BEST SEVEN OF NINE STORY ~~ BEST OVERALL, ROUND II (tied)
BEST VOY TORRES-SEVEN STORY
Title: TESSERACT
Author: R.Schultz (cousindream@aol.com)
Series: TOS/VOY
Code: Tonia Barrows/Janeway/Seven; Torres/Seven
Rating: NC-17/R Graphic sex. some language.
Spoilers: Set after the events of TOS.
Disclaimer: Trekiverse belongs to Paramount. Hey there, repressive egotistical middle-aged white guys with lots of other people's money! I'm playing with Trek, no money is made, and I'll be put your critters back good as new. So chill. This story is mine by common-law copyright. Written Feb. 2001. 14,200 words long.
Summary: The Federation is trying to get the skinny on the Guardian of Time. And the only luck they're having is bad. And in the Delta quadrant....
Warning: Sex between (fictional) adult consenting women occurs in this story, as well as a smidgen of hetsex. If straight sex or womyn to womyn love doesn't lock your phasers on stun, why don't you go elsewhere? This is a Treksmut place.
Posted to Round II of the Femme Fuh-q Fest -- http://www.geocities/com/femme_fuhq_fest/ -- later to the ASCEM. May be archived, but please notify. Comments to: cousindream@aol.com
by R.Schultz
{{ Forward: Yeoman Barrows went down to the surface of the "Shore Leave" world with Doctor Leonard McCoy. While there she enjoyed some unique thrills. It's not every StarFleet Officer who can be a damsel in distress and watch her chief medical officer get skewered by a maniacal robotic Sir Lancelot. However, it all turned out for the best, and Tonia Barrows got to bond with the Doctor while on that shore leave. If that's the word you care to use for what they wound up doing.
It's five years later, and Lieutenant Barrows is not bonding at all with this mostly-male team of scientists attempting to study the Guardian of Time and it's Portal.}}
***************
It's hell when one of the few males in ten parsecs I can relate to is an overbearing, egotistical, autocratic Marine officer. To top it all off, the dumper nearest the actual site doesn't work properly any more. That'll get fixed quickly, though. Can't have all these important sensitive noses out of joint.
Oh-oh, here comes my most immediate superior officer again. Inferior, if you want the truth of it. Well, he's spotted me. Time to put on my little passion play. Never thought my theatrics back in Edmonton would be so useful.
Smile, Tonia, smile, this pushy little Hairball thinks he's doing me a favor. Commander. Joke. Commander Hairball. He's a Commander like I'm Sarek of Vulcan.
A true Commander would at least be a little bit more subtle about asking me to be nice to him and he'll write a favorable report about me. Meaning he'll write a bad one if I don't do the two-back shimmy with the bastard. I'd slip away right now, except for two facts. Once he's done giving contradictory orders to poor Chin Fat there, he'll track me down anyways. This is just a research station, and not a very big one at that. The other fact is that I need the toad.
I could always trap the weasel. Record one of his sessions. Blow the whistle. They'll slap him on the wrist and I'll wind up being the only sixty-four-year-old Lieutenant in StarFleet. In charge of laundry detail or something in some frozen mudball station. No thank you.
Don't get me too wrong. I've been around the quadrangle once or twice, in my time. There's been a few times I've been forced to lay it on the line, so to speak. But mostly I've been able to hold my head high, keep my nose clean and concentrate on putting my nose to the grindstone in order to get a good work rating.
I know I'm a good officer, and good officers in the past have praised me without me having to have sex with them. Fat lot of good my past record has done me this time. Sixteen T-months as part of the Guardian Project and I'm dying to get out of it.
Here I am on a planetary graveyard with nine hundred rejects for company. With my day consisting mostly of fixing over-paid bureaucrat's mistakes. Smiling when I serve some male's tea so he can remain sitting on his important rear end. And incidentally feed his inflated notion of his own resplendent importance.
When the hell did StarFleet manage to acquire so many mushrooms and toadstools with gold braid? James Kirk would have accidentally shoved the entire lot of them out an airlock into hard vacuum. Strictly by accident. Scotty would have worked the controls and hummed "Marching To The Isles" while doing it.
Oh, the project is exciting enough. Or should be. Studying the Guardian of Time. Secrets of the Universe within mankind's grasp, and etceteras. The pathway to our future and our past. Makes my blood tingle just to think of it. Made.
And what have they done for almost three years? Jolly loll all. Lots of holographic pictures. Measurements. Umpteen billion Cred's worth of fancy machines to determine exactly nothing. Temporal distortions occasionally roll off the Portal. Lots of material on what it's shown in the ring of....whatever.
All this lot can think of to do is perform more recordings. Their other big skill seems to be requisitioning another expensive measuring device. Crying they need it for their project.
