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 04: THE MEASUREMENTS OF A WOMAN
Golga’s left hand tapped a wide rectangular box clipped to his belt. It was an ink stamp, something special that he had ordered for this very occasion. He was looking forward to using it.
Scratching one too-large ear the Ferengi looked around. He stood at the heart of the Ferengi Auction Dome, the vast public arena for sales and purchases where the most obscure items would always find a buyer and the most desired acquisitions would always receive competitive bidding. It was an enormous arena with rows and rows of seats that ascended in jutting levels towards the transparent dome above. Through the huge canopy he could see that the rain was continuing. Storms on Ferenginar could last for weeks without the sun showing. But within the dome he could not even hear the rain for the sound of the crowd.
The first auction of the trading season always drew enormous crowds and tonight the stadium was filled to capacity with over a hundred thousand spectators. Already the night had seen dozens of sales and huge sums of latinum changing hands. Now it was Golga’s turn to present his wares, and he planned to leave the stadium a rich Ferengi. He had calculated his selling pitch to generate the best possible price.
“Gentlemen, entrepreneurs, market leaders and honored consumers,” the Ferengi began, his voice amplified across the stadium by a microphone at his collar, “Allow me to present Lot Number 47. She’s a hot firecracker and a truly exotic item. The black sheep of the family.”
As he spoke a spotlight fell on a figure standing about fifty meters behind the Ferengi. It began as a very weak light, not revealing the woman’s features yet but only showing an athletic feminine figure.
“She became one of the first of her people to join Starfleet, but her fiery temper and hot body was too much for Federation rules and regulations. Instead she wiggled into the beds of the criminal Maquis, using her sexual wiles to rise high in their ranks.” A little lie never hurt a good story, in Golga’s opinion.
He pointed back to the dimly lit figure. “I now present to you a truly exotic item, a defiant and proud female who is yet to be taught a woman’s true place. She’s almost too hot to touch but the greater the risk, the greater the gain. Here is your chance to own B’Elanna Torres!”
The spotlight brightened and revealed Voyager’s chief engineer to the enormous Ferengi crowd.
B’Elanna Torres was wearing what
appeared to be a Starfleet uniform, the older style with shoulders and collar
colored to indicate which department a crewman worked in. The Klingon’s uniform was black and yellow, the same colors she
had worn on the USS Voyager and had
been working towards in her time in Starfleet academy.
The half-Klingon was momentarily taken aback by the sheer size of the stadium and the number of Ferengi present. Shock bloomed on her strikingly attractive features as she realized that she was standing in front of thousands upon thousands of Golga’s countrymen. For a second she could only stare at the rows and rows of occupied seats. Then she remembered herself and straightened, swallowing her nervousness. She had no intention of showing these Ferengi swine any sign of weakness.
On B’Elanna’s wrists were a set of gravimetric shackles, presently tuned to keep her hands by her hips. Golga had also made it clear that a transporter lock would be held on her every second she was on stage. Any attempt to escape or cause trouble would result in her immediate recapture, and Golga had warned that both she and her companions would be punished for her insolence.
So B’Elanna Torres obediently began to walk to where Golga awaited in the centre of the stadium. The Klingon had intended to walk tall and proud, defiant in the face of these selfish little trolls. But the Orion conditioning she had received had trained her muscle memory too well. B’Elanna Torres walked forwards with an aggressively sexy stride, her firm ass wiggling and her hips swinging from side to side. On each step she lifted and dropped herself an inch on her calves, her boobs jiggling inside her body-hugging uniform. The conditioning had been so effective the Lieutenant didn’t even realize she was doing it.
Her stride faltered slightly as applause could be heard across the stadium at the Klingon’s nude advance. It wasn’t often that one of her species, even a half-blood, was sold on the auction blocks of Ferenginar and rarer still that one moved with such a blatantly sexy rhythm.
She glared at Golga as she passed him, reached the end of the illuminated walkway at the center of the arena. The chief engineer of the USS Voyager then turned with a nice little twist that showed off her rump. She walked the few necessary steps back to her owner and halted, her breasts rising in her top with a single breath to hold in her helpless indignation at this embarrassment.
But worse was to come. “That uniform suits her,” Golga commented, “But I think this suits her even better.” He grabbed hold of B’Elanna’s uniform, fingers digging into the fabric covering her tits, and yanked hard.
The twenty-two year old’s clothing looked like a Starfleet uniform but was only a cheap reproduction, paper-thin and even more fragile. The garment tore open and Golga ripped it away, leaving B’Elanna Torres standing completely naked before the enormous crowd!
The Klingon gasped, flushing hard with embarrassment even as her dark bedroom eyes shot daggers at the Ferengi. The entirety of her trim body from her firm thighs, excellent rump, flat stomach to her surprisingly soft and full breasts was now fully exposed to Golga’s countrymen.
There had been lot numbers marked on Torres’ shoulders but
they had been carefully cleaned off for the auction, having only been needed to
advertise her sale. But the markings on her boobs had been cruelly left in
place. Written across B’Elanna Torres’ bare breasts
in big black letters were the words “FOR
In the sky above them an enormous hologram suddenly appeared. Floating in the void beneath the dome was a huge reproduction of B’Elanna Torres’ naked body. The Klingon gaped up at herself, shocked to see her nude athletic figure projected so huge, visible in perfect detail to every man in the stadium. When she had been told of the slave market she had imagined auction rooms with a few dozen people inside. But now her gorgeous body was visible to just over a hundred thousand!
The gravshacks on Torres’ wrists hummed, producing gravity fields that lifted and repelled each other. B’Elanna found herself forced to hold her arms out at her sides. The bracelets cruelly lifted a few inches, making the Klingon stand on tip toe and making her space her feet widely to keep her balance. In this way B’Elanna was fully exposed to the crowd, her nipples shaking slightly on her breasts as she tried not to fall. She flushed with shame but had to swallow her anger, furious of being so humiliated in front of so many Ferengi and helpless to do anything about it.
