Title: Sign Of The Times
Author: R Schultz ( cousindream@MSN.com )
Series: VOY
Pairing: Janeway/B'Elanna
Rating: NC-17, graphic sex.
Spoilers: Sometime years after "Endgame".
Disclaimer: Trek belongs to Paramount and ViaBorgCom. I'm playing with the gals, not making money. Don't sue. After a little friendly fictional fornication, the ladies will be tossed into a hot tub, bubble-bathed, and get all sparkly clean. Then I'll blow dry them, fluff their hair and put them back better than new. Story mine under Berne Copyright Laws. Sept. 2003, 4400 words.
Summary: By chance Commodore Janeway is a near-neighbor to the Paris household, where B'Elanna is raising her kids while Tom Paris speeds around the Galaxy. It's spring and beach season.
Warning: Lust between (fictional) adult consenting women is central to this story. If this constipates your moral intestinal tract, do not read. All who are underage according to USA law must leave. Nor is this place allowable for those living in nations or locales which disapprove of TrekSmut. Leave.
Part of Round XII of the Femme Fuh-Q Fest -- http://www.oocities.org/femme_fuhq_fest/
Posted to the FFF. May be archived, but please notify.
Comments to: cousindream@MSN.com
by R Schultz
"Do you really need a bathing suit?" B'Elanna sneered. "Weren't you humans originally tidal-pool gatherers who stayed wet constantly?"
"Et Tu, Klingon," I teased back. "You're still half-human the last time I checked." I looked down at my aging body, imagining myself wearing an antique one-piece old woman's bathing suit at the beach. Standing out from all the naked sun-worshippers like a green solar flare.
"But you're right. I should go nude. Do you think I'm too old and flabby for nude?" I'm too devious and subtle for my own good.
I was over at B'Elanna's, doing morning coffee and fiercesome debates and being frighteningly average and nondescript. She was in walking distance, a klick and a half, and I jogged or walked it often. I would probably be imprisoned in a desk over at the StarFleet Tower for another two years at least before they let me go out on a ship again. In the meantime I went to work at StarFleet Tower, along with the other sheep and fossils. B'Elanna, at least, got to do most of her work for Designs at her home workstation.
I should be excited by the prospect of another stripe on my dress jacket and a squadron to command, but I wasn't. Maybe I really was getting old.
"Do you think I'm, well, presentable while naked?" I asked my old comrade. As if this conversation wasn't all carefully planned.
In minutes I was au natural, and B'Elanna was carefully inspecting the merchandise. She smiled her secret smile at me, and patted me on the rump.
"I presume a lot of reconstructive surgery there," she said. "Good job, by the way. Recent? Last month, of course... This is a set-up, isn't it?" B'Elanna commented while giving my right breast a friendly fondle and lift.
"Who? Me?" I put forward my most plausible innocent look.
She crouched and suddenly her right hand was being VERY VERY naughty on the insides of my thighs. I jerked, but was secretly pleased. I'd gone to a lot of work to get myself presentable for the spring season at the beach.
"Haven't changed your bra size, have you? I like the way your breasts still have a realistic sag to them, but they also have a lilt and bouncy look. Lends an air of non-altered realism to the over-all package.
"Same thing with your belly. Just a little work there, I know you do sit ups, it shows. What you have now... Not a flat teenagers abdomen, but not loose either.
"You should do just fine," B'Elanna commented. "Between that jogging of yours, good genes, and some skilled slice-and-dicer at... Where?" she asked.
"Baja Orange, the small hospital on the shores of Orange Bay, south of the Los Angeles Islands." B'Elanna was fondling my butt again, prompting me to remember that she had an interesting reputation on VOYAGER before she married Tom Paris.
"I met a friend who had a friend, and so forth. You know how that goes. Everyone gossips at the Fleet Tower. You think she did a good job of doing a tuck and tighten or twelve?"
"Great job, you can go down to the beach and lewd and flaunt and tease and reveal with the best of them." Suddenly she looked at me.
"You haven't been trolling for anyone new since before your husband, have you? You want someone to go with you to the beach, a friend, someone to give moral support?
"You want me to hold your shy, delicate, quivering hand while your revitalized net is thrown out to capture a healthy shining fish or four, don't you? I'm to be your moral support while you cast your young-again and seductive bread upon the waters and see if it floats, don't you? You've been planning this, I know you, you're as spontaneous as an earthquake."
I tried my eyes-shyly-cast-down, followed by my best piteous and pleading look, with a few choruses of batting my eyelashes. I was desperate for back-up on this.