It's a good scam. You need machine X and you can sit on your rear until you get it. If they turn you down you whine and complain and sit on your rear until you get it.
In the ten square kilometers here there must be a good chunk of the Federation budget. Carefully measuring anomalies which no one has enough gumption to study properly because they're all essentially just bureaucrats. Certainly no one is going to risk their reputations by doing anything other than write reports and whine for a bigger budget. Taking measurements is not studying. But by Jehowa it keeps the project funded.
Some day back on Terra some real scientist is going to learn something useful from all these trillions of measurements. Two years from now. Three hundred. And there'll still be a station here studying. Researching. Measuring.
Example given: The Federation had to invent a device to detect and measure extremely faint tachyon emissions through compressed rock so that the Project could determine if there was a constant source in the planet's crust or magma.
I'm leaning on it. This big crate is the object of many Cred's and much anticipation. See the dust on it? Been sitting in this exact spot for thirty T-days. They're waiting for the special planeing equipment to clear a smooth flat surface on solid bedrock. To create such an exactly flat surface that it'll be within a half micron of being absolutely perfectly level. About eighty meters square. Then the special No-Vibration drilling equipment will drill a few holes so they can firmly mount this thing onto the planet's surface. Give them a few more heat-ergs of accuracy in their continuing measurements.
More datafilches to send back to Terra.
Of course in contrast there's my buddy Nonty, the Colonel of Space Marines. He wants to saw a corner off the Guardian to see what happens, if anything. Not a joke. Just a very tiny corner. Of course him and his thirty-nine Troopers are a joke as well. They're going to protect us from Klingons or Romulans?
Big difference is he knows his detachment is a joke. He's not deluded about his importance or abilities. He's just marking time until he has his thirty-five years in and he can retire to Agnap or Candlelight Prime. Still, when he'd pat me on my rear I felt like smiling instead of growling. I like him.
Besides which he's the only steady source of genuine Sourmash whisky in thirteen star systems. He makes a great omelet, and his Centaurian pasta's are a dream. Half his dedicated supplies are real food, and his entire detachment have made small fortunes by learning to be chef's for the bureaucrats. He says it was either learn to cook or eat emergency rations a lot.
It's too bad his Major is present to keep his bed warm. Before I leave I've got to give him and his slightly older girlfriend a going-away present. They're planning to retire together. I'll miss the crazy pair.
Nice guy, actually. The bad part is that he's the only one who's suggested doing anything beyond getting new machines and creating more datafilches of measurements.
Everyone else is scared to death they might be blamed for a mistake. Bureaucrats. They might wear pretty uniforms and have impressive ranks, but they're still bureaucrats.
Worst part of it is I long ago faced a choice about which of three noxious males I let be my Groin-grope Buddy. Big choice. Any one of them would have sliced me a bad report if they don't get me where it counts.
There's Moondelea, otherwise known as Moondoggy. Commander Moondoggy likes to write vague summaries and poke his heroic whatever in a gal's butt. Doesn't do either one well, according to the Ensign in telemetrics. At least it's not very big, so it doesn't hurt much.
Joel EtBaty, otherwise known as Commander BiteTitty is goddamned dangerous. He's going to hurt a gal some day. Not that he won't manage to blame it on her.
Then there's Commander Harlisall, my own personal Hairball. At least he takes regular baths and he's recently gotten a new set of teeth. Think positive, Tonia. His breath smells okay. Probably mostly due to his new set of teeth.
If I want out of this clusterfuck of a project with a good report I'm going to have to get someone on my side. The things a girl has to put up with. It just isn't fair.
What the hell. It's just sex, and it isn't as if any of it will mean anything to me.
I didn't realize how good I had it on the ENTERPRISE. Adventures, excitement, red alerts, close calls, landing on my fanny when some enemy blast made the ship keel over. I was pure Neuprinemine from my head to my toes.
Went from Yeoman to Junior Lieutenant on that ship. Made a lot of friends, the Comm officer being an especially close one. She was such a doll. Bones got me addicted to Sourmash whisky and doggy fashion sex. And Chekov was a scream.
Sweet old Bones. He hadn't been bad, not at all. Full of preposterous poetry and romantic visions, not to mention a lot of testosterone for a guy his age. It had been fun, and for far too short a period of time.
Well, whatever it is they're planning to do today is about due to occur. The young and tall dark skinny guy with the long gray coat full of Padd's, his name is Sundas. He's a genuine scientist, full of theories and how to test them. He told me about this latest move in the Officer's Mess last week. He said the Guardian works through a number of multidimensional pathways. It sneaks through time, rather than goes direct.