“The lovely B’Elanna is twenty-two years old,” Golga began, and then began to lie. “A descendant of Klingon royalty and a princess by the standards of her barbaric people, Torres entered Starfleet academy but was expelled after several sexual escapades with students and instructors. It seems she couldn’t keep her Klingon fires under control.”
“That’s a lie!” shrieked the outraged Torres but without a microphone like Golga’s her voice was inaudible to those in the huge stadium. All her shout did was make her boobs tremble on her chest, reminding all who were looking of how surprisingly soft the Klingon’s melons were.
“She will be an intelligent slave, quick to learn. Her engineering skills are remarkable for the limited Klingon brainpan.” That slur made Torres shout that Golga was a liar but no one but her Ferengi owner could hear. In response he reached out to grip the Lieutenant’s boobs, mashing her tits across her chest and distorting the words “FOR SALE” printed on her melons. “She is in excellent physical condition, ideal for work around the home, the office and the starship. B’Elanna has a long life expectancy so purchasing her today will mean decades of pleasure.”
Torres shut her eyes, her head rolling back in unwanted pleasure as her super-sensitive body responded to the Ferengi’s touch. The hands on her boobs felt like magic, sending crackles of pleasure through her. With a start she straightened, furious at her own lapse of willpower and determined to fight against her conditioned responses.
As B’Elanna glared angrily at Golga the Ferengi turned back to the crowd and waggled a finger. “I know what you’re thinking. She’s a Klingon. They hiss, they snarl, they bite and claw. Sure they’re fiery in the bed but am I going to risk it? She’s dangerous! Not so.”
Golga produced a laminated card from his pocket. “I hold in my hand a certificate of conditioning. B’Elanna Torres has received level Eight treatment from an Orion specialist.” At this news a murmur of appreciation rolled around the stadium. “She will remain this hot for decades, if not longer, and she is primed and ready to go. Allow me to demonstrate.”
B’Elanna’s dark eyes were wide and she shifted uncomfortably on the tips of her toes as Golga approached her. “Easy,” the Ferengi said, his microphone off, “Just do what comes naturally.” He ducked under her arm, positioning himself behind the nude Lieutenant, then reached around to grip a tit with one hand while the other slid down between her buttocks and lower, finding the delicate folds of B’Elanna Torres’ pussy.
The Klingon failed to hold in a whimper as joy rose in hot
waves from her snatch. Little did she know Golga had
reactivated his microphone and was now close enough to capture her sounds. Torres’ little pleasured murmur had been transmitted
across the entire stadium.
“After her humiliating dismissal from Starfleet academy B’Elanna found a home among the Maquis,” Golga said even as he massaged her pussy and left tit. “Among those wretched criminals she made good use of her Klingon passions and saucy body, rising through their ranks through seduction and advancing the Maquis cause with her sexual wiles. This woman’s figure was their secret weapon.”
Torres opened her mouth to disagree but all that emerged was an “Aaaahhh!” of pleasure as Golga pinched her pussy lips together.
“How many Cardassians believed this gorgeous body was really theirs to have, only to be betrayed by this treacherous beauty?” He switched from one breast to the other, rolling the lovely melon across the Klingon’s chest, demonstrating how supple and soft it was to the enormous audience. “Well, no more. Now B’Elanna Torres is going to belong to one man, whatever Ferengi is courageous enough to tame her!”
“You bastaaaaeeeiiiii!!” B’Elanna squealed as Golga gripped one nipple and twisted it, sending spikes of pleasure through her Orion conditioned body. She tried to catch her breath, her rapid panting audible to every man in the stadium, her breasts rising and falling with her quick breathing. Humiliatingly she realized that she was close to orgasm, her super-sensitive body eager for any touch. If this kept up then she was going to cum in front of tens of thousands of Ferengi!
B’Elanna Torres felt her heart freeze as she realized that this was exactly what Golga was planning!
Golga’s fingers worked furiously at her snatch, rubbing and pressing and pinching. Torres felt her thighs part involuntarily and fought to close them, but it was too difficult to keep her balance with her feet together and the Ferengi’s fingers were insistent. Her rapid panting became a quick series of mewling sounds, timid and helpless in contrast to the Klingon’s fiery persona. Her obvious pleasure was drawing more and more attention, the murmur of the crowd growing louder as they watched Voyager’s chief engineer being publicly molested.
“B’Elanna Torres is an investment that will grow with time,” Golga declared. His hand left her snatch, much to her relief, only to clamp onto her other breast. With both treats in his hands he squeezed and fondled, mashing the Klingon’s sensitive boobs about and making her roll her eyes in ecstasy. “She’d make a strong house slave, an excellent bedmate and would be handy if you needed some engineering done,” he joked, causing a laugh to ripple around the arena.
“But there’s more.” His squeezed B’Elanna’s
tits like udders, her dark nipples pointing out at the crowd. “She’s perfect
for breeding stock. Good Klingon hips and strong genes make her a good
candidate for producing your own slaves for use or sale.” Torres’ objection
came out as a throaty moan of ecstasy, nearly overwhelmed by the pleasure
pouring through her incredibly sensitive breasts.
The hologram in the sky had split into several images, one of her pleasure-dizzy expression, one of her breasts as they were groped, and another of the puffy lips of her vagina pouting out from between her legs. “Now, watch carefully,” Golga said, “Because I think our proud Klingon warrior is about to pop.” The Ferengi swung back one hand and then slapped his fingers up against the twenty-two year old’s pussy lips, hard.
