STAR TREK: BROKEN BODICE
A parody by Micky Budarrap
Disclaimer: Star Trek, its characters, locations and plots are not my creations and are used without permission. No profit has been or will be made by their use in this story.
“Broke Bodice” is not intended for consumption by minors. If you are below the adult age in your country, state or county then read no further and delete this file from your computer. By reading this disclaimer you agree to take full responsibility for continuing.
The author does not encourage or condone the enormously disrespectful and frequently criminal things that are done to women in this story. The activities performed in this fictional work should never be inflicted on people in the real world.
This is a work of fiction that features rampant exploitation
of women in parody of the depictions of species and societies in Star Trek.
Where the TV shows and films only suggest for cheap titillation value, “Broken
Bodice” takes it to its sleazy conclusions. The story focuses on the perils and
misadventures of Deanna Troi (Star Trek: The Next
Generation), T’Pol (Star Trek:
Feedback can be directed to Mickt80@hotmail.com.
EPISODE 03: LEARNING CURVES
Her beautiful dark eyes filled with disbelief, Deanna Troi bowed her head and watched her own bare breasts being fondled.
Only a day before, she remembered, she had been sitting on
the
Now Deanna Troi was naked except for the shackles that bound her wrists behind her back and the words “FOR SALE” that had been printed in black ink on the milky slopes of her boobs. Her imperiously beautiful face was lowered as she watched orange Ferengi hands squeezing and lifting and playing with her tits, twisting and pulling on her nipples, the man having as much fun with the counselor’s voluptuous figure as possible before his allotted time expired.
“That’s thirty seconds,” the Gorn bodyguard standing before Troi announced. The gorgeous brunette sighed with relief as the Ferengi’s hands ceased to molest her boobs. Then she stiffened as she heard the clink of another slip of latinum being dropped into the cache belted at her hip: the sound of another Ferengi purchasing thirty seconds of play-time with the counselor. She shut her dark eyes as she felt one hand settle on her round rump and the other slide down her belly to her snatch, fingers diddling with her nether lips.
In the past day the counselor had been captured, stripped naked, shackled and marked for sale as a slave. And for the past three hours she had ridden onboard this hover-train as it wound through the business district of the Ferengi capital, providing cheap “samples” for the wealthy Ferengi who took this route to and from work. She had lost count of the number of men who had played with her boobs, bottom and pussy. All she knew was that her tits were aching from all the hands that had groped them, and that her nipples were stinging from being twisted and tugged, and that her ass throbbed from the firm massaging she had received, and that her delicate pussy folds were uncomfortably warm and moist after all the diddling she had endured.
Also the latinum boxes at her hips were growing heavy. Every customer who wanted the privilege of fondling Deanna Troi’s naked body had to drop a slip of latinum in, and it was now apparent that the counselor’s voluptuous body was a powerful lure and she was seeing plenty of business, whether she liked it or not!
All of this was the plan of Golga,
the Ferengi who had captured her. The
One of Golga’s guards, a seven foot tall reptilian Gorn, had been assigned to watch over the Betazoid. While the empathic Troi could not read the emotions of the Ferengi around her due to their unusual brain structure the counselor could easily sense the giant reptile’s perpetual arousal. It was constantly thinking about Deanna’s nude figure, of how magnificent her tits had felt in his big hands, of the delicious curves of her voluptuous figure and the outrage that had shown on the Commander’s face as each new humiliation had been revealed. The Gorn deeply desired her and Troi could sense its hunger to plant its cock inside her most secret of places.
Deanna was grateful that Golga had forbidden anything but basic fondling. She had heard stories about the size of Gorn organs and didn’t want to test whether such a broad tool could fit in her tight snatch.
She could also sense her companions. T’Pol
and B’Elanna Torres were also riding the hovertrain,
positioned further along the vehicle’s length to ensure that each woman
received a fair amount of attention. The psychic Troi
could feel the Klingon’s futile rage as hands squeezed her soft boobs and firm
ass, as well as the Vulcan’s trembling self-control as her naked body was
fondled and groped. Her heart went out to her companions but there was nothing Troi could do to help them, or even to help herself.
Another thirty seconds were up and another Ferengi regretfully relinquished his hold on Deanna’s sweet pussy and round ass. Almost immediately another man dropped a slip of latinum into one of the boxes belted to her wide hips and began his turn. He started by pushing back the counselor’s dark hair so that it would not spoil his view of her tits, and then he began to squeeze and lift her milky orbs.
“You’re Deanna Troi, aren’t you?” The Commander looked away in shame as the Ferengi with his hands on her tits recognized her imperiously beautiful features. “I’m right, you are?”
It wasn’t the first time that the Betazoid’s name had been spoken. Dozens of men had recognized the lush-bodied brunette as one of Starfleet’s finest diplomatic officers once they had gotten up close and personal with her tits. She kept her plump lips closed and endured as her breasts were pulled up and down, her left tit and then the right in a mouthwatering display.
“Does your mommy the Betazoid ambassador know you’re letting men play with your titties?” the Ferengi taunted as he pushed Deanna’s boobs together. The insult made Troi roll her eyes at the humiliating thought of her mother seeing her like this, a bound and naked plaything of so many Ferengi that she had given up trying to count them. She was appalled that these men might think that such a taunt might be a turn-on.
But as a psychiatrist Deanna could understand the Ferengi’s desires, even if
she despised them. The three heroines were more than just hot bodies to be
toyed with. For example, B’Elanna Torres was a strikingly attractive woman with
lovely athletic legs, a firm ass and a taut stomach that the voluptuous Troi envied. But as a half Klingon she was much more. She
was a chance for a Ferengi to possess and torment a member of one of the
strongest and proudest species. All the arrogance and pride of the Klingon
Empire could be turned on its head for just a slip of latinum
and the chance to pull on B’Elanna Torres’ nipples.
In the same way T’Pol was more than a lean and beautiful woman with an impressive rack. She was a Vulcan, and a legendary figure to boot. Myths abounded that beneath their cold logical exterior T’Pol’s species were fiery sexual creatures. Now these men could fondle her body and try to break her defenses and take away her dignity and elegance.
But Deanna Troi knew that the real prize was herself. She was a Starfleet officer and a significant figure in Federation diplomacy. Among the Ferengi she was something of a celebrity, a clothed female with power and authority, something that stung their male-centric pride as well as foiled their efforts to expand their greedy commerce into the Federation. Now she was a naked except for the words “FOR SALE” on her bare breasts, a plaything that could be rented for a single slip of latinum.
The counselor’s reflections were interrupted by orange fingers combing through her curly pubic hair. “It’s too bad that you’re such a hairy slut,” complained the Ferengi, as any hair at all was practically unknown among his species. His fingers took hold of Deanna’s thatch and cruelly pulled upward.
