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From: laff@sal.cs.uiuc.edu (Joshua A Laff)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: ARCHIVE: sttng-points-of-view.Z
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Date: 4 Jun 1994 08:15:15 GMT
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This story is another from the archives, and is not written by me.
Requests for just about anything concerning these posts will be ignored.
See the FAQ in a.s.s.d for more information. And stop sending talk
requests. Even when I'm logged in to this posting site, I usually
have the window closed, and if I don't, it's because I'm WORKING
WARNING: The following story is rated NC-17! I mean it! Points of
View contains explicit, and rather graphic descriptions of sexual
situations. It was written strictly as erotica, *not* as SF, but it does
involve the TNG characters, so that's why it's here.
I'm sure Paramount would disapprove strongly of this effort, so the
standard disclaimers apply in triplicate!
Author Name: Kellie Matthews-Simmons.
Address: kmatthews@spot.colorado.ed
Points of View
Chapter One
Up until a few moments earlier, the contact mission had gone
very well. Now suddenly Jean-Luc Picard was faced with a situation he
didn't know how to defuse. How did one politely refuse a gift which
was ritual tradition in this society? He looked at Riker who shrugged
slightly, faced with the same dilemma, but seemingly far less
uncomfortable with it. He leaned toward the captain and whispered.
"I think we're just going to have to... wing it, sir."
Picard sighed, nodding. It went against his grain to even think
of accepting, but as it was only for the duration of their stay.... He
looked back to the Planetary Consul, who was watching them with a
beneficent expression. "Thank you for your gifts, Per Atanil. They are
most...gracious."
The consul beamed and waved an elaborately jeweled hand. "A
mere trifle, for your enjoyment. If they fail to satisfy, let us know at
once; and we will have them beaten."
Riker and Picard exchanged stricken glances. Beaten? Even the
normally imperturbable Worf looked taken aback. Picard was heartily
glad the societal briefing had been thorough and recommended that
females be left off this particular Away Team. He would not have
wanted to subject any woman to this rigidly chauvinistic environment.
The Consul rose, indicating that the formal dinner was over.
The four Enterprise officers rose as well, a gesture of respect for their
host. After he had left the room, Picard gestured Riker Data and Worf
over to him.
"Data, do you have Kyrian in your memory?" At the android's
nod, he went on "Good, try to explain to them that we accepted out of
form only, and that we do not expect them to perform any duties for
us."
Data nodded and spoke a word in Kyrian. The four young
women instantly dropped to their knees and fastened rapt gazes on the
floor. He continued to speak for several moments, then fell silent on a
questioning note. There was a long silence, then finally one of the
women spoke, still staring at the floor. Data listened, then turned.
"I am afraid there is a slight problem, captain. Apparently these
women will be beaten if they fail to have relations with us."
"Yes I know that, Data." Picard said, a bit exasperated.
"However, none of their people need know that they haven't. We're
not planning on complaining to anyone about them. Tell them that."
With a nod, Data turned and elaborated. Once again, there was a
long silence before the same woman spoke again. Data listened intently,
a slight frown on his face as he asked a question, and was answered.
"What now?" Picard prompted.
"Apparently they will be given a physical examination in order to
determine if they have actually complied with their instructions. If they
have not, the result will be the same whether or not a complaint is
lodged."
Picard stared at him, shocked. "That's barbaric!"
"It is apparently the custom here. I believe the practice began as
an attempt by the early colonists to widen a somewhat limited gene-
pool. Women were encouraged to bear children to as many different
mates as possible. Over the decades, apparently the reason for the
custom became lost, leaving only a shell."
"Is there no way to spare them one or the other?"
"No sir, there does not appear to be."
Picard looked at the women. It would not be a terribly onerous
task, to bed any of them, they were all lovely, a platinum blonde, a
golden-blonde, a brunette and a red-head. Their translucent gowns of
metal-shot silk left little to the imagination. They all appeared a little
anxious...not that he blamed them. He scowled.
"Damned if you do, and damned if you don't," he muttered.
Data cocked his head to one side. "Sir?"
"Never mind Data. Ah, I realize this is a rather personal
question, but you are, ah, fully functional, are you not?"
"Yes sir, and programmed in..."
"Fine Data, thank you," Picard interrupted, cutting off whatever
additional comment the android had planned to make. "Well, we can at
least give them a choice. Tell them that they may choose whichever
option they prefer."
After Data's translation of the Captain's words, all four women
answered using the same word, though one, the brunette darted a glance
at Worf first.
"Apparently they fear us less than they fear being beaten."
Picard looked annoyed. "I wish Starfleet taught courses in this
sort of thing."
"It does, sir." Riker put in, dryly. "It's an extra-curricular
course, which goes by the official title of Xeno-Relations. It's more
commonly known as the James Kirk Memorial School of Interplanetary
Romance."
"James Kirk... why is that name so familiar?" Picard wondered
aloud.
"A James Kirk was the captain of the original Starship
Enterprise, NCC-1701, and her immediate successor, NCC-1701A."
Data supplied helpfully.
"Ah yes. That James Kirk." Picard said with a slight smile. "I
may have to investigate that course. It was not offered when I was at
the academy."
"No sir, it's new."
"I would imagine so. Well, then. I suppose we should get this
over with."
Riker chuckled. "I doubt the ladies would find that attitude
flattering, captain."
"No doubt. Data, are they... assigned, or have they free
choice?"
Data asked. A moment later the women stood, in unison, as
Data relayed the answer.
"Apparently it is customary to leave them the choice. One of
their few freedoms."
The women spoke among themselves for a moment, most of
them deferring to the smallest among them, the platinum-blonde. She
was the one who earlier had acted as spokeswoman for them. She
talked to each of them for a moment, then turned, looked at Data, and
spoke, pointing at Worf. Data nodded, and replied, using Worf's
name, and the word Klingon. Her eyebrows lifted and she glanced
back at her companions. They all looked petrified. She made a
disgusted face and said something that made them all hang their heads.
She nodded her thanks to Data, walked over to Worf, and put her hand
on his arm, looking up at him with a questioning expression.
Worf looked down at her, then over at Riker.
"Commander, I..." he began, then stopped, looking very
uncomfortable.
Riker hid a grin by rubbing at his beard. "Think of it as an
exercise in diplomacy, lieutenant."
Worf scowled. "Commander, I understand the necessity,
however I do not believe it is advisable... physically."
The woman looked at Data and spoke. Data turned to Worf.
"She informs me that she is not fragile, sir."
Picard did a double-take. Her reply clearly indicated that she
had understood what Worf said. His gaze narrowed.
"Do you speak Federation Standard?"
She smiled. "Of course, Captain Picard. We all do. That is
partially why we were chosen."
"Then why didn't you say so earlier?"
She looked at him innocently. "You did not ask. When the one
called Data spoke in Kyrian, I assumed we were to confine ourselves to
that tongue, and use him as our translator."
Picard rolled his eyes in exasperation. "I see. Well, that does
simplify things somewhat. Do you all understand that this is not
customary for us?"
She smiled. "That has become clear, Captain."
"Then you will forgive any hesitation we show. It has nothing
to do with you personally."
"Of course." she looked up at Worf, who stood a good ten
inches taller than she did, and outweighed her probably a hundred
pounds. "If you will come with me, I will show you to your quarters."
Worf's scowl grew deeper, and he flashed a silent plea at Riker.
Riker shook his head.
"Sorry, Worf, it's a... diplomatic matter." was all he said.
Worf sighed, and let the diminutive woman escort him out of
the dining chamber. Within a few moments, the room was empty of all
save the remains of the meal.
Worf looked around the room. It was appallingly sybaritic. A
huge bathing area took up one corner. The equally large bed was
covered with cured animal pelts, and silken pillows. It looked soft. He
frowned, thinking it would probably give him a backache. There was
one chair, a decent sized one, next to a low table that held a pitcher and
glasses. He sat down.
Immediately the woman dropped to her knees beside the chair,
reached for the pitcher and poured a single goblet-full. Wordlessly she
handed it to him. He took it, and sniffed suspiciously.
"What is it?"
"Fruit juice, my lord. Unfermented. The monitors informed me
that you apparently do not consume fermented beverages."
He was startled. "What are the monitors? And how do they
know that?"
"The monitors were those who served your meal. They made
note of your likes and dislikes so that we would not offend you."
He sipped, cautiously. The juice was chill and tart, sliding
easily down his throat. He took a larger mouthful.
She remained at his feet, silent. After several minutes had
passed he looked down at her, scowling.
"Why do you not speak?"
"You did not command it, my lord."
"Oh." he wondered if this was how his ancestors had lived. He
had heard tales of the 'ancien regime' whose decadence surely equaled
this, with slaves who obeyed the slightest whim. Personally, he found
it unnerving. "You may speak as you will."
"Thank you, my lord."
"And stop calling me that. I am Worf."
"I know. The one called Data informed me of that."
How was he going to manage this? It was very awkward. He had
never had sex with a human. In point of fact, he did not find them
particularly attractive. This woman was so small, and frail- seeming
that he feared to touch her lest she break. Yet, she had chosen him.
Strange. He wondered why.
"What are you called?" he asked, more to fill the silence than
from curiosity.
"My name is Syr."
He took another sip of his drink and studied her. Her carriage
was
not that of a slave, in fact, she seemed more a warrior. Though she
knelt at his feet, she did so with unconscious pride. She showed no
fear of him at all, something he found uncommon. Even those he knew
well sometimes feared him.
"Why did you choose me?" he asked bluntly.
She looked startled. After a moment, she shook her head. "I
am not certain. Perhaps it was because I have never seen a man as tall
as you are, or as dark. I was curious."
"I am not a man." he said flatly.
"You aren't?" she asked, even more startled, her eyes running
over his uniformed body, going first to the smooth muscles of his chest,
then dropping lower to the conspicuous bulge between his thighs. Her
eyes lifted to his, puzzled.
"I do not mean that I am not male," he clarified.
She looked relieved.
"I mean that I am not Human."
"I know. Neither you, nor the one called Data are human. I did
not recognize his species, but you are a Klingon. Hereditary enemy of
the Federation, or so I was taught. But it is strange, the Klingon we
have illustrations of in our texts are different."
"How so?"
"They are smaller... for one. And they do not have the same
facial structure... here." she ran her fingers down her own forehead
and nose. "In fact, they look like Humans."
He nodded. "Your texts must be very old. When the Klin first
revealed themselves to Humans, we did so with caution. The first
emissaries were partially human themselves, specially bred to look more
like humans than Imperial Klin."
"I see. That explains much, yet not all. How is it you serve the
Federation?"
"The Klin and the Federation are no longer enemies, but I am the
first Klingon officer to serve aboard a Federation starship."
She smiled. "You must be exceptional."
Worf nodded. Modesty was a useless human trait. There was
silence for a few moments, then she spoke again.
"For what reason would it be physically inadvisable for us to
mate?"
Worf stared at her, surprised by the candor of her question. He
studied her for a moment, almost speculatively, then he spoke.
"You are very small."
Implied in that was the statement that he was not. She smiled.
"True. Are there no small women of your species?"
"Some." he admitted.
"Then my size is not a difficulty."
"I suppose not." he looked at her arm, left bare by the cut of her
gown. It was slender, but strong-looking, her pale skin flowing
smoothly over well-developed muscles.
"What then is the true difficulty?" she prompted
He met her frank gaze, wondering why she was so determined
to pursue the question. He decided to be equally open.
"A Klin mating can be very violent. I could accidently harm
you."
She shrugged. "Inadvertent harm is far more acceptable than
deliberate. I am used to beatings. I doubt you would do worse."
He could not imagine anyone beating such a fragile being. "For
what were you beaten?"
"For many things. For insolence, for independence, for
learning, for wanting change, and worst, for refusing my assigned
mating. I bit him. For that they broke my arm."
He looked at her oddly. "If you object so strongly to sex, then
why did you accept this... assignment?"
She smiled a little. "It seemed preferable to the alternative. I do
not want to become a creche-mother."
"What is that?"
"They have a machine that... well, it takes away your self. Then
you don't go mad when they make you bear babies, one after another
until your body can no longer function properly. When you reach that
stage, they neuter you and set you to raising the babies."
She said the whole in a flat, emotionless voice that sent warning
alerts shivering down his nerves. He found himself clenching his fists.
Not even the lowest of the low should be treated so. Slowly he forced
himself to relax, and he put his hand on her shoulder.
"I will tell the Captain of this. Perhaps there is something that
can be done."
She ran her hands over her face for a moment, her fingers came
away wet. "It would be worth dying for, to free the others."
"Let us hope that will not be necessary."
"Let us hope." she echoed in a whisper.
Neither spoke for several minutes. Finally Syr got to her feet.
"How may I please you?"
He shook his head. "I am not certain that you can."
"Why?"
He shrugged. "Human women... are not Klingon women."
"Ah, then you find me unattractive," she stated.
He studied her, slowly. Starting with the three long, silver-
blonde braids that fell thickly from the crown of her head, past large,
almond-shaped gray eyes in an oval face he knew a human would
consider strikingly beautiful. She was well-made, and graceful, her
breasts small and firm, her hips softly flaring, and she was long-legged
for her height.
"For a human, you are not... unattractive," he conceded
She smiled a little. "Thank you, I think."
Silent once more, she walked over to the bathing area, sat down
on the edge of the pool and unbraided her hair, letting the silver strands
fall free to her waist. Then she stood, and undid the single clasp that
held her gown at the shoulder. It fell silently to the floor. She put one
foot on the pool rim and paused, looking at him.
"May I?"
He nodded. She stepped in and then dived, flashing back and
forth across the confines of the water in swift, surprisingly powerful
strokes. After about ten minutes of that, she stopped, and got out,
donning her dress which clung to the water on her skin. She walked to
the door and again paused.
"With your leave, I will go now. I may as well get it over with
now, rather than increase the pain by a night's anticipation."
"What?" he asked, not following her line of reasoning.
"It is obvious that you do not desire me. I may as well report
my failure now. I thank you for being honest with me." She opened
the door and stepped out.
"Wait!" he growled.
She waited, but did not turn to look at him. He stood and went
to the door, drawing her back inside. She looked up at him, obviously
puzzled. He wasn't quite sure himself what he intended to do. He did
know why.
"I do not wish to be the cause of your being beaten... or worse.
Stay. Perhaps we can manage something."
She studied him doubtfully. "One cannot force desire," she
"Perhaps it would not be forced. There is one thing that a
Klingon prizes in a female above anything else... courage. And that
you have."
He saw hope flare in her eyes. She stepped closer.
"Then I will be courageous, and admit to you that I lied...
partially."
"About what?"
"About why I chose you. I chose you because you stir me. I
watched you, all evening. There is a force, an energy, a kind of raw
power in you that I have never felt before. It calls to something in me.
I chose you because I desired you."
"And why did you lie?"
Syr smiled. "I did not think you would believe me, so I chose a
reason I thought you *would* believe. Curiosity is as good a reason
as any," she pushed her wet hair back from her shoulders. "It was not
altogether a lie. I am curious. We are such opposites; it seemed we
would be aesthetically pleasing together."
He looked at her, speculatively, and nodded. "That is true. I
must tell you, this is not a thing my people take easily. For us, sex is
usually the final expression, not the first, as is common with humans."
"I do not take it lightly myself. Why do you think I refused to
be mated, before? But it seems neither of us has free will this night. I
will not hold it against you, if you do the same for me." She looked into
his eyes steadily. "Teach me to please you."
He took her hand in his and closed his fingers around hers, then
stretched his arm out, with hers. He moved his mouth from her wrist
upwards, not touching her, just letting her feel the heat of his breath on
her bare skin. She shivered. He made a sound that could have been a
growl of satisfaction; she wasn't sure. He released her hand and
captured the other, then repeated his action, this time catching the soft
skin where her arm joined her shoulder in his teeth, not hard enough to
hurt, but enough to jolt her. She made a startled sound. He drew
away, looked at her face, then continued, apparently reassured.
The touching-without-touch was nothing she had ever heard of
before. He held her hand, but his lips never touched her flesh. He
skimmed her shoulder, her neck, her cheek, her lips, sending ripples of
almost electric current through the sensitive nerves. She felt herself
warm, as her body reacted to his teasing.
Finally, frustrated, she reached forward with her free hand,
wanting to touch him, then stopped. Her eyes, which had drifted
closed, opened.
"May I touch you?" she asked.
He nodded. Her hand went to his chest, stroking the nearly
skintight surface of his uniform.
"How does this open? May I?"
"You do not need to ask my permission for each thing you wish
to do."
"I do not wish to offend you." she said simply.
"If you offend me, I will let you know." he stated succinctly,
demonstrating how the hidden closure worked.
One-handed she eased the uniform open, then ran her fingers
over the V of sleekly muscled chest she had exposed. For a moment
she flattened her palm against his sternum, fingers spread, and stared at
the contrast of her fair skin against the darkness of his. Then she
tugged her other hand free and skimmed her fingers over the woven
leather and metal surface of his baldric, searching for how it fastened.
He took her hands and guided them around behind him to where it
latched. The action drew her body up against his, and she leaned her
cheek against his bared chest as she opened the baldric.
A moment later she stepped back and took it from him. He
looked slightly amused at the surprised expression that lit her face when
she held its full weight in her hands. She shot a look at his face and
grinned.
"No wonder you scowl so often. This is heavy!"
He shook his head. "Not particularly. Only fourteen kilos."
She snorted. "'Only', he says. Doesn't it hurt, to wear it all the
time?"
He shook his head. "No."
"Oh." Looking nonplussed, she set it carefully on a low table
and returned her attention to him. She took the open edges of his
uniform in her hands and eased it down over his shoulders, then
skinned it completely off. Finding that he wore nothing but a brief
black loinguard under it brought a slight flush to her face. Somehow
she had assumed that at least part of his bulk must be supplied by layers
of clothing, although it was perfectly obvious that with a uniform like
that, it would be difficult to hide such layers.
Determined, she knelt to remove his boots, and suddenly found
herself being tugged upward by her hair, albeit gently.
"If I wish for you to kneel, I will tell you." he said, his face
expressionless.
Her eyes immediately went to the floor. "Yes my lord." she said
automatically.
He yanked her face up, without gentleness this time. "*That
*offends me." he snapped. "We have agreed, you are not my slave, or
even my servant. You have courage, you have pride, show it!"
She glared at him for a minute, then reached up and caught her
hair above where he held it and pulled it free of his grasp.
"You ask me to break the habit of a lifetime in a few moments.
It is not an easy thing, especially when the consequences of doing so are
usually devoutly to be avoided! I meant no offense, and I knelt only
because I wished to finish removing your clothing..." she paused, and
shot him a haughty look. "...for *my* benefit."
He laughed, startling her. She hadn't realized that Klingons
ever laughed.
"That is better. This woman I could possibly bed. The other...
keep her away."
She got angry for a moment, then after a moment saw the
humor and chuckled. "If she comes back I'll chase her away. You're
mine!"
She reached up and put her hands behind his neck, pulling his
head down toward hers. She pressed her mouth against his, found his
lips dry and silky. He did not move, and she sensed puzzlement in him.
She drew back.
"You do not kiss?"
"I have seen kissing, but I do not comprehend the need for it. It
seems an odd way to express desire."
She grinned. If kissing wasn't a Klingon tradition, it was about
to become one. She traced one finger-tip across his lower lip. "The lips
have a great many nerve-endings, as does the tongue. The stimulation
can be very pleasurable."
Copyright 1993. All rights reserved.
From yale!gumby!destroyer!caen!sdd.hp.com!elroy.jpl.nasa.gov!swrinde!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!ub!acsu.buffalo.edu!ubvmsb.cc.buffalo.edu!v130qh57 Wed Apr 28 17:11:08 EDT 1993
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Points of View: Part I Chapter 2.
Here is the second installment of "Points of View, Part 1", as promised.
----
WARNING: The following story is rated NC-17! I mean it! Points of
View contains explicit, and rather graphic descriptions of sexual
situations. It was written strictly as erotica, *not* as SF, but it does
involve the TNG characters, so that's why it's here.
I'm sure Paramount would disapprove strongly of this effort, so the
standard disclaimers apply in triplicate!