“Aaaaaaaaaaeeeiiiii!!!!” Her scream echoed through the stadium without any need for amplification as B’Elanna Torres achieved orgasm. She arched her back, tits thrusting upwards and her erect nipples stabbing at the air as she thrashed and jerked in pleasure. Her feet left the ground as she spread her thighs, opening herself to Golga’s hand as her body begged for penetration. That final smack against her pussy had sent her spiraling over the edge without control or dignity. Her entire athletic body tensed as she spasmed in ecstasy, tears of pleasure in her eyes as she climaxed in full view of the enormous audience.
Then the former Maquis slumped against her restraints, panting and defeated, perspiration running down her tanned skin and the “FOR SALE” sign on her tits heaving with her rapid breathing. Slowly the dazed twenty-two year old became aware of the sound of applause. The Ferengi were clapping in appreciation of the spectacle of B’Elanna Torres being forced to orgasm.
“You’ve seen what she can do,” Golga said, stepping away from the limp and humiliated Starfleet Lieutenant. “Now let’s see which of you will get to do it to her! The bidding begins at twenty bars of gold pressed latinum!”
Numbers began to flash in the sky, superimposed over the holographic image of B’Elanna’s naked body. Golga watched with intense interest. “Twenty five bars from trader Mox. Thirty bars from Distant Star cruises. I see an offer of forty from Silver Brothel.” All across the stadium Ferengi were entering bids into their communicators, the offers transmitted to the main sale computer. “Fifty from Distant Star. She’d make a fine addition to your pleasure cruises, excellent choice.”
B’Elanna struggled to straighten but her legs were shaky after the intense orgasm. Torres had never experienced an orgasm so powerful or so public. The young woman realized that with her body now conditioned, every orgasm she would have for the rest of her life would have this enhanced intensity. The thought was both terrifying and exhilarating. The brunette hung naked in her shackles, her bare breasts rising and falling as she tried to regain her breath.
“The bid is at eighty bars from Mr Torfik. Ninety five from Silver Brothel. One hundred from Trader Mox. That’s a daring bid for the fiery young B’Elanna! One hundred and ten from Brunt, FCA!”
Naked but for the words “FOR SALE” on her breasts, Torres managed to lift herself and glare at Golga’s back as he read out the offers. “One hundred and thirty bars as Mr Torfik takes the lead! Remember, B’Elanna Torres is twenty-two years old with level eight Orion conditioning! She simply won’t age! Your grandchildren could be enjoying her!”
The Klingon turned her head, her dark hair flicking about as she stared at the damned bracelets on her wrists. She couldn’t do anything but stand there, stark naked as these evil little trolls bidded for her body.
The next offer drew Torres’ attention and made hope flare in her heart. “And we have an offer from the Maquis for one hundred and fifty bars!” exclaimed Golga. “B’Elanna Torres still has friends in the world! One hundred and sixty from Silver Brothel. And the Maquis return with one-seventy!”
B’Elanna stared breathlessly at the crowd as if by sheer will she might see the Maquis somewhere among the crowd. The Klingon was torn between joy at the thought she might still be saved and shame that her fellow freedom fighters might have watched her humiliation here on the auction blocks of Ferenginar. She drew in a breath, boobs rising as she awaited the next bid, her dark eyes watching the holographic numbers floating over her own naked image in the void of the dome above.
“The bid stands at one hundred and seventy! The Maquis have the bid! Are there any other takers?” Golga looked around the crowd as if trying to urge other Ferengi to challenge the offer. “Countrymen, are you really going to let this smoking piece of ass walk out of your life? Surely there is a Ferengi here with the courage to say I want a piece of that?”
Another number flashed up. “We have a bid of two hundred bars of gold pressed latinum!” Golga’s cry was like a knife in B’Elanna’s heart, but what he said next twisted the blade. “The offer comes from the Cardassian Union! It looks as if B’Elanna Torres’ life of crime has caught up to her!”
The former Maquis tensed with fear, her athletic body trembling as she looked upwards at the latest bid. “No, please,” she whispered. The thought of falling into the hands of the Cardassian Union was even worse than slavery under the Ferengi.
“Will the sheriff get his man? Or in this case his woman?” Golga cast a quick look back at B’Elanna, still standing naked and gorgeous where he had left the Maquis after diddling her to a humiliating orgasm. “Or will a passing stranger rescue her from this cruel fate? And two hundred and ten bars from the Maquis!”
B’Elanna tried to hold in sobs of relief, the “FOR SALE” sign on her breasts jiggling as she sunk slightly in her restraints. “They’re still looking out for me,” she breathed, “I can get through this.”
“Now that’s heartwarming,” Golga was saying, “Comrades in arms putting it on the line for one of their own and wait, the Cardassian Union has answered with a bid of two hundred and fifty bars! They want B’Elanna and they want B’Elanna bad!”
Torres shivered as she watched the holograms above, her own nude image floating alongside the latest highest bid. “Please make another bid,” she whispered, “Please make another bid. Please guys, come on, please don’t let them do this to me…”
“The bid is for two-fifty, held by the Cardassian Union. Is there a challenge? Is there a challenge? Come on, those Cardassians won’t appreciate a fine piece of ass like B’Elanna Torres! Those tits don’t belong in a Cardassian prison! Although I doubt that’s where she’ll end up,” Golga added with a wink. “Going once. Going twice.”
Naked except for the words “FOR SALE” on her tits, B’Elanna Torres held her breath.
“Sold to the Cardassian Union for two hundred and fifty bars of gold pressed latinum! A sum fit for a Klingon princess. Congratulations on becoming the proud owner of one B’Elanna Torres!”
The Klingon lowered her eyes in disbelief, shock flooding her already taxed body. The Cardassians had bought her, the same people that had forced the border colonists to fight and struggle and become the Maquis. Now B’Elanna was their possession. The twenty-two year old had fought them, fled from them, hidden in hellholes, sabotaged and ambushed them and had been beating them at their own game.
