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