"If I provide supporting fire for this mad insane crusade of yours, I'll need to update my armament and re-group my assault team," B'Elanna said. "What's the name of this surgeon of yours?"
Before the hour had struck B'Elanna had reserved a session of reconstructive work on herself.
I watched the girls for two days while B'Elanna took advantage of her privileged status with StarFleet. Wife of a serving officer, and as well a family-leave Officer. She also worked for Design part time. Which put her into contact with Commander Kim a lot, by the way. She went to Orange Bay for a little work on the body.
When she came back, the changes were displayed by her clothes. The one-piece body stocking was covered by a decidedly thin unitard. B'Elanna had been in good shape before, but now she was a dozen years younger once more.
Her girls and I quickly stripped her and admired the new B'Elanna. She had a new flat scarless belly, and a small perfect round ass, just like the one she used to have back nearly twenty years ago. The little laugh lines were gone at the same time she lost the hint of sag under the chin.
Her girls were not happy with the new mother. They wanted their previous ancient and near-senile almost-about-to-become-pudgy Mama, not a thin incendiary-type miniature sex goddess.
B'Elanna deliberately placed her rear almost in my hands, so I fondled it with a few obligatory enjoyments. While doing so I remembered B'Elanna and myself had never explored any of our options, back there when we had been trapped far from home. The feel of her butt in my hands awakened memories that never were.
In a few minutes B'Elanna turned to ask visual questions of me. I had never let go of her rear.
I stayed over that night in order to talk with B'Elanna, and to plan our weekend, where we would display our aging asses to the hopefully delighted gaze of numerous ooglers.
Apart from my larger bra size, we were such a match that we constantly wore each other's clothes. We were on her bed, and I was in one of her short chemises, bright carmine, of course. She was in panties, bright red.
"How come we never became, well, you know..." she began. "You were able to do girls, back then, weren't you? You knew, gossip must have told you, about me and the Delaney sisters, didn't you?"
"I was the Captain," explaining all. "And we were far from home. Maybe it's best, in retrospect, that we didn't have an affair.
"I wasn't the affair type, I thought, at least then I wasn't. And maybe ..." I looked at her carefully, caressing my cup of warm milk. "You knew I dearly wanted Seven of Nine, don't you?"
"We all kinda knew," she admitted.
"The first moment I saw that giant blond in that goddamned Biosuit of hers, I wanted to spend the next eighty years of my life adoring that perfect body of hers." B'Elanna nodded.
"You never saw the original Biosuit, either. The first model was form-snugly elastic. Approximately four molecules thick. Seven had four moles, two to the upper right of her Mons Veneers. The third on her left butt cheek, low, and the fourth on the inside of her left thigh, near her sex."
B'Elanna looked a question, before I continued.
"The EMH had also made her body as hairless as a blast manifold, excepting the hair on the top of her head and her eyebrows. You could tell all this from examining Seven while she was wearing her initial Biosuit. First thing I did, and believe me it hurt, was to get her a thicker and less provocative Biosuit.
"Plus there were her implants," I finished. "There was a visible implant on the underside of her left breast, by the way.
"She lost that one when her body began dropping some of the implants. I walked in on her in Astrometrics once, she was energetically using both hands to manipulate her breast in a form of scratching. The scene was delightful, but I asked her not to do that when other crew were watching." I closed my eyes.
"She then asked me if it was proper to palpate the source of irritation while I was watching. I told her no.
"No one else knew what she did when the one strip of implant between Mons Veneris and thigh decided to become redundant, no one but me and maybe the EMH." I shook my head. "I came on her in Cargo Bay Two when she was scratching that particular itch. That plum Biosuit of hers was open to the groin and she was ... rubbing. My self-control was astonishing.
"She asked if this also was an activity which should not be practiced when in the view of myself and other crew members. To which I voiced my assent. Then I turned and walked away, my back ramrod straight.
"I earned my medals right then and there."
"I think Seven learned to masturbate thanks to that one. I, at least, noticed she ceased saying that sex was irrelevant."
"That's all right," B'Elanna said. "You're not the only one who had dykey thoughts regarding that Borg. She was such a bitch, but when I wasn't wanting to throttle her, I wanted to make mad passionate insane Klingon-style love to her. The kind that leaves extensive scarring.
"After that time she bit me on the neck while under the impression she was a Klingon warrior, I had my own share of daydreams which included that irritating sex goddess." She patted my hand in sympathy.