Troi gasped, her breasts quivering on her chest as she stood on tip-toe to ease the discomfort of being yanked up by her pubes. The sensation was uncomfortable and her posture humiliating. “What, doesn’t the lofty Starfleet officer like that?” the Ferengi taunted. “Then maybe you should have shaved, Miss Troi!” He gave her pubic hair another yank, squeezing a little cry of distress from the counselor. Her big nipples quivered on the tips of her tits as she stood on tip-toe, pulled upward by her curly pubes.
The hovertrain slowed and descended. Thirty seconds ticked away and Troi’s Gorn guard carefully pushed the Ferengi away from the Betazoid’s figure. Many other men riding the train sighed in disappointment, seeing that they wouldn’t get a chance to fondle Deanna’s curvaceous figure. The counselor realized with shock that many of them had already taken a turn with her and had been lining up for second helpings! But at least for now she was free of their groping hands. She let out a relieved breath as the train emptied.
She sighed too soon. The Gorn grabbed Deanna by the arms and pressed her chest-first against the train’s window. The counselor gasped as her tits were flattened against the transparent aluminium, the words “FOR SALE” easily visible to anyone outside the train. Even in her humiliation the empath could sense T’Pol and B’Elanna’s outrage as, further along the train, they too were forced to stand boobs-against-glass and flaunt their assets to the crowds outside.
“Advertising,” whimpered Troi in embarrassment as the men outside the train were shown the “FOR SALE” message inked on her bare breasts.
The hovertrain ascended, a fresh load of passengers brought onboard during its stop. Deanna groaned with defeat as she was pulled from the window and pulled close by the Gorn. The reptilian brute took hold of Troi’s boobs and jiggled them up and down in his big hands, making the counselor’s tits vibrate on her chest. “Check out the new item in ssstock,” the giant hissed, “She’ll be on the auction block in one week. Sample the goods for just one slip of latinum.”
Deanna closed her eyes in humiliation as the Ferengi drew towards her, forming a line. There was a clink as a slip of latinum was dropped into one of her hip-caches and the embarrassing groping resumed, Ferengi fingers gripping her big nipples and twisting them until the Starfleet officer squealed in protest.
+++++
Deanna, B’Elanna, T’Pol and their hulking guards disembarked at the next stop. Their owner was waiting for them in front of a flat concrete structure, its windowless walls stained with Ferenginar’s muck and grime.
“Right on time!” Golga watched approvingly as the three Starfleet officers were marched off the hovertrain with tit-shaking steps, their guards holding them firmly by the arms. “How did we go? Did our three girls reach the market?” He looked over their faces, flushing and lowered with humiliation, and saw the pink marks on their tits from vigorously gropings. “Looks like the market reached you three.”
B’Elanna Torres glared at the Ferengi as he undid her belt and removed the two cashboxes at her hips. He plugged his datapadd into a slot on either box, the record of the day’s sales transferring to his screen. “A hundred and forty four customers, B’Elanna! That’s an excellent result for three hours. Today was a good day to be groped!”
“Bastard,” she said, trying to leave forward to spit on the Ferengi but foiled as her Nausican guard yanked her back from behind, making the twenty-two year old’s big brown nipples tremble on her breasts with the movement.
Golga was already opening T’Pol’s cash boxes and scanning the contents. “One hundred and seventy-three slips of latinum! You were very popular today, Titpole.”
“Your barbarism is illogical and self-destructive,” the Vulcan accused, trying to ignore the aching soreness in her generous tits.
Last was Deanna’s loot. “Nearly two hundred,” Golga said approvingly. “Looks like you’ve beaten out the Vulcan, Donna. You should be proud.”
“Deanna,” the counselor objected, rolling her dark eyes in horror at that thought that her naked body had just been groped by nearly two hundred Ferengi and ogled by even more.
With Golga in the lead the nude trio were escorted into the flat and ugly structure beside them. They found themselves in a secure concrete-walled room with no windows and no furniture, only two doors. It was probably a waiting room but was as attractive as a prison cell.
With a push of a button the Ferengi deactivated the women’s bracelets, giving them the freedom to move their arms for the first time since their rude awakening that morning. “I’m going to make sure everything’s set up with K’Nysa. You girls can wait here.”
The entrance sealed behind Golga and his guards and the three heroines were left alone.
“That was most uncomfortable,” T’Pol groaned, cradling her melons in her hands. B’Elanna and Troi also cupped their breasts carefully, still feeling the hands of so many men on their soft orbs.
“If one of those sickly trolls touches my tits one more time,” Torres promised, “I swear I’m going to scream.”
“One more time?” retorted Deanna. “I had fifty more men squeezing my boobs than you did!”
The Maquis’ angry dark eyes turned on the nude Betazoid. “That’s, that’s…” Her complaint trailed off, the fury fading from her expression as she looked up and down Deanna’s gorgeous figure. “I suppose you did,” Torres admitted finally, disarmed by the fact that her plight was shared by these other women. A wry smile appeared on the Lieutenant’s features as she eyed the supple delights of Troi’s breasts. “I can see why you were so popular.”
Deanna’s beautiful features showed shock at the Klingon’s comments. She blushed, then shut her eyes with a rueful grin. “That’s not really fair,” the counselor replied, her black eyes settling on B’Elanna’s bare breasts. The Maquis had nothing to be ashamed of, even in such well-proportioned company. “You’re a lot more competitive than you give yourself credit for, Lieutenant.”
“This mutual appreciation serves no purpose,” interrupted T’Pol. The Vulcan elegantly lowered herself to a cross-legged position, her beautiful face growing calm as she sought to center herself. Her hands remained on her sore breasts, however. “It will certainly not free us from Golga’s possession.”
“Right,” B’Elanna agreed, “We’ve got to find a way out of here and off this wretched planet.”
Troi nodded her agreement, leaning
against the wall and sliding down with her pale legs curling underneath her.
“Alright,” she began, folding her arms in front of her boobs so that she was
pushing up a delicious cleavage, “I’ve been on Ferenginar before. I didn’t go
outside much,” she added quickly, “But I know a little of the layout of this
city. I think I saw the
With new hope in her eyes B’Elanna looked towards the locked door. “If we could get outside we could make it on foot!”
“You’re a wanted criminal in the Federation,” Deanna said to the Maquis. “Even if we get there they’ll probably imprison you.”
“Better a jail uniform than butt-naked!” Torres said indignantly, settling her hands on her hips.
“I desire freedom as much as you,” cautioned T’Pol, attempting to appear serene despite being stark naked with “FOR SALE” printed on her tits, “But Golga and his men are at their most alert right now. It would appear that our sale will not take place for another week. We should plan, better learn our surroundings, gather what equipment we can and make an attempt later, when their attention lulls.”