Which is why he doesn't enjoy what they're doing, now that they're doing something at all. He uses words like add-on venues of energy enhancement, instead of intrusive study. He feels the Guardian of Time is a closed-system energy well. X-Rays are a direct energy source unlike a number of other measuring devices which work by counting what DOESN'T get through the Portal Tesseract. Like the Tachyon Counter here. It actually works by noticing what isn't someplace when it should be. Where.
He says this is a gross measurement when more subtle ones have been effective. One by one they've been saying what doesn't exist in the context of the Portal.
Tesseract is the word he used. A square with squares to each side and all looking like one square. Jehowa! More Weisacker math, and I can barely remember it. It's been too long since my Academy math classes.
Now if you have a Tesseract and add another cube to each surface, then what you have is a Super Tesseract. But the size of the Tesseract should remain the same. Because the other cubes are folded sort of AROUND the first Tesseract, rather than extending the size of the first Tesseract.
The size of the first Tesseract is the size all the other cubes adhere to. In our space. The Guardian is a Tesseract of who-knows how many orders of Tesseract adhering to it.
He thinks. He's been carefully making sure all of his thoughts get properly recorded and sent back. Smart thinker. He's had experience with bureaucrats aka scientists before. His comrades in the real scientific community include a buddy of his back in the Main Cybernetics center in Madrid. Sundas doesn't bother sharing any of his thoughts with his superior officers. They feel stupid and get irritated at him if he punctures any of their ego balloons.
He's right to feel that way. I mean, after all, do you share your finest thoughts with a rock? Especially one that might try stealing the credit or/and stabbing you in the back?
He says the Guardian doesn't travel in time, which is why we get so many whacky tachyon emissions. It travels through space instead. Slips through a crack, he said. Scrapes the sides of null-Space on the way through. The scrapes are our timequakes. Very unstable system. Wow.
And Hairball thinks he's second in command of this study.
Hairball obviously never heard the joke about the usefulness of the ugly wart on a Tarq's ass.
Time to earn my ticket out of this Project. It's too bad Sundas doesn't have the rank or pull to protect me. It'd be nice to work under him. In more ways than one. No hassles. Good reports. No spreading my legs. Not if I didn't want to. He's not that bad, sorta cute. I wouldn't be trying to leave if he was my ranking officer in the &%$#@ chain of command. Even from this bureaucrat's paradise.
"There you are...." Hairball took a quick look around to ascertain whether anyone was listening or staring. His hard little wet agates of eyes shifting about like tiny balls rolling in a glass. Do I sound like I don't care for him?
"... my sweet," he said. "Have we had a productive day?" Hairball. One of a type. If only his father hadn't done his mother in the rear.
I smile sweetly at Commander Harlisall, sort of wriggling and cooing. I bet his wife loves it when they kiss. Once every four years when Hairball swings by his home planet.
Loves it even better when he's not there to kiss.
He hustles me behind what might be the most expensive crate in Federation space, and leans into me. Lots of finesse. Sticks his tongue in my mouth first thing.
It's just sex. I keep telling myself that.
We go further from the Guardian, our Ground Zero of research. He's busy telling me how he loves me and if only his wife didn't... What excuse did he have today? Oh yeah, family, very prestigious old line back on Centaurus Prime. Disgrace his ancestors if he etc. Can't divorce. Children hurt. Might impact his career unfavorably. THAT excuse I believe he's sincere about.
Far enough. We can see the Guard Wands of the perimeter line. Busy keeping the scaly and crawling lifeforms on the other side of the electromagnetic fence. He retrieves a few blankets he has hidden in a stasis pouch, underneath some brush. How romantic. The sun beating down and the murmur of a thousand voices a half klick away.
One good thing about these ridiculous red uniform dresses is that it's no bother getting down to the skin. Unders and tights off, smile, coo, pant in his ear. It's just sex. It's just sex.
Hairball is in his version of foreplay by now (GOD! I wish he'd take his pants all the way off for once!), and I'm squirming under his touch. He's rolling me on my hands and knees. And to think that McCoy made this style so much fun. The way he used to bite me on my neck, or run his fingernails all over my sweating body.
At least I don't have to smile and make faces in this position. Just add the occasional sound effect.
In the distance I can hear machines going into action. Sundas said they're going to try sending a pulse of something very elementary THROUGH the Guardian. A simple damned-all X-ray. All these years and would you believe they still aren't sure what the insides of that thing looks like? Sundas says someone from StarFleet was asking some nasty questions about when they would begin probing the insides of the Portal.
Nobody bothered to tell the Important Whatever we'd been MOSTLY probing the insides of the Portal.
Hairball has got me face down now, cooing to me, not listening to me making a few appropriate noises at the right times. It's just sex. &%$#@ him. What is it about important men and doing it in a girl's rear? Must be a control thing.
