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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Archive name: Trek12.txt
Authors name: Drew H.
Story Title: TREK STORY: Troi in Trouble
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Hi kids. The recent spate of Trek stories has urged me back
into the fray after an extended absence. If Klingon/Betazoid
discpline isn't your cup of earl grey, hitting the 'n' key
ought to warp you back into more familiar sectors of space.
--Drew, your not-so-bald captain for this journey...
Deanna felt the expectations of her crewmates around the corner
of her mind, like a pleading, anxious moan. The Enterprise was in
danger, and it was Deanna they had turned to--it was Deanna whom they
expected to save them.
They were depending on her because the problem was emotion. For
the past several days, powerful emotional outbursts had possessed random
members of the crew--up to a dozen, by now--in which buried, repressed
desires bubbled up to the surface and overflowed like a cup of boiling
water. One crew member began passionately kissing a woman he had secretly
loved for years. Another woman assaulted an ex-lover and left him
severely wounded. It wasn't coincidence; something out there was causing
it. And because of Deanna's empathic powers, they were all depending on
her to find out exactly what "IT" was.
Was it coincidence, also, that Deanna's personal life was acting
up at the same time as these strange incidents? At this exact moment,
her lover, Worf, was glaring at her with intense, dark eyes, his features
furrowed into a frown even more intense than his normal scowl. He was
demanding things of her, accusing her...she tried to put the unresolvable
dilemma of the Enterprise out of her mind, so she could focus, just for
now, on the quarrel that had strangely errupted between them.
"You are quite used to having things your way," Worf growled at
her. "When you were Riker's lover, you were always in control. But if
we are going to make this work, things need to change."
Deanna was really quite struck at the palpable aggression her
emphathic powers sensed from him; waves of anger beat against her like
drops of rain. She brushed back a strand of long hair, and her dark,
glittering eyes--as gleaming and mysterious as a pair of black
stars--studied Worf intently. Was Worf acting like himself? Or was this
all part of the puzzle, the one that somehow, she had been given the
responsibility to solve?
"I don't understand what you mean, Worf," she said gently,
reaching her hand to brush across the slope of his forehead, the texture
of his dark skin. "If there's something you want from me, something that
I'm not giving, you have only to ask."
At this concession, Worf suddenly seized up and let forth a deep
snarl. Deanna moved back startled--she suddenly realized he seemed to be
fighting with himself.
He snapped at her, his voice low and fiery. "Klingons do not
mate the same as humans. We are violent...brutual. We enjoy giving and
receiving pain as part of the mating ritual."
Deanna averted her eyes, feeling a slow sense of shame begin to
creep over her and envelop her. She knew this...but she had never
broached the subject.
Worf continued, "I have been restraining myself in my relations
with you. I knew you would not be able to fulfill the role of a
Klingon woman, and I have not asked that of you."
She raised her eyes to him. "Then what are you asking me now?"
He gave out a gutteral sound that seemed to rattle in his throat.
"I am asking...for fairness. I want to mate as Klingon, not as a
Betazoid. I want...."
Deanna perceived his mood change, a move from gray, metallic
anger to a bright, multi-colored prism that she understood as sexual
arousal. In his mind, images and pictures were flashing before him,
and they were being translated into need. Almost without thinking,
she grabbed his hand.
"What do you want, Worf? I am your friend, and your lover. I
will give you want you want. But you have to tell me."
He flung her hand away from him. "The last thing I want is your
Betazoid empathy. I want something real, direct, not your practiced
bedside manner."
This was a slap in the face. Her gorgeous dark eyes grew wide
and uncomprehending: something was definitely wrong here. She opened
her mouth to speak.
But then a sharp cry pierced the air, followed by a number of
slapping sounds. It was the sound of flesh being struck, and it was
quickly followed by a woman's muffled sobbing.
Whatever was possessing Worf, he seemed to shake its influence.
He barked a gruff "Come on" to Deanna, before he was down the
corridor in search of the origin of the sounds. His speed belied his
bulk; he was not only strong, but could move amazingly fast. Deanna
had to hurry to keep up with him.
They rounded a corridor, and stopped short at an astounding
ight. A young male ensign, with sandy-brown hair and dark blue eyes,
was sitting on the floor with his back to the wall. Across his lap was
another ensign--a lovely young woman with tumbling red hair--her
starfleet uniform in tatters on the floor, her young backside upturned
into the air. It was rosy red; the sound had been that of a spanking.
The woman was crying softly.
So was the young man. His face wore an anguished expression, and
he turned to Worf and Deanna pleadingly. "I...I'm sorry," he managed.
"I don't--I don't know what came over me. Arissa and I were going off
duty, and we were going to have a drink at 10-Forward, when I had this
desire to...to..." He suddenly realized that Arissa was still placed
across his lap, for he suddenly looked at her and tried to help her to
her feet.