“Lie back and take it,” B’Elanna said, “That’s advice you could expect from a Vulcan. But I have to agree. I don’t think we’re in much state to run.” Making the point clearer the Klingon cupped her tender boobs in her hands. “God, I miss bras. I really miss bras.”
As the other two heroines nodded in fervent agreement the inner door slid open and Golga’s thugs tramped in. With big eager hands they grabbed the nude trio by arm and hair and tit and hoisted them back through the entrance to where Golga was waiting.
Their Ferengi owner was speaking with an Orion woman. She had the slim waist and thighs of a dancer but had deliciously curving hips and breasts, all well displayed by the light, almost transparent garments she wore. “This is a full package you’re asking for Golga,” the green-skinned bombshell was saying, flicking back her long raven hair, “That’s a big investment. I don’t object to the money but are you sure you want to bet it on these… hello,” she breathed as she caught sight of the nude trio being marched in.
“See what I mean, K’Nysa?” Golga said, spreading his arms to indicate his three sexy prizes. “Pure cream.”
“Interesting specimens,” the Orion said appreciatively, walking around the three naked Starfleet officers and eyeing their curves with a professional eye. “Very, very nice. A bit obvious a point, don’t you think?” she asked as she reached out to trace her fingertips along the words “FOR SALE” on B’Elanna Torres’ breasts. The Klingon jerked back from the woman’s touch but the Nausican guard holding her pushed her forwards again, offering the Lieutenant’s bare chest for further examination.
“Honesty is the best policy,” Golga said. “Will you do it, K’Nysa?”
The Orion considered the three shamed and shackled officers appreciatively. “Consider it done,” K’Nysa said, waving a hand imperiously, “Strap them into the frames, lads.”
In the center of K’Nysa’s laboratory was a set of open-topped vats filled with a clear viscous liquid. Frames and cables and machinery nearby provided a way for objects to be lowered into the vats. It was to these frames that the three heroines were bound.
The instant her gravshacks eased B’Elanna was struggling, but to no avail. The twenty-two year old’s arms and legs were strapped into place, forcing Voyager’s chief engineer to stand spread-eagle in her frame. T’Pol went with less resistance, allowing her long limbs to be positioned and secured. Deanna was hesitant to uncover her aching boobs, having finally had the chance to cover them, and had to have her arms dragged away from her delicious chest-treats as she was tied in place.
“What are you doing to us?” cried out Troi, “I demand to know mmmpphhh!” Her objections were cut off by a mask that was placed over her mouth and nose, a tube inside the mask pushing into between her teeth and effectively gagging her.
“Just giving you every advantage you need in your new lives,” Golga explained as T’Pol and B’Elanna were likewise masked.
“We prefer subjects to be unconscious during the procedure,” the Orion K’Nysa added. “The training takes hold better that way.”
“Mmmpphhh??” was B’Elanna’s objection. Then the Klingon’s eyes went wide as another bundle of equipment was pushed up against her nethers. “Mmmmpphhh!” complained Voyager’s chief engineer as her pussy and ass were slathered with a lubricating gel. Alongside her Troi and T’Pol received similar treatment, their nethers moistened with a sticky goo.
“Make sure those waste-reclaimers in there good and tight,” K’Nysa ordered. “I don’t want them popping out during the procedure when the girls start wiggling.”
Tubes were pushed up in each captive’s vagina and ass. In unison B’Elanna, Deanna and T’Pol arched their backs and went “Mmmmpphhh!” as they felt the life-support systems humiliatingly lodge themselves in their tight channels.
K’Nysa moved around the women and the frames they were strapped to, checking fittings and tubes. “Oh, you three are going to be incredible.” She patted Deanna on the left tit encouragingly. “You’re going to drive men insane. Okay, it all looks good. Swing ‘em!”
Machinery activated, drawing cables upwards and lifting the frames to which the three heroines were bound. Each woman was swung downward so that she hung facing the floor, tits dangling freely with the words “FOR SALE” easily readable by K’Nysa, Golga and the Ferengi’s guards. “Mmmmpphh!” raged B’Elanna helplessly, thrashing in her bindings and making her boobs jiggle invitingly.
The three captives were hoisted up in their frames and
maneuvered above the open vats. T’Pol’s brown eyes
went wide with trepidation, her Vulcan self control abandoning her as
Simultaneously the three Starfleet officers were lowered towards adjacent vats. The three women struggled and pulled on their straps, their sexy struggles only making their tits wiggle as they drew closer and closer to the surface.
Their hanging boobs dipped into the cold goo and each woman recoiled, pulling upwards as far as they could to keep their tits out of the liquid. But the frames to which they were tied continued to drop, forcing each naked Starfleet officer into the chilled fluid, immersing their naked curves in the goop.
“Mmmpphh!” wept Deanna in helpless shame and fear. She could still breathe through the mask but she had never felt so vulnerable as she did right now, naked and bound and dipped in this disgusting liquid. She could feel it touching every part of her.
They could only faintly hear K’Nysa’s next order. “Run the tranquillizer into their masks. Let these babies sleep while we get the first stage underway. Scan forebrains for established patterns and…”
They didn’t hear the rest. T’Pol,
Deanna Troi and B’Elanna Torres fell into a
drug-induced slumber.
+++++
T’Pol sat up sharply, her bare boobs jiggling on her chest. The Vulcan looked around herself in shock. “Where…?”
She was lying on the deck of a bridge. The Vulcan’s memory served her well: this was Starheart, the ship where she and her companions had first awoken. Deanna and B’Elanna gasped and sat up beside her, each woman stark naked.
“What the hell?” Torres said, clutching her hands to her breasts. She looked down and almost giggled. “It’s gone! It’s gone!”
Deanna and T’Pol realized what the Klingon was speaking of. The humiliating signs “FOR SALE” that Golga had written on their breasts were nowhere to be seen. The three heroines cautiously got to their feet, wrapping their arms around their naked bodies as they took in the poorly lit interior of Starheart’s bridge.
“How were we moved here?” questioned T’Pol.
“I don’t think we’re here at all,” Deanna said cautiously, her dark eyes moving around their surroundings. “This feels wrong. This isn’t real.”
A blur of blue and black appeared before them, making each woman take a boob-shaking leap back. A voice crackling with static said “I’m hoping the link will let me…” Then the image vanished.
B’Elanna kept her gorgeous eyes on the spot where the apparition had appeared. “If this isn’t real, then what is it?”
“Some kind of mental construct,” the empathic Deanna said although without much certainty. “We’re not actually here. This is some kind of transmission.”
