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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: Trek14.txt
Authors name: PJ
Story Title: TREK STORY: WORF MEETS HIS MATCH
PART 2 OF 2
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 1995. Please don't remove
the author information or make any changes to this story. You may
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A New Chapter: Worf Meets his Match - 2
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The time passed swiftly on Worf's duty shift. It seemed only
moments since his unusual encounter with the ice-woman ---
Lieutenant Marika --- and now he was going off-duty. He turned over
the Security office to his relief, then on a whim queried the
computer about the Helsinkinen woman. The public record held little
of interest, except that it showed exceptional grades at Starfleet
in Klingonaase and Empire History. With his Security overrides, he
could look deeper into the record if he so chose, but he would then
have to justify his decision to his commander, and he didn't want
to be discussing this woman with Riker for some reason. Not yet.
Marika's mandatory security and combat training results were also
part of the public record, and it appeared that she had taken many
more elective martial arts classes than were required for an
engineering specialist. Some of his Security officers did not have
as much training. He was interested to note that she was a
SovwI'a', a master of the difficult and dangerous discipline of
Sun'garghtaj, a type of Klingon knife-fighting that was only used
in mating rituals and highly formalized duels. Be'le', indeed!
Worf directed the turbolift to the appropriate deck and made
his way to Rec Area Four, a gymnasium area set aside for combat
training and martial arts. The annunciator chimed a moment, then
the doors hissed aside to admit him, while the computer's
emotionless voice informed him of a gravity differential on the
other side of the threshold. Worf stepped across as if he were
climbing down a stair... a wise precaution, when stepping from a
normal gravity area to one which felt to be almost a full 3 G's.
The temperature was also very low, in the Klingon officer's
opinion, perhaps only 10C, and the deck was red-lit, as if the
environmental controls were set to simulate a large planet under
a cool red sun. As his eyes adjusted to the light conditions, he
could make out across the room a whirling, spinning, leaping figure
in silvery armor. With the crown of white hair secured tightly in
braids, it could only be Lieutenant Marika. Again, Worf felt a
strange stirring in his loins. He would have to move very
cautiously under the extra gravitation to avoid injury, but this
woman moved as though she were weightless through the heavy air.
The woman noticed him as soon as he entered, but completed the
complicated kata-figure before she stopped.
"Computer... lights and gravity, normal!" As she spoke into the
air, Worf could feel the weight gradually leaving his body, until
the local gravity was back to normal. Now that the light level was
also higher, he could see that Marika was dressed in full Klingon
body-armor as well.
"I am here!" he said in Standard, echoing the formal Klingon
response of the challenged appearing at a duel. She bowed to him
in the formal manner of the high Klingon duelist, and gestured
beside her. There, awaiting him, was body-armor identical in every
respect to her own, sized however for him. She crossed her arms and
stood, challenge written in every movement of her lithe body, a
sardonic smile that would have done a Klingon princess proud
playing upon her lips. The thought of undressing before this woman
poured molten lead through his veins, making his heart beat more
rapidly and causing a definite tension between his legs. She
noticed his hesitation apparently, for she said, "Will you don
armor, Mr. Worf, or shall we play at draughts? The conditions
agreed to specified 'no unnecessary bloodshed.'" If his skin had
not been so dark, one could easily have seen the spreading flush
that was heating his cheeks, but he met her eyes and began
stripping, very deliberately. Marika watched every moment,
carefully appraising his body as well as his movements.
Carefully he laid aside his sash with its badges of honor, then
pulled off his uniform tunic with a single fluid motion. He could
not restrain himself from flexing the muscles in his chest a bit.
Her only reaction was a slight dilation of her pupils, but her
stance told him that she was not preparing an attack. Next, he
stepped well away from her, and knelt to unseal the magseams on his
boots, never taking his eyes off the woman for a moment as he
pulled them off and set them aside as well. Lastly, he unfastened
the closure of his trousers. Now her eyes were not meeting his,
they were riveted instead upon the obvious bulge that was still
concealed by the midnight fabric. He could see her flush, of which
she seemed unaware, spreading like sunrise across her pale skin.
