’Pol closed her mouth and shut her eyes, hoping that the humiliating trip would be over soon.

“Oh no,” breathed Deanna. From where she sat the Betazoid was able to look forward to the shuttle’s canopy. With beautiful dark eyes Troi stared out into space as the little ship left the planet’s atmosphere. Far ahead of them were the solar system’s twin suns. From the surface of the desert world they had appeared as a single enormous red blaze, but now that they were clear of the atmosphere it could be seen that one was a massive crimson ball of fire while the other was small and intensely white. A stream of red plasma connected the two stars as super-hot material was dragged from one sun to the other.

“What is it?” B’Elanna said, the shaking of the ship making the Maquis’ melons tremble, brown nipples shimmying left and right.

“I know this star system,” Troi said, tearing her dark eyes away from the canopy and taking a deep nervous breath, her melons lifting in their bindings. “It was in the tactical briefings I read while negotiating for the use of Ferengi territory for the Starheart trial runs. We’re in the Dafet system, right next to the star where we were going to hold the test flights.”

Enterprise’s counselor lifted her eyes hopelessly. “It’s also next door to the Ferenginar system. We’re deep inside the territories of the Ferengi Consortium.”

Torres’ eyes widened with new despair. “There’s no way Starfleet will stop these pigs.”

“Says a Klingon who’s a wanted criminal in the Federation,” interrupted Golga, eyeing B’Elanna’s long toned thighs. “They’d put those lovely legs of your in irons.”

“I have encountered your species before, Golga,” T’Pol said, trying to keep her voice level despite the shaking and shuddering of the shuttle, and the trembling of her exposed boobs. “When I first met your people it was clear you saw females of other species as a trading commodity. Is that your intention with us?”

B’Elanna’s mouth opened in an ‘o’ of horror. “You’re going to sell us?”

Golga slapped his thigh and grinned at the Vulcan. “Why that’s a great idea tit pole! I should put you on the bridge of my ship so you can give me great ideas like that all day long!”

“But selling us is slavery!” objected Troi. “That’s criminal!”

“I could give you a job too, Dee,” Golga said, casting his piggy little eyes towards the bare-breasted counselor. “You could open your mouth and say the most obvious things that pop into that empty head of yours.”

“It’s Deanna,” the voluptuous brunette corrected but her voice carried a defeated tone. Troi lowered her beautiful face, her raven-black hair falling across the slopes of her boobs. Golga corrected this mistake quickly, leaning forward and pulling Deanna’s locks back so that they didn’t spoil the view of her tits. “Get away from me,” the counselor ordered. The Ferengi ignored the Betazoid’s powerless command, instead sliding his hand down Troi’s chest to grip and squeeze one lovely round melon. The commander helplessly cringed, unable to resist or even pull away as her boob was fondled.

“Let go of her,” Torres said in a threatening voice, despite the fact that she herself was just as naked and helpless as the curvaceous counselor.

“The Klingon’s getting jealous? Golga unbuckled himself from his chair and rose. “Can’t have that,” he declared, stepping over to grope B’Elanna Torres’ chest treats. The Klingon shut her eyes in anger as her breasts were lifted in their restraints, her nipples rubbed and twisted until they were two erect little towers on the curves of her boobs. Golga’s crew grinned in appreciation as the watched the twenty-two year old’s melons being molested, their hands twitching as they imagined what it would be like to wrap their own hands around B’Elanna breasts.

When T’Pol’s turn came the science officer’s generous udders received a few playful slaps, Golga smacking the Vulcan’s boobs left and right and up and down. The woman sometimes called the Mother of the Federation endured this humiliation in silence, her pouting lips pursing tight and her eyes looking away from the men and the women in the shuttle, as well as away from her own supple tits.

“Cheer up!” Golga said, turning and reaching out to squeeze both B’Elanna and Deanna’s breasts on his way back to his chair. “Soon you’ll be onboard my ship, the Pride of Golga. My crew is just dying to meet you.”

+++++

The shuttle touched down roughly within the hanger bay of Golga’s freighter. The shuttlebay doors closed behind the small craft and the large chamber pressurized. One by one the ship’s systems powered down and disengaged as the ship was set into standby mode.

Meanwhile B’Elanna Torres, T’Pol and Deanna Troi readied themselves for action. They sat perfectly still, their arms bound by their elastic uniforms.

“Home sweet home,” Golga said as the shuttle’s rear ramp entrance began to open. The Ferengi stood up and got about unbuckling the three heroines from their seats, trusting their bonds to keep them from putting up any fight. “I bet after the desert you three girls are just dying for a shower…”

In mid sentence the Ferengi realized that B’Elanna had been able to wiggle one hand out of her bindings. Golga discovered this at the end of Torres’ fist.

As her punch sent the Ferengi falling away clutching his nose, B’Elanna shouted “Go!” and charged for the now-open exit. T’Pol and Deanna immediately raced after her, their melons jumping with their haste as they pushed past surprised and swearing crewmen.

As she ran out the exit B’Elanna elbowed the ramp controls. Immediately the ramp door began to rise behind her, a barrier to pursuit. T’Pol and Deanna, already on their feet, were the only ones able to dive through the quickly-closing gap. They hit the hanger deck and rolled clumsily to their feet, their movement awkward thanks to their hands still being bound behind their backs and their elastic pants bunched up around their knees.

“They’ll get that door open again in a second,” Deanna said breathlessly, “We’ve got to…”

Troi’s words were drowned out by cheers and laughter.

With horror the three Starfleet officers looked around to see the landing area and upper walkways of the shuttlebay were stuffed with Golga’s crewmen. Humans, Cardassians, Gorn, Nausicans, Orions and other species had gathered in the ship’s large hanger and now cheered and clapped at the sight of the three beauties bound, naked and on display before them. There had to be hundreds of men in the room and the only thing covering Troi, Torres and T’Pol’s gorgeous bodies was a thin layer of sand from their journey across the desert.

“This isn’t happening,” B’Elanna breathed, the only women with freed hands now clamping them over her bare breasts.

“Oh god!” cried out Deanna, blushing and leaning forward with humiliation, her melons dangling slightly.