“…trying to help you!” The image reappeared, this time sharpening into focus. It was a young woman wearing the black and blue uniform of Starfleet sciences. Her pale blue skin and the antennae that emerged from her snow-white hair revealed her to be an Andorian. She looked almost too young to wear the uniform, still in her teens. Large blue eyes moved over the three heroines. “Starheart’s systems are charging up but I can’t do anything with them. They never gave the AI command control over the main systems. Starheart needs a crew…” Again the voice was lost in static, although the image continued to speak and gesture.
“Melika,” B’Elanna said softly. “I know this girl. She worked on the Starheart engine. Really smart kid but a little too chirpy.”
“A hologram?” asked T’Pol. “In a vision?”
Deanna approached the hologram, the light from the image playing on her naked skin. “This is a message,” the counselor breathed.
The voluptuous brunette turned to face her companions, her
hands on her hips. “It’s telling us that there’s a way to escape!”
+++++
It seemed only a second later that they awoke in the vats.
The frames were drawn up out of the gel, lifting Deanna, T’Pol and B’Elanna’s naked forms from the gooey slime. Viscous goo dribbled off their bodies, accumulating at the tips of the dangling breasts to pour down into the vats. Troi shook her head to clear her woozyness, making her melons shake and flicking gel from her teats.
“I can still read it,” K’Nysa was
saying, pointing up at the three women. “FOR
“It’s not my problem,” the Ferengi said as he watched his three officers-become-slaves being lowered to the floor, now positioned upright in their restraints. “Let the buyers worry about that. I’m sure they won’t complain about having to scrub those tits for a few hours. So has the procedure taken?”
“Mmmpphhh!” objected Torres as the tubes in her ass and pussy popped free. T’Pol and Troi made similar complaints as their life-support systems yanked themselves out of their tight places, making each woman shudder. Their masks came off and the two Commanders and the Lieutenant gasped in fresh air, bare breasts heaving.
“There’s only one way to find out,” K’Nysa said. “Untie them. Come on girls, over here.”
The trio were unstrapped from their frames. They dropped to their knees, their naked skin slimy with the goo. With a cautious look towards Golga’s menacing guards they heeded the Orion woman’s order, straightening up and walking towards her.
“Oh my,” Golga said appreciatively. “That is an improvement.”
“What?” Deanna looked down at her naked figure and then quickly at those of her companions, but initially she could see nothing different. Out of paranoia she grabbed her own breasts, briefly terrified that the Ferengi might have enhanced her boobs, but her tits seemed the same size. “What have you done to us?”
The three Starfleet officers couldn’t see it but the difference was unmistakable to Golga’s beady eyes. Instead of normal strides the three women were walking with a hip-swaying, rump-wiggling gait. On each step they lifted and dropped themselves with their calves a half inch, making their tits jiggle.
“Unconscious muscle memory,” K’Nysa said with a wicked smile.
Golga shook his head as he gazed at the three women as they unwittingly strutted sexily towards him. “That’s going to double their value on the block. Just stunning.”
“Motor functions are just patterns in the brain,” the Orion woman explained. “All I did was program some more into them. Wonderful, isn’t it? I normally only do this on Orions, and the occasional Bajoran for my Cardassian clients. But I was able to give these girls the full range of sexual techniques.”
“Sexual what?”
gasped B’Elanna.
“Techniques!?” squeaked Deanna.
Golga grinned. “And the rest?”
K’Nysa idly checked a datapadd in her hand. “You said you wanted to leave command words up for your buyers to decide, so I didn’t program in anything. I’ve halted their aging, so you won’t have to worry about…”
“You cannot simply halt the aging process!” T’Pol exclaimed.
“Of course you can!” the Orion woman answered. “The Federation is lousy with silly ideas like death being a companion who keeps borrowing money from you. Orions have been offering this technology for decades, but one Starfleet admiral overdoses on a treatment like an idiot and you all declare that it’s impossible!” She turned back to Golga. “The metabolic shift is holding. They’ll heal up fast and perfectly, so you won’t have to worry about bruising or stretch marks. It will be basically impossible for them to lose their figures by eating wrong.”
The three heroines stared at the Orion with dark disbelieving eyes. “You’re trying to make us into perfect sex slaves,” Torres said in a voice quiet with horror.
“I didn’t have to work very hard,” K’Nysa rebutted with a toss of her long dark hair. “And I know you didn’t ask for this Golga, but Ferengi don’t like hairy women. I adjusted their hormones so they would never have to shave their legs. Or other places,” she added.
There were three gasps as Deanna, B’Elanna and T’Pol’s hands flew to their pussies. Each woman realized with shock that their nethers were now smooth and bald without a trace of pubic hair. Their armpits were just as hairless, and even the tiny almost invisible hairs that would normally be present on their arms were gone.
K’Nysa had more surprises. “In addition most of their main sensory nerve clusters have been boosted. Should be very impressive.”
Golga’s eyes moved across the three Starfleet officers’ bare bodies. Then he pressed a button on his gravshack control unit, yanking the women’s wrists once more behind their backs, forcing their FOR SALE breasts to thrust forwards. “So they’re sensitive? Give us a demonstration, boys.”
T’Pol gasped as the Orion goon gripped the underswell of her left breast and lifted it. The Vulcan’s eyes rolled in a sudden wash of pleasure as his thumb rubbed across the roughness of her aureole and then flicked over her quickly stiffening nipple. She tried to turn away but the Orion simply pulled her back by her tit, squeezing a mewling cry out of the short-haired science officer, and then got to work with one of T’Pol’s breasts in either hand.
“No!” Deanna Troi cried out as the
Gorn wrapped one arm around her narrow waist, pulling the raven-haired beauty
close, and then slid his other hand between the Commander’s legs. “Oooohhh,” groaned the
B’Elanna’s dark hair flicked around her face as she turned left and right, looking for an escape route as the Nausican guard approached her. Too late she tried to break into a run only to find the man’s hand in her dark hair, pulling her back with a cry of distress. His free hand slid down over Torres’ firm buttocks and then between her athletic thighs, his fingers wiggling upwards against the twenty-two year old’s most secret of places. Voyager’s chief engineer squealed in wide-eyed pleasure, suddenly standing on her tip-toes as the Nausican fondled B’Elanna Torres’ pussy.
Golga watched with approval as the three women groaned and whimpered in unwanted pleasure. Perspiration beaded on their skin. Bare breasts rose and fell with their quickening breaths. Dark eyes rolled back and dark hair flicked left and right as B’Elanna, Deanna and T’Pol struggled weakly against the overwhelming ecstasy.
“Haven’t even gotten to the main event and they’re already ready to pop,” K’Nysa smiled wickedly.
“When it comes to whores you do great work, K’Nysa,” Golga admired, then winced and lifted his hands to his ears as Deanna let out a particularly high-pitched squeak of pleasure. “That’s enough for now, boys,” he said, ordering his men to cease molesting the three sexily wiggling Starfleet officers, “Let’s leave the ladies with what little dignity they have left.”