Now her story as a Maquis rebel had an ending. She would be handed over to the Cardassians, naked, shackled and conditioned to be a sex-slave. She refused to cry but she could feel tears welling up.
The sensation of something pressing against her bare bottom brought her out of her self-pity. B’Elanna twisted, tits shaking as she saw Golga straighten up. The evil little Ferengi had pressed a large wide ink stamp against the Starfleet officer’s naked rump. She craned her neck and looked down at her rear end and read what Golga had printed there.
In big black letters across B’Elanna Torres’ firm ass was the word “SOLD”.
She gasped in shock and shame, furious at this last
indignity. Her gravshacks relaxed and her arms
dropped to her sides, sore from being held in such an awkward position. With a
glare of defiance at Golga B’Elanna resolved that she
would not cry, would not cringe and would not show them a hint of defeat. Voyager’s chief engineer turned and
began the long walk back to the arena entrance.
The nude Lieutenant had intended for this to be a proud and unbent walk, but once again her Orion conditioning kicked in and turned her even pace into a sexy stride. Without realizing it the Maquis was making her swish her hips and bounce her boobs on every step. The arena was filled with the sound of applause as tens of thousands of Ferengi were treated to the sight of B’Elanna Torres’ firm ass wiggling away with the word “SOLD” clearly printed on her delicious rump.
+++++
“
The Ferengi looked back at a second dimly-lit figure standing far behind him, not yet fully illuminated. Even in the poor light her long legs and full chest could be seen in silhouette.
“The Federation boasts that it respects its females, lets them work alongside them and wear clothing. This particular female is one of the most respected women in the history of the Federation.” Golga allowed himself a grin. “But she’s definitely not going to keep her clothing.”
The lame joke got more laughs than it deserved. The audience
trusted him now after watching B’Elanna Torres’ sale and knew that he had
something worthy of attention. He had their interest. Golga
continued. “Federation children are taught about this woman’s career. Starfleet
graduates write essays on the
decisions she made. She is held up as the high example of the Federation ethics
that are crammed down our throats daily by meddling Starfleet types.” It was
cheap to sling mud at the Federation as a way of working up the crowd but what
worked, worked. “Who is she? It’s time we got a closer look.”
The spotlight brightened, revealing T’Pol
of the old NX class
Like Torres before her the science officer was astonished by
the size of the stadium and the sheer number of Ferengi watching her. Her ample
melons, wrapped in a skin-tight thin reproduction of a catsuit
she had worn aboard the original
Gathering together what dignity she still had T’Pol walked towards where Golga waited. She had a figure that could take a man’s breath away, lean and long-legged yet with a round bottom and more importantly breasts that were heavy and delicious, each tit far more than a handful as they bobbed in her skintight suit. Her brown hair was cut short, revealing the points of her ears. Despite her plump pouting lips she had a haughty, almost regal look to her.
Her apparent elegance contrasted the slutty hip-swaying walk the Vulcan unconsciously assumed, wiggling her rump and making her boobs bounce on each step. Like B’Elanna before her T’Pol had no idea that she was moving in such a suggestive fashion. The Orion conditioning gave her the walk of a sex goddess.
“This is T’Pol,” Golga introduced as the Vulcan reached the end of her walk,
turned and unwillingly showed off her rump, and returned to him. “She is best
remembered in the Federation as the second-in-command aboard the NX class
Golga activated the Vulcan’s gravshacks and she halted, her arms lifted out to her sides and forcing her to stand on tip-toe with her feet spread, her paper-thin outfit crinkling slightly. T’Pol’s brown eyes lifted in dismay as she saw the massive holograms in the air above that, even now producing loving close-ups of her face, her fabric-covered breasts and her round rump.
“But what I remember is this,” Golga said, grabbing the back of the Vulcan’s outfit and tearing it away. The fragile reproduction ripped open across her breasts and down her flat stomach. With a gasp of embarrassment T’Pol was stripped naked on stage, her boobs jiggling as her fake uniform was torn away from her bare skin. The science officer stared down at her nakedness, seeing the words “FOR SALE” printed on her bare breasts and now visible to the crowd.
“Who could forget these two?” her Ferengi owner smiled, slapping T’Pol’s left tit so that it jiggled into her right boob, sending both of her large dark nipples dancing. The Vulcan’s head dipped slightly and her full lips tightened as she tried to hold in the pleasure her altered body was producing.
He stepped around her and gave the science officer’s ass a hard slap. He saw, on the holograms above, T’Pol’s tits jiggle again as she jerked from the smack, her haughty face trembling in an effort to hide her response. “They call her the First Modern Vulcan, the Mother of the Federation. With tits like those, she’d have to be the mother of something!”
There was laughter from the stadium. Before it could fade Golga gently backhanded T’Pol’s tits, sending them for another bouncing dance. The Vulcan’s brown eyes shut and opened again, unable to match the Ferengi’s gaze as she endured this additional humiliation. Another slap made the long-limbed woman bite her lip to hold in her yelp. A third playful blow across her boobs made T’Pol cry out loud and then clamp her full lips shut again, trying to hold in the sound of her broken self-control.
“What’s that you said?” Golga queried, leaning forward with one hand lifted to an oversized ear. “You like that? Am I pushing your buttons?” He pressed his index fingers directly against T’Pol’s big brown nipples, pushing her teats deep into the soft flesh of her breasts.
“Uuuuuuggh!” the Vulcan complained, her head bowing as she helplessly watched the Ferengi’s fingers push in against her sensitive teats. Her long legs bent and straightened, slim thighs rubbing against each other. Cheers and applause came from the crowd as they watched this beautiful member of the normally reserved Vulcan species shudder with unwanted pleasure.