T’Pol’s regal features were frozen in an expression of absolute shame. “Barbarians!” she gasped. Then the science officer was kicking and struggling as she was grabbed around her slim waist from behind by a giant Orion, one of Golga’s guards. The shuttle’s closed ramp hadn’t slowed the Ferengi’s men for long. B’Elanna and Deanna were also grabbed by the Ferengi’s goons, the two brunettes writhing and bucking, their breasts bouncing as they kicked their long legs. The crew’s cheering grew louder at the sight of the three heroines’ sexy struggles.

Golga walked down the now-open ramp, rubbing his nose and still feeling the effects of B’Elanna’s punch. “I suppose spirit is a good thing,” the Ferengi grimaced, then grinned as he watched the three women struggling helplessly in the arms of his bodyguards, their long legs kicking.

“Show us your tits!” shouted one of the crew. “Oh wait, you already are!” Coarse laughter ate at the three women’s pride.

B’Elanna trembled with helpless rage. “You’re all filthy pigs!” she shouted but her cry was lost over the cheering and clapping of the men appreciating her naked body.

One of Golga’s crew handed the Ferengi Captain a set of metal bracelets. He gestured to T’Pol. “Get my favorite titpole over here,” he ordered. A big green Orion hand around her upper arm pushed the Vulcan towards Golga with boob-shaking steps. “Turn her around, let me get at her wrists.” Enterprise’s science officer was turned, once again displaying her lush body to every man in the chamber. Unable to maintain her Vulcan composure, T’Pol closed her eyes in shame as the bracelets were fitted around her wrists.

Deanna was next, the five-foot three Betazoid pushed over to Golga where a second pair of bracelets were locked around her slim wrists even as the applause and cheering from the men in the room continued. Last was B’Elanna. The Klingon jerked and struggled against the Nausican holding her but failing to do anything but shake sand out of her hair, make her ass wiggle and her boobs dance. Her wrists were also bound with a set of simple bracelets.

“Okay,” Golga said, lifting a small control box in his hands. “I don’t think these lovely ladies need to be weighed down with all that heavy clothing anymore, right?”

With eager grins the three bodyguards obeyed their master. The three women had been bound by their own elastic uniforms, with their tops used to secure their arms while their tight pants had been yanked around their knees, the stretchy material hampering their movement. Now even that last shred of modesty was pulled away. With vigorous movements Deanna, T’Pol and B’Elanna were stripped to the skin before hundreds of crewmen, each beauty naked except for the silver bracelets on her wrists.

Immediately breasts were pushed together into mouthwatering cleavages as they were hastily covered by arms. B’Elanna hunched slightly, her firm thighs pressing together, one arm hugging around her tits and her free hand sliding down to cover her thatch of pubic hair and the delicious folds below. Deanna and T’Pol struck similar poses, even the Vulcan unable to stop herself from covering her nakedness and trying to regain at least a tiny bit of the modesty that had been stripped away from her. Groans of disappointment echoed through the chamber as the crew lost the delicious view they had been enjoying.

“That’s very selfish of you,” Golga reprimanded. The Ferengi pressed a button on the control unit in his hands.

B’Elanna felt the bracelets around her wrists tremble and she heard a faint humming. Then she yelped in shock as her hands were suddenly yanked up above her head, her tits bouncing free and exposed! The bracelets had pulled themselves up in the air and hauled her wrists up with them, forcing the lieutenant to leave her athletic body completely uncovered!

Beside her T’Pol and Deanna were likewise forced to raise their hands, gasping at this new humiliation. The men in the chamber cheered at the sight, hooting and whistling as they savored the sight of the three naked brunettes with their arms lifted and their naked figures uncovered.

“They’re gravimetric shackles!” B’Elanna said in a whispered voice. “They’re repelling the gravity plating in the deck!” Try as she might she couldn’t pull her hands down to cover herself. It would be easier to lift herself by her wrists than to pull those gravity-powered bracelets down. Like it or not, Voyager’s chief engineer was forced to stand with her hands above her head, her athletic body displayed completely nude for the cheering and clapping men of Golga’s crew!

The Ferengi adjusted the settings on the control unit that directed their gravshacks. B’Elanna felt her bracelets rise an inch higher. The half-Klingon was forced to lift herself a little bit more, and a bit more, until she was standing on the tips of her toes. Her nipples quivered on her chest with the tension of keeping her weight balanced between her legs and her arms. The awkward position both made it more difficult for her to resist and displayed her body to good effect. Satisfied with how Torres looked Golga turned his attention to T’Pol and Troi, fine-tuning their gravshacks until the Vulcan and the Betazoid were also standing on tip-toe, the globes of their tits quivering.

“You pathetic animal!” counselor Troi cried, her pale thighs shifting as her shackles were lifted another half-inch. She blinked tears of embarrassment out of the corners of her eyes as she was forced to stand, completely and utterly naked, before more than a hundred cheering and clapping crewmen. Her humiliation deepened as she spotted sensors and camera flashes in the crowd. They were recording this!

Golga smiled at the sight of the nude and humiliated trio. Then he gestured over his shoulder. “Okay, let’s give these ladies a shower.” He stepped aside, revealing a team of men lugging several lengths of thick hose, their nozzles pointed towards the three captives. Normally these hoses were used to spray down shuttles for cleaning. That obviously wasn’t what was happening here.

“You can’t be serious…” was all B’Elanna was able to say before the valves were twisted and three powerful jets of water sprayed against their naked bodies. The Starfleet officers gasped and writhed, their bare skin pummeled by the streams, gooseflesh popping up as they were chilled by the freeing water. The jets of water rose and fell across their naked bodies, blasting their bellies and thighs and then rising to their bare breasts, massaging and molesting their melons until their nipples were as hard as rocks from the chill.

T’Pol shrieked as a jet of water struck her between the legs. Deanna turned her face away from the streams, her raven-black hair flicking about as her boobs were lifted and pressed by the water. Torres let out a throaty moan as her sensitive nipples were struck by not one but two water jets, one on either tit, the cleaning crews briefly ganging up on the helpless Klingon’s breasts before shifting their aim down to the secret place between her legs. Voyager’s chief engineer squealed and lifted her legs, hoisting herself up by her gravity-shackled wrists as she tried to cover her pussy with her knees.