---Kellie Matthews-Simmons
kmatthews@spot.colorado.edu
*******************
Points of View
Chapter Two
Once more her lips found his. She let her mouth move on his,
gradually feeling his stiffness ease a bit. When she had lulled him
somewhat, she intensified the attack, tracing the sensitive inner surface
of his lips with her tongue. He jerked away.
"What are you..." he began
"Oh shut up! It was just getting good!" Thoroughly annoyed,
she pulled him back down with rather more force than was absolutely
necessary. He seemed surprised, but allowed it. She started over, and
this time when she used her tongue he didn't pull back. She kept it light
at first, just teasing, until finally he took the hint and she felt him begin
to return the kiss. At the first touch of his tongue on her lips, she
sucked it into her mouth and did to it what she eventually intended to do
to something in a more southernly location.
Suddenly she felt his hands on her back, sliding downwards
toward her hips with rough urgency. Cupping her buttocks in his
hands, he pulled her hard against him, and she felt the iron-hard
urgency of his desire against her belly. She smiled--it was good to
know Klingons weren't all that different from humans.
Finally she let him go and looked up at him like the cat who'd
had the cream. "Well?"
He frowned a little, "I begin to understand the... attraction." he
finally conceded.
"You begin... why you liar! You think I couldn't feel what that
did for you? Hmm?" she poked him in the chest with one finger. "Do
you really?" she poked him again, not really angry, but enjoying the
release.
He grabbed her hand. "Do not do that again!"
"You forget. I'm not your slave, or your servant. Those were
your rules, remember?"
"I remember."
"Good. Keep it that way." she looked up at him, trying to
gauge the real depth of his irritation. It didn't seem like much. With a
grin, she used her free hand to get in one more poke. Before she could
even complete the motion, she found that wrist imprisoned as well. He
held her wrists in his hands for a moment, then casually transferred
both wrists to one hand and reached down to cup her chin. The
expression on his face was unreadable. For a moment, she was afraid.
Then he spoke.
"You are correct. I lied. But do not even play at using violence,
or you may find yourself regretting it. Do you understand?"
She nodded. He drew her hands up above her head and released
the single clasp that held her gown closed. It slithered over her and fell
unnoticed to the floor. Every nerve-ending in her body suddenly tingled
with awareness. He ran one hand down her body, over her breasts,
belly, down to the platinum triangle between her thighs. She shivered.
"Please!" she whispered, not really sure what she was asking
for.
He smiled, a very predatory sort of smile. She felt very
vulnerable, but also very safe. For some unknown reason, she trusted
him.
"I understand human women like to be touched, especially on
their breasts, and between their legs. Is that so?"
"Yes." she breathed.
"Interesting."
She swallowed heavily as his long, hard fingers probed between
her thighs, parting the moist, swollen folds of her labia to find the well
of slippery heat they hid. She moaned as he pushed one finger up
inside her, searching for the source. He continued to hold her hands
captive as he stroked and explored every secret her body held.
Experimentally he introduced a second finger into her heated depths and
she gasped, her knees buckling. Instantly he freed her wrists and
caught her, his fingers leaving her bereft.
"Did I hurt you?" he asked, his voice almost anxious.
"No... oh god, no, it was wonderful! Please... take me to bed.
I'm tired of standing up. I can't reach you properly."
He lifted her effortlessly, as if she weighed nothing, and took a
step; then suddenly stopped and looked down. The barest hint of a
smile curved the outer corners of his mouth. She turned her head to see
what he was looking at. For a moment it didn't register, then it hit her.
His feet were still encased in regulation Starfleet-issue boots. She
giggled.
"May I to kneel this time?" she queried.
"No." he said. "I will take care of it."
He carried her the few steps to the sleeping-pit and dropped her
unceremoniously into its midst. Before she recovered from the
surprise, he had joined her, barefoot. She thought he had beautiful
feet... and hands as well. In fact, everything she could see was
stunning. And the only part of him still covered was the part she most
wanted to see. She reached out and cupped her hand over the hard
curve that the loinguard did little to disguise. He tensed. She grinned.
"Relax. I've no intention of hurting you."
He snorted. "Hurt me? Impossible."
"Oh? Is that so?"
"I did not intend for you to take it as a personal challenge," he
complained.
She laughed. "I know. But dammit, get this thing off! I want
to see you!" she tugged at the loinguard.
Obligingly, he reached down and removed it. She stared, and
swallowed. "Good god!" she finally managed. "That's very... ah...
well..." A string of adjectives occurred to her, none quite what she
wanted. "...large," she finished weakly.
"Did you expect otherwise?" he asked with amusement.
"Whatever I expected, you have more than fulfilled it."
"Already?" he said in mock disbelief. "I had heard human
women were easy to satisfy. I did not realized how easy."
She opened her mouth to protest, and realized he was joking.
She hadn't realized Klingons joked either. A rush of warmth flooded
her with intense desire. She really liked this man...male, she amended.
Her body felt empty and open, waiting to be filled with his hard male
flesh.
His nostrils flared. "Your scent just changed." he said.
"Why?"
She stared at him, blushing. "I... was just thinking how much
I want you to... be inside me."
"Oh."
Syr wondered if he was embarrassed by her candor. Leaning
back against the piled cushions, she bent her knees and let them fall
open.
"I'm ready, come to me."
He did not disagree. He slid gracefully into position between
her thighs and laced his fingers through hers as his shaft nudged her
open and stopped at the entrance.
"You are certain?" he asked, his eyes holding hers.
"I am." she whispered. "Absolutely."
"So be it."
As his hips pressed forward he put his mouth against her
shoulder. She felt his teeth on her, but not painfully. The pain was
elsewhere; but expected. She moaned softly as he slowly invaded her
woman's softness, wishing he would do it quickly. She felt strained,
over-filled, and stretched to the breaking point. Clutching his
shoulders, she set her teeth, braced her heels and pushed herself up into
his invading hardness. She felt a moment's sharp pain, followed by a
dull throbbing, but mostly she felt him; hard, hot and immense, filling
every inch of her.
He pushed himself up on his elbows and stared down at her, a
puzzled frown on his face. He lifted a hand and smoothed the skin of
her shoulder as if searching for something. After a moment his hand
slid down between their bodies to where they joined, then withdrew.
He looked at his fingers, then his eyes went to hers, obviously worried.
"You are bleeding." he stated flatly.
She wondered how he knew that. She had made no outcry
when he breached her. She nodded.
"Yes. A little. But it's normal. How did you know?"
"I can smell it, you were not before, now you are. Why is it
normal to bleed in this way?"
"Didn't you know that in human females there is a barrier... a
small shield of flesh which is broken during her first mating?"
He shook his head. "No. I did not. It sounds like a useless
mutation, your geneticists should remove its coding from your DNA
complexes."
She laughed. "You're right about that. Unfortunately, in my
society great value is placed on it."
He looked at her as if she had lost her mind. "For what
reason?"
She frowned thoughtfully. "You know, I'm not altogether
certain. I just know that it is considered a great feat for a man to break a
virgin. They boast about it."
He scowled. "Revolting habit; all the more reason to eliminate
it. You humans are very odd, I will never understand some of your
customs."
"Perhaps things are different elsewhere. I do not think the
humans you travel with are like those here."
"They are not. I have great respect for them. Are you in pain?"
"No. Not anymore. Though it is difficult not to move."
"Why should you not move?"
"Because, it's bad manners to interrupt someone while they're
talking!"
"Oh. Then we shall dispense with talking. You may move as
you wish."
Experimentally, she arched her hips. The delay had given her
body time to adjust to his unfamiliar presence inside. She no longer felt
uncomfortably stretched. Her natural moisture eased his way as he took
most of his weight on his hands and curled his hips forward. She
gasped as he went even deeper, feeling every hard, solid inch of him
holding her fully open and filled.
He pulled out almost completely, and she grabbed at his hips
frantically, not caring that her nails scored his flanks. "No! Don't
go!"
"I did not intend to." he said, his voice annoyingly controlled,
almost amused. He held himself above her, just the tip of his maleness
still contained within her. She arched upward, searching for more and
he surged back into her in a single powerful stroke. She made a sound,
almost a purr, and lifted her knees to wrap her legs around him as their
movements began to take on a natural rhythm.
She felt his teeth graze her shoulder again, her neck, her breast,
never hard enough to hurt, just enough to further inflame her already
seared senses. She let her hands play over his back, feeling the flex and
slide of powerful muscles beneath the sleek warmth of his skin as he
drove her unceasingly closer to something her body promised would be
perfect. Wanting to give him as much as he was giving her, she began
to echo his actions, lifting her head to nip at whatever she could reach,
but going a step further by then licking where she bit.
His rhythm faltered for a moment, and when he growled she
knew that it was not with displeasure. With a satisfied smile, she
reached up and ran a finger over his lips, hoping he would take the hint
and kiss her. For a moment, he simply allowed her to caress him, then
in a quick motion captured her finger gently in his teeth. She shivered,
wondering if he would be so gentle if she were Klingon also.
Somehow she thought not. She sensed that he leashed the largest part
of his passion in deference to her.
Slowly she pulled her hand down toward her face, since his
teeth were still clamped around her finger he followed. When his mouth
was centimeters from hers, then she wiggled her finger. He released it
instantly, and she lifted her head and ran her tongue along the inner
curve where his lips met. He returned the caress, at the same time
increasing the tempo of his thrusts. With a helpless moan she clutched
at his shoulders, arching her hips into his deep, driving thrusts.
She seemed to hang suspended over an abyss he drove her
toward, and clung to him to keep from falling. One of his hands slid
down between their bodies, and his long, hard fingers curled over her
mound, unerringly finding her most sensitive spot. She let out a
banshee wail as she fell into a blinding sun of swirling, pulsing
pleasure. Vaguely she was aware of a low chuckle from him, as she
gasped for breath, their bodies still and moist.
Gradually as she became more aware, she realized that though
he was still, he was not finished. She could still feel him full and heavy
within her as residual tremors of pleasure shocked through her. She
shifted uncomfortably, her thighs aching slightly from being spread so
wide for so long.
"It is true, then, that human females are easy to satisfy." he
said. "Is it also true that they can be satisfied more than once in a short
time?"
She looked up at him, saw humor and something else gleaming
in his eyes. She swallowed, then smiled as seductively as she knew
how."
"Shall we find out?" she asked softly.
"I think so." he pushed himself up, and she gasped as he slid
from within her. His eyes went to her face. "Pain?" he queried
succinctly.
"No. Just... I miss you."
"Turn over."
"What?" she asked, startled.
"Turn over, on your stomach."
"Oh." Wondering what he was up to, she turned. He lifted her
hips with one hand and slid several pillows beneath her. Her face
warmed, and an echo of her earlier pleasure rippled through her loins at
the thought of what he wanted. Somehow it felt right, primitive and
sensual. She tucked her knees up against the pillows and spread her
legs to give him access, almost trembling with anticipation.
She felt the warmth of his breath against her thigh, then the
startling hardness of his teeth as he bit the sensitive inner surface.
Between her thighs she felt tender, swollen, her body liquid with need.
His hands were on her buttocks, then lower, two fingers slipping inside
to where she ached most. She moaned.
"Yes... oh god, yes."
He stroked her, inside, his fingers slowly stretching her sheath,
but not so much as his penis had before. She writhed, needing more.
His other hand found the swollen bud at the top of her slit, began to
caress it, coating it with the slick moisture of her own body. She
pushed back on his fingers, her hips moving jerkily as she began to lose
control, panting. He put a third finger up her and she sobbed aloud,
shaking. With racking slowness, he worked his fingers in and out of
her dripping sex, still caressing the tiny, rigid nub of flesh where the
most intense feelings centered.
She felt his weight shift, and his fingers within her spread wide,
stroking the hot, tight walls of her vagina. For a moment they remained
so, then she felt something else. With a moan of shock she felt his
massive shaft pushing into her once more. Ecstasy exploded through
her, incredible pleasure. She didn't know how she stood it, being
stretched that wide, but it sent waves of scalding pleasure through her,
like nothing she had ever felt before, and her sheath closed around his
rock-hard organ in clenching spasms of gratification. She licked her
lips and tasted salt, tears were streaming down her cheeks.
His hands were firm on her hips, guiding her movements, not
giving her an instant to recover. Almost immediately her focus shifted
from fulfillment to desire. She gasped aloud, unable to believe he could
do it to her again, but it seemed so. The heart-beat pulse of her last
orgasm became the deep thrum of the next as he rode her, his thrusts
steady and even; spreading her narrow channel wide with each
penetration. A deep, deep ache began low in her belly, not where he
filled her, but higher, almost between her hipbones. It was strange, she
had never heard of such a thing before. Oddly, the almost-pain did not
detract from the pleasure he was giving her; in fact, it increased it.
She strained back, trying to force him to speed up the pace. He
took her clitoris in his fingers and pushed the small, swollen nub back
against her pelvic arch. The pressure seemed to release something. She
felt a sudden twinge of real pain, as quickly gone as come, up where the
strange ache had been and then she exploded yet again, her fingers tore
at the pillows, ripping holes in the fragile silk as she tried not to scream
her pleasure aloud.
When her mind accepted reality again, she realized he still was
not finished. She could feel every hard, heavy inch of him inside her
supersensitized vagina. She moaned, knowing he was going to demand
yet more of her; and was both afraid and ecstatic. She had heard every
mating story there was, but she had never heard of a man pleasuring a
woman more than once before taking his own release. More often, they
did not even bother to please the woman, just rutted away on her until
they spent themselves. What he was giving her was worth the price he
demanded; since that fee was her own pleasure. She wondered if
anyone ever died of pleasure.
He was not moving, waiting for something. She lifted her head
and looked back over her shoulder at him. His eyes were closed, his
head slightly back. There was an expression of intense concentration on
his face, almost as if he were meditating. His nostrils flared out
suddenly, and he opened his eyes, his gaze locking with hers.
"Your body speaks." he said softly. "But does your mind? Do
you consciously wish to conceive a child of this mating?"
"What?" she gasped.
"Did you not feel it? You became fertile, with your last
pleasure."
"But humans don't... we can't control such things!"
"Of course you can. You just did. I could feel it in you...I can
smell it on you. Your body readied an egg and released it."
Suddenly she remembered that strange ache, and the snapping
twinge just before her orgasm. It was the right area... but it was
impossible! One couldn't just say 'now' and have it happen! How could
he know her body better than she did herself? He spoke again.
"The genetic coding of our species is compatible, under certain
circumstances, and with medical assistance. However I will not fertilize
you unless you wish it. Sometimes the body is primitive in its desires,
and does not listen to the mind."
Did he mean what he was saying? That he could impregnate
her, but wouldn't if she didn't wish it? What man would do such a
thing? She wanted to see his face without straining; but at the same
time she didn't want him to leave her body. He seemed to read her
mind, for he eased out of her and turned her onto her back, then pressed
her open and filled her again. She sighed as his massive shaft slid
easily into her slick warmth. It didn't hurt any more, not even where he
had torn open her maiden's veil. After a moment of adjustment, she
looked up at him.
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why would you give me pleasure without taking your own?"
"You have pleasured me. I find it very relaxing, to watch you
find your pleasure."
"No... I mean, why would you not let yourself... finish?"
He chuckled. "I have no intention of not finishing. What makes
you think that?"
"But you said you would not impregnate me unless I wished it."
"Ah. I see. Your people do not use biocontrol?"
She looked at him blankly. "Bio... what?"
"Biocontrol. You see, if I raise my internal body temperature
now, the sperm cells will die, thus, what I give you will not impregnate
you. If I allow natural regulation, then in all likelihood you will
conceive, since your body is ready."
"You can do that?"
"Of course. It is required training. I take it your answer is
negative; that your mind and body are not in agreement?"
She thought about it for a long time, then finally nodded. He
closed his eyes and the look of concentration she had seen before
reappeared. This time she knew what it meant. A few moments later he
opened his eyes again, and moved within her. She shivered, tightening
her thighs around his hips.
"I want to please you, I want to feel your pleasure, as well as
my own!"
"I would not refuse you. One thing... for me to reach
completion, you must draw blood."
"What!"
"It is a physiological necessity. Do not worry... you cannot
harm me."
She stared at him, still aghast. "But, why?"
"In my species, we only breed with those who can hurt us. It
assures continued strength. Usually, the blooding is achieved in the
ritual pre-mating fight; but since with you there was none, it will have to
be done some other way. Only the blooding of both partners will
trigger full release."
She shook her head. "I can't hurt you!"
He looked exasperated. "You are correct. You cannot. Are you
so timid that you cannot draw blood to assure your wish is fulfilled? If
so, you are less than I thought."
That did it. Her eyes narrowed with anger, she twisted and
struggled, trying to free herself, but his sheer bulk held her impaled
beneath him. "Let me go!" she hissed.
"I have not finished with you." he said mildly, moving his hips,
shifting inside her. She gasped, her eyes closing for a moment as she
fought the swamping pleasure.
"You are easy to please, aren't you?" he mocked.
She braced her heels and tried to buck him off, succeeding only
in a motion that drove him still deeper into her yielding softness. She
began to fight in earnest, pushing with hands and arms, almost sobbing
with frustration as he easily mastered her. She grew more frantic as he
began to move, his powerful thighs flexing, spreading her wider to ease
his repeated entry into her sheath. She fought both him, and herself, for
her body wanted only to yield and feel the exquisite pleasure he could
give her. She scratched at him, but her nails were too short to do any
damage. He laughed, and caught her wrists in his hands, holding them
above her head as he took her.
Finally, in desperation, she lifted her head and found sleek, dark
skin and bit him, hard. Iron and copper stung her tongue and he
stopped suddenly, shuddering. She heard an explosive sound;
somehow she knew it was an affirmation in his home language. He
trembled above her for a moment, then ducked his head and kissed her,
tongue snaking out to taste his blood in her mouth. A moment later he
whispered, "I knew you would do it," and began to drive into her
sheath with short, powerful thrusts. She cried out, in mingled pain and
pleasure, sobbing with relief as she realized he had goaded her into
blooding him.
Then it didn't matter. All that mattered was the feel of him, on
her, in her, the scent of him mixing with hers, the overwhelming
pleasure of his massive maleness within her throbbing sheath. She lost
herself, her pleasure so strong that she actually passed out for a
moment, but she recovered seconds later to feel him drive deep inside
her and stop, and heard the primal cry of fulfillment he made as he
found his own release.
She held him, pulling him close, feeling the throbbing pulse of
him within her as she was pumped full of liquid fire. He let her hold
him until the last echo of pleasure died, then he withdrew and lifted
away, relieving her of his weight.
She moaned, her body a mass of bruises she hadn't even
realized she had until that moment. Her wrists hurt, her hips hurt, her
inner thighs hurt, in short, everything hurt. But it was a kind of
satisfied ache. One that spoke of being well-pleasured, not abused.
She lay there smiling, with her eyes closed, drifting between sleep and
waking. She felt something warm and wet envelop one of her her sore
wrists and opened her eyes. He was using a wet cloth on it, a
tremendous scowl on his face as he wrapped it around and held it there.
"What's wrong?" she queried sleepily.
"I hurt you." he said, in a voice redolent of self-disgust.
"Not much. I expected worse."
He looked up, startled. "You did?"
She nodded. "You said you might hurt me, so I was prepared
for the worst. Actually, I've been hurt much worse just for being
disobedient."
"I begin to understand that. You are very stubborn. But then, I
was counting on that."
"I know you were, you brute. That was playing dirty."
"Thank you." he said, looking pleased. Apparently he found
that a compliment.
"You're welcome." she said drily, closing her eyes. "Will you
sleep with me?" she asked, half afraid he would not.
"If you wish it." he said, removing the wet rag and settling
down beside her.
Copyright 1993. All rights reserved.
From yale.edu!ira.uka.de!howland.reston.ans.net!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!ub!acsu.buffalo.edu!ubvmsb.cc.buffalo.edu!v130qh57 Wed Apr 28 17:29:41 EDT 1993
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: Adult Fiction: Points of View, Part 1, Chapter 3
Attached is chapter 3 of 4. Hope you're enjoying it. What follows is not
of my creation. Any comments (constructive ones) sent to me will be
forwarded to the author.
----
WARNING: The following story is rated NC-17! I mean it! Points of
View contains explicit, and rather graphic descriptions of sexual
situations. It was written strictly as erotica, *not* as SF, but it does
involve the TNG characters, so that's why it's here.
I'm sure Paramount would disapprove strongly of this effort, so the
standard disclaimers apply in triplicate!