“The First Modern Vulcan,” Golga said in a conversational tone, “Wasn’t much like our Vulcans at all. For example, the Vulcans we know wouldn’t sound like this.” The Ferengi described circles with his fingertips, still pushing T’Pol’s brown nips deep into her soft bosom. The stimulation made the science officer release a fresh set of moans, her eyes shut and her lush lips parting wide to show her white teeth.
“Most Vulcans would think this was a humiliating breach of self-control,” the Ferengi observed, “And I’m sure T’Pol agrees. Isn’t that right, oh Mother of the Federation?”
“Uuuuuuugghhh,” she managed, eyes rolling back as her tits were molested. The dome above them was filled with a close-up of her tormented tits, Golga’s fingers pushing hard against her nipples so that her brown tats disappeared entirely into the soft plumpness of her titflesh. His fingertips moved in slow circles, heightening the woman’s distress.
“How is it that the most respected woman in the Federation turns to butter if you just do this?” He pulled his fingers back, allowing T’Pol’s breasts to return to globes. She gasped in relief and tried to straighten her posture. Then Golga pushed his thumbs into the woman’s nipples and made T’Pol shudder in renewed pleasure and humiliation.
“The answer, my fellow businessmen, is conditioning. T’Pol here has received the full course of Orion conditioning level eight.” Golga’s thumbs were far stronger than his fingers. With them he was able to diddle T’Pol’s nipples far more effectively, pushing at the science officer’s full breasts in a more vigorous manner than before. Her moans were caught by the Ferengi’s microphone and amplified to everyone in the stadium.
“Sounds like the ice queen is starting to melt,” he
commented. He released her boobs and again T’Pol
groaned with relief, her eyes rolling and her face tipping back. Then she
yelped as Golga smacked her across the bare tits,
making the words “FOR
“A crew of Starfleet humans once obeyed her orders,” the Ferengi gloated, delivering another sharp slap to the Vulcan’s boobs. “All of the Federation looks up to her example.” Another smack and T’Pol yelped out loud, pleasure bursting through her helpless body. “If only they could see her now.”
The crowd was murmuring with anticipation, every eye on the spectacle of T’Pol’s boobs being slapped around her chest. Again and again the Ferengi smacked the Vulcan’s generous melons, creating a mouthwatering display of soft titflesh in motion and driving the science officer closer and closer to orgasm. She fought against it with every fiber of her being but the Orion conditioning was too effective, her nervous system too sensitive. When the next slap came T’Pol involuntarily leaned into the blow and cried out with pleasure.
Golga looked up at the holograms, which presently showed a tight close-up of T’Pol’s generous tits still trembling from the last blow. Her nipples were painfully erect. The woman moaned and writhed in her restraints, unwittingly putting on a sexy crowd for the show. Another slap across her boobs and she was biting her plump lower lip to hold in her cries.
“They don’t make tits like they used to,” Golga joked, spurring a laugh from his audience. “You know, this arrogant Vulcan is so sensitive now I think we might be able to pop her cork just by doing this.”
He rained a series of slaps across T’Pol’s bosom. The science officer writhed and yelped and gasped, tears of pleasure and defeat popping into her eyes. Over and over Golga smacked her tits, cruelly pushing the Vulcan closer and closer to the inevitable. For variety’s sake he stepped behind her and struck at her bottom, making the beauty’s lean body jerk straight with each smack, her boobs dancing and her head jerking left and right. By then T’Pol’s eyes were tightly shut and her lips trembling, equally close to crying as she was to cumming.
“This, gentlemen, is the great Vulcan T’Pol,” Golga announced. He turned, spreading his feet and then swung one last powerful blow, putting his hips and shoulders into the smack as he struck the helpless science officer’s bare breasts.
“Yaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiieeee!” The Vulcan arched her back, breasts thrusting forward and her head flung back as she howled in ecstasy. T’Pol cummed hard and long, her scream fading into a series of gasping sobs and shudders even as her back continued to arch. It was the first time she had ever orgasmed without any stimulation of her nethers, and it was also the most powerful orgasm she had ever felt. The Orion conditioning she had received put T’Pol through pleasure she didn’t imagine possible.
Golga looked up towards the holograms drifting above. The instant of T’Pol’s humiliating climax had been professionally captured. The image showed the Vulcan woman arching back, eyes shut, plump lips open, breasts rising, nipples erect, bottom thrusting back hard. That, Gogla knew, was the image that would sell T’Pol to the highest bidder and it was a hundred meters tall floating in plain view of tens of thousands of potential buyers.
“A real collector’s item,” the Ferengi said, eyeing the panting Vulcan with satisfaction. “A quality replica of the historic twenty-second-century Vulcan. Great face, great tits, easy to please if you know what buttons to press. If you want to talk history, she’s a great. And if history bores you and you just want the body, she’s got that too.”
There was laughter in the stadium at the joke. “Once again, the bidding begins at twenty bars.”
Quick bidding between Silver Brothel and Distant Star Cruises pushed the offer up to a hundred bars within thirty seconds. “Distant Star holds the bids,” Golga reported, “I’d highly recommend their pleasure liners if you need to get away from it all. Wait, we have a new bidder. Lady Papilia is throwing her hat into the ring at a hundred and ten bars!”
The words “FOR SALE” heaving on her bare breasts, the panting T’Pol tried to calm herself and recover the tattered shreds of her dignity. The freshly-broken Vulcan could not resist the urge to stare hatefully at the Ferengi that had so thoroughly humiliated her in front of so many of his countrymen. Her brown eyes lifted to the holographic reproduction of her own naked figure, and she saw the bid climb to one hundred and fifty.