The sand they had picked up during their journey through the desert was thoroughly cleaned away. But still the hosing continued, the three women being turned so that their backs and bottoms could be blasted. The crowd cheered at the spectacle, some men shouting and pointing at what should be cleaned next. B’Elanna, T’Pol and Deanna took turns letting out shocked squeaks as the hoses aimed at the folds between their thighs, each woman straightening up to try to stop the jets from reaching their most sensitive of places. They were turned around and once again their breasts and bellies and pussies were struck by the hoses, soaking the three heroines from head to toe. The only good to come from this humiliating shower was that the three desert-parched brunettes were able to swallow a few mouthfuls of water.

The hoses were suddenly shut off. B’Elanna, T’Pol and Deanna were left standing naked, shivering and dripping wet, hair plastered to the sides of their faces, with every man in the chamber hooting and applauding at the sight of their gorgeous freshly-cleaned bodies.

Golga strode past the trio, reaching out with one hand as he passed to touch first Deanna’s breasts, then B’Elanna’s tits and finally T’Pol’s melons, making each Starfleet officer flinch in embarrassment as their boobs were left jiggling in the Ferengi’s wake. “Alright ladies, time to show you your quarters.”

+++++

T’Pol was shoved hard in the back, falling onto her belly with her boobs flattening between her and the metal deck. As she scrambled aside Deanna and B’Elanna were thrust into the cell after her, each pushed with enough force to make their tits jiggle.

“Get comfortable ladies,” Golga said from the cell’s doorway, “Because this is going to home for a little while. Oh,” he added, accepting a bundle of material from one of the men behind him, “You might want these.”

The bundle that was the three women’s uniforms was tossed to the deck between them. Then the door was shut and the trio were left alone in the poorly lit cell. A few seconds later their gravity-shackles powered down, still locked around their wrists but no longer securing their hands behind their backs.

Deanna went straight for the bundle, pulling it apart and locating a top and a bottom. The garments had been slightly ripped but they appeared good enough to still wear. T’Pol, meanwhile, settled herself into a cross-legged posture and closed her eyes, seeking an internal peace that the chaos and embarrassment of the last hour had denied her. At the same time B’Elanna stood up and stalked around their cell with fresh energy, looking at their new surroundings and muttering to herself.

“One door, no windows, two vents in the ceiling.” Torres’ fingertips tapped along the metal walls while her bare feet slapped on the deck, listening for hints that would reveal the structure of the frame beneath. The young woman lifted one hand to the vents in the low ceiling, rivulets of water left over from the earlier hosing running down between her bare tits. “One vent in, one vent out, both too small for a person to crawl out through.”

Her examination was halted by Deanna throwing a set of pants and a top into her arms. Torres looked down at the garments, then turned her dark eyes to the Betazoid in cautious gratitude. “Thanks.”

“I’m sick of everyone being able to see my boobs,” counselor Troi complained as she pulled on her uniform’s top. She briefly struggled to get the elastic material over her head, her tits shimmying from side to side, before the neck slipped down around her ears and she could pull her raven-black hair through. “T’Pol?”

The science officer took in a deep breath, her ripe melons rising, and opened her eyes. “Give me a uniform.”

“Okay Commander Troi,” B’Elanna said, leaning forward with her tits dangling and dancing as she shimmied her tight elastic pants up her thighs to her hips, “Golga said your ship is on the other side of the Federation. We have to consider the chance that we’re not who we think we are.”

“You believe we are clones or copies of some kind?” T’Pol queried, pulling her top down over her chest and then spending a few seconds settling her melons within the elastic material.

“Cloning wouldn’t explain the memories we have,” Torres disagreed, standing on her toes as she pulled her pants up to the settle them, creating a delicious cameltoe as her uniform kissed against her pussy lips. “You can’t replicate living material.”

“But you can transport it.” Deanna was struggling to pull her top down over her boobs. The material had rolled against her still-wet skin and was momentarily refusing to come free. “I knew a man called Thomas Riker. He was a transporter copy of the original Will Riker, produced in a transporter accident. It is possible to make two people from the one transporter pattern.”

“But I doubt it is likely.” The Vulcan science officer leaned over at the waist, her pussy lips pouting from beneath her round rump as she slid her pants up her long trim legs. “Golga is not responsible for our being here, in this time and place. Then who is?”

“It’s got to be the ship.” Torres pulled her top on, pausing with the elastic squeezing the upper slopes of her boobs as she pulled her dark hair through the neck-hole and shook it free. “Maybe we’re the result of a transporter-duplication, or a dimensional crossover or something, but that ship is the key. I’m sure of it.”

Deanna had finally gotten her boobs covered and now was pulling on the bottom half of her uniform, wiggling her lovely buttocks as she pulled the elastic up to her womanly hips. “Golga gave the impression he was going to salvage it. Do you think it would be small enough for it to fit inside this ship’s shuttlebay?”

“From my estimates of the ship’s size and volume, yes,” T’Pol answered. The science officer considered her two companions. There had still been some moisture clinging to their skin from the hosing. As a result each woman’s outfits intimately hugged each and every curve. T’Pol could not help but notice that Troi and Torres’ nipples were erect and poking visibly against their elastic tops, and that her own teats were stiff bumps on the generous curves of her boobs. Each of the Starfleet officers sported a tasty cameltoe as the elastic of their pants pressed into their still-damp kitties.

Deanna shivered slightly, rubbing her shoulders. “It’s not very well heated is it?”

Shaking her head B’Elanna considered the vents in the ceiling. “This is probably a storage room, not a cell. We should try to get some sleep,” the Klingon suggested, “We’re going to need our strength. I don’t intend to stay here.”

T’Pol gestured to the corner of the cell. “Stay close,” the long-limbed brunette advised. “One body by itself loses heat rapidly.”

The trio snuggled together in the corner, their legs curling and their arms wrapping tightly to their chests. They lay close together, close enough for each woman’s breath to warm another’s face.

“We’ll get out of here,” Deanna said on impulse.

“If Golga thinks he’s going to auction us of,” B’Elanna warned, “He’s got another thing coming.”

“When our opportunity arises, we will have to be ready,” added T’Pol. Her pouting lips pursed slightly in thought. “If I have missed two hundred years of history,” the Vulcan said thoughtfully, “I would like to catch up on it now.”

+++++

“Disengaging the tractor beam,” reported an Orion member of Golga’s bridge crew, “The salvage is in the hanger. Bit of a tight fit however.”