The Ferengi looked to the Orion women with admiration. “Masterpieces, K’Nysa. I think B’Elanna, Tit Pole and Dina are ready for the show.”
“T’Pol,” corrected the Vulcan, her bare breasts shining with perspiration as they heaved with her panting.
“And my name is Deanna,”
complained the curvaceous counselor, trembling with remembered pleasure as her
Orion guard kept one arm around her waist, his hand raised so that he could
support the heft of the Betazoid’s right tit. That hand lifted to give Troi’s boob a squeeze. “I’m just saying,” she said lamely.
B’Elanna, meanwhile, set her shoulders and gave the Ferengi
the steadiest and most serious look she could while completely naked with her
wrists behind her back and the words FOR SALE printed on her bare breasts.
“What show are you talking about,
Ferengi?” the Klingon demanded.
+++++
Deanna could not hold in her gasp as her buttocks were fondled.
The raven-haired Starfleet officer stood naked on an elevated stage, lights mounted at the edges of the platform ensuring her lushly proportioned body was well-illuminated. Her gravshacks kept her wrists behind her back, making the twenty-nine year old thrust her bare breasts forwards. The words FOR SALE inked on her tits rose prominently as Troi drew in a humiliated breath.
This chamber was a pre-sale area where merchandise was examined before the main auction began. There were many platforms in this chamber with many beings on display, almost exclusively female, typically young and scantily dressed if not completely nude, often in groups or lots. Only two platforms across from where Troi and her companions stood there was a gaggle of Bajoran girls, most looking younger than twenty, all naked and chained together at the ankle as they were examined by a Cardassian. The sight of the teenagers’ breasts being squeezed and pinched would have outraged the counselor but her own circumstances were not much better.
“Would this be your first slave purchase?” enquired Golga. The Ferengi and his oversized guards were also on the platform, keeping watch on their naked and valuable merchandise as it was examined.
Deanna’s black Betazoid eyes darted as she felt hands sliding up and down her thighs, fondling her softness. “I’m a regular customer,” replied the Romulan as he inspected the counselor’s long creamy legs. “But normally I purchase through a representative.”
His inspecting hands rose back up to Troi’s bottom. She felt her ass cheeks squeezed and separated, massaged to feel beneath the puppy fat that gave her rump its lovely round shape. Then the Romulan felt up her back, over her shoulders and down her biceps, squeezing in the search for toned muscle. Deanna’s dark eyes closed and she bit her lip in unwanted pleasure. The Orion conditioning was already proving its effectiveness: the man’s touch was warming her from the inside out, making the counselor’s nipples harden and her pussy lips become puffy and excited. But while her body was responding favorably her mind was no less uncomfortable.
Every second of this fondling Troi had expected, or dreaded, that he would feel up her breasts. After all everyone else had. She, B’Elanna and T’Pol had been on the display platform for more than an hour and it would not be first time that Deanna Troi’s breasts had been molested. Yet this Romulan seemed to have no interest in the counselor’s soft ample tits.
In fact he had no interest in her at all. “Pathetic,” he said, straightening. “I thought that Starfleet training would produce a harder kind of woman. The only thing this one is good for is looking pretty.” As the raven-haired counselor cringed in shame the Romulan stepped away from her, moving on to the next woman standing on Golga’s inspection platform.
He halted, looking up and down the bronze-skinned long-limbed beauty, taking in the points on her ears and how her round rump and heavy breasts contrasted her otherwise lean body. He tested the firmness of her thighs with his hands, sliding his fingers down and then up, fondling her ass before feeling the firmness of her back and shoulders.
Finally he looked the Vulcan woman in the face, taking in the shape of her
eyes, the line of her nose and her pouting lips. “You are T’Pol,”
the Romulan said.
“Yes,” the Vulcan confirmed.
“That’s impossible.”
“Yes,”
The Romulan seemed to take this on face value. He looked down at T’Pol’s generous breasts, the “FOR SALE” sign inked onto her chest, and the round brown nipples that tipped her tits. He took hold of one boob and lifted it, feeling its heft in his hands, enjoying how the softness of the Vulcan’s bosom threatened to spill through his fingers.
T’Pol’s plump lips parted and her eyes widened slightly as pleasure throbbed in her tit. The Orion conditioning she had so recently received made the sensation of having her tit squeezed exquisitely pleasant.
“You know, you might have been perfect,” the Romulan said softly, rolling the mass of T’Pol’s tit in his hand. “You might have had everything I was looking for.” He released the woman’s boob, letting it drop and bounce and returned to its prior perfection, round and heavy on her chest. “But with breasts like those, and your name, you’ll be far too expensive.”
Golga stepped forward, the short Ferengi standing on the tips of his toes to speak over T’Pol’s naked shoulder. “And what would be your name, sir?”
“Torfik,” was the Romulan’s short
answer. “I have an excellent purchase and payment record of expensive items, if
that is what concerns you.” The Romulan’s eyes returned to T’Pol’s
face, considering her haughtily beautiful features, and then roamed down her
generously proportioned body. “I could buy
you, but it would likely cripple me. You are not worth it.”
He came to the last woman standing on the platform, and this one caused Torfik to halt in thoughtful silence. He looked up and down her olive-skinned body, nude like her companions, shackled with her wrists behind her back to thrust her proud, high breasts forward with the words “FOR SALE” easy to read. The Romulan stepped around her, looking over her taut athletic ass, her toned thighs, firm stomach and nicely defined shoulders and biceps. She was not bulky but she was clearly fighting fit. She had small ridges on her forehead, indicating Klingon blood in her ancestry.
B’Elanna Torres’ dark eyes shifted at the attention. “What do you want?” she asked caustically.
Torfik answered by placing one hand on her belly and the other on her ass. As the woman tensed at the contact he felt out her muscles, massaging her firm buttocks while feeling the strength in her lower torso. His hand lingered on B’Elanna’s rump, exploring its curves, feeling the muscle underneath the slim layer of fat that lent to its soft shape. He knelt and fondled her thighs, feeling the potential in the half-Klingon’s strong legs. Then he straightened to slide his palms over the back and shoulders of Voyager’s chief engineer.
The half-Klingon shut her eyes, an involuntary shiver running through her magnificent body as the examination continued in silence. Torfik checked Torres’ fingers for old breaks. He stepped around to her front and reached out to gently grip her face. He turned B’Elanna’s head left and right, shifting her hair to look over her neck and her ears. Before the Klingon could react he squeezed a pressure point on her jaw, forcing her mouth to open so that he could inspect her teeth.
Torfik smiled. “Magnificent,” he murmured. Now his attention shifted to B’Elanna Torres’ breasts. Voyager’s chief engineer let out a gasp as the Romulans hands slid around her tits and squeezed. He felt her fullness, hefting her soft melons and brushing his thumbs across the Maquis’ dark nipples, urging them to stiffen and poke against his palms.