Deanna turned to look at Worf. "It's that thing again. And it's
getting worse."
Worf nodded, his eyes dark, intense pinpoints of black light. He
tapped his com-badge and snapped, "I need a security team to the fourth
level, section 7-G." Addressing the ensigns, he said, "You will be
escorted to sickbay. You will both be given a full psychiatric and
physical examination by Dr. Crusher."
The young man nodded, still shaking. "Y-yes sir." The young
woman, clutching the remains of her outfit around her, also managed to
nod. Deanna and Worf remained until the security team arrived, then
they slowly made their way back to Worf's quarters.
Deanna's mind was a furious blur of activity. There was some-
thing about this particular incident that seemed to make the pieces
fit together...she had picked up on the young man's sexual arousal;
clearly, he had, on some level, enjoyed administering the spanking.
The young woman had also enjoyed it; she, too, had radiated sexual
arousal so powerful that Deanna had to block it in order to maintain
her concentration. But she sensed that the woman's arousal was
largely negated by surprise and shock at the unexpected punishment.
Could the entity be experimenting with various forms of deep-
seated emotion, and its effect on those who possessed it? Or was
there more to this than simply an experiment?
Her reverie was interupted by Worf. She hadn't even realized
that they were back inside his quarters. Worf turned to her and
grabbed her shoulder.
"What we witnessed was a human form of giving pain," he snarled
at her. "And you are too frail to even withstand that. You are no
mate for a Klingon."
"Worf!" she returned. "This is no time for discussing our
personal problems. We have to--"
"Falling back on duty again," Worf interupted. "That is very
important to you, Deanna. Perhaps more so than even me."
"Worf, you are being absurd."
"And you are being willful and stubborn."
It only vaguely occurred to Deanna that she was quite possibly in
trouble. She had no doubt now that Worf was partially under the control
of the entity--he was saying and doing things that he may only have
thought on a subconscious level--and there was no reason to believe he
would not act on his feelings, just as the other victims had.
At that moment, something seemed to alter inside her. Like a
kaleidoscope, her desires shifted from one color to another. Instead
of the smoothly professional, calm starfleet counselor, Deanna was now
something else. She sensed Worf's intentions, and was possessed by a
desire to goad him, to encourage him.
"Yes, I am willful and stubborn," she told him playfully. "And
you, like all Klingons, are nothing but talk."
"What?" he demanded, his face turning from rage to surprise.
"You heard me. You Klingons growl a good fight, but you're more
like a bunch of nattering old Ferengi. No wonder you were forced to
sign a peace treaty with the Federation--you found you couldn't just
talk your enemies to death."
Deanna thought: THIS ISN'T ME TALKING. IT'S THE ENTITY--I'M
UNDER IT'S CONTROL. But that realization was no consolation. She began
to say something else, but then she looked at Worf, and sucked in her
breath. He was furious. Rage seemed to radiate around his brown head
like fumes. With a single fluid motion, his hand shot forward and
grasped her arm. At almost the same instant, his other hand reached
behind her to undo the catch of her uniform, a light-blue turquoise
jumpsuit that he proceeded to peel away from her skin. She soon dangled
naked in his grasp: her dark-tipped nipples, which had grown unac-
countably stiff, and that dark patch of hair between her legs.
She stared at him, unabashed in her nudity; after all, they had
been naked together many times. She tried to remain calm, but she felt
that presence in her head, drawing on a part of her personality she had
never dared to express. "I take back everything I said," Deanna
returned. "You know how to take off my clothes; that definitely proves
your worth as a warrior."
With a cry of frustration and rage, Worf lifted her in the
air--and then he sat down on the plush couch and flopped her over his
lap. For a moment, Deanna was too shocked to speak--he couldn't possibly
be thinking of imitating that barbaric human ritual they had witnessed
earlier in the corridor. The sudden flush of humiliation resulting from
the position--that of dangling over her lover's lap, totally naked,
bottom thrust in the air--allowed her to momentarily regain control of
her own tongue. She shrieked, "Worf, put me down this instant! This is
no time for foolishness!"
"That would not be a good idea," Worf snapped. "You are too
frail to withstand a Klingon punishment, so let us see how you handle a
human one." With that, he brought his heavy hand down hard upon her
backside.
SLAP!! Worf was, of course, quite strong, and it didn't feel
like he had checked the momentum of his blow at all. Deanna felt a
moment of shock, as the intense pain spread through her bottom, and then
she gave a short cry.
"I thought as much," Worf scolded. "Very frail." He spanked her
again, the blow landing only slightly to the right of the first. Deanna
kicked and bucked, instinctively trying to squirm out of his grasp, but
she realized that he was holding her fast; she was absolutely unable to
escape.
A third painful spank landed hard on the very curve of her
buttocks. "OWW!!" she cried, unable to keep quiet. "Worf, I'm sorry!