“I wonder if there are more Starfleet sluts hiding in that little ship,” Golga mused, his beady eyes considering the picture on the viewscreen. The Ferengi sat on the bridge of his ship The Pride of Golga, looking over what information he could scrounge from databanks and Ferengi networks on the three lush Starfleet officers held prisoner in his hold.

“Nothing detected,” the Orion said. “The ship’s empty. And all the doors are shut and sealed. We’re having trouble getting in.”

The Ferengi captain grimaced. “The hanger door was open when those three bimbos wandered out.”

“Well it’s closed and locked now. No sign of power though.”

“We’ve got the time to work it out.” Waving a hand to dismiss the matter Golga leaned forward in his chair and stared intently at the naked figure of B’Elanna Torres.

A photo-realistic image of Voyager’s chief engineer, minus uniform, rotated on the viewscreen. The image had been captured just before she had been hosed down in the hanger bay. The young woman’s arms were lifted, leaving her toned athletic figure exposed, and her expression was frozen in outraged humiliation. Next to that saucy image was a mugshot of Torres from a Federation “Dangerous Criminal”, and beside that an image showing the brunette standing beside a dozen other fresh-faced Starfleet cadets in an academy class photo. It was clearly the same young woman.

“I don’t normally go for Klingons,” one of the humans in the crew commented. “But that’s a nice piece of T & A right there.”

“Twenty two years old,” Golga murmured, watching the nude B’Elanna image rotate. “And no ties to any of the big Klingon families, so we won’t have to worry about the Empire coming down on us. She’s good material for the slave market. But send a line to the Cardassians,” the Ferengi ordered, shifting back in his chair while keeping his eyes on the puffy teats that tipped Torres’ tits. “They’ve always had a hard-on for the Maquis. Maybe we’ll find a Cardassian officer who’ll pay top dollar to bend this bitch over. And send out some feelers for the Maquis as well. If they make a good enough offer they could save their pet Klingon whore. Their latinum is all the same to me.”

He touched a button on his chair’s armrest and the image of B’Elanna Torres was replaced by a rotating view of the Vulcan T’Pol. The Mother of the Federation was also stark naked, standing straight with her breasts thrusting forwards, the details of her gorgeous nude figure generated from recordings taken in the shuttlebay. For comparison several historical images of the NX Enterprise crew came up for Golga to examine.

There were several whistles across the bridge as the men aboard enjoyed the sight of the nude T’Pol, the image rotating slowly to provide an all-round view of the curves of her rump and the globes of her breasts.

“Looks like our Titpole really is this legendary Vulcan bimbo,” Golga said with surprise. “A very young version. The real thing was born nearly three hundred years ago, but the computer estimates she’s in her sixties. For a Vulcan that means she’s not far out of puberty.”

“Puberty was good for her,” the hulking Orion bodyguard said as he appreciatively eyed T’Pol’s generous tits, his comment earning a few laughs of agreement from the other men on the bridge.

The Ferengi examined the nude image, mentally weighing up how much the Vulcan would be worth on the auction block. “Just for that body she’d sell for a fat bundle. Throw in those cocksucker lips and she’s pure cream. And buyers pay more for a Vulcan, provided that icy exterior melts a bit. But this kind of historical figure, well, she might be something very special. A collector’s item.”

“Starfleet wouldn’t appreciate Starfleet officers being sold as slaves on Ferenginar,” mentioned a Cardassian at the sensory station. “That’s exactly the kind of thing that would allow them to ignore their Prime Directive and start interfering.”

“She’s not Starfleet,” Golga disagreed, waving a hand dismissively at the nude image before him. “She’s a… a quality replica. Convincing in every detail. The Consortium wouldn’t let me sell her unless I made that argument. And I am going to sell this Vulcan whore. That tight Klingon ass will sell well, but Titpole is going to make me rich. Bring up the data on the third.”

T’Pol’s long-limbed form was replaced by the pale voluptuous curves of counselor Deanna Troi. “Fuuuck,” breathed a Gorn at the sight of the commander’s wide curving hips, womanly bottom and soft silky breasts. “She’ss short but she’ss got it where it counts,” he hissed.

“It’s a real woman’s body, no doubt about it.” Golga’s eyes moved from the nude image of the twenty-nine year old held captive in his cargo hold, then to the picture of the uniform-clad Deanna Troi from the records. Then his eyes went back to the naked version, finding it far more interesting. “It’s her, no question. Dina Troi in the flesh, and not much else.”

“Deanna,” corrected Golga’s Nausican bodyguard.

“Whatever. I don’t know how a woman can be in two places in the same time. This Betazoid bimbo can’t be on the other side of the Federation and be in my cargo hold.”

“Maybe she’sss a time traveler,” the Gorn suggested, the hissing reptillian’s compound eyes lingering on the image of the unclothed twenty-nine year old, the fantastic curves of her voluptuous figure shining with moisture from the hosing she had suffered in the hanger. Her imperiously beautiful face was trapped in an expression of shocked embarrassment.

“Another high-quality replica,” disagreed Golga. He leaned forward, eyeing the gorgeous Betazoid. “Troi, Troi, Troi… I’ve heard of this bitch. She’s a higher-up in Starfleet’s diplomacy game. Daughter of some bigwig Betazoid diplomat.” His piggy little eyes widened a little. “Shit, she’s that Troi. This big-titted bimbo has been a part of nearly every major Ferengi-Federation negotiation in the last seven years! She’s hated by every monopoly owner and consortium boss in Ferengi space. Apparently she’s some sort of great negotiator, getting our best and brightest off our game.”

“Having those tits sitting across the table from you would distract anyone,” Golga’s Orion bodyguard joked.

The possibilities were blooming in Golga’s evil little mind. “I was wrong. T’Pol is worth her weight in latinum but this bimbo is the real prize. The wealthiest Ferengi in the Consortium either hate her or want to fuck her brains out. Or both. They’ll sell their parents for a chance to own a piece of that Betazoid’s ass.”

“There’s more than a few men onboard who feel the same way,” said the Cardassian sensor operator in a meaningful tone.

“Right,” Golga grunted, shifting in his chair, “I’ve been meaning to deal with that. Put me on the speakers, I want the whole crew to hear.” He cleared his throat and then began, his voice piped throughout the entire ship. “This is your beloved Captain speaking,” he started in a sarcastic tone.