“The honorable Mister Brunt of the Ferengi Commerce Authority has the bid! Good luck to you, I’m sure you’ll enjoy having her. But only if you can top Silver Brothel’s bid of one hundred and sixty! One seventy from trader Mox! One eighty from Distant Star! Two hundred, thank you Mister Brunt!”
Lowering her face T’Pol considered the aching mounds of her breasts. There were only slight marks on her tits, signs of the abuse they had just suffered, but they were already fading. The Orion conditioning ensured that she would heal quickly and such marks would disappear in short order.
“Silver Brothel has decided that T’Pol
is worth a generous two-twenty! It looks like the Vulcan Room is going to be a
popular holiday location this season. But Lady Papilia
has answered with another bid of two hundred and thirty!
T’Pol watched with wide alarmed eyes as her fate was decided by the greedy bidding process. On the one hand she was faced with a life of servitude in a Ferengi brothel. On the other she might be won by Papilia, the bizarre and cruel woman who had so callously milked T’Pol in some strange science experiment. Neither option was appealing.
“Going once. Going twice. Lady Papilia has increased the bid to two-seventy-five! A bold move, but will it fend off the talent scouts from Silver Brothel? What do you say, gentlemen? You know that you can recoup the cost of this beauty easily. Between her Vulcan lifespan and class eight Orion conditioning, T’Pol is going to look this hot for centuries and longer! Two eighty from Silver brothel. Three hundred from Papilia!”
T’Pol found her heart racing, her boobs heaving and the “FOR SALE” sign on her chest rising and falling with her rapid breathing. Despite herself she could not find any calm. This was her life they were buying.
“Once at three hundred. Twice at three hundred. And sold to the young lady with the terrifying bodyguards! Congratulations Lady Papilia, I’m sure you’ll be able to squeeze all your spent latinum out of T’Pol somehow. She’s got a lot to squeeze,” Golga added slyly.
Her fate had been decided. T’Pol stood nude and shackled on the auction block, her arms spread wide and her feet at shoulder height, her nipples trembling as she tried to keep her balance. Finally her Vulcan discipline returned calm to her, slowing her breathing and straightening her back. When Golga walked back past where she stood naked and spreadeagle she regarded him with a cool and regal expression.
“You are pathetic,” she said in a calm and level voice as he passed her.
Then surprise flashed on her face as she felt something wet stamp against her bare rump. Her shackles eased and T’Pol was able to move again. The Vulcan twisted at the waist and looked down with disbelief at the word “SOLD” printed on her round bottom.
“Off you go, Titpole,” Golga said, disengaging the Vulcan’s gravshacks.
He savored the sight of T’Pol’s wiggling “SOLD”
buttocks as she walked away with an involuntary hip-swaying, ass-shaking
stride.
+++++
“And that brings us to lot forty nine,” Golga said. Fifty meters behind him was the third item he was selling tonight, a voluptuous female figure again only dimly illuminated by a weak spotlight.
This time the Ferengi kept it short. “This is a woman who needs no introduction.”
The spotlight brightened. The woman shivered as she took in the size of the stadium with large dark eyes, her imperiously beautiful face going tight-lipped with embarrassment. The raven-haired beauty was only five foot three but made up for it in curves, possessing wide hips, a lovely ass and generous breasts. Those lovely assets were wrapped in a low-necked lavender jumpsuit, a figure-hugging outfit that she had often worn aboard the USS Enterprise-D. Like her companions she also wore gravity bracelets on her wrists.
Whispers began in the stadium even before she began to walk
forward. Her Orion conditioning made her unconsciously assume a sashaying
stride that took full advantage of her round bottom, curving hips and heavy
tits, creating a mouthwatering spectacle as she advanced. As she approached the
center of the arena voices were raised all across the seats and viewing boxes.
The air of the dome was suddenly filled with a holographic representation of
the woman’s face, showing her imperious features framed by long dark hair,
centering on her eyes as black as
Golga had been right. The voluptuous brunette had needed no introduction.
The hologram above shifted, zooming out until it showed the
one-time counselor of the
The magnified sight of the busty brunette made the stadium rumble with the crowd’s roar of approval. Golga grinned and strode towards the young woman. “Here’s your big moment, Dina,” he said, his mike briefly switched off so that only the Betazoid would hear.
“Deanna,” the
raven-haired beauty objected, then gasped as Golga gripped the neckline of her jumpsuit and yanked it
down hard!
She tried to pull away, her beautiful dark eyes shutting as she cried out in shame, but it was no use. Her breasts popped out of the top of her yanked-down neckline. Across the pale moons of her boobs were the words “FOR SALE”.
Golga’s voice reached across the stadium in triumph. “Today you have to chance to own the famous Deanna Troi!”
Then Golga yanked her outfit again. The paper-thin reproduction of Troi’s uniform shredded, allowing the Ferengi to easily strip it from her voluptuous figure. Quaking in sudden humiliation Deanna Troi found herself standing completely naked before the crowd, her gravshacks making it impossible for her to cover herself, and her exposed breasts marked with the sign “FOR SALE”!
Golga walked around the
alabaster-bodied Betazoid. “
He ducked down to touch her thighs, forcing her legs slightly apart to better show off her rump. “That makes her a significant figure in negotiations between the Ferengi Consortium and the Federation. All of your businesses have been affected by decisions she helped influence.”
He straightened, settling his hands on Troi’s pale naked shoulders. The holograms above showed her helpless anger at the Ferengi’s familiarity. “Some of you have seen her across the negotiating table. But I don’t think any of you have seen her quite like this.” Golga reached around the woman’s body and gripped the most obvious handholds. With a leer the Ferengi tightened his fingers around Deanna Troi’s bare breasts, making the words “FOR SALE” poke upwards as her soft titflesh was squeezed.