Then she leaned back, gazing at me.
Eventually I realized she was laying herself open for any suggestions I might care to make, now, what? Seventeen years after she first set foot on VOYAGER's decks.
She was my friend and married and I never could get past my mother's and grandmother's injunctions regarding legally wedded etceteras. I excused myself and went to my nice hard guest bed.
Miral had told me once that as soon as she got old enough she was going to demand a softer bed for herself. For the present she didn't have enough rank or time in grade in the Paris household. I'd been in B'Elanna's cabin many times, back on VOYAGER, and wondered how much the love for an extra-extra-firm was habit and how much Klingon.
Fortunately I was never that big a fan of soft beds.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
We did the big strip of beaches down at Santa Clara the first day. It was Friday, the first day of the usual three-day weekend, and we had all the time in the world. The girls loved the beach. Both of them ran the entire distance from where we parked B'Elanna's flic as naked as jaybirds. Us decrepit antiques lugged a carryall with miscellaneous stuff, and colorful belted robes covering our sexy bodies. Just transparent enough to give an air of risqué and measured abandon. I hoped.
We did the complete ritual. Lay out enormous bright fluffy beach towels, strip, and carefully rub gleaming layers of scented oil on each other. Flowers with spice, both sharp and sweet.
I got a little carried away doing B'Elanna and stopped myself just as I was rubbing another handful of liquid into the crack of her butt. I hurriedly did the back of her darker thighs, and turned to hide my blushing.
B'Elanna was extremely naughty with her hand as well. But as she was giggling madly, I was able to get through it.
It's good B'Elanna can giggle now. She was wound tighter even than her Captain, back there, in the Delta Quadrant. The Universe is less grim or demanding now, and she can allow herself to enjoy things. Even be frivolous on occasion.
We gracefully spread our slick flesh for all the world and Sol, our local nearby star, to see. I was tingling with anticipation.
Within seconds a tall skinny chocolate-hued girl went by, and then came by three times more. Possibly Martian, she was that tall. But she never stopped.
In two hours time I had come to two conclusions.
I was as perfectly willing to meet a nice woman as I was a man.
And no one was nibbling.
Before this I'd been thinking all along the lines of how I wanted a nice man, tall maybe, a beard would be acceptable. I never minded scratchy beards on the insides of my thighs. A nice mannered male who did NOT work at StarFleet. After my husband I was leery of StarFleet personnel.
If I wanted to get laid by some StarFleet critter all I had to do was loiter around a selected desk or work station in the StarFleet Tower, and I could be being wined and dined and be doing the two-step cha-cha before midnight. Especially with the updated GANGES-class cruiser I was now commanding.
Yet the ones I kept following with my sunglasses-hidden eyes were definitely female. Mutual nudity, at least, allows that surety.
My vanity was given a mortal blow when, in the passage of time, three females and two males engaged B'Elanna in the sort of conversational preliminaries one uses during the beginning maneuvers of a seduction. Two of the women, humans, knew beyond a doubt that B'Elanna was a mother. Because of her rings, and the way the girls were buzzing about their mother during the initial phase of the pick-up, the roll-on, the spike.
B'Elanna had the advantage of being implacably exotic, of course. She had her crest in addition to having an enticing physique. The busty little blonde Bajoran who came around after lunch offered to spread a new layer of oil on B'Elanna, so there was little doubt of her intent. I was also lying on my belly, and my buns were at least as enticing as B'Elanna's, I would have thought. Yet not a drop did she offer to spread on my eagerly awaiting posterior.
By mid-afternoon I was ready to regroup and re-plan my strategy. What the strategy would be was an unknown. But I was ready to go to Plan B. Any Plan B.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
We were at my place. The girls were out playing with my two Irish Setters, and B'Elanna and I were drinking and trying to come up with a plan B. Me a nice Martian blend coffee with a touch of Ugandan, my ex-chief engineer a little Vulcan cordial wine. She was one Klingon who never could develop a taste for bloodwine.
"You're over-reacting," B'Elanna said. "This was just Day One of an adventure, and we have the entirety of the summer in which you should connect with any number of people in that time."
"No, I won't," I disagreed. "While you were fending off amorous suitors, I had a chance to observe. Trust me on this, I always was the officer who saw patterns, trends, things coming.
"I lay out there with all of my best sensuous flesh and enticing femininity hanging out for view. I was a woman who visually promised endless sessions in paradise to the lucky suitor who snared my attention.
"But I was outclassed.