“I’m certain it has come to your attention that, in the spirit of charity and goodwill, we have offered a ride to three young ladies during our last stopover. I have been made aware of the fact that many of you hope to extend your hospitality to our guests, with the honorable intention of making their stay more enjoyable.” The Ferengi’s voice was wet with sarcasm. “As much as I believe these elegant ladies would adore the pleasure of your company, I regret that I have had to sequester them in their quarters and limit their exposure to your chivalry and respect.”

He knew they wouldn’t be happy about not being able to enjoy the lush bodies of Deanna Troi, T’Pol and B’Elanna Torres. But Golga didn’t intend to fully deprive his crew. “But our guests have been generous enough to provide me, your humble captain, with holographic recordings.” The Ferengi didn’t add that the three Starfleet officers had no say in whether or not their gorgeous naked bodies had been scanned and rendered digitally. “As I speak they are being loaded into the holodeck computer system. I am told that by tonight our three lovely ladies will be added to the ship’s library of virtual companions.”

Golga thought he could actually feel the deck tremble as crewmen all across the ship laughed and cheered at the news. “Make your bookings in advance, gentlemen. I imagine that many of you would like to enjoy an evening of romance, light dining and poetry reading with a holographic reproduction of one of our three guests. Or two of them. Or all three at once.” He signaled for the speakers to be cut.

“Poetry reading?” snorted the Cardassian sarcastically, “Yeah, that’s going to happen. A rhyming couplet, six inches long.”

“Six inches for you,” grinned the seven-foot tall Orion bodyguard. “My couplet measures in at around eleven inches.”

The Ferengi leaned back in his chair. “Those girls would bruise up if I let the boys play with them, and I can’t sell holograms on the slave block. This way we all win.” He straightened. “Time to go home. Set a course for Ferenginar.”

+++++

The following morning found T’Pol, B’Elanna and Deanna asleep in a corner of their cell, their bodies curled around each other for warmth.

The door slid open and the insect-like compound eyes of a Gorn peered in, looking over the beautiful slumbering trio. Gesturing for quiet the enormous reptilian crept in, followed closely by an Orion and a Nausican. These three giant men were Golga’s favored bodyguards, and had been present when the three Starfleet officers had first been captured and stripped. They had watched Deanna, T’Pol and B’Elanna every humiliating step across the desert and during that journey the three enormous men had developed favorites.

The Nausican gently untangled Torres’ athletic limbs from the other two slumbering woman. The Gorn shifted Deanna Troi aside, settling the voluptuous Betazoid apart from her companions. The Orion focused on T’Pol, his large green hands fondling her heavy breasts through the thin elastic of her uniform.

The three women continued to slumber, apparently exhausted from their earlier ordeals. Their eyes remained closed and their bodies were motionless as the tops of their uniforms were lifted, elastic material sliding upwards to reveal bellies and then breasts, rising and falling slowly with their breathing, nipples erect in the cool air of the cell.

The topless T’Pol murmured softly, shifting slightly as her generous boobs were massaged by the giant Orion’s heavy fingers. B’Elanna’s breath quickened as her nipples were tweaked and twisted by the Nausican tending to her breasts. The soft white melons of counselor Deanna Troi were lifted and squeezed so that her dark teats pointed upwards, the Gorn savoring the sight of her ample titflesh.

“Now!” shouted T’Pol and the three women sprang into action. T’Pol swung a long leg into the Orion’s knee, knocking him down. B’Elanna’s right fist solidly struck the face of the Nausican tugging on her nipples and he staggered a few steps back. Troi’s legs bunched up and pushed hard against the Gorn, heaving him off-balance so that the curvaceous Betazoid could scramble away.

“Go go go!” B’Elanna spurred as the three topless beauties ran from the cell, their exposed tits bouncing with their rapid strides. T’Pol was the last out, striking the door control and causing it to slam shut behind them, trapping their three guards inside.

They followed the plan they had agreed upon. Without even pausing to pull their shirts down over their bare breasts the trio broke into a dead run for the shuttlebay and the ships they had seen inside. This was their one best chance to escape. They ran as fast as their could, their hair flying, long legs pumping, round asses wiggling and exposed melons bouncing.

It ended with all three women skidding to a halt, their wrists suddenly jerking up high and forcing each brunette to stand with her hands lifted above her head. Their gravshacks hummed as they forced each heroine to raise her arms. Three sets of exposed boobs rose and fell with their quick breathing. None of them had taken the time to pull their tops back down over their tits, and now none of them would get the chance.

Golga clapped as he approached the trio, holding the gravshack remote control unit in one hand. With a single press of a button he had foiled their escape attempt.

“That was beautiful,” the Ferengi said, “I particularly liked the part when you pretended to be asleep while my men were feeling up your boobs. It was nearly as good as the part when you three bimbos got caught with your tits out. This part, actually,” he said, reaching out with his free hand to fondle B’Elanna’s breasts as he walked past her. He took the time to enjoy Deanna and T’Pol’s as well, making each woman flinch in shame as her titflesh was squeezed and lifted.

“You monster, to do this to Starfleet officers!” Troi cried out, her boobs trembling with her helpless outrage.

“You’ll pay for what you’ve done to us,” promised B’Elanna in a voice as stern as she could manage with her tits out and her hands in the air.

T’Pol’s regal face with icy cold with her anger. “You’re just as pathetic as when I first encountered your species.”

Golga opened the cell door, allowing his three guards to sheepishly emerge. “That’s very harsh of you. I don’t think you fully appreciate how much I’ve done to make you three as comfortable as possible. I mean, you’re not going on the auction block for another week. I could easily keep you onboard for the next few days and let you entertain my crew. Would you like that?”

The idea of being the playthings of Golga’s crew, the men who had so callously cheered and clapped as they were stripped and hosed down on the hanger deck, made the three heroines go still with fear.

“I said, would you like that?”

“No,” breathed Deanna.

“I didn’t hear all of you,” Golga insisted.

“No,” T’Pol, Torres and Troi said simultaneously in small voices.

The Ferengi nodded approvingly. “Now I want you to apologize to my men for hitting them just a moment ago.” When the three topless beauties gaped at him in disbelief, Golga shrugged. “Fine, I’ll start drawing up a roster of which of my crew get to fuck you first.”