He looked B’Elanna Torres in the eyes as he fondled her tits. “A very interesting specimen,” he commented, maintaining eye contact with the half-Klingon whose breasts he was squeezing.
“She’s a nice little piece of ass,” Golga agreed. “Can I expect you to make a bid?”
“Oh, certainly.” Torfik smiled. “I’ll be bidding on this one, if you don’t lose her first.”
+++++
Golga blinked and directed a skeptical look at the prospector. “You say you want what?”
His answer came in the form of a cheery smile and a lifted briefcase. “I said I wanted to take samples.”
The potential buyer was a woman, although not of any species Golga or any of his captives recognized. She had pale skin and strange pointed ears, structures that seemed to rise out of her jaw and temples like gills. Her eyes had unnaturally large irises, blue in color, and when looking at her one might get the impression that one eye was looking at a slightly different angle than the other, like a glass eye or a badly positioned contact lens. Her hair was dark and curly and hugged her head like a helmet.
The woman opened her case. Within was a set of phials, each mounted with a small circular sucker-like device. The alien woman turned her strange eyes towards Golga. “I am interested in making a purchase, but only if the specimens have certain biological properties. So I wish to test them.”
B’Elanna, Deanna and T’Pol considered the strange sucker-mounted devices in the case with mounting horror.
Golga rubbed the edge of one eye with a finger. “What does this involve, exactly? And what did you say your name was again?”
“I would take lactic samples, and I did not give you my name. I am Papilia,” she said, straightening as she offered her unnaturally cheery grin. She thrust forward a hand to shake, her fingers looking pale and dead. After a second’s thought the Ferengi accepted and shook the offered appendage, and spent the rest of the discussion trying to subtly wipe his palm on his trousers.
Papillia wore a very short skirt that flaunted her long pale legs and a vest that only barely closed over her bosom, pushing her titflesh toether into a prominent cleavage. Looking at that cleavage Golga wondered why the female was not naked, as according to Ferengi law. Surely she must have been challenged several times during her visit. While her skin felt clammy and unpleasant, the bulges of her tits looked invitingly plump and full.
The small and bizarre female closed the case with a crisp movement and then wiggled it, directing her pale eyes at the Ferengi. “Then may I proceed?”
Golga looked back over his shoulder at his unwilling merchandise, then back at Papilia. “Well, the way we work around here, Papilia, is that you can check out what’s for sale if you’re actually able to afford to purchase. I’m not interested in science experiments, but in actual prospectors. These are very classy, very high grade women up there,” he said, gesturing to the three shackled beauties standing naked behind him. Then his eyes traveled down Papilia’s chest, admiring the cleavage created by her small too-tight vest. “And what exactly is a female doing walking around Ferenginar with clothing on…”
Suddenly there was a figure standing beside Papilia. He was at least a foot taller than she, his features almost entirely hidden by the massive jacket and hood he wore. Only his hands were visible, his skin looking tough and weathered like armored rhinoceros hide. In those wrinkly armored hands was a bag of latinum.
Golga blinked again. It wasn’t gold pressed latinum, diluted in order to make the valuable material easier to separate into payable measures. This was latinum in its liquid form, sloshing in slow-motion, several hundred bars worth. And it was in a fragile plastic baggy Golga wouldn’t have used to store tube grubs.
The Ferengi found his voice a few seconds later. “Test away. You should put that in a stronger container,” he added as Papillia climbed onto the platform to join the naked beauties standing on display there.
She approached B’Elanna first, holding up a pair of small sucker-mounted phials. “Hold still,” Papillia warned.
The Klingon’s dark eyes were close to panic as she saw the devices coming towards her. “What are you doing?”
“I said hold still! K’Mataclan, I need them to be still.”
Suddenly Torres felt hands around her upper arms. Her dark hair flicked around her face as she wriggled and thrashed uselessly, her boobs shaking left and right. Golga stepped back in surprise, seeing that all three heroines were now being held from behind by an oversized hooded man. They seemed to have appeared out of thin air. Each resembled the one who had provided the latinum, hooded to conceal their features with only their scaly armored hands exposed. Each was at least a few inches over six feet and exuded an air of permanent belligerence and an aching need to explode in back-snapping, skull-crushing violence.
At that point Golga realized how Papilia had made it so deep into Ferenginar’s commerce districts without being challenged on her choice of clothing. He had been hoping for the chance to see what kind of figure the women had beneath her clothing, but now he decided he liked having a single unbroken length of spinal column and kept his mouth diplomatically shut.
Hands tightened around B’Elanna’s upper arms and the Klingon stilled her struggles. Voyager’s chief engineer breathed deep in an effort to calm herself as Papilia touched the sucker-mounted phials to the twenty-two year old’s puffy nipples.
The small mechanisms bit down on her tender teats. B’Elanna gasped, her breasts bobbing slightly as she felt something sharp and narrow, like a needle, spike directly through her nipple and into the flesh of her boob. A second later she felt another sting in her other tit. “What are you doing?” the brunette woman demanded, staring at the two devices that were now attached to her nips.
“Lactic samples,” Papillia answered, returning her attention to her case.
“I hope you’re not damaging my merchandise,” Golga said, his tone modulated to express perfectly reasonable concern without being in the least bit threatening.
“Damaging? Only slightly,” was Papilia’s answer as a second set of phials were produced. “Two out of ten subjects experience temporary swelling of their breasts and heightened sensitivity over the next few hours as their glands attempt to boost production. The other eight out of ten experience permanent swelling and sensitivity. Oh, this one is a half breed Betazoid-human! How interesting!”
Stepping forward to voice an objection, Golga found a huge hand on his shoulder. One of the shroud-wearing men was silently warning him from approaching his master. Meanwhile Deanna Troi gave a short yelp of discomfort as phials were attached the Betazoid’s big brown teats.
Realizing that his own men were outnumbered, Golga nodded his big-eared head in acceptance. “Okay,” the now-cowed Ferengi said, “I suppose I can let you finish up.”
“Thank you,” Papilia said with earnest gratitude.
The last was T’Pol, who had watched her companions be fitted with these nipple-clamping nightmares with growing concern. Now it was time for the science officer’s large brown tats to receive their dosage. Her heavy breasts trembled with fear as they drew nearer.
“Excellent pair,” Papilia said,
briefly tracing T’Pol’s aureoles with the tips of her
fingers. Then she pushed the suckers onto the Vulcan’s nips and let them clamp
on tight. The
“It will only take another moment,” the pale alien woman said, lifting up a tricorder and tapping buttons on it with her slim pale fingers. The three nude women trembled and quivered, holding in their discomfort at the tight grip the devices had on their sensitive teats. Papilia lifted her sensor and performed a few cursory scans.