Kellie Matthew-s-Simmons
kmatthews@spot.colorado.edu
***********************************
Points of View
Chapter Three
She woke suddenly, for no reason, and lay there wondering
what had woken her. Worf lay beside her, his body relaxed and loose
in sleep. She studied him, a smile on her face as she followed the flow
of skin over muscle, taking in the child-like upward cup of one broad,
strong, hand; the hard arch of thigh muscle, long, lean feet. He was
beautiful. And for this night, he was hers.
A rush of desire flooded her, and she looked at his maleness,
massive even in a relaxed state. A slight ache between her legs told her
it wasn't wise, but she didn't care. She wanted him again. Softly she
gathered up a handful of her hair and trailed it over his penis; then
moved her head back and forth, dragging the silken strands across him.
Like silver filigree on ebony. His member stirred, lifting slightly as it
began to harden. She began to breathe harder, and a sudden rush of
wetness between her legs announced that she was ready for him
already. As she watched him, her lips felt swollen, and dry. She licked
them, and then realized what it was she really wanted to do.
She leaned closer, and touched her lips to his organ, felt its
silken steel against her mouth. With a soft moan, she let her tongue
flick out to taste him, salty and rich, tasting of sweat and semen, and
herself. She let her lips roam him, over the pulsing veins and into the
valley that ran the length of him, underneath. She measured him in her
fingers, and found they did not meet when she closed her hand around
him. No wonder she felt so full when he was inside her. She took the
head of his thick, dark shaft into her mouth and suckled at it.
He shifted and moaned, beginning to wake. With a mischevious
laugh, she let her teeth graze the sensitive flesh. He was instantly
awake, his hand wrapped in her hair with a warning tug.
"Do that again and I'll beat you." he growled.
To her shock, her body responded to his statement with a
miniature orgasm, a single shock of pleasure that made her gasp. He
aroused her so fully that even the thought of pain was pleasurable, if he
was the administrator. For the first time she understood how a
woman...or a man, could become addicted to sex. Not wanting to
reveal how much he affected her, she shielded her teeth with her lips
before she lowered her head and engulfed him again.
This time he gasped. She felt his hips buck, pushing him deeper
into her mouth, then he was yanking on her hair again. "What are you
doing?" he demanded in a voice that was hoarse with desire, but
sounded shocked.
She lifted her head. Apparently she had stumbled onto another
Klingon lack of tradition. "Don't you like it?"
"I... yes, but why are you doing it?"
"It's traditional." she lied. "How the woman thanks a man for
pleasing her." She lowered her head again.
He moaned and writhed beneath the touch of her lips. He had
never felt anything like it. It was all he could do to keep from coming in
her mouth. Her hair was wrapped around him like a silver net, the
sensation ticklish and erotic. He felt the pleasure gathering like water
behind a leaky dam. He reached down and lifted her bodily off him to
make her stop before he lost all control. She laughed.
"Poor thing, come into me. I want you." with that she swung
one leg over his and lifted herself above him, then her hand was guiding
him into her. He grasped her hips and pushed her down. She gasped
as he did, bracing her hands on his chest as he penetrated her deeper
than before. She wondered for a second if he was large enough to
actually damage her, but she felt herself ease open to accommodate him
and decided he was not. He was perfect. She pried his hands off her
hips and forced them down on either side of his head... knowing that
he let her do so, for she could never have done it had he resisted. Then
she set the pace, riding him with slow, even strokes.
He freed one of his hands and slid his fingers into the damp
fleece between her legs, caressing the small nub that controlled her
pleasure. She sighed and added a slight twist to her hips that caused her
to move over his fingers in a way that was extremely stimulating. She
tossed her hair back, out of her face. He felt it on his thighs. She had
very long hair. He watched her face as she took him, her eyes closed
and, lips parted as her breath grew uneven. He felt the tension
gathering in her, and smiled. She was very passionate. In fact, he
suspected it was quite possible that a human male would not be able to
fully satisfy her. For some reason he found that thought pleasing.
He freed his other hand and lifted it to her breasts, small and
firm, with hard, roseate nipples. Experimentally he rubbed his fingers
across one nipple. She gasped, and lost her rhythm for a moment.
Apparently she liked that. He repeated the action, alternating between
right and left. She went still, her head arched back as she shuddered
above him. Inside, he felt the muscles of her vagina clench in the
pulsing spasms that signaled her release. After a moment, she slid
forward, resting her head on his chest, still holding him within her.
He was a little surprised she had wanted him again this soon. If
all human women were like this, it must be difficult for their mates to
keep up. Perhaps that was why so many humans changed mates
frequently, especially when they were younger.
"God..." she breathed. "You feel so good inside me."
He didn't reply, waiting to see what her next move would be.
He wanted release, but suspected she might be too tender for the amount
of sex it would take to reach his peak. He could tell she was bleeding
again, though only slightly. With un-Klingon curiosity, he
remembered her mouth on him. That wouldn't damage her.
She shifted against him and sighed, lifting her head. Her words
made him suspect her of telepathic ability. "You are still hard. But I'm
afraid I shouldn't indulge any more. I won't be able to sit down for a
week as it is. May I pleasure you some other way?"
He nodded, not wanting to let her know exactly how much he
had liked what she had done before. It was a weakness. She lifted
herself off him with a slight wince, and picked up the cloth he had
earlier used on her wrist. It had cooled, and the cold was a bit of a
shock as she enveloped the heat of his penis with it, stroking, but it
wasn't unpleasant. Just different. He put his hands behind his head
and closed his eyes.
She looked up and smiled. Slowly she moved the cloth away
and lifted his shaft in her hands, then leaned down and took him in her
mouth. His hips arched slightly. She began to move, letting her tongue
trace the contours of him, tasting the silky flesh that lay warm and
resilient over the steel-hard shaft. He shifted a little. She suspected he
did not want her to know how much he liked her mouth on him, since it
wasn't a Klingon thing to do, but she could feel it in the straining
tightness of his shaft, and the rapid pulse and breathing.
Softly she cupped his testicles, lifting their full, heavy warmth,
caressing. She discovered to her surprise that Klin had at least one
major physiological difference. She could trace the contours of four
ovals within, not two. She wondered if that contributed significantly to
their fertility. Coming back to the head of his shaft, she let her mouth
close around him and she began to imitate the up-and-down motion of
intercourse. He arched again, and she heard his breath catch. She
curled her hands around the part of his shaft she could not enclose with
her mouth and stroked in counterpoint. That drove a growl from him.
She was pleased, and quickened her pace.
He stood it for as long as he could. For some reason, having
her voluntarily take his sex in her mouth was so incredibly erotic that it
drove all thought of control from his mind. But the thought of filling
her mouth with his seed was so alien to him he couldn't do it, even
though it seemed to be what she was trying to achieve. He wanted to
put it where it belonged... between her legs, deep in the silken warmth
of her vagina. He was so close that only a few thrusts would ease him,
it wouldn't be enough to hurt her.
He reached down, pulled her away from him, and rolled her
onto her back. She looked startled for a moment, then she closed her
eyes and smiled, bringing her knees up on either side of his thighs. He
reached down, found the swollen folds and opened them, then he was
pushing into her tight, velvety sheath. The feel of her enclosing him
was all it took. He spent himself inside her in a rush of ecstasy like
nothing he'd ever felt before.
Her teeth closed on his arm and he shuddered, trying to control
the urge to bite her in return. He lost the battle, and his teeth found her
shoulder and sank in, but he felt her tense and heard the slight cry she
gave and stopped instantly, aghast at his own failure. Her blood tasted
much like Klingon blood, warm and iron-rich. He felt his secondary
release of semen within her, and moaned, his hips bucking forward to
get it as deep inside her as he could. Then he rolled onto his back so his
weight wouldn't crush her and let himself relax. It was a long time
before either of them spoke.
"I'm sorry, I did not mean to hurt you."
"It didn't hurt. Not really. But by god, when a Klingon gives
you a hickey, you damn well know it... and so will everyone else."
she chuckled.
"What is a...'hickey'?"
"A love bite." she said, grinning.
He looked at her shoulder. His teeth had left a clear impression
there, just where the neck and shoulder join. It was no longer bleeding,
but there were little streaks of half-dried blood all around it. He
frowned. It was disconcerting to have lost control so thoroughly. Her
fingers traced the frown-lines on his face, trying to smooth them away.
"Stop that. I said you didn't really hurt me."
"That is not why I was frowning. I do not like losing control
like that."
"Oh... I see. It's okay for me to, but not for you?"
"You are human. I am Klingon. I should be stronger."
She smiled, shaking her head. "In loving, there is no winner,
and no loser. It is not a battle to be won or lost. It is simply giving
pleasure. You pleased me, and I pleased you. That is all there is."
He started to explain that a Klingon never loses control
completely, but she put her fingers over his mouth.
"No. Stop. Here, now, it doesn't matter. All that matters is
that we pleased each other. Now I'm tired, and I want some sleep, so
shut up about it, okay?"
Reluctantly he nodded, she smiled, sighed, pillowed her head on
his chest and was asleep in moments. He joined her not long after.
The next time she woke, she knew immediately why. The door-
chime was jangling. She felt her erstwhile pillow tense, and shook her
head.
"It's only the door. I'll get it."
With a sigh she got up, padded to the door wincing with each
step, and then opened it. The human called Riker stood there. His eyes
ranged down her nude body, then back up, lingering a moment on her
wrist where she held the door open, her shoulder, her mouth, then her
eyes. She returned his gaze, blushing a little, knowing she looked like a
woman well-pleasured. One of his eyebrows and one corner of his
mouth lifted in a combination of amusement and surprise.
"Good morning." he said, finally.
"Good morning." she answered.
"We were wondering if we could have our security chief back
now," he said with a grin.
Some imp of mischief invaded her and she grinned back. "I
don't know. I'm not sure that I'm finished with him."
Riker's grin broadened, but before he could speak she heard
Worf's basso-profundo rumble. "Syr...."
Her name was laden with warning. He was telling her not to
joke with his friend. She sighed, her face falling, and stepped aside.
"Forgive me. Come in, my lord."
She saw his eyes widen as he looked past her to where Worf
stood. She didn't blame him. Worf naked, or even almost naked, was
quite a sight. She felt a sudden pain that had nothing to do with her
various bodily aches. As the two men conferred, she retrieved her
gown from where it lay and put it on, then slipped quietly from the
room. She made her way down to the medical section where they gave
her the expected examination. She submitted to their poking and
prodding, trying not to wince. She hadn't been joking about not being
able to sit down for a week. It might even be longer. While they ran
other tests, her discipline officer, Gar, came in, beaming, and informed
her they were pleased with her. She nodded, not speaking, knowing
that if she spoke she would burst into tears. There was a fist-sized knot
in her stomach that made her refuse a proffered breakfast, and after they
patched up her few abrasions and the bite, she went off to her cell to be
alone.
For some reason, the realization that she would never see him
again was all she could think of. That, and his apparent reversion to
coldness after a night of warmth hurt more than any physical pain she
had ever felt. She didn't know why she had expected anything
different. After all, he was a male. She wrapped her arms around her
knees and hugged herself, trying to banish the coldness inside.
Something clear and wet fell on her arm, she stared at it a moment.
Another joined it. She realized, angrily, that she was crying. Nothing
had ever made her cry before. Not even being beaten. Why now? She
brushed the tears off and tried to force herself to stop. It didn't work.
Finally, she gave up and let herself cry.
In the middle of the flood, someone chimed at her door. She
ignored it. A few moments later, it chimed again.
"Go away!" she snapped, knowing she could be reported, but
not caring. They wouldn't punish her now. Not when she had finally
done what they wanted her to do! It didn't make sense! There were a
few moments of silence, then her door flew open. She looked up to
find her Gar scowling at her, an unfamiliar object in his hand. It was
long, and narrow, unoffensive-looking.
"Because you are currently in use, I can't beat you, but there are
other ways of discipline. Stand up."
Suddenly afraid, she stood, trying to brush the tear-tracks from
her face. He touched her breast with the wand and pain exploded
through her. She dropped to her knees, gasping, hands pressed to her
breast as the pain gradually faded. She looked up at him. He smiled.
"The pain is caused by nerve induction. It does no actual
physical damage. We reserve it for our problem breeders; like you.
Your presence is required. Why did you ignore the summons?"
She looked up at her com. It was flashing the order to report to
the council chamber. It must have come on while she was crying, and
she hadn't noticed it. Slowly she got to her feet, carefully staying away
from the harmless-appearing rod.
"Forgive me, my lord. I did not see it."
"Hah! And how do you explain your rudeness when I rang?"
"I...cannot. It was wrong."
"Yes. It was." his hand flashed out and the wand smacked
across her lower back. She dropped again, pain wrenching a cry from
her. She bit her lip to control herself, welcoming the lesser pain. After
a moment she spoke, her voice flat and emotionless.
"Forgive me. I will not do it again."
"Good. I should have used this on you long ago. It makes you
much more tractable. Or did the Klingon manage to tame you? I
understand they are quite adept at pain."
She wanted to tell him the only pain had been her own doing,
but she held her tongue.
"Come. You're late as it is."
He reached down and yanked her to her feet. Not giving her
time to change or freshen up at all, he marched her down to the council
chamber. Involuntarily she remembered the night before, and wished
she had chosen one of the others. She should never have given in to her
own desire. She wondered what Per Atanil wanted this time. He was
bound to be angry that she wore a medical smock, her hair was
unbound, and her face red and blotchy from crying. Gar did not care.
The doors opened, and Gar pushed her inside, hard enough to
make her stumble. She caught herself on her hands and knees, then
stopped. In her field of vision were four pair of feet... in black
Starfleet-issue boots, and color-edged trousers. She closed her eyes for
a moment against the sudden pain, then pushed herself up, her gaze
properly downcast. Per Atanil spoke, angrily, as she had expected.
"Gar, why do you bring her in this condition? She is not fit to
be seen."
"She was reluctant to come."
"Why didn't you just trank her?" he demanded, irritably.
"I thought it unnecessary."
She heard a strange sound from where the Starfleet men stood.
She didn't look up to see who had made it. It didn't matter anyway.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Gar move the wand closer to her
and involuntarily flinched away. "Please, don't..." she whispered. "I
will be good."
He didn't reply, merely moved it even closer. She couldn't
move any farther from it without stepping away. She closed her eyes
and prayed he would not humiliate her by using it in front of the
visitors. What did he want her to do? If he would only tell her, she
would do it. Ever so lightly, it brushed her arm and agony flared. She
caught her breath on a sob, and bit her lip so hard it bled. It pressed
harder.
"On your knees, now." he hissed.
She knelt, trying not to lose her balance and fall. She almost
blacked out. Then suddenly the pain was gone. She gasped in relief
and crouched there, trembling, waiting for it to return. Suddenly she
realized there were two people standing with her. She looked up, and
saw Gar, looking terrified, eyes fastened on the wand he held. Worf
held the other end...the active end. He gave no sign of pain. Slowly
his hand tightened around the rod. It emitted a high-pitched squall, then
broke apart. He dropped the pieces and put his hand...one hand,
around Gar's throat.
"Worf." the Captain spoke. His voice was even and calm.
Worf removed his hand. With a look that could pierce armour,
he took a step back.
"You will not touch her again. Do you understand?"
Gar nodded, feeling his throat surreptitiously.
Worf looked down at her. Instantly her eyes dropped and she
looked away. He had stood the pain. She had given in to it, let it
master her. He would despise her for it. Her instinct was to apologize.
"Forgive me, my lord." she whispered.
"For what? And I told you not to call me that."
She almost looked up. He sounded... concerned? No.
Impossible. "For my weakness. I was afraid... of the pain."
"Only a fool knows no fear, and humans are unaccustomed to
pain. Can you stand?"
She nodded. He held out his hand. For a moment she stared at
it, then realized he was offering to help her up. Cautiously, she put her
hand in his and let him draw her up. Could it be that he was not angry
with her? Still unwilling to look, she stood with eyes downcast, as
custom demanded.
"Syr?" the sound of her name sent a shaft of startled desire
through her. She felt herself blushing. Finally she had to know. She
looked up. He did seem to be angry. Instantly she looked down again.
"I did not mean to make you angry," she said, her voice a bare
whisper.
"You did not."
"But... you are."
"Not with you. Stay here. I must speak with my captain."
She stood still while he spoke, low-voiced, to his superior.
There was quite a bit of agitation obvious in both voices, but she could
not make out words. Per Atanil called Gar to his side, spoke to him for
a moment, then Gar bowed and slunk from the room.
She felt very uncomfortable, especially since no one had told her
why she was there. None of the other females were present. Just her.
Had she done something else wrong? She realized suddenly that she
had not asked permission to leave the guest-chamber earlier that
morning. She had just assumed she was no longer needed. Perhaps
that was the problem. But Worf had said he was not angry with her...
she racked her brain for some other reason.
She was so intent on her thoughts that she failed to notice that
Worf and his Captain had finished speaking. She jumped when the
Starfleet captain spoke.
"Per Atanil... please, excuse the delay. It seems that we have
inadvertently come up against a matter of Klingon protocol which must
be dealt with."
"I understand, Captain. Please, do not hesitate."
The matter is somewhat delicate, may we speak in private?"
"Certainly." he waved his guards away and beckoned Picard
closer. Syr, from where she stood, could hear every word.
"We have already spoken about the fact that Klin take the matter
of mating very seriously. It seems that it is more so than even I
realized. The heart of the matter is, that when a Klingon takes a mate, it
is considered to be the equivalent of a formal marriage. I'm afraid I
don't know quite what to do about it."
Syr didn't hear Per Atanil's reply. She felt all the blood drain
from her face, and swayed, feeling very faint. Marriage? God... no
wonder he was angry! But why hadn't he refused her, then? It made no
sense at all! She could not believe that he had forgotten about it... even
in the 'heat of passion.' In point of fact, he had been perfectly
controlled almost the entire night.
A sudden suspicion made her look over at Worf. He stood
perfectly straight, his eyes fixed on a point somewhat above Per Atanil's
head. He didn't look at all angry. In fact, she could swear there was a
half-millimeter upcurve of his mouth. It didn't confirm her suspicion,
but neither did it deny it. She heard Per Atanil saying;
"...are you certain your officer really wishes to keep her? She
has a very poor record, her nature is very disobedient."
Picard almost smiled. "I do not believe he feels he has a choice,
sir. And in any case, I cannot imagine he will have any difficulty with
her."
Per Atanil studied her a moment, then looked to Worf, and
nodded. "True. He should be well able to keep her in line. Looks as if
he already has. Very well, he may have her, though I believe we're the
ones getting the bargain here. She will not be missed."
She felt a flare of anger. Well, she wouldn't miss them either!
Pigs! Diseased sons of drooling, idiot fathers! She had no idea if where
she was going would be any better, but it was at least a chance of
escape. She put her shoulders back and stood a little straighter. Picard
looked at her, an encouraging smile on his hawkish face. It looked odd
there.
"I assume you heard all that?" he said, addressing her directly.
She nodded. "Yes."
"Have you any objections?"
She suppressed a grin. "No."
"Good. I believe we still have some business to finish up here,
however you needn't wait." he touched the golden insignia on his
chest and spoke into the air. "Picard to Enterprise."
A voice from nowhere replied. "Enterprise. O'Brien here."
"One to beam up, momentarily, on these coordinates. Is
Counselor Troi available?"
"I am here, sir," a second voice replied. A female voice, rich,
and oddly accented.
"Good. Please meet our guest in the transporter room and see
that she is made comfortable."
"Of course, sir. I'll be there."
"Good. Proceed, Mr. O'Brien." he stepped aside and guided
her into the spot where he had been standing. She felt an odd tingling
sensation, for a moment she thought she was going to pass out, then
suddenly she was somewhere else. She faced a plain wall.
"Miss?" came a male voice from behind her. She turned,
startled, found that she was in a small, utilitarian room. A short, rather
stocky man with a pleasant, round face and reddish-blonde hair stood
behind some sort of console. He looked a little surprised, but smiled.
"Welcome aboard, miss. I'm Transporter Chief O'Brien.
Counselor Troi will be here soon, I'm sure."
She nodded, not knowing what else to say.