The stadium shook with cheers and applause. Deanna’s eyes shut tightly and she bowed her head in embarrassment and humiliation as she stood naked and fondled in front of a hundred thousand men. But closing her eyes did nothing. The twenty-nine year old could empathically sense the attention in the chamber, of thousands of minds focusing on her naked body. Heat rose within her curving hips and gooseflesh rose on her pale skin. The counselor felt her heart quicken and the folds of her bald snatch moisten. She could feel their pleasure!
“I’ll bet the counselor used these to her advantage during her negotiations.” Golga’s fingers rubbed across Troi’s large aureoles and flicked her stubby teats. “This female has made a career out of hampering honest Ferengi entrepreneurs with the help of her fancy Starfleet ship. She likes nothing more than to impose her Federation Values on other species.”
Deanna’s nips stiffened and hardened under Golga’s hands, quickly giving the Ferengi two convenient if distressing handholds to latch on to. Unwanted pleasure swelled in Troi’s conditioned body as her owner tightly twisted her teats, making the young woman roll her eyes and draw in a sharp intake of breath, pushing her breasts out almost eagerly into Golga’s grip.
“Everywhere she goes she badmouths Ferengi business, filling people’s minds with lies about devious Ferengi, barbaric Ferengi, dishonest Ferengi!” Golga was saying. “I wonder how many Ferengi out there wanted to tear this annoying female’s clothes off as they endured her sanctimonious Federation negotiations. I know I would have wanted to.”
He glanced up at the hundred-meter-high hologram, which still showed the Betazoid from the waist up with Golga’s hands gripping her large brown nipples. “I wonder what Starfleet would have to say if they saw their high and mighty ship’s counselor like this.” Tightly gripping the woman’s teats, Golga slowly dragged the Starfleet officer’s bare breasts in opposite directions.
Deanna Troi let out a squeal of pleasure.
The crowd went wild. The Betazoid’s heavy supple tits stretched as one nipple was pulled left and the other was pulled right. The brunette mewled in discomfort and ecstasy as her melons were pulled in opposite directions, her milky orbs morphing into cones. The stadium shook with the audience’s thundering approval as they watched Deanna Troi’s humiliating torment, projected as hundred-meter-high holograms that floated in air above the platform.
Golga pulled the Betazoid’s tits upwards. Again he stretched the helpless woman’s mams, feeling her nude body quiver and tremble under his hands. Then he pulled her nipples downward, making the brunette’s boobs droop and show off the “FOR SALE” sign on her tits in an even more humiliating way. With every motion of her tits the sound of the crowd’s cheering approval grew. Deanna Troi, a thorn in the side of the Ferengi people who was desired as much as she was despised, was now the plaything of the Ferengi Consortium. Tears appeared in the Betazoid’s eyes as pleasure burned from her breasts to her nethers, an unwanted orgasm building up pressure within her helpless body.
“This replica shares Deanna Troi’s memories,” Golga said, shifting his tactics and now mashing the Betazoid’s large breasts around on her chest. “Not just her body and face, not just her genes, but her voice and personality and beliefs.” Her boobs described figures-of-eight as the Ferengi sent them rolling and sloshing round and round. Her Orion conditioning made Troi groan with joy at the sensation. “This isn’t a common slave girl. These are the tits of a Starfleet officer. A Starfleet officer with level eight Orion conditioning,” he added.
Deanna shuddered, her bare shoulders shaking as she held in a sob. She was being steadily overwhelmed both by her own pleasure and by the anticipation of the crowd. Her empathic mind was soaked with the thrill of tens of thousands of spectators watching her boobs being massaged.
The Ferengi’s hands slid down her hips and then back up to her breasts, lifting Troi’s boobs from beneath so that her erect teats poked forward like little brown cannons. “Look at that face.” Deanna’s eyes opened, dark eyes filled with a mix of anger, shame and treacherous pleasure, not trusting herself to speak. “She’s not used to this.” As he spoke he wiggled the Betazoid’s plump boobs, making her nips point up and down. “She’s cowed, but not broken. I’ll leave that to the lucky buyer.”
His last statement made the stadium grow quiet, a hush falling over the prospective purchasers. Deanna empathically felt the interest in the room move to something more urgent, the question of who would be the one to own and enjoy this delicious Starfleet officer.
Troi was trembling, painfully close to orgasm. Golga could feel her pent-up ecstasy in her rapid breathing and shivering skin, could feel it through her trembling breasts. He released the twenty-nine year old’s boobs, letting them drop, bounce and return to their original shape, the words “FOR SALE” printed on her titflesh for all to see. “But tell you what, I’ll give you a sneak preview of what our precious counselor will be like when you break her.”
The Commander gasped in air to object but Golga’s hands were too fast. His fingers slid down her belly to her hairless snatch, finding her delicate folds with a finger and thumb, and cruelly pinched the counselor’s pussy lips tight.
Naked and bound on the auction block of Ferenginar Deanna Troi hit her orgasm. “Ooohhh Aaaaiiii!!!” She arched her back, boobs pointing skywards and jiggling left and right as she bucked and thrashed. “Aaahhhh aaahhhh!!” Her voice rose in pitch as Golga’s fingers rubbed furiously at her lips, pinching her pussy folds together and driving her conditioning body into climax after climax.
Everything crashed down on the Starfleet officer. All the pleasure and anticipation and thrill she had sensed from the crowd, all the blazing pleasure her altered body was making her feel, the terrible cruelty of one of the most respected officers in the Federation standing nude before tens of thousands of these wretched trolls all exploded in her voluptuous body and Deanna Troi cummed over and over again.
The roar of the crowd was deafening. Ferengi leapt to their feet, cheering and clapping and hooting at the humiliation of one of their most despised and lusted-after enemies. Deanna’s shame was reproduced in the sky as a massive holograph, her moment of ecstasy captured and shown as she arched her back and wailed in pleasure.