“Hybrid physiology is fascinating,” she observed absently, her strange blue eyes lost in the display. “The combination of skeletal and organ structures are different in nearly every case. And the conditioning these women have undergone is very sophisticated,” Papilia added, “I could make use of this technology… oh my.”
Her pale eyes lifted from her display to T’Pol’s nude figure. “You know, this one truly is a magnificent specimen,” she commented to Golga, her gaze staying on the pointy-eared short-haired beauty. “Vulcan biology is desert-bred, storing surplus fluid and fats where it is most useful to the species. For a female of child-bearing age, that means her breasts.” She nodded towards T’Pol’s melons, the words “FOR SALE quivering on her titflesh as she trembled in involuntary trepidation.
“She’s a perfect example,” Papilia finished with a breathy sigh, her eyes on T’Pol’s tits. “What’s her name?”
“T’Pol,” Golga offered.
Papilia’s eyes returned to her display. “T’Pol,” she said with sudden intensity, “I am detected an element in your tissues foreign to Vulcan. What is it and how did you come to be contaminated by it?”
T’Pol’s answer was interrupted by a sucking sound. “Oh my god!” B’Elanna cried out, her dark eyes shutting and her back arching. The phial attached to her left breast was half-filled with white fluid. Voyager’s science officer gasped and doubled over as her milk was squeezed out of her other breast as well, the small devices on her nipples working her udders with evil efficiency.
Next Deanna bit her lip, wiggling her wide hips as her big brown nipples yielded their their sweetness to the machines attached to her breasts. “This is horrible,” moaned the counselor, her melons jiggling from side to side and her face lifting in unwanted pleasure as she was milked. Both the Betazoid and the Klingon’s newly-conditioned bodies throbbed with ecstasy, their now super-sensitive breasts sending spasms of pleasure through their naked figures.
The Vulcan stared at Papilia in horror, her pouting lips parted with shock. Then she looked down at the suckers on her tits. They were beginning to vibrate as they warmed up.
“I noticed in the scan that you have an unusual substance accumulated in your fatty tissues,” Papilia noted again, uncaring of Deanna and B’Elanna’s humiliated moans. “In your case mostly in your breasts. What is it?”
The science officer’s nipples were suddenly tingling almost painfully. T’Pol gasped, leaning forwards with wide eyes. She was sharply aware that her plight was drawing the attention of customers and merchants all across the large chamber, with many Ferengi watching the nude Vulcan’s torment with interest.
“The element around your mammary glands?” Papilia repeated helpfully, apparently uncaring of the Vulcan’s discomfort. “If I had a strange foreign substance in my body I would hope to know what it was called.”
Oblivious to her humiliating torment Papilia ducked as she tried to maintain eye contact with the gasping science officer. “Hello?” the blue-eyed vixen offered, trying to prompt the nude brunette into answering. “My name is T’Pol, I’m a big-titted Vulcan bimbo and the isotope in my boobs is called…? What’s it called, T’Pol?”
“Aaahhh!” the Vulcan cried as her left nipple yielded its cream. Rich white milk filled the capsule quickly. T’Pol turned left and right, trying to shake the two cruel devices off her boobs but was only able to make her melons shake invitingly. “Trellium!” she gasped, “It’s called Trellium-D and get these things off my breasts!”
Papilia looked at the level of milk in each small capsule. “Just a moment, just a little bit more.”
“Uhhh aaahhhh!” gasped T’Pol as two bursts of cream were teased out of her udders.
“There we go,” Papilia smiled, “Just a little more.”
“Aahhhh aaaahahh AAAEEEIIII!” the Vulcan wailed, her breasts surrendering their
milk to the suckers.
“That’s it!” exclaimed Papilia. She gripped the devices on T’Pol’s tits and yanked them off with two sharp popping sounds, making the Vulcan gasp afresh and leaving her molested tits jiggling. “Trellium-D? Where did it come from?”
“Thank you!” sighed Papilia, “If only it was as easy to squeeze answers out of you as it was to squeeze milk out of your puppies.” She waved the two cream-filled capsules in front of the defeated Vulcan. “I’m sure I’ll find these very interesting, T’Pol. You’re lot number… forty eight, aren’t you? That’ll be good to know.”
Deanna yelped as the nipple-pinching mechanisms attached to her teats were yanked away by Papilia’s uncaring fingers. Then B’Elanna let out a similar cry of distress as her milkers were pulled away. The three women’s nipples were erect but apparently undamaged.
The pale-eyed villainess sent a cheery grin in Golga’s direction. “All done! I look forward to bidding. I would most certainly enjoy to add these specimens to my program, particularly that lovely Vulcan.”
The Ferengi looked over at Deanna, B’Elanna and T’Pol, all moaning and panting from this fresh humiliation. “And I’m sure they’d be horrified to see you again. Good luck at the auction.”
+++++
Deanna Troi rolled her eyes as her bare breasts were massaged and lifted by yet another pair of Ferengi hands. Her finely-tuned body delighted at the contact, pleasure swelling out of her soft melons, but there was weariness as well in the counselor’s expression.
As the Ferengi sampling her tits departed satisfied, Troi finally gathered up the courage to ask something she
had been meaning to for some time. “Golga?”
Her alabaster body wiggled against her shackles as the
The Ferengi turned to look at the Betazoid, his gaze not meeting her dark eyes but instead wandering down across the Commander’s curving hips and the hairless folds of her delicious pussy. “What?”
Deanna’s bare shoulders shrugged in impatience that she could no longer hold in, the gesture making her udders quiver. “How much longer is this going to take?”
Troi was surprised to see nods of agreement from Torres and T’Pol. None of them wanted to be sold into slavery, but none of them particularly wanted to be standing on the platform any longer. They had endured terrible humiliations aboard Golga’s ship but never had they been required to stand in one place for so long. Troi’s legs ached and her back was sore. Breasts the size of Deanna’s worked far better with a good supporting bra, something the counselor wasn’t wearing at the moment.
Golga squinted at his watch. “Another hour.” T’Pol and B’Elanna sighed in simultaneous protest, then both straightened as they realized the weakness they had shown to their captor.
Deanna rolled her dark eyes and shifted her shoulders, trying to find a more comfortable position to stand in while her hands were grav-shacked behind her back. The counselor was certainly aware of her humiliating position, bound and naked with “FOR SALE” printed across her generous chest, in English no less, but it was her weary legs that had her attention now. “Golga’s probably loving this,” the empath thought.
“Let them stand around another hour,” Golga thought. “Tired whores are less likely to fight later on.”
Deanna Troi’s black Betazoid eyes widened. She had heard Golga’s thoughts!