That threat spurred them into motion. With their hands forced above their heads T’Pol, Deanna Troi and B’Elanna Torres wiggled around to face the three guards, their awkward struggle making their melons tremble. “I’m, I’m sorry for what happened,” the counselor stammered.

“I apologize for my actions,” admitted T’Pol, her regal features lowered.

“I’m sorry for hitting you,” B’Elanna forced out through her teeth.

Golga smiled at the sight of the three topless and humiliated Starfleet officers. “I’d tell you to shake hands, but… you know. Cover those melons up,” the Ferengi said regretfully. “We’ve got places to go and people to see.”

The three Starfleet officers sighed with both relief and a little bit of disbelief as their tops were pulled down again, covering their delicious boobs. The elastic of their uniforms lovingly hugged the curves of their tits, their erect nipples poking hard against the thin material, but at least they were no longer bare-breasted.

Golga tapped a button on the gravshack controls he held and the bracelets on each woman’s wrists hummed and changed their function. Instead of repelling gravity and rising, they attracted each other. Deanna, T’Pol and B’Elanna each gasped as their wrists were pulled behind them, shackles clicking together as securely as the strongest chains. With their hands behind their backs it pulled their shoulders back and threw their chests forward, making their elastic-clad tits poke out prominently.

“Get them to the shuttlebay,” the Ferengi gestured, his eyes drawn to the cameltoes created by Troi, Torres and T’Pol’s tight skin-hugging uniforms as they walked. They were led past him and Golga’s gaze moved to their wiggling rumps as the trio walked away.

“Good from any angle,” he murmured, “But I think I can squeeze of few more bars of latinum out of those tits of theirs. I’ll have to make an appointment with that Orion witch.”

+++++

The three captive officers endured a second shaky shuttle trip. As before the Betazoid, the Vulcan and the Klingon were strapped tightly into their chairs but at least this time they were bound with gravshacks, not their own catsuits. But even with their bodies covered it was a jiggling and shimmying trip, with Torres, Troi and T’Pol each suffering their soft bosoms shaking and bouncing in their elastic tops as the shuttle coughed and struggled around them, enduring the heavy weather of Ferenginar.

The shuttle landed in the midst of a tropical storm. The Ferengi homeworld was a humid swampy world with most of its land masses covered by thick jungle, well-watered by frequent downpours. When the shuttle ramp lowered the three heroines were faced with sheets of pouring rain.

Golga stepped out into the storm with a smile on his face. “Now this is more like it,” he sighed as he unfurled an umbrella, “To stand in these rivers of muck and feel that refreshing spray.”

Behind him came his three bodyguards pushing their captives before them. Deanna, T’Pol and B’Elanna were shoved down the ramp and were immediately soaked by the heavy tropical storm. Their hair plastered and cold water ran down their bodies, making each woman shiver involuntarily.

Golga led the way as the three heroines were marched across the concrete of the landing area to the customs building. Outside it were long lines of Ferengi men waiting to be processed so they could move on the city itself. Golga and his men found a place in the queue and, with their three captives in tow, waited.

The presence of the three gorgeous women quickly drew attention. T’Pol, B’Elanna and Deanna felt many eyes fall on their faces and figures. The Betazoid’s dark eyes dropped, unwilling to meet their gazes. The Klingon glared at the Ferengi around her, daring them to look, while the Vulcan kept her eyes fixed ahead and her expression elegant and regal.

The white fabric of the women’s uniforms darkened with rain water, rapidly becoming transparent. Soon each woman’s nipples were visible as big brown circles. Thanks to the moisture their outfits clung even closer to the curves of their bodies, hugging asses and boobs and pussies and revealing intimate details to anyone who cared to look. And many men were looking.

B’Elanna gasped as she felt hands fondling her rump. Behind her was a Ferengi in rather ragged clothes. “This female is for sale?” he leered, squeezing the Klingon’s firm ass. Torres tried to wiggle free of the Ferengi’s fingers but his hands pressed harder against her buttocks, fondling the Lieutenant’s taut posterior.

“Get away from her!” Golga barked, ordering his guards with a gesture to move forward. The trespassing Ferengi retreated from Torres’ rear quickly, leaving the twenty-two year old gasping with relief and gratitude.

“Thanks,” the Maquis said grudgingly. “That miserable little troll was entirely too fresh with my whoop!” B’Elanna yelped in surprise as she felt a second pair of hands on her body, these settling over her breasts.

Another Ferengi was behind Torres, squeezing the Lieutenant’s titflesh through her wet elastic top. “Not much Klingon blood on the market on the best of days,” the interested man said, lifting B’Elanna’s boobs in his fingers. “A rare find.”

“Do something about him!” hissed Torres.

Golga looked the newcomer up and down, gauging the cut of the Ferengi’s clothing and the odd bits of jewelry he wore. “Rich enough,” he said, “Feel free to examine all three of them,” he allowed. B’Elanna gaped in shock. The only reason she had been spared from the earlier groping was because that Ferengi had appeared too poor to possibly purchase her. This Ferengi, on the hand, was given free rein to play!

Torres’ dark eyes shut in humiliation as she felt a hand slid down the front of her tight pants, fingers sliding down over her nether lips. “Firm, youthful,” the Ferengi said approvingly to Torres’ increasing embarrassment.

After another twenty seconds groping the Ferengi disengaged from Torres, leaving the twenty-two year old gasping in shame and outrage. “A very rare find,” he complimented. “Your name, sir?”

“Golga. She and her friends will be on the block in a week, at the first auction night of the new year.” The Ferengi watched as the potential buyer departed. Then he looked back at the three shackles Starfleet officers. “Could you girls make your tits a little bit smaller for a while? The attention is going to slow us down.”

Even as T’Pol, B’Elanna and Deanna gaped at the Ferengi’s audacity Golga’s attention was drawn by a gesturing Ferengi wearing a customs uniform. “Looks like our turn,” he said happily, leading the party forwards.

A trio of uniformed Ferengi were manning the scanning area. “Anything to declare?” their leader asked, although his eyes were lingering on the brown circles of T’Pol’s nipples, visible through her wet top.

“Just those three females,” Golga said, “My guards also carry weapons for my protection.”