"You can step down now." he prompted. She took it as an
order and stepped off the slightly raised platform on which she had
arrived. She still wasn't quite sure how she'd gotten there. The door to
the room hissed open, and a stunningly beautiful dark-haired, dark-eyed
woman entered the room. She smiled warmly.
"Welcome. I am Deanna Troi. Please, call me Deanna." her
voice was the same one Syr had heard earlier, speaking from nowhere.
Hesitantly, Syr nodded. "Thank you. But... how did I get
here?"
"The transporter. It is difficult to explain, just rest assured that it
works, and has no ill effect. Will you accompany me to Sickbay?"
"Sickbay? But I am not ill."
"No, but it is standard procedure, just to make certain that none
of our common ills will affect you."
"Oh."
The lovely woman led her through mazes of corridor to a small,
empty room. They stepped inside, and her guide spoke.
"Sickbay."
Syr gasped as the floor seemed to drop out from under her for a
moment, then she realized, embarrassed, that they were in some sort of
elevator.
"I do not mean to intrude, but you seem very confused, and
emotionally distraught. Is there any way I can help you?"
Syr stared at the other woman in surprise. How could she know
that? She thought she had done very well in hiding her distress. The
one called Deanna Troi laughed.
"I am Betazoid. We have the ability to sense the emotions of
others. Can you tell me why you are here?"
Syr laughed suddenly, shaking her head. "No. I'm afraid not.
Supposedly I am to marry, but I think that may have been a ruse. So
really, I am not certain at all why I am here."
"To marry?" Deanna echoed, looking startled. "Who?"
"Worf."
This time it wasn't just startled. It was outright shock. "Worf?"
she demanded, incredulous.
Syr nodded. "Apparently there is some Klingon custom which
requires him to marry any female he mates with."
Deanna couldn't even speak for a moment. When she did, her
voice came out a tinny squeak. "Mate...? You?"
Sensing some possible insult, Syr bridled slightly. "Why not
me?"
"But... you're human!"
"So?."
"I don't...but Worf wouldn't...I mean, he's never shown any
sign of...well..." Deanna stopped, and shook her head. "Here I am
supposed to be the one who keeps her head at all times. I don't mean
any insult, but Worf has never shown any sexual interest in human
females before."
"He had no choice. Not to accept me would have been seen as
an insult to Per Atanil, but I do not understand is why he did not refuse
me, considering the consequences."
Deanna stared at her, sighed, and shook her head. "Would you
start from the beginning please? I'm afraid I don't understand this at
all."
Syr nodded, and started to speak just as the doors opened.
"Actually, would you mind waiting a moment? I think Dr.
Crusher might like to hear this as well."
"If you think it needed."
"I do. Believe me."
Copyright 1993. All rights reserved.
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: Adult Fiction: Points of View, Part 1, Chapter 4 (of 4)
Here is the final installment of "Points of View, Part 1". Again, read
the warning below and take heed.
Any comments of a non-constructive nature are frowned upon. If you don't
like this sort of thing, don't read it.
<oh, and smile.>
----
WARNING: The following story is rated NC-17! I mean it! Points of
View contains explicit, and rather graphic descriptions of sexual
situations. It was written strictly as erotica, *not* as SF, but it does
involve the TNG characters, so that's why it's here.
I'm sure Paramount would disapprove strongly of this effort, so the
standard disclaimers apply in triplicate!
Kellie Matthews-Simmons
kmatthews@spot.colorado.ed
***********************************
Points of View
Chapter Four
Deanna led her into a suite of rooms, full of medical equipment
similar to much down on Kyria. Another woman, small, slim and
red-headed in Starfleet uniform turned, she was in her own way as
attractive as Deanna.
"You must be Syr. Welcome, I am Dr. Beverly Crusher."
Syr stared. A female doctor? In uniform? Were things so
different here?
"You're a real doctor?" Syr asked, incredulously.
"I certainly am, why?"
"I thought only men were allowed to become doctors."
Crusher laughed. "Not by a long shot. Come here, lie down."
Syr obliged, lying down on the examining table, letting her
arms and legs fall into the required positions.
"You're familiar with this, I see."
"Yes. Very."
"Good. Let me just start the scanner... good heavens! What on
earth?" Crusher said, staring up at the screen which had lit up like a
Christmas tree, pulsing red at various spots. Syr knew exactly what it
was showing. Every place it lit was a bruise, a bite or an abrasion. It
also showed blue at the spots on her arm, breast and back where Gar
had used the pain wand.
The doctor stared at the figure for a moment, then turned,
smiling slightly. "Who'd you get in a fight with?" she asked, jokingly.
Syr blushed, suddenly embarrassed. She hadn't even been
aware of half of the aches. Crusher turned back to the screen and
studied it, then spoke.
"Computer, genetic template on seminal fluid please."
"Working." an atonal, disembodied female voice replied. Syr
was going to have to get used to voices out of thin air. After a moment,
it spoke again.
"Genetic template indicates Klingon factors. Template match;
Worf, Lieutenant J.G., current assignment: head of security, U.S.S.
Enterprise."
Crusher whistled, looking down at Syr. "I withdraw that last
question. And now I know why you're here. Good heavens, child,
what have you gotten yourself into?"
Sudden fears washed through her. "I don't know," she
whispered, then annoyed at her own timidity, she forced a laugh. "And
anyway, I think it's what got into me, not what I got into."
Crusher stared at her a moment, then chuckled. "You have a
point there. Are you in any pain?"
"Pain? No. Discomfort, yes."
"We can take care of that. Lie still a moment." Syr obeyed.
Crusher stepped away, then returned with a small device which she
pressed against Syr's arm. It hissed, and almost instantly the aches
went away. Crusher smiled. "Better?"
"Better." Syr confirmed.
"Good. You can get up now." As Syr stood, she continued, "You
know, I must confess to some surprise. Our Worf is not known as a
ladies man."
Syr laughed. "So I have been told, though one would never
know it. Deanna wished me to tell her the tale in your hearing. I will
start."
She told them, leaving out the most intimate details. They didn't
need to know those. Without them, it did not take much time. Dr.
Crusher nodded.
"Well, that explains the nerve induction residuals. I couldn't
believe Worf had anything to do with those, though Klingons do use
N.I. wands in some of their rituals. However, I've never heard of a
marriage custom such as you described. Let me check the sociological
files."
Moments later she returned. "Well, I'm wrong, partly. It seems
there was such a custom, but it is rarely observed these days.
However, you may be glad to know that the marriage is of a contractual
partnership, and may be dissolved at will. It was apparently meant to
insure proper care of the child, should there be one. It is the only form
of marriage in Klin society in which the partners are not bound for life."
Syr felt relief flood her. So it *had* been a trick, designed to
get her off Kyria. It still seemed uncharacteristic, but not so much as
before. With that worry gone, she suddenly realized how tired, grimy,
and tense she felt. She had nothing to wear except the unattractive green
medical smock, but perhaps she could at least freshen up, and do
something about her hair. It felt odd to be walking around with it loose.
"Is there a place where I could bathe, and perhaps borrow
something to put up my hair with?"
"Of course, let me show you to the guest quarters."
Deanna led Syr back to the lift. Once inside, she said "Deck
twelve." and the lift began to move.
Syr fingered her smock. Wistfully she said. "I don't suppose
there's anyone my size here who might let me borrow something to
wear?"
Deanna looked down at her and laughed. "You can request
clothing from ships stores, and it will fit."
"But I am not Starfleet. I should not wear the uniform."
"Ship's stores can make anything you want. I'll show you
when we get to your quarters."
"I have nothing to pay with."
"There is no need for money here. You needn't feel indebted.
Here we are, come this way."
Deanna led her a short distance and through a door.
Syr found herself in a very large room, two rooms, in fact. One
contained the bed and a small bathroom, the other held couches, tables,
chairs, even art objects... only the Councilmen had those on Kyria.
Her own cell would easily fit four or five times into this space.
"Surely this is someone else's room?" she ventured.
"For the time being, it's yours. Until we figure out what to do
with you, at any rate!"
"But... it is so grand! How can you give this to me? I'm only
a female!"
Deanna's expressive face turned sad. "So, things are as bad on
Kyria as we have been told? Women are no more than slaves?"
Syr nodded. "I was shocked that Dr. Crusher was a woman.
And a crewmember as well. I did not know there were women in
Starfleet."
Deanna chuckled. "I am a crewmember as well, Syr."
Syr blinked, surprised. "You are? Of what rank are you?"
"That's a bit difficult to explain. My position is a new one.
Counselor carries the rank of lieutenant commander, yet in some ways it
is even higher than captain."
Syr's eyes widened. "Truly? Then can a woman command?"
"Of course. There are many female commanders, captains, even
admirals, you name it, we've got it. We no longer accept sex biases. A
woman may be anything a man can be."
Syr thought about her statement, found it almost
incomprehensible. "I... cannot quite believe that."
"I understand. Culture shock. But you will see, it is true. The
only reason no women were included in the away team is because the
captain did not wish to subject us to the extreme chauvinism of your
world."
"It's a good thing. Per Atanil would have wanted to have you,
as an exchange gift."
"Have me?"
"Have sex with you," Syr clarified. "You are a very beautiful
woman."
"Oh." Deanna looked momentarily nonplussed. "You know, I
think I would find it difficult to live on your world."
"I don't doubt that."
"Well, let me show you how to request clothing. Here, at the
console. Press this key."
Syr did. The now-familiar, slightly flat female voice replied.
"Ship's Stores program activated. What is your request?"
"Design program, women's clothing." Deanna said.
"Program implemented." A shaft of light suddenly appeared a
few paces away.
Deanna motioned Syr toward it. "Step into the light, and the
computer will create a pattern template to your measurements."
"Do I need to disrobe?"
"No. It sees you through the fabric."
Syr complied. After a moment the light disappeared as quickly
as it had appeared.
"Measurements complete. Please proceed."
"Now. Come back over here and have a seat."
Syr sat down next to Deanna. An undetailed human figure now
glowed on the screen. Deanna picked up a stylus and handed it to Syr."
"Draw what you want, on the figure."
Syr smiled. "Like paper dolls, when I was little." with a few
deft strokes she drew a gown from imagination. Since she had never
been allowed to wear anything longer than thigh-length, she made it
ankle-length. She sketched it one-shoulder, for she knew that style was
flattering, to fit closely along her left side, and flow in pleats from the
closure at her right shoulder. She sat back.
"There."
"That's lovely. You're quite talented."
"Drawing is one of the few skills encouraged in women. I have
always been good at it."
"Now, what kind of fabric, and color?"
Syr thought for a moment. "Something soft, and opaque, with a
little bit of shine to it, which also flows well. In a silvery gray. But not
metallic."
"Executing." the computer replied. After a moment, a pile of
silver-gray materialized out of thin air where Syr had been standing a
moment earlier.
"Is that the... transporter?"
"Yes, it is."
"Did it do that to me?"
"Yes, or something similar."
Syr shivered. "I do not think I like it."
Deanna laughed. "You and Barclay should form an anti-
transporter league. Don't you want to try your dress?"
"You mean that's it? I don't have to make it myself?"
"In a way you did. You chose the design and fabric. The
computer merely executed your orders."
Syr bent and picked it up. The fabric was cool and silky to her
touch, light as down. It had a subtle, pearly sheen to it, exactly what
she had wanted. Could the computer read her mind? No, surely not.
Without hesitation she stripped off her smock and slipped into the
gown. It slid into place effortlessly, fitting exactly as she had drawn it.
She smoothed one hand down it and smiled, pleased.
"It is perfect!"
"Yes, it is, it suits you."
"But I'm still a mess. I need to wash up. Ah... I don't
suppose cosmetics are available too?"
The Betazoid smiled. "You hardly need them, but yes, they are.
Whatever you need, just ask the computer. There's a shower in
there..." she pointed to a doorway. "I'll leave you now, but if you
need me, just ask the computer to call me."
Deanna exited the room. Syr spent some time exploring her new
chamber, more time figuring out how to work the shower, then after
cleaning up, requested cosmetics and hair ornaments to complete her
toilette. Finally she slipped back into the grey gown and sat down. She
was hungry, but didn't know when meals were served, or where so she
ignored that. After a time, the space and silence began to bother her.
Not knowing what else to do, she walked over to the computer.
"Computer?"
"May I help you?"
"Would you ask Counselor Troi to come here? Please?"
"Affirmative."
She sat back and waited. It was about ten minutes before there
was an odd sound from the door. She assumed that was the chime, and
got up to open it. Suddenly she realized it had no handle. She reached
forward to feel for a hidden closure, and the door hissed open, startling
her. Deanna smiled.
"I'm sorry, I did not think to instruct you. If you wish to admit
someone, you merely need to say 'come'. The door will open
automatically. If you wish to leave, it senses your presence and opens.
Did you need me?"
"I was wondering when meals were served. And I was a little
alone... this place is so strange, and you are the only person I know. I
hope I did not take you from your duties."
"Not at all. I would be happy to stay with you, or to show you
the ship. As for meals, you may request meals here in your cabin by
using the computer, or you may eat in one of the dining areas, or in
Ten-Forward. I think you would like it there. Come, I'll take you."
Feeling better already, Syr followed Deanna through the mazes,
up two levels, to a large open room filled with tables, and people...all
sorts of people. She had never seen so many different looking people.
>From reading about them in books, she recognized the pointed ears of
the Vulcans, the antennaed Andorians among the regular humans. Her
gaze went past them to the vast glass-like wall across the front of the
room. After a moment she realized it was neither a painting or a
viewscreen. She drew in a breath, awed.
"Is that Kyria?" she asked, studying the vast reddish sphere that
hung against a star-shot background.
"Yes. It is. Lovely from here, is it not?"
"Yes."
After a moment, Deanna led her toward the bar where a dark-
skinned woman waited, her expression somehow calm, but intensely
curious at the same time. Syr studied her, somehow certain she was not
human. Her odd-looking head-piece hid her forehead and hair; but her
coloring was much like Worf's.
"Are you Klingon?" she queried.
The woman laughed. "Now there's one I haven't heard before.
No, I'm not. What makes you ask that?"
Slightly embarrassed, Syr dropped her gaze as she replied. "I
have only met one Klingon, and his skin is similar to yours, so I
assumed...but then, one should never assume, should one?"
"Never. Although I will admit, I can see that it would be a
logical assumption if you've limited exposure to other cultures." The
woman gave her a calm, gentle smile." I'm Guinan--and you are?"
"Syr."
"Syr is a guest, Guinan. From Kyria," Deanna said.
Guinan whistled softly. "From Kyria? Lucky! How'd you get
off?"
"It's a long story, Guinan." Deanna said smoothly.
"I've got time. Name your poison."
"Poison?" Syr asked blankly.
"That means what would you like to drink?"
"Oh. Water, I suppose, or fruit juice. I do not think that
Klingons drink alcohol, and I would not wish to offend Worf with my
actions."
"Oh ho..." Guinan said, chuckling as she poured something
into a glass and handed it to Syr. "Do I sense something interesting
here?"
Syr looked at Deanna, uncomfortable. "I am not certain that I
should discuss this..."
"You may be right. Sorry Guinan, you'll have to wait."
Guinan nodded, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "Guinan
waits. But her mind wonders..."
Almost as if on cue, the door opened and Worf stepped in,
followed by Riker. Syr almost dropped her glass as her gaze locked
with Worf's. Deanna sucked in a quick breath and looked away, her
cheeks staining red. Quickly she shut down her receptors to block the
savagely erotic tension that had sprung into being. Even the
imperturbable Guinan looked a bit shaken.
Because Worf's presence in Ten-Forward always elicited
interest, there were a lot of curious faces turned toward him. He did not
speak, he just looked at Syr. She quietly put down her glass and went
to him. When she reached the doorway, Worf held out one hand.
Silently Syr put her palm against his, and let her fingers curl through
his. He closed his hand over hers and led her out.
There was dead silence in the room as Riker shook his head and
crossed the room to where Deanna stood, he looked a Guinan and
chuckled.
"Close your mouth, Guinan."
She did, and turned incredulous eyes to him.
"Worf? And her?" she asked in obvious disbelief.
"That's right. Never thought I'd see the day. He never even
acted this way with K'ehlar."
"But she's..."
"She's what?"
"Never mind. I don't think I want to know." she said, turning
back to her bottles and glasses. Riker looked at Deanna, noted the flush
on her face. He grinned. "A little much, is it?"
"I've never felt anything like that before!" she said slowly. "I
may need to put out a Sensitive's warning on that pair. It's like having
a Deltan aboard!"
"Oh really?" Riker asked, intrigued. "Need any help handling
it?"
She knew he was joking, but for a moment she was tempted.
Her flush deepened and she looked away, embarrassed. "Will...
really!"
He chuckled. "Come on, counselor. We have work to do."
Worf led Syr down the gleaming corridors to a room she
assumed was his. She barely had time to notice the utilitarian
furnishings, and the weapon-hung walls before he turned her face to
his, mouth on hers with fierce passion, apparently having decided that
kissing was not such a terrible thing after all. She responded to his
obvious need instantly, with a rush of internal moisture and breath-
taking need.
They didn't bother finding the bed, the floor was as good a
surface as any, though the carpet which felt soft to her feet was
surprisingly rough against Syr's quickly bared skin. For a moment she
wondered if her presence was appropriate, as she peeled open his
uniform to touch him, and then his hands were on her, and the ability to
think fled, leaving only feeling behind. She opened to his touch with a
soft cry, and despite their haste, their bodies merged easily. Their
mating had a desperate urgency which neither of them understood. It
was quickly over, and they lay cooling, still locked together.
Finally Worf spoke. "You are well?"
"I am. And you?"
He scowled suddenly, staring up at the ceiling. "Aside from
having suddenly taken leave of my senses, I am fine."
She smiled, partly due to his words, partly because of the innate
ridiculousness of having a stranger's conversation after what they had
just done. "I did wonder about that for a moment, but when you touch
me, nothing else matters. Strange, isn't it? I expect it wears off after a
time."
"That would be best. If it does not, I will not be able to properly
perform my job. Why did you go this morning?"
The question startled her. "Because I thought you wanted me
to. Because it was the proper thing to do, though I realize I should have
asked permission first."
"Why did you think I wished you to go?"
"You were angry... when I spoke to your friend."
"Commander Riker is my friend, but foremost he is my superior
officer, and I was not angry with you."
"Oh." Suddenly she understood, Worf was a warrior. His
superiors were not to see him as having any weaknesses. Being with a
woman could be seen as a weakness, and it embarrassed him to be
found so. His anger was not at her, it was at himself! "I
misunderstood then. Now it's my turn. Why am I here?"
Her question was met with silence. Finally she pushed herself
up and stared down at him. "Well?"
"I could not leave you there. I thought I could, but I could not.
I told you, there is no such thing a casual sex among Klingons. To
share one's body expresses a committment that goes very deep. I could
not leave you there alone, after what you told me. It is not done. I have
not yet become that human."
"Why didn't you simply refuse me?"
"That is not the point. You do not deserve to be kept in a place
like that. Your spirit would die there. I had to free you."
She felt tears start and turned her head so he wouldn't see them.
His fingers grasped her chin and turned her face to him.
"Why do you cry? Is it not a sign of pain, and sorrow?"
"Not always...it is the sign of an emotion so strong, it must find
release somehow. I am grateful, and happy, not sad."
"Good. I did not mean to cause pain."
"No. You would not. But what will I do here? I have no
skills, no talents...nothing that would make me useful in your world.
Having babies is no talent. And I do not even know for certain that I
have that one, having never tried it."
"You are not an imbecile!" Worf growled, obviously annoyed.
"You will be able to learn a useful skill. The counselor will help you
find something appropriate to your interests and abilities. What would
you *like* to do?"
Syr stared at him. No one had ever asked her that before. She
sat up, wrapping her arms about her knees, resting her chin on her
hands as she thought. Given the choice, which she now had, for the
first time ever, what would she do with her life? As she thought, a
strange tone sounded, and a voice spoke.
"Lt. Worf to the bridge."
Worf sighed, and sat up, groping for his uniform. As he
dressed, she continued to think, to review. There were so many
choices... so many. It was overwhelming. After tasting freedom, how
could she leave the other women on her world to their fate? However,
before she could help them she had to learn more about what it meant to
*be* free. Worf had asked her what she wanted to do. She knew
*what* she wanted, and she had an entire galaxy to learn *how* to do it
in. The realization exhilarated her, and also frightened her beyond
belief. She shuddered, thinking about it. Worf caught the motion,
or perhaps the scent of her fear, and turned.