I...I don't know what..."
"Silence!" he ordered, and began a series of sharp, blistering
spanks, that rained down on her left and her right buttocks alike.
SMACK! SMACK! SMAACK!! "Ohhhh! Worf, please, can't we--OWW!!! Talk
about this--OH!! Stop this at once!!!"
It was unbearable; her bottom couldn't take one more spank, and
yet they continued harder and faster with each new impact. She squirmed
to the side, trying to avoid the blows, but this only provoked Worf to
spank her more vigorously, so that her bottom stung with a fierce,
lancing pain.
She also began to be aware of her sex. It had grown quite wet,
almost hungry--and although the primary thought in her mind was how much
she hurt, how much she wanted the awful, painful spanking to be over, she
was also aware of how much she wanted Worf inside her--maybe more than
she ever had.
After he had spanked her several dozen times, her threshold was
nearly crossed, and she began to cry. This was, perhaps, the final
humiliation---the professional counselor of emotions unable to control
even her own. At this, Worf stopped the spanking, his hand raised high
in the air.
"You seem to have learned your lesson," he observed.
"I...I have, Worf. Please let me go...please!"
"I will," he said softly. "AFTER another six blows." With that,
he delievered six final blistering spanks, each one bringing a fresh
burst of tears out of Deanna's eyes, and a new plea for leniency.
Finally, at the end, she lay sobbing over his lap, unable even to
get to her feet. Her bottom was a deep, dark red and scored by dozens
of tiny welts; Worf's hard, heavy hand had abraded her skin to some
degree.
Finally, Worf helped her to her feet. She finished crying--as
much from the humilation as the pain--and she her hand held behind her,
as though the gentle pressure of her own fingers could cool the burning
pain in her backside. Then they stared at each other.
She suddenly noticed how hard Worf was; his erection bulged out
his uniform. She took a cautious step towards him, but suddenly they
were entangled together; his hands pinching her breasts, his hard cock
almost puncturing his unform as it pushed against her leg, their mouths
fusing together hotly.
But before Worf could remove his uniform, they heard a familiar
electronic chirping. It was Deanna's com-badge, still on her uniform,
which lay in a clump on the floor. Captain Picard's familiar voice,
tinged with an edge of urgency, followed: "Counselor, we need you on the
bridge immediately."
Deanna and Worf allowed themselves a moment to share a look--a
promise, of sorts--before she darted to retrieve her uniform. "On my
way, Captain," she said huskily.
Getting on her uniform was bad enough, but walking to the bridge
was definitely difficult, considering the spanking she had gotten. Each
step produced a new twinge of pain; did Worf have to be so thorough? Not
to mention that she had to fight down her own sexual arousal, which
seemed to flare through her--and at a moment when she needed to be
professional and detached.
Entering the bridge was worse. First she wiped the final tears
out of her eyes and sniffled, hoping she didn't look as if she had been
crying. Then she left the turbolift. All eyes greeted her arrival; it
was as though they could all read her expression. *Your counselor Troi
was just taken over her lover's knee and spanked, and they would have had
sex if duty hadn't called.*
But Picard merely looked at her curiously and said, "It seems a
friend has dropped in to pay you a visit."
Troi didn't understand what he meant, until she looked at the
viewscreen--and realized that the Enterprise wasn't alone. A soft,
pulsating mass of light floated in space with them. Troi also realized
that there was a telepathic presence filling the bridge, that was
communicating to every person there. It was saying her name.
She opened her thoughts. <I'm here. I'm Troi.>
The entity opened a channel to receive her thouhts and return its
own responses. No one else could hear them; they communicated privately.
<I have needed a new way to love. My mate has not responded to
traditional means. I probed your crew mates, encouraging them to act upon
their desires, in order to learn from them, so I may reproduce. I was
interested in...> It fumbled to express the concept. <...being happy yet
not happy at the same time. I did not think it would work...until you
and your mate have shown me that it *can* be done, in a way which
is...satisfying.>
Troi grew beet-red, to her own total and abject humilation.
<I have what I needed. Thank you.>
The entity abruptly dissipated and vanished from view. Picard
swiveled around in his chair to stare at Deanna. Riker spoke up,
sounding annoyed: "Do you mind telling us what *that* was all about?"
All she wanted was to return to Worf, to satiate the desire
threatening to soak through the fabric of her uniform. But she
forced herself to look calm and composed; she answered Riker measuredly:
"You can read my report, Commander. As for now, I'm afraid I
have...business to attend to."
If it were possible to make a smooth, dignified exit into the
turbolift with a sore, stinging backside, Deanna managed to do it...and
although she and Worf were back in their right minds, she suspected that
the scene they had been compelled to enact might have many repeat
performances in the future....
<<END>>
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It’s okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with strangers. But
it isn’t okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with strangers!! You only
have one body per lifetime, so take good care of it.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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