He slowly pushed the pants down over his hips, and as his huge
erection sprang free of the cloth, her tongue flickered across her
lips for a moment. Then he stood naked before her, the seeming
illusion of humanity stripped from him with his clothes. Marika
beheld a Klingon of mighty ancestry standing before her, muscled,
trained, armored within his own sinews, and as deadly as a hunting
cat. Swiftly he donned the armor, guarding carefully against
possible attack. Then he rose, saying, "The field is yours. What
form shall the combat take?"
She turned away from him then, and knelt before an ornately
carved wooden case. After watching her execute katas in 3 G con-
ditions, Worf would have hesitated making an attack, even if he
were treacherously minded. He watched with true appreciation as
she opened the case, revealing within two sets of weapons for the
Sun'gharghtaj, the formal duel that tested a warrior's courage or
passion. The silver yoDtajmey for the left hand, curved double
tines wrought in starship-hull grade duralloy, gleamed like
starlight, and the golden gharghtajmey, with their rippling
flamelike, pattern-welded blades of iridium-plassteel, caught light
against their faceted edges, throwing yellow-gold glimmers away
like the decay of an antimatter reaction. "Those are antiques from
TlhIngan! Where did you acquire them?" he growled, impressed
against his will by the magnificence of the blades before him,
distinctive in their style, the hard Klingonaase symbols etched
into them proclaiming their maker's name, famous in Klingon
history, a thousand years dead.
"They were the gift of my QobSovwI'a," she answered. Worf
nodded. The Klingon warrior who had taught her must have been very
impressed with her skills indeed to have given her such blades, or
(unthinkable in a human, and a woman at that) she had killed her
master and taken them as spoils. Worf's already high estimation of
Marika increased exponentially as he considered this. "You may
select your weapons," she told him, the beautiful singing vowels
of her speech rolling over him like the light from the daggers.
"We will fight until there is a clear victor, or until first blood,
but no further. Do you agree?" He nodded, and chose his blades. The
yoDtaj he took from the set nearest him, the gharghtaj from the
farthest. She took up the remaining set. As they rose, she called
out to the computer in a language that he didn't know, one full of
the rolling musical lilts that he heard beneath her Standard ---
presumably Helsinkainen --- and the computer obligingly created a
Klingon duelling triskele beneath their feet. She saluted him with
her weapons, and he drew himself up in the formal stance and echoed
her gesture. And the dance began.
As they circled, the battle-fever rose up in Worf like a heady
drug boiling in his blood. Each was assessing the other, the stance,
the movement, the minute shifts of weight which were the feints of
truly excellent fighters. Suddenly they rushed together, an
inevitable, elemental contact. Gharghtajmey rang on yoDtajmey, yin
into yang, as woman and Klingon strove, then parted, all so
suddenly than an observer would have been hard-pressed to swear
that contact had been made, were it not for the ringing of the
blades still sounding in his ears. Worf felt his heart racing,
blood pounding with an excitement that he had not felt in years,
one that was far out of proportion to the stimulus of the battle.
Again they met, blades sliding together, and both leapt back with
identical cuts parting the armor across their chests. Neither was
injured.
Still they circled, like fluid predators, gauging, and now their
hands moved, weaving glittering nets of scattered light as their
blades dipped in and out, until waiting was at an end, and again
they rushed together, so evenly matched that they might have been
a work of art, a study in contrasts, the dark Klingon male and the
ice-pale human woman. Each had caught the other's gharghtaj in the
fork of his yoDtaj, and they strained, their arms slowly spreading
to the sides, trying to free the cutting blade while keeping the
opponent's trapped. Finally they stood chest to heaving chest,
neither able to force the other's hand an inch, and Worf could hear
his own animal-like snarling growling loudly in his ears. He wanted
to howl to the moon, drink hot steaming blood, wrest this woman
down to the floor beneath them and ravish her for a thousand years!
By all the gods of his people! he wanted this woman, this human
woman, as he had not wanted another female before. And incredibly,
rising up to his nostrils like incense from an altar came the
unmistakable scent of a Klingon woman who was equally ready! His
mind reeled in confusion for only a second, but that was all that
was necessary. The woman struck like an adder, catching his lower
lip in her teeth and biting it through, drawing blood and thus
ending the contest.
But it was not over! With a final, convulsive heave he tore
the weapons from her hands, flinging them and his own beyond the
confines of the duelling floor, then seized her and brought both
of them crashing to the ground. "I claim the victory!" she cried,
his blood staining her chin, "First blood is mine!"