"What is it?"
She shook her head, not wanting to tell him. He would think
her mad... he might be hurt...
"Tell me," he insisted.
"Lt. Worf, to the bridge," the voice came again, interfering.
Worf looked harassed, and smacked his combadge with rather more
force than absolutely necessary.
"Acknowledged, on my way."
He took a step toward the door, then stopped and looked at her
again.
"Tell me," he repeated.
She gave in. He had to know sometime. "I must go back."
He stared at her assessingly, then nodded.
"Yes, I see that. It frightens you, though."
She nodded. "Very much."
"Be with the fear, and it will pass. Don't fight it, accept it, only
in accepting it will you be able to overcome it."
"Is there anything you fear?"
"Many things, but fewer now than I once did. I must go."
"I know."
He stepped to the door, and it slid open with its characteristic
hiss. One last time he stopped, and looked at her.
"You are certain?"
She smiled and nodded. "I am. I finally realized that we can't
expect anyone else to change Kyria, no one else cares enough about it!
Only working from within can we ever hope to change things. Running
away from it might solve *my* problem, but it leaves the real issue
intact. There must be others who feel as I do, women and men alike. I
will find them, work with them. We may be able to make a difference.
It won't happen quickly, but it *will* happen."
"It will. You are a strong woman, Syr, a woman of character. I
am honored to have been your mate."
She met his gaze, revelling in the fact that she felt no urge to
cringe or defer to him simply because he was male. "I am honored to
have been yours."
His mouth turned up into what she had learned to read as his
smile, and he stepped into the hall and the door closed behind him. Syr
picked up her dress and put it on, then left the room. She had a lot to
do. She wondered briefly if Troi, or Crusher would be willing to point
her in the right direction, then smiled. She knew they would. She had
no doubt at all.
###
End of Part One
Copyright 1993. All rights reserved.
--
I will ignore all requests for: reposts, e-mailing parts, ftp/gif/archive
sites, and subscription requests. These stories get deleted immediately after
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Path: holytoy!seunet!seunet!sunic!EU.net!howland.reston.ans.net!vixen.cso.uiuc.edu!laff
From: laff@sal.cs.uiuc.edu (Joshua A Laff)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: ARCHIVE: sttng-points-of-view-2.Z
Message-ID: <2spd6h$rlj@vixen.cso.uiuc.edu>
Date: 4 Jun 1994 08:15:13 GMT
Reply-To: laff@sal.cs.uiuc.edu
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Organization: University of Illinois at Urbana
Lines: 1602
NNTP-Posting-Host: sal.cs.uiuc.edu
This story is another from the archives, and is not written by me.
Requests for just about anything concerning these posts will be ignored.
See the FAQ in a.s.s.d for more information. And stop sending talk
requests. Even when I'm logged in to this posting site, I usually
have the window closed, and if I don't, it's because I'm WORKING
This is the second part of Kellie Matthews-Simmons' work
"Points of View". She asked me to post it to alt.startrek.creative, and alt.sex.stories.
I also (in an earlier attempt), tried to send it to rec.art.erotica,
so when Tim Pierce decides what he's going to do with it,
a second copy may appear on the net. To those who
hate repeat posts, sorry, I didn't realize that the postings
to unmoderated groups would be affected by sending this to RAE.
If you want to send comments to Ms. Matthews-Simmons,
you should contact her at:
matthewk@spot.colorado.edu
where she will be happy to get your comments.
I will forward mail, if the above does not work.
I believe more is coming, but I'm not sure......
__________________________________________________________________________
WARNING!!! The following story is rated NC-17!! It contains graphic
sexuality. If that's not your cuppa earl gray, stop reading now! It is
the continuation of a story posted earlier, involving members of the TNG
crew. Comments to matthewk@spot.colorado.edu, flames to dev/null.
The Paramount MIB will no doubt be after me soon, so the usual disclaimers
apply! Several times, in fact! ---Kellie
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Points of View, part II
by Kellie Matthews-Simmons
(Copyright 1993, all rights reserved. You may make copies for yourself,
but not for anyone else, and certainly not to sell without giving me a cut! :-)
Jean-Luc Picard watched the small, silver-haired woman lead
Worf away, trying hard not to smile at his security chief's expression
of dismay. He looked for all the world like a condemned man being led
to execution. Picard looked at Riker and smiled, a line from a book he'd
once read seemed all too appropriate, and he paraphrased it.
"Ah, the things we do for Star Fleet."
Riker chuckled, shaking his head. A light touch on his arm
demanded Picard's attention, and he looked down at the hand on his arm,
then up at the woman it belonged to, and tensed. The redhead... why did
it have to be the redhead? He slanted a glance at Riker, and instantly
regretted having done so, for his first officer was watching him with an
expression of unholy glee.
Picard had no doubt whatsoever about what Will Riker was thinking
right at that moment. It didn't help matters that he was thinking it
himself. Though his relationship with Beverly Crusher had
always remained completely professional, there had always been an
undeniable spark of attraction between them.
Every so often, he found his thoughts drifting back to the
*almost* encounter they had experienced during the time when a
peculiar virus had affected everyone on the ship, lowering
inhibitions and raising expectations. The memory of Beverly easing
down the closure of her uniform never failed to bring a strong, and
slightly embarrassing physical reaction. After a moment's study, he
realized that the woman whose hand claimed his arm did not really
look like Bev at all, aside from her height, and the color of her hair. The
Kyrian was voluptuously curved at breast and hip, unlike Bev's more subtle
proportions. Where Bev's eyes were blue, his companion's were
grass-green, and larger; her features more exotic, and her skin a tawny
caramel instead of creamy-pale. Her gaze was direct, but he sensed
something hidden in it. Fear? Resignation? He did not care for either
possibility.
"You are?" he prompted, knowing she already knew who *he* was.
"My name is Niav, Captain Picard. Am I acceptable to you?"
He smiled his best diplomatic smile. "I think that I should
ask that question of you, not you of me."
One corner of her rather full mouth curved up a touch, and
that distressing uneasiness in her eyes was replaced by amusement,
quickly hidden behind the shutters of her lashes.
"You are... acceptable to me, captain. Will you come with me?"
Resisting the urge to make a double-entendre out of her
words, he nodded gravely, and deliberately did not bid good-night
to his officers. There was no point in making himself feel any more
awkward than he already did!
Niav led him through the same archway Syr had taken Worf
through, and down a short corridor to a closed door, where she
touched a control hidden behind a hanging. The door slid open
noiselessly, revealing a large room. Stepping inside, his first
impression was one of darkness, until he realized that the room was
decorated almost entirely in varying shades of green. The ceiling and one
wall were covered with what appeared to be living ivy, and the few
furnishings there were had been executed in a dark, red-brown
wood. The overall effect was one of being deep in a forest. That
impression was enhanced by the presence of a small artificial
waterfall which splashed into an irregularly shaped pool at one side
of the room, and the random melody of insect and birdsong, no
doubt from a speaker hidden somewhere. It was a beautiful room,
restful, yet very unusual. He heard the door close behind him, and
turned to speak to Niav, only to stand stunned as she reached
behind her neck and unfastened her gown, letting it drop in a heap
of iridescent green-gold fabric, then knelt naked at his feet, hands
on her thighs, head bent submissively.
After a second of disbelief, he reached down and put a finger
under her chin, tipping her face up. She did not meet his gaze this
time, and he scowled, annoyed, but tried not to let that show in his
voice when he spoke to her, tempering his annoyance with the
knowledge that her culture expected this of her.
"Get up, please, and put that back on."
Her eyes lifted to his in obvious bewilderment.
"Forgive me, I must have misunderstood... did you wish one
of the others?"
He sighed, and picked up the filmy fabric of her dress,
holding it out to her. "No, Niav, I don't want one of the others.
You must have overheard our conversation earlier, this..." he waved
a hand at the room, then toward her "... this is not something we
*do*. Can we simply talk for awhile?"
She frowned slightly. "Talk?" she asked, as if he'd asked her
to juggle, or stand on her head.
He nodded encouragingly. "Talk."
Niav considered that a moment. "This would help?"
"It would help, me, anyway," he smiled a bit ruefully. "I am
not completely at ease with this situation. As far as I'm concerned,
talking is *all* we should do."
Niav looked at him consideringly, her head tilted a bit to one
side in a mannerism which reminded him surprisingly of Data.
"You are... unable?" she finally asked.
For a moment he didn't comprehend her meaning, then it
sank it, and he laughed, shaking his head. "No, Niav. That's
certainly not a problem, I'm..." he smiled, recalling his words to
Data. "...fully functional. It's just that to me, a man and a woman
should find some attraction before indulging in any physical
relationship."
Her eyes shadowed, and she looked down at the fabric in her hands.
"I see," her words were a bare whisper.
Picard stifled a sigh, wondering what he'd said wrong.
Reviewing his words gave him only one logical possibility. "I don't
mean you are not attractive, Niav. I simply meant that I don't
*know* you, and it's difficult for me to consider making love to a
woman I've not had a chance to get to know first. What's here,"
he tapped his forehead "...is far more important to me than a
woman's external features. Do you understand?"
Niav looked up, and shook her head. "No, to be honest, I don't. No
one has ever asked me to *talk* before. It was never required."
He shook his head at that, appalled. He was beginning to
heartily dislike Kyrian society. How could they do this to half their
population? It was unthinkable!
"Well, I require it. Please, get dressed."
She nodded, and drew the gossamer silk around her again.
It appeared to be a single long rectangle of fabric which she
somehow fashioned into a garment with a deft twist or two. It was
hardly an improvement, as the fabric was quite translucent. Still, it
did shadow what had been all too intriguingly revealed a few
moments earlier, and he relaxed somewhat. He looked around the
room again, searching for someplace to sit. Spotting an x-shaped
chair of almost Roman design, he pointed to it.
"Sit, please."
Niav took a step toward it, then stopped, shaking her head.
"That's *your* place."
"Only if I want it. Sit."
She bit her lower lip, noticeably distressed, and shot a glance
toward the door.
"Please, I'm not supposed to..." she began, then stopped, obviously
torn between her own customs, and her desire not to offend him. She
looked from the door to the chair, plainly uncomfortable with the situation,
then finally she moved, and took a seat in the chair, perched on the edge
of it as if ready to take flight, and once again avoiding his gaze. She did
not look the least bit comfortable.
"Well, I see this isn't going to work. Please sit wherever you
would be most comfortable."
She was out of the chair almost before the words left his mouth, and
sitting on the floor beside the chair, looking intensely relieved. He studied
the chair for a moment, then seated himself on the floor close to her, then
had to suppress a smile at the instant dismay that crossed her features.
"But..." she began. He interrupted her before she could
complete the sentence.
"I am *not* Kyrian. I don't have to conform to their rules. And, as
long as you're with me, you don't either."
She looked down, her fists clenched, mouth tight as she shook her
head. He leaned forward and took her hands in his, working her fingers open.
"You don't need to be afraid of me."
She whispered something inaudible in response, still refusing
to look at him.
"What? I didn't hear you."
A shudder racked her. "Yes, I do." she repeated, only
slightly louder.
"You do... what?" Picard asked, not understanding.
"Have to fear you."
He stiffened, releasing her hands, and sat back to study her
a moment. "Why?" he finally asked.
She looked lost, shaking her head again. "You... would not
understand."
"Perhaps not, but how can you know that unless you tell me?"
That apparently got through to her. She took a deep,
shuddering breath and straightened. "You will not tell *them*?" she
asked anxiously.
"Of course not! Why on earth would I?"
"Because you are a man," she said simply, as if that explained
everything. Picard sighed, not for the first time in the encounter and, he
feared, not for the last.
"Niav, you must understand. This culture... your culture, is
*not* mine. In my world men and women are peers, neither one
dominant or subservient. Not every world is like yours, you know.
In some societies women are the leaders, just as in yours the men
have appropriated that role. On my ship there are men *and* women,
not to mention a few who have no gender at all, living and working as
equals. I have no reason to feel any differently about you."
Niav frowned, puzzled. "This is true?"
"What reason would I have to lie to you?"
She thought about that for a moment, and shrugged. "None
that I can think of."
"Good. Then tell me why you're afraid of me. I promise
I won't hurt you."
"But you will!" Niav insisted. "You ask too much of me!"
"What am I asking of you?" Picard demanded, now thoroughly
irritated. "I don't recall asking you to do anything but talk!"
"That is what will hurt, don't you see?"
"No, I don't. I appear to be exceedingly dense today! Why
don't you explain it to me?"
Niav's eyes focused on something distant as she stared past
his shoulder. "You will make me want that... and it is something I
will never have. Can't you see? You show me a world of possibilities,
none of which I can ever attain!"
Picard stared at her, finally understanding. She was right.
It would be akin to caging a thirsty animal within sight of water, but
with no way to reach it. "I'm sorry, it isn't fair to you, is it?"
"No," she said, with a rueful smile. "...but *that* I'm used to.
It's too late now, you know, I'm already ensnared in your words, so tell me
what it's like in your world, and if you want to know, I'll tell you of mine,
but I'm afraid I'll get the best of the bargain."
"I doubt that. But may I ask you a question first?"
"Certainly."
"Would they really beat you? Even if we told them that it is
not our custom to... indulge in physical relations with women whom we are
not familiar with?"
Niav stared at him as if he'd grown horns. "Well of course! And if
that doesn't suffice, there are always the induction wands..." she paled
noticeably before continuing. "But I am a coward, and only once have I
ever braved those."
"Why?"
She looked at him blankly. "Why am I a coward?"
Picard shook his head "No, of course you're not. What I meant was
why did you brave them once?"
Niav closed her eyes, and he saw the tension in her throat as
she swallowed convulsively. She tried to speak, failed, and turned
her face away as she made a second, more successful attempt.
"They took her away... I couldn't just *let* them."
"Her?" Picard prompted, half afraid of the answer.
"Alsean... my baby, my girl. They took her, they always do.
But I didn't, couldn't just let them have her! Not *knowing* what
she would face. I wanted something better for her, more than this,"
she waved a hand vaguely in the air, her gesture taking in the room,
and herself, before she turned away, face buried in her hands.
Picard felt her pain as an almost physical thing. Memories
of another lifetime flooded him, little vignettes of Meribor, and he
understood her loss intimately. He, too, had wanted something
better for his daughter. Instinctively he reached out and drew her
into his arms. She resisted at first, but after a moment let him ease
her against him, and he could feel her body shudder as she cried
silently. He stroked her hair lightly, the gesture oddly familiar to
him. Sometimes that other life took over for a moment, supplying
abilities he did not normally posses. The man he had once been
would have been totally at a loss in this situation, but the man he
was now knew what to do. He could offer her comfort, because
there was nothing else he could do. The mane beneath his hand
was long and auburn instead of short and dusty-blonde, but the
action was universal.
Eventually she subsided, and drew a long, deep breath, reaching for
control, then pushed herself away a little, wiping her eyes on the back of
her hand. Her face was flushed and tight from crying. She looked far
more human and real than the unnaturally self-possessed woman who had
brought him to the room. Oddly, he found her more attractive now. She
sniffed softly, and finally looked at him, her expression a little
self-conscious.
"I'm sorry, I don't usually do this."
"No, don't be. It's alright, I understand completely," he felt
compelled to elaborate. "I had children, once."
She must have understood his use of the past tense, for her
green gaze shadowed and she put a hand over his. "I am so sorry...
has it been long?"
He felt his throat tighten. How to explain the loss... a thousand
years, or a moment? He finally compromised. "Yes, but it sometimes
feels as if it hasn't."
She nodded. "I know what you mean. Would you like to talk about
it?"
Again, the conflict rose. He did, but he didn't. The story was so
complex. He deliberated for a moment, then shook his head. "No, I don't
think so. That was... another lifetime. I'm a different person now."
The hand on his tightened in wordless support, and he welcomed it.
He hadn't realized how much he still needed to grieve for the loss he felt.
He normally kept himself far too busy to notice it, or to feel it. The
tension in his throat spread down into his chest, up toward his jaw. He
fought it, hating the pain, and the tremble of his hands as they clenched
against the rising ache.
"No, shh, it will pass, it always does. I know, and you know."
Niav's voice was a murmur, and her arms went around him; warm,
solid and as real as his memories. Comfort for comfort. He let himself
hold her, and his mouth found the soft, warm skin of her shoulder almost
by accident. Almost. She didn't move away, but he felt the change in the
way she held herself instantly. He let her go, and sat back until he could
see her face. She looked... surprised? Why? Before he could decide how
to phrase his question she circumvented it by reaching out and drawing
him back against her.
"Do that again, please," she whispered.
He obliged. Her fingers slid up the back of his neck, touching lightly,
almost hesitantly, as he brushed his lips against the curve where her
shoulder and throat met. She shivered, and made a soft sound. He smiled
into her hair, and repeated the caress. She swayed against him, her fingers
tightening.
"I take it you like that?" he queried, leaning back.
She touched her shoulder where his mouth had been. To his
surprise, her expression was one of total amazement.
"What did you do?"
"Pardon?"
"That... feeling. How did you do that?"
"I'm sorry, I don't understand what you're asking."
Niav looked frustrated. "You... that, that... shiver. That...*feeling*!
You must know what I mean."
Picard was beginning to think perhaps he did, and he didn't like the
implication. He tried to think of a way to ask the question that was
forming in his mind. It was not one he had ever had to ask a woman
before. She had borne a child, she must have had sex before. But in this
culture what did that mean? There was a vast difference between having
sex, and making love, and he suspected her experience had been with the
former, not the latter. Maybe he didn't need to ask.
"Come here," he asked, drawing her against him he kissed
her just below her ear. She shivered.
"That feeling?" he queried.
She nodded. "That one."
"You've never felt that before?"
She shook her head. "No, never."
Despite expecting that answer, he was shocked. "That's absolutely
unforgivable."
She frowned, obviously puzzled. "Why?"
"You'll see," he said, leaning down to kiss her throat again, then
moved his mouth along her jawline until he reached her lips. She pulled
away slightly, eyes open, and perplexed. He touched her eyelids with a
finger.
"Close your eyes, relax. You liked what I just did, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"Then I think you'll like this too."
Still looking a bit mistrustful, she closed her eyes. He cupped her
head in his palm and started over, brushing his lips along her jaw, then
across to her mouth. This time she did not pull back. He kissed her
softly, close-mouthed, until he felt her yield to the sensation, then he urged
her lips to part. That accomplished, he deepened the kiss until her arms
went around him, and her body fit itself more closely to his. With that he
grew bolder, more adventurous, and let his tongue caress her lips. Niav
broke away with a gasp, lifting trembling fingers to her lips. Her eyes
were wide with wonder. She closed them for a moment, her own fingers
tracing the path his mouth had taken moments earlier, then she opened
her eyes and looked down at herself, then back at him. A tiny smile
curved the fullness of her mouth as she leaned forward, tipping her head
slightly so her mouth could find his. She initiated the kiss this time, and
after a few moments of exploration, she was the one whose tongue stole
out to taste him. She moved closer, straddling his knees, her hands on his
shoulders for better balance. He braced his own hands on the floor so she
wouldn't tip him over, and let her experiment, trying not to let his grin
interfere with her kiss.
After a little bit she grew bolder, and her mouth left his to echo the
route his lips had taken on her shoulder and throat, but after a moment
her progress was halted by the collar of his uniform. She sat back, her
breathing a little ragged, looking at him in a fashion that threatened to
bring his earlier-suppressed grin back to the surface again.
"Well?" he queried.
"It is... different than I remember. I didn't know it was supposed to
feel like this."
"I suspected as much."
She frowned thoughtfully, and rubbed her lower lip with one finger.
"I've done all these things before, but never felt this way. Why now?"
"I can't honestly answer that... not without seeming intolerably
egotistical, at any rate," he said, letting his smile free. "But, it could
conceivably be because *I* want you to feel... that way, and the others did
not."
She thought about that for a moment, then nodded. "That would
seem the most likely answer. Why do I think that we lost something very
important when my people lost the incentive to make each other feel this
way?"
"Because they did. I probably shouldn't say it, as it's not my
place to judge, but as far as I'm concerned your culture crippled itself
when it decided half of the population was more important than the other
half. They should have known better... they're an Earth offshoot. We
went through that nonsense once already!"