“Huh.” The customs man lifted a sensor, scanning over Golga and his men with a few quick sweeps. But when it came to the gorgeous trio behind him the Ferengi took his time. “Hmm,” he said thoughtfully, slowly running the sensor up and down Deanna Troi’s body, savoring the sight of how the counselor’s wet uniform clung to every inch of her skin. “Very interesting,” he said, performing a lethargic sweep of B’Elanna Torres, the sensor brushing against her boobs several times during repeated passes. “We have to be careful,” the customs inspector admitted as he ran the sensor around T’Pol, swinging it left and right across her round bottom, then up and down over her bosom.

“None of them are carrying any diseases,” Golga said patiently, willing to wait as his three captives were examined.

“There’s still the matter of our cultural laws,” the younger of the three customs men added with a grin.

“We’ll get to that, Ikis,” his superior said calmly. “So… Golga, was it? Do you have a permit for importing livestock?”

“Livestock?” B’Elanna’s voice was incredulous. “We’re livestock?”

Golga grimaced and patted his coat pockets. “Would you accept an import pass for fruits and vegetables? Melons, for instance?”

Deanna Troi’s dark eyes widened with outrage. “Melons?”

The customs inspector eyed breasts of the three women, every curve lovingly displayed thanks to their soaked uniforms. “I’m afraid not.”

Scratching one large ear Golga made another suggestion. “What about a license for importing dairy animals?”

Even T’Pol’s regal features were shocked. “Dairy animals!?!”

“Almost,” grinned the customs Ferengi, “But not quite. You need the specific import license.”

With a snap of his fingers Golga’s eyes widened. “Now I remember where I put it! It’s inside the Vulcan’s shirt.”

The full pouting lips of Enterprise’s science officer opened in disbelief, her brown eyes dropping to her boobs. “No it is not!” she objected.

“One of those three must have it,” Golga insisted with an artful shrug. “I’m sure if you search them it’ll come up.”

The customs officer looked at Golga calmly. “That sounds like an ideal solution. Ikis!” the officer ordered, “Get your whip out, boy. Golga, make sure your pets stand still.”

The three heroines were gaping at horror at what they were witnessing. “You can’t be serious!” Deanna exclaimed even as their gravshacks switched settings from clasping behind their backs to hovering above their heads, forcing the Betazoid, the Vulcan and the Klingon to stand on tip-toe with their arms lifted. “You’re whoring us out for a bribe?”

“Whoring is such a harsh word,” Golga disagreed. “Just exploiting you. What’s the kid doing with that energy whip?”

“Just watch him,” the customs inspector said. “He’s an artist. Let her fly, boy.”

The Ferengi in question, a wiry teenager who had been called ‘Ikis’, grinned and activated the coiled device in his hand. The Ferengi energy whip crackled and glowed blue as he flicked it out, feeling its familiar weight. Eyeing his three targets the teen drew his arm back and swung.

Deanna Troi yelped as the whip lashed across her chest. But it was only a nervous scream, not a pained one: the finely-tuned weapon had not left a mark on her alabaster skin. But it had created a neat slice across the chest of her uniform. Between the natural pull of the elastic, the tightness of her top and the generous swell of her boobs the slim cut split wide open and the counselor’s milky melons spilled out of her uniform and bounced into view. The Betazoid gasped at her sudden exposure, helpless to do anything about her exposed tits.

The Ferengi swung his whip again, this time aiming for T’Pol’s ample chest. Such a large target proved an easy one. The weapon sliced a vertical cut down over the Vulcan’s left breast, then flicked a second cut down over her right boob. Again the elastic of the woman’s tight uniform was aided by the pressure of such wonderful melons squeezed inside the garment. Much to her humiliation T’Pol’s tits squeezed free, two globes of soft delight emerging from the holes in her top.

B’Elanna tensed as the whip lashed towards her helpless body. The first cut was long, traveling from her right shoulder down to her crotch. The second cut sliced from her left shoulder down to her kitty, leaving the Klingon’s uniform cut in a large V pattern. A third skillful slice from shoulder to shoulder completed the job. A triangle of fabric fell away from Torres’ uniform, fabric that had previously covered her from shoulders to snatch. Voyager’s chief engineer swallowed at the sight of her bare breasts, belly and pussy.

The three women’s shame doubled as the men in the customs area applauded, both at the Ferengi youth’s display of skill of the sight of the three women’s bare breasts.

“Good job Ikis,” the senior customs Ferengi said, striding up to T’Pol and gripping the ruins of the front of her uniform. “But I think we’ll do the rest by hand.” With two swift pulls he tore the Vulcan’s clothing away from her and T’Pol was naked before him. The sight of her bare bottom caused another round of applause. Deanna and B’Elanna flinched as their clothes were torn from their bodies, their tits jiggling from the force of their stripping. And then the customs men got to work.

The three heroines’ bare melons were squeezed, soft orbs massaged while thumbs worked across their stiffening nipples. Hands slid down their thighs, palms slapped against bottoms and fingers diddled with their pussy lips.

The stripsearch dragged on, the three customs men taking the time to feel out the lush curves and soft parts of the three helpless Starfleet officers. B’Elanna bit her lip to hold in her anger as a palm rubbed against her pussy lips, while Deanna felt tears of shame pop into her eyes as her ass was probed by a cruel finger. T’Pol’s self-control was in tatters, the Vulcan’s plump lips closing tightly and her eyes shutting as her breasts were lifted, dropped and then lifted again, demonstrating their soft heft to every man who cared to watch.

Despite the fact that the three women were slowing down the customs line, no one seemed to be objecting. All eyes were on Troi, Torres and T’Pol as their gorgeous naked figures were fondled and groped.

At long last the humiliating ordeal drew to a close with the senior customs inspector regretfully stepping away from T’Pol’s nude figure, giving the Vulcan’s tits one last slap of farewell. “No contraband in those jugs,” he said, “Although I was sure I’d find something with a pair that size. Golga, you said you had an import for melons and dairy animals?”

“Which one do you need?”

“Either or.” A pass was handed over, digitally stamped, and returned to its owner. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”

A grinned Golga led the three nude Starfleet officers out of the customs area, his oversized guards shadowing them. Their gravshacks returned to a rear-lock position, holding each woman’s wrists behind her back and thrusting their chests forwards. The three Starfleet officers were a gorgeous sight as they walked three abreast, every inch of their naked bodies exposed.