"Within a few hundred meters of us there were at least four teenaged lesbians frolicking and looking, two gorgeous young housefrau's and three enchanting college girls all planning to score with some lucky stiff or frail. That was no surprise.
"The surprise was that between modern surgery, superior genetic material and a phenomenal diet during maturity, I was surrounded by women who were younger, taller, bustier, and prettier than myself. Being in my sixties just made the differences more obvious to me. I've obtained a lot of experience in being considered second best."
"So what do think might resolve that conflict? Steal a teenager and transplant your mind into her tight young body?" B'Elanna asked.
"I need a gimmick," I said. Despair was biting irritatingly, and I never did like the teeth on that particular pest. "Can you think of a gimmick? If you can build a warp core out of a toy phaser and a broken replicator gel pack you can invent something for me, an edge. I badly need an edge."
She looked at me funny, but held her tongue. B'Elanna had certainly changed over the years.
"Tattoos are passé this season," she noted. "Or you could go in for a complete body treatment. Take two to three months and you'll look like one of my daughter's schoolchums from two hundred meters away."
She put up her hands in defense once I had turned my Force Three Glower on her. "Have you thought of wearing a big old fashioned bathing suit? Tom had me wear one of those constricting monsters from the nineteenth or whatever century for a masked ball. I barely looked female in the thing. Wearing that you could go for the novelty effect amongst all those acres of young flesh in display on the beach."
She got the Force Five Glower for that one.
She went home and slept on it. We went out to Santa Clara Saturday and Sunday with identical results to Friday. The girls got wonderful tans started, ate hundreds of snacks and lied about how their homework was already done. With my coloration my tan was off to a miserable start, but despite the blocking effects of the scented oil B'Elanna slathered on my amorous-inclined flesh, my freckles bloomed wondrously.
That didn't draw anyone either.
We talked of my situation over an evening laager. It was obvious I was looking for a short-term lover, not a life mate. We also came to the conclusion that I was determined to find this lover on a nice sunny sandy beach because I had never, never, never, never EVER gotten picked up on a beach before. Therefore ads to the four corners were out, blind dates were not being taken, and despite my hitherto almost-secret lesbian thoughts the nighttime watering holes were tentatively not wished for as an option.
Though B'Elanna would hold my delicate and frightened hand, if necessary, when I tried a Mingling Spot. In the back of my mind I realized if she went with me to a Dyke Cafe she'd probably get hit on eight times to my one. Mr. Paris would not approve.
If I hung out in the sun long enough SOMEONE would notice the old broad in the youthful package, of course. But attrition-pattern siege warfare was never my forte.
It was Tuesday before B'Elanna came up with THE IDEA. Capital letters.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
We did it at B'Elanna's because she was the one with the Sex Chair. Hitherto draped with a canvas in the master bedroom, we maneuvered it into her Work Annex. Not much weight, but clumsy.
B'Elanna had a portion of her home where she worked on Engine Designs and such esoteric things. Plenty of room there, because B'Elanna had enlarged on her old habit of pacing and muttering when thinking deeply. She needed a big workstation.
Besides, she had all the necessary tools in her work nook.
The girls were all off to school, and I stripped. It was terribly exciting, because I had been pointedly told of the many positions a female might assume while relaxed into the adjustable contraption. The degree of comfort I was quickly enveloped in was extraordinary.
I spread my naked body on the second seat, and B'Elanna sat in a lower seat between my legs. There she was, looking directly into those places not customarily spread out for public inspection. Nude is one thing. This was obscene and exciting. I must get one for my place, if my love life ever takes a turn for the better.
B'Elanna worked the controls and my ass was lowered just so, my legs encouraged to spread widely, my knees raised slightly in the air, and my body tilted so that I could easily look down and inspect the work in process.
B'Elanna made a smile and noted the way I was getting puffy and wet by elaborately sniffing my vagina. Nasty little girl.
She set a console over her head and leaned forward into her work. There was little strain, she assured me, and she should be able to finish the project in two stages. Half today before the girls came home from school and tomorrow ditto.
B'Elanna described the experience as she worked. The Work Slave did ninety-nine percent of the effort, all she had to do was direct it through sub-vocal commands, finger taps, and such subtle methods she was accustomed to in her work.
She laid out the design first. Then she set the device to trimming each hair outside of the design to a set number of microns below the level of the skin. She installed perimeters so that it cleaned me only thus far and no further. We'd agreed to set a nine-month no-growth inhibition on the hairs within the limiting circle. Thus removing any need to keep growth down outside of design.