"Last is mine, woman! The victory is mine! And you are mine! Deny
it with your body, if you can!" She struggled furiously against his
grasp, her muscles which had been developed, born and bred in a
higher gravity than his native homeworld's making the fight almost
perfectly even. But not for nothing was he the chief of Security
on the flagship of the Federation. His combat skill, coupled with
his still-increasing sexual arousal, enabled him to finally subdue
her, pinned motionless, face-down on the decking, her arms pinioned
behind her, his knee in the small of her back. If she could have
twisted her head to look up at him, she would have seen his eyes
almost totally black, pupils dilated to their utmost extent with
the fury and passion the battle had engendered. His nostrils
flared, sucking in great draughts of air, bringing the maddening
perfume that spoke to his hindbrain of animal lust to fog his
thinking. "Surrender!" he demanded. Then she did the one thing that
he would never have expected, even given the fact that he knew that
her training made her a specialist not only in engineering, but in
Klingon culture as well. In Old High Klingonaase, she sang to him,
chanting the words of the woman's surrender to her mate, the only
surrender a noble-born Klingon woman would ever make. It was too
much. Normally, he was somewhat frightened of human women, such
fragile, breakable creatures they seemed... but now, the battle,
his arousal, the taste of blood in his mouth, all these combined
to make him throw caution to the wind. The female had surrendered,
he would claim his spoils! And he began to tear off her armor, a
process which she eagerly assisted, and together they freed them
both of the constraints of clothing.
If the Helsinkinen woman was surprised at the texture of his skin,
armored with flexible keratin plates almost like scale, she did not
show it. Instead she knelt naked, spread knees revealing the pale
pink of her inner folds, and extended her hands to him, palms up.
Worf seized her hands and brought his lips to her palms, dropping
searing kisses into her hands. The scent of Klingon pheromones rose
again into his nostrils, and he realized that this woman must have
applied it as perfume before the fight, simulating the response of
an aroused Klingon woman. He needed simulate nothing, as she could
tell from his raging hard erection. His kisses burned along her
wrists, up the insides of her arms, and he could feel her tremble
against him in her need. His own need surged again, hot within him,
and his kisses became first nips, then trailing lovebites along her
throat and neck, as he shifted his body so that he knelt behind
her. His hands circled her body and sought out her breasts, not
in a caress but in a sudden violent grasp, his fingers seizing her
nipples, jerking her forward, bringing her ass up hard against his
cock. The woman beneath him moaned as his engorged penis seemed to
writhe like a serpent, twisting into her wet and open pussy. He
used his cock like a weapon, striking home deep within this
opponent, his head thrown back as a Klingon war-cry burst forth from
his lips. He was tugging and pulling and teasing her nipples,
guiding her body back against him, and she cried out in rhythm to
his savage thrusts.
Unlike a human male, his testicles were armored, and with his
penetration of her, the firm jutting scrotum fitted firmly against
her clitoris, the ridged surface stroking her like fingers, forcing
her orgasm almost immediately from the stimulation of her clit. She
could feel his cock inside her growing harder and larger with every
thrust, his Klingon physiology much like that of a cat, locking
his penis into her as they mated, and she continued to come as he
pounded into her. Their coupling was like an elemental force, and
the deck-plates seemed to tremble beneath them as they swept
together, unstoppable as the tides.
Finally he slammed his cock home a final time, shifting his grip
to hold her hips tightly against his as he came, pouring floods of
hot come deep inside her. The powerful rippling of her tight
muscles around his cock forced every drop of hot fluids out of
him, as she continued convulse.
Worf didn't pull out of her right away, leaving his throbbing cock
lodged deep inside her as he reached around and began to stroke her
clitoris, forcing her orgasm to build to ever-higher peaks. Now
that he had ridden through the first thundering wave of lust, he
could marvel at the wetness of this human's cunt, the softness of
her skin, and at the powerful grip of her vagina, pulsing around
his still-hard shaft as she continued to come in helpless submission
to his skillful fingers. What stamina she had!
Finally, long after a Klingon woman would have admitted defeat,
she reached back between her legs and grasped his hand, wordlessly
telling him that she had at last had enough. Worf wrapped his arms
around her then, hugging her fiercely, and pulled her upright again
against his chest. Worf thought, "Here, truly is a woman...
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.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 6