Troi slackened and sank down to hang from her floating shackles, inadvertently pressing her pussy lips even harder against Golga’s hand. She whimpered, yet more pleasure bursting in her exhausted body. The Ferengi relinquished his hold on her snatch. “Now that is how you treat a Starfleet female on Ferenginar,” he said to the laughter and applause of the crowd.
Golga could not resist returning his hands to Deanna’s generous tits. He gently gripped the lush melons, squeezing, lifting and dropping Troi’s boobs to let them bounce and return to being orbs before he gripped and lifted them again. It was a calculated move that reminded every man watching of how soft and supple and full and heavy Deanna Troi’s breasts were, and how magnificent it would be to take those hefty melons in your hands and squeeze.
“Bidding starts at one hundred bars.” The starting price was five times what he had asked for B’Elanna and T’Pol but Golga knew that the lure of Deanna Troi’s naked curves would be enough.
The Betazoid and the Ferengi watched as the price indicated on the holograms rose. Superimposed over a close-up of Deanna’s heavy breasts being gently squeezed and lifted, the price climbed reached two hundred bars in less than a minute. Initially Golga didn’t even bother the pretence of acknowledging the bids. The buyers were busy punching numbers into their order padds, sending their offer digitally where it would be uploaded to the main hologram.
Golga comfortably leaned on Deanna Troi’s shoulder, his chin on her bare skin and his fingers tracing the words “FOR SALE” on her melons. “You’re going to make me rich,” he told her, his microphone off for the moment, “And some buyer very, very happy.”
“You’re an ugly evil troll,” she whispered, the “FOR SALE”
sign on her tits trembling as she helplessly raged, “A barbarian. A fiend!”
“I don’t have to answer to a big-titted Starfleet whore.” Golga twisted Deanna’s erect nipples to make the point. “Even if you are the Federation’s finest.”
The Ferengi looked upwards towards the climbing price and was momentarily speechless. He unconsciously squeezed Troi’s tits in excitement, making the Betazoid moan in involuntary pleasure, and then found his voice. “The bid stands at three hundred bars of gold pressed latinum from the Minister for Cultural Affairs. Three hundred and fifty bars from the chancellor of the Nagus’ office. Four hundred from Brunt, FCA!”
The crowd was alive with noise. Private bidders sent offers a few bars above but they were quickly swamped by the wealthiest contenders. “Oh they love you, Danni.”
“Deanna.”
“Whatever. But look, you’re not just pulling in bids from the Brothel consortiums. You’ve drawn the attention of Ferenginar’s wealthiest who want you all to themselves. You should be proud,” he said, jiggling Troi’s boobs to demonstrate. He switched on his microphone. “Remember either you want her, or you know someone who would sell their dear mother to have her. Five hundred from Silver Brothel!” He continued to fill his hands with Deanna’s overflowing boobs, hefting them and then letting them drop.
Deanna shut her eyes, feeling another orgasm building up within her. She couldn’t bear another humiliating scream. The counselor drew on all her will to control herself and prevent and ignore the Ferengi fondling her too-sensitive breasts.
“There it is,” Golga breathed in Deanna’s ear, “Five-fifty.”
Troi’s voice was a whimper as she tried to hold in her ecstasy. “I assume that’s significant?”
“Just that you’re about to sell for more latinum than those two bimbos you came with put together. The Minister for Cultural Affairs holds the bid at five-fifty!” Golga announced into his microphone. “Surely this will be a great victory for Ferengi culture if this interfering Starfleet bimbo is shown the error of her ways by the honorable minister! But is there another bid? Five-fifty five from Silver Brothel! Five-sixty from Brunt, FCA! Five-seventy from the Minister for Cultural Affairs! Is that the final bid?”
Deanna Troi looked up to the enormous hologram of herself, nude and trembling, her raven-black hair plastered to her cheeks by her perspiration and a pair of Ferengi hands around her breasts. The offer flashed on top of the image, her body, her freedom and her entire life summed up to a three digit bid.
Then it grew. “A new offer of six hundred bars of gold pressed latinum!” Golga’s voice was filled with disbelief. “I think that’s a record. Six hundred bars from… from Mister Rak, the worthy arms dealer from Remus!”
That name made Deanna stiffen, her pleasure suddenly forgotten. The naked counselor suddenly felt a cold chill. Her beautiful dark eyes scanned the crowd and her lips trembled with new fear. She remembered her conversation with Rak before the auction. The Betazoid had an inkling of how much the Reman despised her, and the humiliations he would visit on her if he won the bid.
“Gentlemen this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!” Golga stressed. “A six hundred bar offer is hefty, but so are these!” He wiggled Deanna’s bare breasts to make the point. “Are there any other offers? Anyone? Going once.”
The offer hung in the air, 600 bars for Deanna Troi. “Going twice.” The counselor inhaled in suspense, her boobs rising in Golga’s hands and the words “FOR SALE” on her breasts becoming even more prominent.
“And sold!” Golga’s hands released the counselor’s boobs and the young woman sank, both relieved that her melons were free and horrified by the realization that she had been purchased. “Congratulations are in order for the arms dealer from Remus, who is now the proud owner of this delicious piece of ass. Speaking of which…”
The brunette yelped in shock as she felt something cold, wet and hard press against her cheeks. Then her gravshacks eased and Golga directed the defeated Starfleet officer to walk back to the exit.
Drawing in a breath and all of her dignity Deanna began the
long and humiliating walk to the exit, unconsciously assuming a conditioned strut
that showed off her rump and made her tits bounce. Thunderous applause filled
the stadium as the crowd drank in the sight of Deanna Troi’s
womanly bottom swaying and wiggling, the word “SOLD” printed in big black
letters on her bare ass.
TO BE CONTINUED
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