A pass with a below-skin-level shaver took care of everything within the design. Then B'Elanna leaned out of the device and let it get to work. Eventually I got bored and napped as it did its wondrous work unaided. As previously noted, it was quite comfy in the sex chair, even spread eagled.
I awoke when B'Elanna tapped the machine to retreat back to it's customary inert mode standing area.
I had at times before shaved my groin bald, but this job was machine perfection. Even as a little girl I could feel the thousands of fine invisible hairs on my body, sex area included.
This was smooth and somehow slick appearing even dry.
"You're beautiful," B'Elanna softly said. I bloomed under the praise, however inappropriate at the moment. Really. I bloomed. Got puffy.
Maybe this would be enough to get me a few nibbles.
Then B'Elanna leaned forward and began nibbling on me.
"B'Elanna..." I began. She sucked my clit into her mouth.
"We're friends..." I continued. She raised her head and licked my clit knob before speaking.
"Then we're raising our level of friendship to a new plateau."
Her tongue was immediately busy in me in the opening that most needed her.
"You're married..."
She gently bit my clit. Klingons use their teeth in sex a lot, I'd heard. Then she smiled into my rapt face.
"I guess then that means you can't ask me to be your wife." She returned to working her delightful face in my anxious crotch. I was quickly getting very close. Very.
"We shouldn't be doing this," I argued. Really I was hoping all my objections would be pushed aside.
"And Tom should stop cheating on me," she added to the conversation. "You think he hasn't some chippie in his bed nights, out there on the XENIPHOEN?"
I'd waited seventeen years for this particular come, and I was going to get it or destroy the universe.
"You've got to stop." She stopped. I was instantly heartbroken.
"Make me," she dared. "I've wanted to bury my tongue in your pussy for seventeen years, and I'm going to do it today or the Universe shall suffer my wrath."
Oh, well, if it's cosmic thing, who am I to object?
My eyes rolled back into my head as I came on those delightful sharp little Klingon teeth of hers. For once all my muscles were relaxed during my orgasm.
As soon as I got home I ordered one of these chairs and assembled it. It was a work of love.
All night long I sat in my own nice new pseudo-teak sex chair at home and masturbated. Mostly while remembering how wonderful B'Elanna had tasted. Tomorrow I mentally swore to myself we'd go to bed and do a few dozen leisured sixty-nines.
It took us a week and more to finish my design.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
It was a new Friday morning, the sun was bright in the sky, the offshore breeze was refreshing and I was undressed to kill.
I massaged in a good layer of oil into my groin, then giggled madly while laying down and just, oh so slightly, spreading my luscious short legs. I felt I could conquer the universe.
There I was. Nude, of course. With my design.
B'Elanna said I looked edible. But then she said that so much it was losing its impact a teensy little bit.
The girls were appalled and delighted in equal measure. They were allowed to run their fingers through the design, but their mother chased them on after their curiosity at my oddity had been more or less sated.
Two middle-aged dykes just HAD to come look. That was in the first eighty seconds.
The source of their admiration was the design.
Composed of pubic hairs, commanded to grow straight and only to a specified length, I had on my Mons a StarFleet Comm Badge.
A few lines of black hairs to outline the design and define the parameters of the colors.
Silver for the shield back of the ellipse symbol.
Metallic Gold for the ellipse itself.
A tad larger than the real thing. Beautiful vivid colors.
Background being my absolutely bald stubble-free groin.
I let the two lesbian ladies fondle it, they asked so nice and polite. They wound up fondling it a lot and walked away red-faced.
I was red-faced as well.
"Kathryn, sweetheart," B'Elanna murmured just loud enough for me to hear, "I can taste you on the breeze all the way from here. I'll bet you a bulb of beer you'll come before leaving this beach."
No thank you. I don't take sucker bets.
When a tall breasty blonde came by and admired her hands all over my StarFleet Comm Badge I simply HAD to go swimming, sorta, with her. I'd never had public sex before. Though no one could SEE anything, everyone knew, I'm sure.
Afterwards said charming human female (named Lily) quickly went to get her towel and such. She had just become a Girl Friend, capitals added. She wasn't a bad kisser, either.
B'Elanna sat on her haunches and watched those marvelous butt cheeks of the blonde jiggle and jog back a few hundred meters.
"Wow", she said.
"Advertising works", I smirked. "Teach me how to run that damned wonderful machine of yours and you're next."
After all, what are friends for if you can't do them a favor now and then?
I wonder if I had just started a fad?
-------END