“You shredded our clothes!” T’Pol accused, her cheeks colored by her embarrassment.

“You’ll never need them again,” the Ferengi answered, looking over his shoulder appreciatively at the sexy sway of T’Pol’s breasts and hips as she walked. “You’re on Ferenginar now, Titpole. Women aren’t permitted clothes on my world.”

“He’s right,” Deanna admitted with horror in her accented voice. “I’ve never negotiated with a Ferengi that didn’t complain about me wearing clothing.”

B’Elanna Torres’ beautiful dark eyes were filled with horror. “What are you saying? You’re going to make us walk through the city naked!?”

The terrible truth dawned on the three heroines. It was not enough that Golga was going to sell them as slaves. During their already humiliating visit to the Ferenginar, Deanna Troi, B’Elanna Torres and T’Pol would be completely and utterly nude!

“A good salesman knows how to advertise,” Golga said slyly. “Which reminds me. Hold those three still, boys.” Big hands settled around Troi, T’Pol and Torres’ elbows as the Ferengi’s guards pulled the three women close with tit-jiggling strength. Each was forced to present her luscious full chest to Golga as he approached, drawing a black magic marker from his coat.

“Now what were the lot numbers they gave me?” he wondered. “Oh right, forty seven.” He carefully printed a number on B’Elanna’s toned shoulders, both the left and the right, then moved on to her Vulcan companion. “Titpole is forty eight,” he said, marking the science officer’s naked shoulders, “Which leaves Dana as forty nine.”

“Deanna,” complained the commander as her pale shoulders were inked with her lot number.

Golga stepped back, looking over the three nude and shackled Starfleet officers. “It’s not really clear enough, is it?” the Ferengi noted. “I don’t look at them and say I think I’ll buy one at the market, I think what a great set of tits.”

As the naked trio flushed with embarrassment and anger the Gorn holding Deanna by the arms hissed “Whosss gonna look at little ssignss when you can look at titss like theesse?” He demonstrated his point by reaching around Troi’s body to lift and release one of the counselor’s milky mams, a dark nipple bouncing and shivering with the movement.

“Good point. That gives me an idea.” Golga strode over to B’Elanna and lifted his marker pen to her bare breasts.

The Klingon squirmed in the hands of the Nausican holding her. “What are you doing?!” she exclaimed, her sexy struggles only succeeding in making her boobs jiggle to Golga’s annoyance. “Don’t you dare!”

“Hold that bitch still!” he snapped, gripping one of Torres’ boobs as he carefully applied his black pen to her tanned skin. Then he stepped back and observed his handiwork. “I think that does the trick.”

The athletic twenty-two year old looked down at her boobs, dark hair spilling around her face as she read the words that Golga had printed on her chest. Then she looked up at the Ferengi with anger and horror.

B’Elanna Torres was a brilliant engineer, a defiant Maquis and a proud woman. But now she would walk the streets of Ferenginar wearing nothing but the words “FOR SALE” printed on her breasts!

T’Pol was next. The Vulcan shut her eyes, her full lips opening and closing as she swallowed in nervous shame as Golga carefully inked the words “FOR SALE” onto the science officer’s amble bosom. The woman who was sometimes called the Mother of the Federation, a pivotal figure in Starfleet history, would now be paraded nude on this swampy little word with her tits bearing this humiliating sign.

Last was the voluptuous Betazoid. “You miserable little troll!” she cried as she was held still for Golga’s pen, “You can’t do this to me! You just can’t!”

“I should have brought another pen,” Golga commented, the Ferengi taking his time running the marker over the counselor’s pale skin, gripping her breasts to hold them still. “With this much tit I might run out of ink.”

Finally he was done. Commander Deanna Troi of the USS Enterprise, one of the most important diplomatic officers in the Federation, daughter of the Betazoid ambassador, now wore the words “FOR SALE” printed on her milky melons and nothing else.

The Nausican guard rubbed one thumb over B’Elanna’s titflesh, briefly deforming the word “SALE”. “Boss, is this permanent marker?” the giant asked, his mandibles flexing.

“Who cares? Now ladies, I have one more present for each of you.” The three shamed, angry and helpless Starfleet officers glared at the Ferengi, smarting over the humiliating signs that had been printed on their boobs. They barely noticed their guards retrieving small packs from their equipment until they were being clipped around each woman’s bare waist.

They were belts, mounted at the hips with angular boxes that hung nearly down the length of their thighs. Each box had a little slot at the top end and a sign in Ferengi printed beneath it.

“What does that say?” T’Pol queried, the Vulcan unfamiliar with Ferengi language.

Deanna swallowed. “Exact change only.”

B’Elanna Torres jerked against the hands of the Nausican holding her still. “You’re using us as vending machines?”

“Samplers,” Golga corrected. “One slip of latinum, thirty seconds playing with the goods. Sounds fair to me.” Even as the three women stared in stunned anger at the Ferengi’s plan he spoke quickly to his men. “Remember, just thirty seconds per payment. I don’t want marks on them, so no biting or hitting. They’re allowed to touch but not to put to anything in them. Meet me at the Orion’s lab about two hours after sundown, and stick to the central business lines. The more rich Ferengi see those tits the better.”

“This isn’t happening,” Troi whispered to herself, “This just isn’t possible. It must be a nightmare!”

“I’m going to kill you,” raged B’Elanna helplessly, “I swear I’ll get you for this!”

“I cannot believe it.” T’Pol was just staring at the words printed on her bare breasts in absolute despair. The Vulcan’s plump lips were open in shock, her brown eyes stunned at the depth to which she had fallen.

Nude except for their belts and the words “FOR SALE” on their tits, Deanna, B’Elanna and T’Pol were pulled out onto the street. Rain poured over their bare bodies and for a moment they thought this might save them from the worst of the humiliation. Surely few would venture into the streets in this weather, and it limited visibility.

But the three unclothed Starfleet officers would not be taking the streets. They lifted their faces as they heard a thundering rumble descend to street level. It was a broad and heavy sub-impulse transport, one designed for use inside the city, basically a flying train. “That’s the business sector express,” the Orion said. He gave T’Pol a shake, making the Vulcan’s boobs jiggle. “Let’s put Titpole and her friends to work.”

TO BE CONTINUED

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