Niav smiled. "Nonsense, I like that. If only I could convince
the men of *my* world that it's such."
"You probably could. I can't imagine any man who would prefer a
passive, unresponsive partner over one who actually enjoys making love."
"You haven't met many Kyrian men, have you?" Niav asked him
with wry humor.
He chuckled. "No, actually I haven't, but then, I'm not *likely* to
meet one under any circumstances in which we would discuss such a thing."
"No, I suppose not," she mused, then took a deep breath and shook
her hair back away from her face. "So... will you show me what else I've
missed?"
Picard studied the vine-hung ceiling innocently. "Well now,
that all depends..."
"On what?"
"What *you* want to do next."
She tilted her head to one side in that oddly Data-like manner, and
studied him for a moment, thoughtfully. Finally she shrugged.
"To be honest, I don't know. Having never enjoyed bree..." she
paused and groped for the term he had used. "I mean, making love, I've
no idea what I might want to do. Is there anything you would suggest?"
"Oh, I might be able to make a recommendation or two."
"I'm in your hands."
He chuckled. "Not yet, but that's one thing I had in mind. Is the
water cold?"
Niav blinked. "Water?"
He nodded toward the artificial waterfall. "The water, in the pool.
I assume it's not just for show?"
"Oh, no, it's for use, and no, it's not cold. It's a bit above body
temperature."
"Good, care to go for a swim?"
"This is part of...?" she began, uncertain of his intent.
"It's just for fun. Come on, don't tell me you can't swim."
"Of course I can! Kyria is over seventy percent water, after all! Most
of us can swim before we can walk!"
"Wonderful, then join me."
He stood up and began to strip off his uniform. Niav watched him
for a moment, then shrugged and removed her gown, a slightly puzzled
expression on her face. "You are an interesting man, Captain Picard."
"My name is Jean-Luc, Niav. Please feel free to use it," he finished
disrobing, and walked to the side of the pool, studying the shape and
depth of it. "Do you mean interesting as in unusual, or interesting as in
strange?"
Niav laughed. "Both. I've never met anyone like you before."
"No, I don't suppose you have."
He dove into the pool, almost noiselessly, with virtually no splash.
She watched him swim from one end of the small pool to the other
without surfacing, and shook her head.
"Definitely both," she said softly, to no one in particular. Dropping
her clothes to the floor, she found the steps at the shallow end of the pool
and joined him in the water, shadowing him until he finally came up for
air. He was barely breathing hard. She, on the other hand, had to work
to catch her breath. He trod water, watching her, with an easy smile on
his face.
"You're good," he said after a moment.
"I'm out of shape," she retorted drily, managing to control the urge
to gulp down air.
"Possibly, but you can fix that."
"True," tired of swimming in place she let herself drift to the top of
the water and lay back on it, floating, her hair fanning out like
sea-anemone fronds. She closed her eyes and let her head drop until the
water covered her ears Her mind filled with the soothing hollow sound of
the water, and she could hear the rush of bubbles his movements created.
It was very relaxing. Something brushed her hand, and she wiggled her
fingers. The light touch moved up along her arm, to her shoulder, then
back down again. She stayed as she was, almost isolated by the noisy
silence and the shadowy darkness of closed eyes. His touch was the only
thing that connected her to the external world. She shivered a little,
though she wasn't cold.
His fingers slid into her palm where it dangled in the water, lightly,
blunt-trimmed nails tickling across her skin, then traveled up her wrist, and
the underside of her arm, just to the elbow, where he traced an abstract
pattern. She lost the rhythm of her breathing and started to sink a little,
but before she could tense to buoy herself up, his arm slid beneath her
back, supporting her. Her eyes flashed open, and she looked up at him,
expecting to find him watching her, but instead his gaze was fixed on some
distant point, not on her. She studied him for a moment, surprised that
he could be so remote, yet at the same time so present. He had sensed
the change in her buoyancy and compensated without hesitation even
though at the time he had only been touching her in one, small spot, and
not even looking at her. She looked away, then back, to find him watching
her intently.
"Where were you?" she asked, curious.
He smiled, ruefully. "Sorry, I was thinking."
"About...?"
"You, or rather, the status of women on this world, and what might
be done to change it."
"A complex subject, do you always think so much?"
"I'm afraid so. A bad habit of mine."
Niav shook her head. "No, not bad. But aren't there times when you
need to stop thinking and just feel?"
He studied her for a moment, a slightly puzzled expression
on his face. "An interesting question, especially coming from you. The
answer is yes, there are, and I think this is one of them."
He slid his hands to her waist and lifted her upright. Startled, she
reached out and grabbed onto his shoulders for balance. He shook his
head, drawing her closer.
"Don't worry, I won't drop you."
She found herself body to body with him, separated by only a few
centimeters of water. He wasn't tall, but he was muscular, with a lean,
compact build. She slid closer, brushing skin against skin. Her nipples
tightened, and an unfamiliar heat bloomed low in her belly. She moved
one hand from his shoulder to his neck and pulled herself fully against
him, tilting her head until her mouth could find his. He cooperated fully,
returning pressure for pressure, stroke for stroke. His hands just below
her shoulder blades kept her upper body against his, but her lower body
had a tendency to drift away. That got to be annoying after a few
moments, so she wound her legs around his to still her movement. Thus
anchored, she could feel his arousal pulsing thickly against her belly, and
suddenly her impulse to play was gone, her training too ingrained. She
knew what she was supposed to when a man wanted her. She arched,
sliding a hand down to find him and fit him into her body.
He caught her hand in his, and gently pushed her up and away until
her body floated free of his, again separated by the silken embrace of the
water. She glanced up to find him gazing at her with an oddly serious, and
slightly speculative expression. She felt suddenly clumsy and ill at ease,
wondering if he didn't want her after all. What else would explain his
action? She felt her face heat as she flushed, embarrassed, looking
anywhere but at him. She tried to remove her other hand from his neck,
but he wouldn't let her, holding it against him with his free hand.
"You did nothing wrong," his voice was soft, velvety. She looked
back up at him, tentatively. "You're just moving too fast. Did they teach
you to do that?"
She nodded, dropping her gaze yet again.
"Remember, *they* don't care if you're ready. *I* do. Now, relax,
and let's try again. Don't do what you think you should do, listen to what
your body says you need. Do you understand the difference?"
"No," she admitted, at a loss.
"Well, with any luck, you will soon."
The intensity of his gaze disconcerted her, and she shook her head.
"I was not taught any of this... we... I... learned that if a man is aroused,
it should be taken care of quickly."
"Why quickly? There's so much to feel, and it's so much more
sensual to do so slowly."
She looked at him dubiously. "If you say so."
He smiled, shaking his head. "I know so."
He reached out and traced the path a lock of her wet hair took down
her shoulder, to almost her nipple before slipping his fingers beneath the
strand, lifting it, and tucking it back behind her ear. She shivered, that
odd tension returning to coil between her hips.
"What would you like me to do?" His query was almost a whisper as
he let his fingers stray down onto the upper curve of her breast again. She
took a deep breath, and slowly she lifted her hand and put it over his,
guiding his hand. Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt
astonishment as well as pleasure. How was it possible that something as
ordinary as skin against skin could feel so good? She closed her eyes,
letting her head drop back as his fingers slid over the hardened peak of
her breast, then framed it. Something warm brushed the curve of her
throat... his lips. Then they were moving lower, the sensation changing as
he dipped below the water line, and changing even more as he took her
nipple in his mouth. She clutched at his shoulders, shocked by the alien
sensations his action engendered... a deep, clenching ache between her
thighs. It was maddening, and wonderful.
His hands went to her waist again, and he moved her upward. She
felt the hard arch of his thigh slide between hers, and then she was
straddling his leg, her upper body clear of the water. His mouth never left
her breast. She discovered a cool, solid, convex shape at her back, the
water-worn rock of the poolside. She let her weight relax against it and
loosened her grip on his shoulders with a sigh, fingers moving to cup the
back of his head and hold him to her. His teeth grazed the stiffened crest
of her nipple, making her shift and arch. One of his hands moved upward
to capture her other breast, the other went lower, beneath the water, to
where her thighs joined. She arched even more, allowing him access to
her, needing his touch like she'd never needed anything before. His
fingers teased the inside of her thigh, then finally moved higher; parting
the soft folds that shielded her from his exploration.
Niav tensed, expecting pain, but there was none. Only liquid heat,
spreading in pulsing waves through her abdomen. His fingers slid easily
into her body, and back out again. She gasped, then bit her lip to stop it.
His fingers slid into her anew, and despite herself she tensed in
anticipation of distress. Sensing her withdrawal he stopped, lifting his
head.
"Am I hurting you?" he asked, his voice concerned.
"No, no, you're not," she admitted
"Then what's wrong?"
"I keep... expecting it to hurt."
"Ah, Niav, don't. I won't hurt you, believe me."
"I would, but... it always did, before."
"Before you weren't ready. Now you are... you're as wet on the
inside as you are on the outside." his fingers smoothed up into her again,
easily and deeply. "See?"
Niav nodded, unable to speak. She was trembling, the unfamiliar
tension building unbearably as he set up a steady rhythm of gentle invasion
and withdrawal. She drew her knees up, bracing her feet against his hips,
her lower back flat against his thigh and her shoulders still supported by
the rock. She felt nothing except the coiling force winding tighter within
her. Then his hand moved a new way, his thumb grazed a concentration
of ecstasy she'd never known she possessed, and something exploded inside
her like a lightning strike. She let out a banshee wail and sagged, panting,
as the clenching spasms slowly subsided, leaving her stunned and languid.
After she caught her breath she opened her eyes and looked up at him
incredulously. He grinned, an insufferably pleased-with-himself grin that
was entirely infectious. She grinned back at him. After a moment she
began to realize how precarious and uncomfortable her position was. As
if reading her mind he grabbed her hands and levered her into a sitting
position again. She could still feel residual twinges of pleasure emanating
from where her mons pressed against his thigh.
Niav closed her eyes and savored the sensation a moment longer.
Finally, she opened her eyes again and smiled. Putting her hands on his
shoulders she leaned over and kissed him, then drew back.
"I didn't know..." she began, then not knowing what to say, she let
her sentence trail off.
"I thought not."
She sighed, her smile fading, and pushed away from him; stroking
through the water to where she could exit the pool. Picard watched her
go, eyes narrowed, as she retrieved a towel from a stack of linens beside
the pool and began to dry off. After a minute, he followed her. Echoing
her actions, he didn't speak as he toweled water from his body, then
wrapped the fabric securely around his waist. That done, he put his hands
on her shoulder, and turned her to face him. As he had suspected, her
expression was far from happy.
"What is it?" he prompted.
Niav shook her head, smiling sadly. "I'm sorry, I'm not very adept at
hiding my emotions, am I?"
"You've no need to be. What's bothering you?"
She focused on a spot just above his shoulder, and stared at it for a
long, awkward moment as she tried to come up with a way to tell him.
Eventually she sighed and shrugged.
"I wish you hadn't shown me what it could be like."
Picard stared at her, stunned.
"What?"
"I wish you hadn't...."
"I heard you, I just don't understand why you would *say* that!"
"The same reason as before. Before I knew, I didn't miss it. Now...
how will I cope with knowing how it should be, when it will never be that
way again?"
Understanding lit his face. "I see. Well, there's no reason why it
shouldn't... be that way, again."
"You don't know the way it is here. They would not take the time,
or the trouble to make me feel."
"Oh, I understand that. But it doesn't alter the fact that you can feel
that way any time you like."
Niav eyed him dubiously. "What do you mean?"
The smile he gave her was disturbingly sensual. "It's your body, you
don't need anyone else's help to experience those feelings. You're
perfectly capable of producing them all by yourself."
Her skeptical expression didn't alter. "I am?"
"You are."
"How?"
He smiled again, that same unsettling grin as before.
"Would you like me to show you?"
She thought about it, remembering the incredible sensations she had
just experienced. Just thinking about it sent her pulse racing, and
quickened her breath, and the answer was inevitable. "Yes," she
managed, in a bare whisper, studying the floor.
"Look at me, I need to know you're not just humoring me."
She lifted her face, feeling heat bloom in her cheeks, and met his
serious blue-gray gaze with her own. Her lips were suddenly dry, and she
had to moisten them before she could speak.
"Yes, I want you to show me."
The smile that transformed his severe features was enough to steal
her breath again. She could barely fathom the fact that he actually cared
what she felt. He held out his hand, she put hers in it, feeling the hard
strength of his fingers close around hers.
It was only a few steps to the bed. She didn't remember making
them, but they were there. When she moved to lie down, he stopped her,
and rearranged the bedding, making a pile of pillows at the head of the
bed, then he took that place himself, half-sitting, the pillows behind his
back. She thought she knew what he wanted, and knelt beside him,
reaching for the tucked-under edge of the towel he still wore around his
hips to remove it. He caught her hand, shaking his head, a hint of a smile
curving his mouth.
"On your back, Niav, here," He spread his hands toward his lap.
"On my back?"
He nodded, she got the distinct feeling he was amused. She was
beginning to be truly puzzled. This was not a position she had ever been
taught, and the towel would most certainly get in the way, but she
complied, settling herself into the vee of his thighs. That done, she looked
over her shoulder at him.
"Like this?"
"Perfect. Now, let yourself relax back against me."
She leaned back, holding herself tensely, barely touching him. He
chuckled, she felt the movement of his laughter against her back.
"I said relax. You do know how, don't you?"
Still feeling perplexed she let her weight settle against him.
"Better, much better. Now, close your eyes, let your head
fall back, like before."
Like before... the words ignited embers in her, making her
skin sensitive and taut. Like before. She leaned back, letting her
head rest against his shoulder.
"Lift your hands."
His voice was a whisper, his breath was warm against her
ear. She lifted her hands, and his hands slid down her arms to cup
each of hers.
"Do you trust me?"
"Mmm." she murmured assent, almost surprised to find that she did.
"Good, then let me guide your hands."
He moved her right hand upward, and her fingers brushed her lips,
very softly. She licked her lips, startled by the odd sensation of having not
known she was going to touch herself. He moved her hand to rest on her
throat, then drew it downward until it cupped her breast. Her nipple
tightened against her palm, as it had against his before. An echoing
tension seemed to flower between her hips, and she began to understand
his game. He moved her left hand down, brushing her fingers down her
ribcage, past her hip, to her thigh, then back again. A trail of tiny sparks
raced beneath her skin along that path, and almost involuntarily she
tightened her right hand where it cupped her breast, and moved her
fingers over her nipple. He made an approving sound, and lifted his right
hand, letting her take over there. His left hand still guided hers, this time
the trail led down the center of her body, into the gentle concavity of her
navel, over the slight rise of her belly, and on into the damp mahogany
curls between her thighs. The moisture she felt there was not water, but
a rich, slick wetness that made her fingers slide like silk on satin. She felt
very warm, as if her entire body was blushing. Her breathing grew rapid
as he took her on a tour of herself, showing her where to touch, and how,
his fingers urging hers to explore the soft depths of her own femininity.
She writhed, opening wider to the combined onslaught on her senses, and
arched back against him, making little sounds of pleasure, her breath
coming in ragged pants. It felt good, wonderful, as wonderful as it had
the first time, perhaps even more, because this time she was controlling
what, where and how she was caressed, and could concentrate on those
places that responded most fiercely. She didn't notice when his hand
moved away, leaving her to explore alone, and it didn't take long to
discover that using both hands was even better than using one.
Remembering what he had done before that had sent her body into
keening madness, she moved her own fingers the same way, and gasped
aloud in breathless wonder at the sensation. She repeated it once, twice,
and the third time her whole body responded with an explosion of delight.
It could have been moments or hours later when she became aware
of sensations other than the slowing aftershocks centered deep in her belly.
She could feel his hands where they rested lightly on her thighs, her own
draped limply over her mons. His chest rose and fell beneath her back
with a regularity that was at odds with the heat and hardness she felt
against her lower back. Niav opened her eyes. From her vantage point
she could see that his eyes were closed, and she would have guessed him
asleep if it hadn't been for the tension around his mouth, and the insistent
pulsebeat of his erection that the towel did nothing to disguise. Smiling,
she reached up to touch his face. He caught her index finger in his teeth,
and drew it into his mouth, stroking his tongue along the underside of it.
The action drew a startled shiver from her, and an echoing pulse of
pleasure between her thighs. Realizing suddenly exactly where her hands
had just been, she was moved to protest.
"Jean-Luc!" Niav was surprised by the sound of her own voice, by
the unusual husky timbre of it.
He let go of her finger. "What?"
His voice was as husky as hers had been. She shivered again, feeling
heat concentrate in her cheeks.
"Let me go wash my hands."
"Why?"
"You know why..." she managed to whisper.
"No, I don't." He caught her hand in his, brought it to his mouth and
began to trace the lines on her palm with his tongue. His other hand slid
up her thigh, searched, found, and pressed two fingers deep inside her.
She arched like a drawn bow, caught between the points of pleasure,
protest forgotten. His teeth grazed the edge of her hand, and she heard
someone moan... herself? His fingers withdrew, leaving her empty and
wanting, then brushed moisture against her lips, tracing the open curve of
them. She licked them, found the taste like ocean water, clean and
vaguely salty.
"See, there's no need," he whispered in her ear, then he moved, and
there were pillows at her back instead of the firm warmth of his chest.
Before she realized what he was doing, he had moved down between her
still-lax thighs, his hands against their sensitive inner surfaces high-up,
almost where they met, and his mouth closed over her in a kiss more
intimate than any she could ever have imagined. She shuddered and cried
out, then instinctively tried to close herself against the touch of his mouth.
He must have anticipated her reaction to his next caress, because
his palms pressed her open just firmly enough to prevent her from doing
so. His tongue probed every secret she had, warmly caressing, stirring the
just-released tension in her sex to life again. After a few seconds had
passed she lost all desire to stop him, and instead concentrated on feeling
every exquisite stroke. Once she stopped resisting, his hands joined the
battle as well; one hand splaying out between her hipbones with gentle
pressure as he once again slipped two fingers into the narrow confines of
her woman's channel. It was too much, she bucked upward with a
spiraling cry of wonder, and then sagged, feeling as if every muscle in her
body had just turned to gelatin. He waited until the sensations had begun
to fade before he moved to lie beside her, propped on one elbow,
watching her.
Niav felt stunned. He'd done it to her again. It was impossible,
unbelievable, but inarguably true. Three times... well, two, once had been
her own doing, but only after he showed her how. Yet he hadn't taken
even a moment for his own pleasure. That was going to change,
immediately. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply to try to regain her
composure, and concluded that she had better act now before he decided
to. She sat up, and tossed her tangled hair back over her shoulder. With
a grin, she put her hand on his shoulder and pushed him onto his back.
He started to speak, so she leaned down and silenced him with her mouth,
drinking in the now familiar taste of him, and of herself on his lips. She
trembled a little, remembering what he'd done for her, and her hands
began to learn the contours of his body, the lightly-furred, muscular arch
of chest, the flat male nipples that responded no less quickly than her own;
moving downward over the flat plane of his belly, until her exploration was
stopped by an annoying expanse of cloth between her and her prey. She
prospected along the edge of it, found the end and pulled it free, tossing
the towel aside triumphantly. She found the hard, hot length of him and
cupped him in her hands, pleased to find that she had affected him at least
a little.
He pulled his mouth from hers, and took a deep, somewhat shaky
breath.
"Niav, don't you think you should slow down?"
She looked down at him, feeling a unaccustomed sense of power, and
shook her head, smiling.
"No," she swung a leg across his, and slowly squirmed backward
until she was sitting on his ankles, where she was sure he couldn't reach
her with those too-knowing hands. "I'm going exactly the speed I want to
go. Now, relax... you do know how, don't you?"
She consciously used his words, and it worked. He chuckled.
"I'm in your hands."
She grinned. She had used his words, now he used her own.
"Yes, you are. And more..." she slid her hands up his legs until she came
to his hips, then she let them move to the bed where she braced her
weight as she leaned forward. She was in familiar territory now, and she
wanted his experience to be every bit as wonderful as her own had been.