Normally it was impossible for a Betazoid to sense the thoughts of Ferengi. Their strangely-lobed brains were normally impervious to empathic and telepathic powers. But Deanna had heard Golga’s thoughts as clearly as if he had spoken aloud. The imperiously beautiful counselor frowned, focusing her sensory abilities.
Now she could pick up thoughts from all around the chamber. Ferengi or non-Ferengi it didn’t seem to matter. She could sense them all!
“That Orion bitch said that our nerves had been made more sensitive,” Troi thought to herself. “Maybe they accidentally boosted my empathic powers when they were making my body more sensitive.” On impulse she gathered her concentration, directing her thoughts towards her two companions. “T’Pol? Torres?”
The two brunettes jerked slightly in their restraints. B’Elanna was leaning back heavily from a Bolian merchant who was massaging her breasts and snatch, while T’Pol endured a Gorn checking her haughtily attractive face and feeling the plumpness of her lips. Both women looked towards Deanna with questioning eyes.
“I don’t know how but I think my Betazoid psychic abilities have been made more sensitive,” she explained mentally. “I’ll try to get some useful information from our captors. If you get any ideas on how to escape, just think it in my direction and I should be able to pick it up without the guards hearing.”
The other two women nodded, returning to enduring the
leering eyes and groping hands of prospective buyers. Then a rumbling voice
near the display platform on which the three nude brunettes stood drew Deanna’s
attention.
“I want to speak to the Betazoid slave.” The speaker was facing Golga, his features turned away from Troi. The Betazoid couldn’t see what species he was.
The Ferengi took one look at the creature and retreated a step, caution visible in his beady eyes. His three guards noticeably did not position themselves between their boss and this prospective buyer. “Of course, Mister Rak,” Golga said, “Take your time, Mister Rak.” With this approval the newcomer turned and Deanna Troi almost gasped the sight of him.
Rak was a tall and broad figure as powerful and massive as any of the three goons that were guarding the captive Starfleet officers. But where the Gorn, the Nausican and the Orion were merely ugly this creature was hideous. His skin was deathly pale, his ears long and curving, his eyes deeply set in their sockets and his mouth filled with prominent sharp teeth, giving the creature a predatory look. His bald head turned down to the curvaceous five foot three brunette, looking over her naked form with mild amusement.
“Good afternoon, Counselor Troi,” he said.
Deanna stared at the darkly dressed figure with trepidation. “Do I know you?” The beautiful twenty-nine year old stared at the monster’s unfamiliar features. “You’re… you’re a Reman, aren’t you?”
“You always were gifted in stating the obvious, Commander,” Rak smiled. His eyes moved up and down the brunette’s naked body, taking in her pale thighs, wide hips, the bald folds of her pussy, her narrow waist and soft generous melons marked with the words “FOR SALE”. “Let me try one of my own. Deanna Troi, I like what you’ve done with your hair. You should always wear it like that.”
The Commander flushed with shame and anger, unable to even try to cover her nudity as long as her wrists were secured behind her back. “What do you want?”
Rak watched Deanna’s delicious breasts as they rose and fell with her nervous breathing. “Nothing in particular. It’s just that I’ve hated you so much, more than any Federation officer I can think of, and when I finally get to see you defeated and stripped and ready for sale, you don’t even recognize me.”
It occurred to Deanna that she was missing several years. Her last memories were from 2369 while B’Elanna had been sure it was at least 2371. “If I am some sort of transporter copy,” she thought to herself, “Then maybe the real Deanna met this monster and I just never lived through those memories.”
Troi realized that she couldn’t
sense anything from this Reman. His mind was
completely closed off to her, even with her newly-heightened Betazoid senses.
“I think I heard you making a few whimpers a minute ago,” Rak added, “When you were being groped by a Ferengi. I suppose you’ve been given some conditioning to make you a better sex slave. Perfect. It suits you.”
“So I did something that annoyed you,” Troi said sharply, drawing herself up with as much dignity as she could. That wasn’t much as she was stark naked, shackled at the wrists and had “FOR SALE” printed on her tits. “Then just be happy I’m suffering and go away.” Her bravado covered a twinge of fear. Although she couldn’t sense the Reman’s intentions his gaze alone was threatening.
“Suffering?” The Reman smiled at the naked Starfleet officer. “Commander Troi, you are a very lucky woman. That pretty face of yours, your plump tits and round rump will find you a wealthy buyer. You’ll probably be purchased by some rich old Ferengi who might pull you out of his harem a few times every year to play with you. At worst one of the brothel consortiums will win the bid and you’ll entertain wealthy guests on one of their pleasure ships in relative luxury.”
Both of those notions were disgusting to Troi but this “Rak” was not finished. “Imagine what might happen if a truly vindictive man bought you. Someone you had truly… annoyed,” he said, using Deanna’s own word.
He leaned forward close enough so that Troi could feel his hot breath on her bare breasts. “Imagine this feeling you have now, naked and helpless, and multiply it by ten. Imagine being chased down by animals who have been trained to mount and rape you. Imagine a Starfleet ship and its crew brought low, like you, proud women stripped naked and shackled and sold off for spare change and you being responsible. Imagine if someone who hates you buys you at the auction tonight.”
The Reman’s words chilled Deanna Troi to the bone, but something else caught her interest. “What auction tonight? We’re not going to be sold for another week!”
Rak leaned back, drinking in the sight of the nude counselor’s voluptuous curves. “Once again Deanna Troi needs something explained to her in small words,” he sneered. “You’re being sold tonight, Commander. Your owner has been advertising your sale for days. He even promised Orion conditioning to make you extra special. Where do you think we are? The Auction Dome is directly above us.”
The Betazoid’s dark eyes were shocked. “My god. When they were conditioning us… we were in the vats for days! We must have been unconscious for a whole week!”
Rak licked his lips with a long purple tongue. “That expression you just had, that was perfect. Beautiful. I hope you enjoy the auction. I know I will.” The monster turned and headed away, Ferengi quickly getting out of his way.
“Wait!” Deanna cried, her tits jiggling as she took a step forwards. “What have you got against me? Who are you?”
Rak halted and looked back at Troi, his gaze moving up and down the delicious curves of
the twenty-nine year old’s voluptuous figure. “By
morning I’ll be your owner, Deanna Troi.”
The Reman hadn’t touched her. Where every other man who had the chance had fondled the Betazoid’s lush and vulnerable body, Rak hadn’t laid one finger on her. Yet Deanna Troi was more frightened than she could ever remember.
Her dark eyes lifted as she looked towards the ceiling.
Above them was the Auction Dome of Ferenginar, the great stadium where enormous
trades were made. This was the place where their futures would be decided. Tonight
Deanna Troi, T’Pol and
B’Elanna Torres would be sold as slaves.
TO BE CONTINUED
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