Niav bent and pressed her lips to the slight hollow at the end of his
sternum, then she let her tongue steal out to taste him. Slowly she moved
her mouth down until her tongue found the indentation of his navel, then
lower, just to the where the pubic curls began to thicken. She traced the
edge of that line with her tongue, then moved up to graze her teeth lightly
across the subtle protrusion of a hipbone. She heard the quick intake of
his breath, and felt the increase in tension with a secret smile. It was
difficult to resist the temptation to move more quickly. With any other
man she would have, and gladly, just to get it over with. Not this one,
though, this one deserved all the time she could give him, and more. Fair
was fair, after all.
She moistened her lips and kissed where she had just bitten, open-
mouthed, as if it were his mouth and not his hip. His hand grazed her hair
lightly, and she sensed that given half a chance, he would direct her in this
too. Moving her mouth back down to the last stretch of bare skin, she
tongued that spot, then lifted her head.
"You mustn't touch me, Jean-Luc. This is my gift to you, not yours
to me. Understand?"
He nodded, letting his hand fall to his side, eyes so dark they
seemed almost brown now. She wondered how many colors one pair of
eyes could hold, and what color they would be in a little while.
Nibbling a path from his hip to the outside of his thigh, Niav let her
hair trail across his skin like spiderwebs, or silk, and was rewarded by the
slight flutter of his belly as he sucked air over clenched teeth. Like
everything else about him, his responses were subtle, not easily read.
What would please him, she wondered silently. What would he want her
to do to him... she stopped for a moment in sudden realization. Not *to*
him, but *with* him. What he would want was written in what he had
done already; he took pleasure in giving pleasure. Yes, that was it, but not
just yet. He had said he preferred leisure over speed, so she would draw
it out as long as she could. For the first time, the thought of using some
of the techniques she'd been taught appealed to her, rather than
nauseating her.
With her tongue she retraced the path she had just made with her
teeth, ending again on that sensitive spot just below the hip, then finally
she moved her attention to the upthrust column of his penis, placing warm,
open-mouthed kisses along its length, then traced the contours of him with
just the tip of her tongue. He seemed to swell, responding to her touch,
his thighs and belly hard with tension. She looked up, pushing her hair out
of her face, and caught him with closed eyes, lower lip caught between his
teeth, his elegant hands clenched into fists. The sight was powerfully erotic
to her, sending a shiver through her that tightened her nipples into
hardened cones, and set a curl of desire throbbing between her thighs.
She lowered her head again, took the heat and hardness of him in
deep in her mouth, and used her tongue and teeth to pull a moan of
pleasure from him that shook her. Never before had she realized the kind
of power a woman could have over a man. She felt a pulsing ache deep
inside her sex, so intense she lost her concentration for a moment and let
him slip from her mouth. She felt him reach for her, then stop short, and
let his hands fall without touching her, respecting her request that he not
touch her. She closed her eyes, blinking back tears, still astonished that
such was possible. His restraint goaded her, not to break it, but to reward
it. She flicked her tongue against the head of his shaft in butterfly-light
touches before engulfing him completely; loosed him, took him again, in
a maddeningly staccato rhythm. He tensed each time the warmth of her
mouth surrounded him, relaxed when she let him go, but never fully. She
felt the tautness in him as he struggled with his own need to be in
complete control. He had taught her how to trust, now she wanted to do
the same.
She slid a hand between his thighs, cupping the warm fullness there,
stroking, feeling the orbs within raise and tighten as she swirled her tongue
around the blunt tip of him, exploring every surface she could find. He
shifted, changing position slightly, hips lifting in short, involuntarily bucks
as she drove him ever closer to release. Soon, she would have to stop
soon, but not just yet. She curled her free hand around the base of his
penis with a firm, even pressure, and he stiffened, then swore softly, as if
in pain. Surprised at his response, she glanced up again, keeping the
pulsing hardness of him in her mouth. His hands were above his head,
fingers laced into the tough vines that covered the wall as he strained to
keep himself under control. She laughed, understanding now why he'd
sworn. Bela'a vines had thorns. Small, vestigial, but definitely *there*, just
enough that his present position would be a touch uncomfortable. As she
laughed her tongue moved softly against his rigid shaft, and he shuddered,
breath ragged and loud. Slowly she let his organ slip from her mouth, and
slid closer to him, until the hard, hot length of him was trapped
against her mons. She undulated her hips, and leaned down to tongue one
of his nipples. His hips lifted against hers, pressing his erection against her
pubic bone. She lifted her head and kissed the underside of his jaw, then
ran her tongue into the intricate whorls of one ear, wondering absently if
there was Vulcan blood in his family. He made a half-strangled sound she
wasn't sure was pleasure or pain. She brushed her lips over his, and
whispered, "Is it so difficult, Jean-Luc? Let go... let me give you what
you gave me."
He opened his eyes, dark gray now, no trace of blue, or brown.
She wondered briefly how he did that, before the expression in his eyes
stole her thoughts. Fire, long-banked but burning brightly now that it had
fuel. She shuddered, aching, as he untangled one hand and reached out
to touch one nipple with the tip of a finger. Instinctively she leaned
forward, and he slid his fingers beneath her breast, lifting it.
"Not..." he breathed softly taking the nipple between two fingers and
massaging it, "...without you."
Niav arched, head back, breasts forward, asking silently for more.
He cupped her breast, and teased it, his fingers sliding easily over her
sweat-sheened skin. She moaned, torn between her own need, and her
desire to give him the same sort of pleasure he had shown her. Then her
dilemma resolved, there was no reason not to have both. She shifted,
spreading her thighs, letting her knees find purchase on the mattress, then
she lifted herself over him. Slowly she moved until his penis nudged her
softly swollen nether lips. For a moment she teased both herself and him,
rocking, letting his hardness slide easily in the moist cleft of her
womanhood, then she reached down, opened herself, and lowered her
body onto his, taking him deep inside her.
She was so aroused that just the sensation of being entered sent her
over the edge. She clutched at his hips, shuddering and crying out as wave
after wave of incredible pleasure washed though her. His fingers slid into
the damp fleece where their bodies meshed, coaxing even more sensation
from her. She braced her hands on his chest, panting, feeling him still
hard and hot within her. It was perfect, utterly perfect. The aching
emptiness between her legs was filled with him, as if he'd been made to
be there. Without moving, she moved, tightening the muscles within her
vagina as she would have tightened her hand to stroke him. His eyes
widened in surprise. She did it again, a slow ripple of tension that began
at the base of him and slid upward. His eyes fluttered closed, and his
head tipped back. She leaned down and kissed the hollow at the base of
his throat, then his jaw, then his mouth. His hand tangled in her hair,
slanting her mouth across his as he kissed her almost savagely, his tongue
probing her mouth in time with the supple clenching of her sheath around
him. After a moment he broke the kiss with a low moan, his hands
gripping her hips as if to assure himself that she really wasn't moving, yet
she was.
"Niav... gods! What are you doing?"
"Do you like it?" she asked, with mock innocence.
He laughed, once, a short, panting chuckle. "Yes... oh yes."
"Good, I hoped you would."
"But what... is it something you're taught here?"
"In a way, yes," she smiled, secretively...but not in the way that
you mean, she thought silently to herself, wondering what he would say if
she told him it was a birthing technique. It worked as well in reverse, and
was intensely stimulating, not only to him, but to herself as well. She felt
the delightful pressure gathering between her thighs again. She began to
move her hips over his externally as well as internally, and it became more
and more difficult to maintain her concentration. She started to shake
with the effort of it, and then suddenly he *moved* and transposed their
positions. She doubted she could have copied the motion, yet it
succeeded, she was now beneath him, still spread and filled with his
delicious maleness, but no longer doing all the work. She braced her heels
against the bed and pushed herself up into his thrusts, gasping as she
realized how well this new position accommodated her growing bliss. Each
penetration deepened her pleasure, winding the coil of tension tighter until
finally it sprang free, and she screamed, locking her thighs around his hips
as ecstasy swamped her. He caught her cry in his mouth as he drove
himself deep inside her and finally found his own release.
He caught his breath and turned onto his side, taking her with him,
his softening member still held within the silken depths of her sex. She
tightened her thighs around him, and pillowed her head on his arm, her
fingertips stroking randomly through the soft fur on his chest. Gradually
her movements slowed, then stopped, and her breathing became deep and
even.
He was amazed that she trusted him enough to fall asleep so easily,
and held very still for a long time, unwilling to disturb her, until finally
the tingling pain caused by impaired circulation forced him to gently
disentangle himself from her. She frowned, and murmured in her sleep,
but didn't wake as he eased himself out of bed. He took a moment to
untangle the bedlinens and lay them over Niav, then, restless and vaguely
unsettled, he explored the room. He found the panel which controlled the
lights and dimmed them so Niav could sleep more easily, and discovered
a window which looked out onto a rocky seascape. What light Kyria's
single tiny satellite shed shimmered silver on the moving water, and wet
stones. He sat down in the romanesque chair and poured himself a cup
of water from the pitcher on the low table beside the chair, sipping from
it absently as he tried to identify the source of his unease, staring out at
nothing in particular.
###
Niav dreamed. At first the dream was ordinary, bits and pieces of
the day assembling themselves into chaotic nonsense. Then, gradually, a
more coherent whole began to emerge. It was dark, very dark. A single,
light drew her toward it. She moved closer, closer, close enough to reach
out and touch it, yet she still couldn't tell what it was. Curious, she did put
out her hand, and within the pale glow her hand seemed lit from within.
She touched.... nothing. There was nothing there, yet there was something
there. Something that warmed her, yet made her shiver. Afraid, she drew
back her hand, and stepped back a pace. Light accompanied her. She
looked down and saw that her body had begun to glow, brighter than the
light she had touched. She laughed, delighted, and spun around, watching
herself fling light as she normally shed shadow. Suddenly she stopped,
seeing a small figure in the distance. Her throat tightened, and she
reached out... Alsean! She began to run toward the figure, which changed
as she watched, growing taller, changing. By the time she reached her, her
child had grown to womanhood. She reached out, with hands made
hesitant by the change. For a moment the young woman just looked at
her, then she lifted her own hands, laying them over Niav's dream hands.
The light spread from her fingers into Alsean's and began to suffuse her
body. The dream-Alsean smiled, and spoke; "Thank you, mother."
She woke, alone. Her face was wet. She used a corner of the sheet
to wipe away the tears. The dream had seemed so real, yet so unreal.
What had Alsean thanked her for? Being born into a world where her
future was so bleak? Impossible. She sat up, feeling lost and lonely. The
lights were dimmed almost all the way down, but a gleam of light and
movement caught her eye. She had seen the light reflect off the metal
guesting cup as Picard lifted it to drink. He sat watching the sea, a distant,
troubled expression on his face. She wondered how often he dreamed of
his own lost children. Quietly she stood up and padded across the room
to stand behind him. After a moment's hesitation, she reached out and
put her hand on his shoulder. He put his own hand over hers, and they
stayed so for a long time. Finally he shifted his grip and tugged at her
hand. She moved around the chair and knelt so they were more on the
same level. He took her hand between his and stroked it for a moment,
then finally spoke.
"I feel badly, Niav. I don't like having to leave things this way."
Of all the things she had thought he might say, that was the last
thing she could have imagined.
"Badly? Why?"
"Because, I can't *fix* things, damn it! I want to make things right...
I want to drag Per Atanil off and force him to give the women of this
world back their lives, I want to find your daughter for you, I want you to
be happy. And I can't do any of it. I'm trapped by what I am, I have to
play by the rules."
She stared at him, an astonished half-smile on her face.
"You want to do all those things, for me?"
"Yes, I do." He shook his head, a self-deprecating smile on his face.
"I have this innate need to see justice done... something my Counselor calls
my 'white knight' syndrome. Unfortunately, I'm rarely able to indulge that
side of me. I can't go around imposing my own personal mores and views
on everyone else, no matter how much I'd like to."
Niav shook her head, her hand tightening around his. "No, it would
be as wrong as what my world has done. But just the fact that you *wish*
you could do those things is enough for me. I've never known anyone to
care what I felt, how I live... how *we* live. You have no idea how much
it means to me to know it can be different... should be different, and
perhaps, will be different," she closed her eyes, trying to gather her
thoughts coherently. He waited, sensing she wasn't finished. Finally she
continued. "It's hard to envision change when you have no idea that things
could ever be any different. You have to know what's possible before you
can try to make that possibility real. Now I know. Soon others will too,
as they're exposed to what's been happening since we lost touch with
where we began. Oh, I know I'm not making sense... never mind," she
tried to pull her hand from his and turn away, but he wouldn't let her.
"No, you're making perfect sense, and you're absolutely right. Don't
let anyone convince you otherwise. No one can force your culture to
change, it has to happen from within, and until those in power see that
there is a different way that *works*, they won't even think to try," he
grinned. "I think I'll contact the Ishtarian embassy and recommend that
they establish a trade embassy here immediately."
Niav lifted her eyebrows. "What will that do?"
"Show your leaders a different way of doing things... with a
vengeance. In fact, the Ishtarians are rather a lot like Kyrians, with one
major difference."
"That being?"
He smiled. "Well, let me put it this way, if this were Ishtar rather
than Kyria, I'd be the one in this room, and you'd be the visitor."
It took Niav a moment to understand what he meant, then she
grasped the implication and began to laugh, shaking her head. Finally
controlling herself, she gasped; "No, I cannot see that... I just can't! Per
Atanil, perhaps, or one of the disciplinarians... but not you!" the thought
sent her into fresh peals of mirth.
He sat back and watched her until she managed to calm down
again, then he held out his arm.
"See this?" He touched a small bluish mark on the inside of his
right wrist.
Niav studied it, and nodded, tracing it with a finger. "It looks like
a number... what is it, a two?"
"It is. It's a souvenir of the time I had to negotiate a hostage
release with a group of Ishtarian traderwomen," he smiled, the expression
oddly seductive. "It was an... interesting experience, to say the least. Some
of what I showed you, I learned from them. I chose not to have the tattoo
removed. It's rather like a badge of honor, as far as I'm concerned."
She felt no compulsion to laugh now, in fact, though not explicit, his
words conjured images that sent a surge of warmth through her as he
continued to speak.
"On Kyria the pendulum swung one way, on Ishtar, the other. I
would prefer that it stop altogether, in the center, with everyone equal.
Male, female, both, or neither, it shouldn't matter."
"Yes... that would be... would be perfect," she let him draw her into
his arms, kneeling between his thighs, with her head on his shoulder.
"Perfect. Maybe someday...."
"You have to make it happen, though. It won't without your help.
You, and everyone like you."
She nodded. "I know. I've thought of that already. I have to tell
the others how it should be. It's a start, at least."
"That it is," he sighed. "Thank god Kyria's an Earth colony, if it
wasn't I'd be in serious trouble."
She drew back so she could see his face. "Why?"
"Because if it wasn't I could be accused, rightly, of tampering with
the prime directive."
"What's that?"
"The hardest rule I have to live by. The one that says a Starfleet
officer may not tamper with the political or social development of a
planet."
She smiled. "And pleasing me is doing that? I hardly think so."
He put a finger beneath her chin, tipping her face upwards slightly.
"It only takes one person to change the course of a society. Only one.
That's been proven over, and over again."
"I can't see me in that role," she whispered, face hot with
embarrassment.
"You should."
She was silent, thinking about his words, feeling afraid and
exhilarated both. She remembered her dream, and the emptiness she'd
felt at the realization that her daughter would never thank her for
anything. Had it been a premonition of this conversation? The silence
was broken by the low rumble of her stomach complaining loudly that
she'd not eaten recently, and they both laughed, the peculiar tension
broken.
"When did you last eat?" Picard asked, staring at her midriff.
"Last week?"
Niav grinned. "No, just this morning, though it was early. Are you
hungry?"
He thought about it for a moment. "Actually, I am. I've been
so busy the past couple of days that I haven't had much time to eat."
"Then wait here, I'll be right back," Niav snatched up the length of
iridescent fabric from the floor where she'd dropped it and performed
whatever magic it took to make it into a dress, then hurried from the
room.
Picard noticed a slight stinging sensation prickling his palms and the
underside of his fingers, no doubt from the thorns on those damned vines.
He found himself smiling as he remembered the look on Niav's face at
that moment. If it hadn't been for the slight pain the thorns had caused,
he wouldn't have been able to find the willpower to resist the mischief in
her eyes. That was when he'd finally been sure she wasn't just performing
by rote, that she was fully involved in making love with him. He forced his
thoughts away from that topic, realizing that it was starting to arouse him
again. It had been a long time since he'd made love with a woman, and
though he'd trained himself not to let it affect him, when the opportunity
did present itself, he tended to take full advantage of it. This situation,
however, seemed to require restraint.
He went to the window to watch the sea. It had always held a kind
of hypnotic fascination for him, and the distraction was useful at the
moment. After a little while the door opened, and Niav slipped in, a laden
basket in on hand, a bottle in the other. Sending a smile his way, she set
the latter down on the table and then began to unload various items from
the basket. He wandered over to help, and received a startled look from
her. Apparently he'd broken another taboo. He chuckled, shaking his
head.
"Let me guess. The men of Kyria are incapable of performing
simple tasks such as removing food from a basket? It's a wonder they're
still capable of spaceflight, the way their abilities have atrophied."
She giggled, then put a hand over her mouth, looking appalled.
"I won't tell them I said that if you don't. Alright?"
She relaxed, nodding. "Sorry, I guess it's a habit. If I laughed at
something like that near a disciplinarian..." she let the sentence trail off,
and sighed. "You've spoiled me, you know. I may forget myself."
He frowned. "I'll tell them to put any such behavior down to my
influence, and ask them not to reprimand you."
"That would work, as long as you remained on Kyria. Once you're
gone... I become unattached again, and the responsibility for disciplining
me reverts to the House. It wouldn't matter what you said."
"Damn it, isn't there any way to make you safe from them?" Picard
exploded angrily.
Niav smiled sadly. "Only one, but even that protection lasts only
about ten months."
He stared at her, puzzled. Ten months? What was she talking
about? He knew he should know, but wasn't making whatever connection
he needed to. She saw his confusion and clarified.
"Ten months, or a bit less, is the length of gestation for a human
infant, Jean-Luc. The only time a woman is exempt from discipline is
when she is with child."
"My god... only then? I really will have to call in the Ishtarians. I
think your men need a taste of their own medicine."
"If it would make them more like you, I'm in favor of it!" Niav said
with a smile, eyeing him in a rather predatory fashion. He felt his color
rise. Normally he was fairly imperturbable, but occasionally someone
found his vulnerable spot, which was a tendency toward self-doubt. Her
comment slid right underneath his guard to hit there. She studied him,
and her eyes widened.
"You're blushing!"
"No, I am not," he denied firmly, wishing it were true.
"Yes, you are! I'm not blind, I can see it!" She reached up and put
her palm against his face. "And I can feel it... your face is hot."
He gave up and sighed. "Alright, fine, you caught me. Now, what's
did you bring?" He tried to distract her attention by changing the subject
to the food on the table. He saw bread, several kinds of fruit, something
that was probably cheese, a couple of other items his quick glance didn't
immediately identify. He realized he really was quite hungry.
Niav's fingers turned his face back toward her, and slid along the
curve of his cheekbone and down to trace his lips. Her eyes seemed a
darker, more shadowy green.
"I don't think I'm hungry anymore..." she whispered, and put her
other hand to the back of his neck, pressing him toward her lifted mouth.
He kissed her, tasting the sweet aftertaste of cherries on her tongue. He
broke the kiss, grinning.
"That's because you already ate, you forward wench. You may not
be hungry, but I am."
She feigned a pout, looking at him through her eyelashes. "How
did you know I ate?"
"I can taste it, of course. Cherries."
"It's that noticeable?" She asked, startled.
"Allow me to demonstrate," he picked up an apple and took a bite,
chewed and swallowed, then kissed her. Thoroughly. She clung to him,
refusing to end the kiss when he tried, her body moving maddeningly
against his. He slid his hand up to cup one breast, teasing the hardened
nipple through the silk of her gown until she broke away, gasping and
flustered.
"Yes, you can," she finally said, once she'd gained control of her
breathing again.
"I can what?" Picard asked, slightly confused, having momentarily
forgotten precisely what point it was he'd been trying to make. Niav
grinned.
"You can anything you want... but specifically, you can taste what
your... your..." she hesitated, at a loss for a word.
"Lover?" he suggested. She nodded.
"Lover, yes. You can taste what your lover ate, when you kiss like
that." Her expression became momentarily thoughtful, then mischievous.
He lifted an eyebrow at her.
"What are you thinking?"
"A game," she said. "Close your eyes."
He complied, and felt her reach around him and pick up something
from the table. A few moments later her mouth found his, her tongue
flicking lightly against his. She tasted intensely salty, sharp, familiar...
then she drew away.
"What was it?"
He opened his eyes and looked down at her speculatively, trying to
place the flavor. What was it? Salty, pungent, almost bitter, vaguely oily...
of course! He grinned.
"Olives."
She nodded, and closed her eyes. "My turn."
He chose something at random, it was a small purple fruit he didn't
recognize. He hesitated, about to put it back and choose something he
knew, then decided not to. Even if he didn't know what it was, she would.
He bit into it, mouth filling with a tart-sweet pulp that tasted a bit like
kiwifruit, but much more intense. He deliberately didn't swallow before
he lowered his mouth to hers. She didn't need any explanation as she
discovered what he'd done. She shared it with him, as he'd intended, and
when they finally broke her lips and tongue were stained from the juice.
He suspected his own were as well, not that it mattered. She closed her
eyes, rubbing a finger across her lips with a faint frown, then it cleared and
she nodded.
"Cambrian plum."
He held up the uneaten half of the fruit. "Is that what this is? I've
never had one before."
She nodded, and with a grin snatched the remains from his fingers
and held it lightly between her teeth, her eyes challenging his. He stole it
back, as she had obviously expected, and they traded it back and forth
until nothing was left of it but the slick-surfaced pit which eventually got
boring and was discarded in favor of a new treat. They managed to work
their way through at least a taste of about half the items on the table that
way; not eating very much, and getting increasingly disinterested in actually
filling their stomachs. Then Niav uncorked the wine, and there was still
enough of the vintner's son in him to make Picard stop to appreciate a
unique vintage.
"Where is this from?" Picard asked, sniffing the libation she handed
him in an ordinary drinking glass. The color was so dark a red it was
almost black, and its nose was both spicy and sweet, unlike any he'd ever
inhaled before. He was intrigued. Niav smiled.
"Here. This is how Per Atanil plans to make his fortune, exporting
this to other worlds. There's a fungus that attacks the grapes that's native
to Kyria. If harvested and processed quickly, before the grapes wither, it
produces this. Taste."
He did, and rich complexity slid over his tongue. It tasted like it
smelled, a bit sweet, a bit spicy, with a lot of body, but relatively little
tannin for a red. The only thing it was even vaguely similar to was port,
but it lacked port's almost cloying syrupy thickness. He took a second sip,
and noticed that the neither the sweetness or the hint of spice dominated
the taste, as he had half-expected. He smiled.
"He may just be right. This is superb," he took another swallow,
watched her do the same, and as she did a new variation on their game
occurred to him. He tugged on a corner of the fabric that still veiled her.
"Take this off."
She pretended to have to consider it for a moment, then complied.
With a grin she took the fabric and tucked it, sarong-style, around his hips.
Studying the effect with her head tilted to one side, she laughed.
"I think green is your color, Jean-Luc. It suits you."
He chuckled. "I'll have to remember that. Now, lie down."
She looked a bit surprised. "What, here?"
He nodded. She shrugged and went to her knees, then stretched
out on her back at his feet. He went down beside her, half-reclining, the
glass of wine in his hand.
"Close your eyes."
She did. He took a mouthful of wine and leaned down to kiss her.
She opened to him, expecting that, and the spicy richness of the wine
meshed with their own tastes as they kissed. When Niav pulled away to
catch her breath, he deliberately tipped the glass so that a thin trickle of
maroon liquid splashed over her belly to pool in her navel. She made a
little yelp of surprise and would have sat up, but before she could he was
there, licking the droplets of wine from her skin, kissing it from her navel.
Her head dropped back to the carpeted floor with an audible thud as she
shivered in response. He poured a bit more into the slight hollow between
her breasts, and proceeded to remove it the same way he had before. She
began to tremble, her hands clenched at her sides, as he took a sip and
then bent to suckle one nipple, letting the wine swirl coolly over the
sensitive peak before he swallowed it, tongue rasping against the hard bud
as he did.
Niav moaned, and he shivered himself, the combination of her
reaction and the sensual feel of the silk she had wound around him
powerfully provocative. He drizzled wine into the thick russet curls that
covered her mons, put the glass aside, and set about catching the ruby
droplets where they hid there. She whispered something totally
unintelligible, and clutched at the floor as he brought her to completion
using lips, tongue, and fingers. When her pleasure took her, he swiftly
moved up between her thighs, yanked the silk out of the way, and entered
her, feeling the pulsing aftershocks of her delight as she gripped him. It
was incredibly satisfying to know he could make her feel that way, when
no one else ever had.
She wrapped herself tightly around him, holding him still. He didn't
fight her, content to lie quiet and feel her response as it ebbed. Finally
she sighed, and relaxed, loosening her hold enough that he could breathe
freely again. She lifted a hand and traced the contours of his mouth with
her fingers.
"You're very good with that, you know," she whispered, reaching
down to take one of his hands and lift it to her mouth, kissing his palm.
"And this..." she shifted her hips and caressed him with that incredible
internal kiss. "...and this."
He almost purred, eyes closing as his body slid more deeply into
hers. He braced his weight on his hands and began a slow, teasing rhythm,
that she wrought havoc with a few seconds later by countering it with a
rippling contraction which brought him to a shuddering halt, fighting for
control. After a moment he managed to regain command, and he looked
down at her, half-scowling, half-smiling, almost nose to nose with her.
"Niav..." his voice was rich with warning.
"Jean-Luc..." she imitated him, amusement dripping from every
syllable. He shook his head, grinning.
"Please, leave me a little dignity, alright?"
She pouted prettily. "Do I have to?"
He nodded. "You do."
She sighed. "Oh, very well, but it's so wonderful to watch your face
when I do that!"
"I didn't say you had to stop, I only said to leave me a little dignity.
Let me at least pretend I'm in charge, for a little while?"
She laughed, and he could feel it inside her, where she held him in
the hot, slick depths of herself. He clenched his teeth, and fought his
instincts down yet again.
"Why fight it?" Niav queried softly, her fingers stroking down his
back, to rest against his hips.
He chuckled ruefully. "Pride, simple pride. No man wants to admit
to himself he's unable to even see to his partner's pleasure before he
looses himself inside her."
"No man I know would bother," she pointed out matter-of-factly.
"And you have seen to mine... several times already."
"There is that," he admitted, attempting once more to initiate a
cadence of motion. This effort was more successful, as she didn't try to
distract him. "But there's more there, and I want to find it."
"I'm not so sure there is more," she admitted softly, moving with
him, accommodating him perfectly, almost an echo of his own need.
"Oh, there is, there is, I'm sure of it," he increased the tempo just
a bit, revelling in her response.
"How can you be sure when I'm not?" Niav questioned breathlessly,
her voice husky and low.
"There's always more, for a woman. You just have to know
where..." he slid a hand down between them, his fingers searching until she
gasped and arched, breaking the meter of their poem. He repeated the
motion, lips against her neck, just below her ear as he continued. "...and
how to find it."
He set his manual caress in counterpoint to that of his body, and
knew he had her when her hands tightened on his hips, guiding him, urging
him to match her demand. He did, and when she gave in to her need and
it took her, he let it trigger his own. This time, they both fell asleep, and
neither dreamed.
###
Picard woke gradually, a rare treat, not to be awakened by the
computer, announcing the time. He noticed immediately that he was
decidedly uncomfortable, as if he'd been sleeping on the floor. Opening
his eyes to the wan, early-morning light, he realized he was indeed sleeping
on the floor, and acting as Niav's pillow beside. He shook his head in
mock-disgust. With a perfectly good bed available, they'd fallen asleep on
the floor. He reached down to shake Niav awake, and gasped in pained
surprise as his hand touched her shoulder. He yanked his hand away and
stared at it. His palm was swollen, and covered with angry red marks. His
fingers were similarly affected, and there were even a few on his wrist and
forearm. His other hand neither looked or felt any better.
Niav stirred and yawned, levering herself up to a half-sitting
position, rubbing her hip as if it hurt. It probably did. The floor was not
the surface of choice for comfort. She smiled and started to speak, then
noticed his hands and gasped.
"Gods... your hands! You must be allergic to bela'a! I didn't even
think about it, since so few people are," she got to her feet, and motioned
for him to do the same. "Come on, I know it's too late, but let me take
you down to the clinic and get them cleaned up so it doesn't get any
worse."
He stood, looked at her, looked at himself, and chuckled. "I'm not
going anywhere like this, nor should you. My hands can wait until we've
had a quick bath and gotten dressed. I am *not* wandering the halls
wearing dried wine and your dress."
She grinned. "It's true, even if green is your color, that style doesn't
quite fit your image, does it?"
"Not in the slightest." He reached down to divest himself of the
makeshift sarong which had miraculously not come undone while they
slept, and winced in pain, his fingers refusing to move. Niav gave him a
commiserating smile and removed it for him. He dove into the pool to
rinse off the residue of the night's debauch, and found that his hands were
just too painful to be of much use. Niav joined him and scrubbed both him
and herself with quick efficiency. That done, she proceeded to help him
dry off, and dress. As she wound the now-wrinkled silk around herself again,
he smiled.
"Do you often have to bathe and dress your lovers the morning
after? You seem quite practiced."
She smiled oddly, and shook her head. "No, in fact, never before.
But helping an adult is not so different from helping a child."
He thought about that and nodded. "No, it's not, is it? But thank
you anyway."
"You're welcome, now, come with me and we'll see what they can do
for your hands."
She led him down a long, straight corridor to a nondescript door where
she made him wait while she slipped inside. A moment later she emerged,
and motioned him inside.
"Sorry, I had to warn them, they don't get many male patients here."
"Why is that?"
"It's the examination clinic for the women of the House, in general
they are only here to ascertain compliance, but they should be able to do
something for you even if you're not female! It's not as if a rash is an
exclusively male complaint."
"Excuse me... but ascertain compliance? What the hell does that
mean?"
She looked away. "Exactly what it sounds like, please, just let them
put something on that for you."
He frowned, but he let her lead her inside. Two men and three women
occupied the room, the women sitting in a row of chairs against one wall.
One of the men sat at a desk reading what appeared to be a chart, the other
waited, looking at Picard, and obviously ill-at-ease. Having subconsciously
expected something equivalent to the Enterprise sickbay, he was a bit startled
by the primitive furnishings. There was no biobed, just a flat table with a pair
of odd-looking metal things extending from one end. He didn't know what
they were for, nor did he particularly want to. There was nothing in the way
of diagnostic equipment that he could see. How did they perform their
function, without diagnostics?
The man... he supposed he was a physician, said something to Niav.
She nodded, and turned to Picard. "He just wants to see your hands."
He extended them, and the man poked at them, tried to bend his
fingers, which drew a scowl from his erstwhile patient. After a moment
he went to a cabinet across the room, removed something from it, and
then returned. He handed the small object to Niav, and spoke authoritatively
to her for a moment.
"He says this ointment should help. I'll put it on for you when
we get back to the room."
Picard frowned. "That's it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Ah... never mind. I forgot how long Kyria's been out of the
mainstream. Medicine has progressed quite a lot."
"Oh? That sounds promising!"
He grinned. "It is, believe me."
She took two steps toward the door, and the doctor's voice stopped
her. A look of dismay crossed her face, and she shook her head, protesting
softly. The doctor replied, sounding more insistent. She flushed, shaking
her head again, backing a step toward the door.
"What is it?" Picard asked, feeling rather protective at the moment.
Niav flashed a glance at him, obviously distraught, then dropped her
gaze to the floor. "Nothing important. Will you wait outside for me?"
He looked from her to the doctor and back. She refused to look at
him. He shook his head. "No, I don't think I will."
Her gaze lifted, startled. "You... why not?"
"Because whatever it is he wants you to do, you obviously don't want
to do it, and if I leave, you'll have to. Now, would you tell me what it is
he wants?"
Her color heightened further. "Really, it's nothing I haven't done
before. It's alright!"
"No, it isn't."
She sighed. "He just wants to make sure, as long as I'm here."
"Make sure of what?"
"That you... that we... made love."
"And how exactly does he plan to do that?"
Niav's face was nearly the same shade as his uniform as she pointed at
the table. "I get up there, and he... looks."
Picard looked at the table, at the doctor, then at Niav, and shook his
head, his mouth thinned to a grim line. He was angrier than he'd been in
quite awhile. "No, not this time. Come here."
"But I'll get in trouble!"
"No, you won't, now come here."
His tone brooked no argument, she complied. He put his arms around
her and drew her up against him, then after making sure the physician was
watching, began to kiss her. After a moment he lifted his head. Five pair
of eyes were staring at them in astonishment. He grinned.
"Ask him if that's proof enough for him, or would he like something
more... substantial? Tell him I don't usually perform in public, but I'd be
willing to make an exception, if it keeps you off that damned table!"
Niav was shaking, her face buried against his chest. For a moment he
thought with fear, then as he tipped her face up and she hastily covered her
mouth, he realized she was laughing. After a moment she faked a cough, and
spoke to the doctor, who turned quite red and began to babble, shaking his
head, and waving his hands. She turned back to him, her eyes still shining
with mirth.
"He said he didn't realize you weren't finished with me, and apologizes
for the confusion. He needs no further proof."
"I should hope not," he realized all of them were still staring at them,
wide eyed, and it occurred to him that wasn't such a bad thing. He leaned
down and put his mouth to Niav's ear.
"Shall we show them how the rest of the galaxy lives?"
She looked up, puzzled. "What? I don't understand."
"We have a ready-made audience, of both genders..."
She realized what he was saying, and her own eyes widened. "Here?"
She squeaked, astonished.
He chuckled. "Well, I only meant a small demonstration, not an entire
exhibition. Just enough to show them what they're missing."
"But... your hands?"
"I can work without them... though, in fact, that might provide us with
an excuse to borrow that table for a moment."
He gestured at the tube she sill held. "Come on, let's make use of that
now." He walked over to the table and sat down on it. He heard a quick
intake of breath from three throats as he did so. Ruthlessly controlling the
urge to smile, he held out his hands.
"Please?"
She nodded, and came over to where he sat, and began to lightly stroke
the pale green concoction over his palms and fingers. He sighed in real relief
as the analgesic took effect, numbing the ache. She slid her fingers under his
sleeves to get at the welts that marred his forearms. As she did so, he leaned
over and used his nose to push her hair aside so he could kiss her throat. She
made a soft, pleased sound, and moved so she was more accessible. He let
his mouth move down the side of her neck, kissing and tongueing the sensitive
curve of her shoulder. She leaned into him, dropping the tube of ointment to
the floor, her hands moving up his chest to catch his shoulders for support.
With him hidden behind his uniform, there wasn't much of him she could
really touch, but after a moment she reached up, put her hands on either side
of his face and kissed him, a full, open, no-holds-barred kiss. When they
broke, both of them were breathing hard. Picard risked a glance at their
audience, who seemed suitably impressed, and decided discretion was the
better part of valor. He kissed her again, a short, almost apologetic kiss, and
then drew away.
"I think we'd best leave it there, don't you?"
Niav nodded, picked up the medication, and without another word they
left the room.
The silence between them persisted all the way back to her room, and
even after. Niav began to neaten the food on the small table, discarding the
half-eaten items, and rearranging the others. Picard watched her, knowing
exactly what she was doing, and why. She was providing him with an
opportunity to leave, gracefully. Unfortunately, human relationships simply
didn't have that sort of grace. As she moved an apple for the fourth time, he
walked over and caught her hands in his, pleased that he could now do so
without pain.
"Don't, it's not necessary. I'm not going to just walk out of here."
"You have to," she said in a quiet, calm voice.
"I have to go, yes, that doesn't mean I have to pretend last night never
happened. It did, and I don't regret it, save that I wish I could change what
you have to go back to. What about you?"
She shook her head, smiling down at the table. "No, I don't regret a
thing, except that we had only one night," she looked up finally. "I could
have a lifetime of you, and not regret it."
He colored, and she laughed. "There, I've done it again, haven't I?
You're remarkably modest about yourself," she pulled his hands up and
pressed a kiss on each. "Goodbye, Jean-Luc, and thank you."
"Goodbye, Niav. You know, don't you, that the next time I'm in the
area, I expect to hear your name mentioned as that of a revolutionary leader."
She laughed again. "I'll see what I can do between now and then."
He squeezed her hands lightly, and let them go. They stood for a
moment, awkwardly, then he straightened his uniform and left the room. Niav
stared after him for a moment, eyes distant, then she smiled. A revolutionary
leader? In a way, perhaps. It might just be possible, with a little luck...
and perhaps a push from those Ishtarian traderwomen he'd spoken of. She picked
up the apple she'd been playing with and took a bite.
###
"...and so, we told Per Atanil that we would assist Kyria's reintegration
into the Federation by contacting the most appropriate buyers for his products
and letting them know about the possibilities for trade in this sector."
Having finished his brief recount of the mission, Picard reached for his
breakfast tea, and started to lift the cup for a sip when Bev suddenly reached
out and caught his arm. She took the cup, set it down, and then turned his
hand up, examining his palm. After a moment she picked up his other hand
and checked it as well, pushing his sleeve up to see how far up the welts
extended. He felt himself reddening as she turned her curious gaze to his
face.
"Jean-Luc, what on earth happened to your hands?"
He groped for a reasonable explanation.
"It seems I'm mildly allergic to a species of vine that grows on Kyria."
She stared at him. "A vine?"
He nodded.
"Vines..." she echoed, one eyebrow lifted ironically. "Would you mind
telling me what you were doing with vines? Gardening?"
He had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from laughing out loud.
Gardening. Well, it was as good a euphemism as any! Composing himself he
shook his head.
"They were part of the decor of the room I was given. I didn't
realize they had thorns until after I had already touched them."
"I see. Well, why didn't you come down to sickbay and let me take
care of them?"
"I... ah... didn't think of it."
"Didn't think of it?" She tilted her head to one side, a slightly
skeptical expression on her face, then she shook her head. "Honestly,
Jean-Luc, the way you avoid sickbay one would think you were afraid of me!"
"I've never liked sickbay, Bev, it has nothing to do with you."
It wasn't a lie, not really, not usually. This time... well, he *had*
wanted to avoid having to explain to her exactly *how* he'd gotten those
particular abrasions.
"Well, come by today and I'll take care of them, alright?"
"Alright." He acquiesced graciously, as his reason for avoiding her
had been removed. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," she stared at him a moment longer, then an
incredibly mischievous expression transformed her classic features into elfin
mirth. "And next time find something less dangerous to hang onto, okay?"
With that parting salvo she turned and almost bounced from the room,
leaving him staring after her, openmouthed. She knew. He had no idea
*how* she could possibly know, but she knew.
He closed his eyes and swore silently. Was there no such thing as
privacy on his ship? He knew the answer before he even asked himself the
question, and the answer was no. Riker knew, Data knew, Worf knew, and
Syr knew. Though any one of them could have told her, he knew his officers
hadn't, since he'd specifically requested they not mention it. He should have
realized when he allowed Worf to send Syr to the ship that she would have
no reason not to mention the "quaint" Kyrian custom that had precipitated her
presence aboard the Enterprise. He sighed, wondering what favor he was
going to owe Beverly for keeping quiet. He rubbed the bridge of his nose,
and thought about Niav, which brought a smile. He hadn't really been teasing
her when he told her he expected her to become a famous revolutionary,
which reminded him of a message he needed to send.
"Computer, personal message to Lady Jehane ni' Marya of the
Ishtarian Trade Mission, for her eyes only. Encode Picard one."
"Begin message," the computer responded, in the voice which
sometimes reminded him disconcertingly of Lwaxana Troi's. He outlined the
situation, and asked her to consider the merits of opening an Ishtarian
Traderhouse on Kyria. Closing the message file, he smiled to himself,
wondering how long it would take before Ishtarian training-level tattoos began
showing up on Kyrian men. He was willing to bet it wouldn't be very long.
He took a sip of his now-cold tea, and grimaced, then gathered the breakfast
things and put them in the replicator, pressing the disposal key. He had just
enough time to go by sickbay and get Bev to properly fix his hands before he
was expected on the bridge.
End, POV Part II