Then the ground shook. I don't mean a little tremor and everyone's eyes could pop back into their head afterwards. We had those all the time last year. No, this threw me face down, hard, like a hand had beat me into the ground. Suddenly and with plenty of force. I think Hairball went backwards on his ass. That's all I remember of the Guardian Project.
***************
***************
B'Elanna was finally humming to herself. Or growling very softly. Lieutenant Tom Paris no longer tried convincing the half-Klingon of the fact that she hummed/growled. She didn't, and she didn't appreciate Tom saying she did. End of dialogue.
Since what she was doing with her hand was such fun, he certainly wasn't going to start his sometimes girlfriend going again. Not now. Not when he was enjoying the musculature and sensuousness of a naked Lieutenant Torres. Besides which his buddy Harry Kim probably wouldn't have noticed if B'Elanna had begun singing the Klingon national Anthem, or the equivalent thereof.
If Harry ever got the rest of his clothes off, that is. B'Elanna handed Tom his own most precious possession back, telling him to keep it hard. She leaped up and faced Harry, grabbing him roughly by the shoulders. It was hard sometimes to determine which excited Tom more. B'Elanna's lethal grace, all muscle and concentrated passion. Or the sheer perfect erotic measures of her half-human body.
During the bruising kiss her and Harry Kim shared, she got Harry's tunic and top off, and pulled his pants and unders down to his ankles in one smooth motion.
Tom got the full view from behind as she eased Harry down on the grass. She had his clothes and boots off in a thrice. Then took him into her mouth. THEN even an excited Harry knew B'Elanna was humming, growling, purring.
Once Tom was behind B'Elanna he sprayed a sheath on his stiff manhood, then a layer of lube. He poked B'Elanna in her exquisite tight soft rear a few times before she looked back. Then she took the sheath and lube sprays from him.
After she had fitted Harry with protection and shiny lube, she smiled back at Tom. "Well there, Lieutenant Paris. Am I to understand you want to access the Jeffries tube in the rear rather than the one in front?" She started chuckling to herself quite merrily. Before she put her mouth, teeth and tongue back to work on Harry. Harry found he enjoyed her chuckling and humming with a great deal of zest. Her high notes made his eyes turn white in his head. It lent a new dimension to her fellatio.
Tom was still surprised whenever his sometimes-lover went into one of her innocent little girl acts. Sometimes he thought she was not entirely interfaced with her data processor. But he wasn't about to risk violent dismemberment by saying so to B'Elanna.
B'Elanna had now taken the control Tom knew she relished. She liked being the dom. Now she told him to get it inside her rear hole. It was a little difficult. B'Elanna kept squeezing her muscles involuntarily, and Tom had to grab firm hold of her hips and force himself inside her.
Torres began shaking her wondrous head of hair as she adapted to the intrusion. Looking back, smiling at Tom, she began to carefully crawl forward. Tom and B'Elanna managed the maneuver without ever breaking contact. Once the half-Klingon straddled Harry Kim, she began to rub herself on the Ensign. One hand sneaked between them, and suddenly that penetration had been made.
It had been a few weeks since Lieutenant Torres had been able to enjoy sexing Tom. Being alongside a lovely lake, under a spreading grove of trees, and on official R&R, just made it better. With any luck she was going to enjoy both males for hours.
Unknown to her, at about the time she was grabbing Tom Paris by his stiff handle, a .... something boomed in planetary space. It was too fast and too powerful to be an ordinary pressure wave in space. Rather it was a super wave. Close to light speed, and a few million thousand meters across it's face. Then the second rupture took place. It's face was a mere one hundred thousand thousand meters across. The third one was about fifty thousand thousand meters across. The next was smaller in wave dimensions, and the next, and the next.
By running a straight line through the centers of these continuing super waves, you would have noted it barely intersected the surface of a nearby M-class planet. The same planet the VOYAGER was using for a little R&R.
The waves were of such force and speed that each was slowly catching up to the wave ahead of itself. By the time the supershock hit planetary atmosphere, that smaller one was a few dozen meters across. By the time it hit that lovely blue pond, it was a mere two meters across. The pond-side where B'Elanna was madly chuckling and muttering to herself. Where she was slowly cranking all three lovers (including herself) into their first climax of the day.
Then the wave ejected something into the pond, something looking remarkably like a half-naked human woman in a short red dress. The velocity was dampened drastically because the entire envelope hit the pond instead of just the soft protoplasmic entity encapsulated inside it. In other words a cocoon hit the pond, and only after most of the force had spent itself, did the cocoon split asunder and propel Lieutenant Barrows forward.
She rode in on a great wave of mud and gravel. Screaming her head off when it was not full of mud or dirt or water.
High tide left all four people stranded approximately twenty-five meters upslope from the once tranquil body of clean water. Clean no longer.
B'Elanna rose to her knees first, of course. It would take a great deal of hard work to lay her down for good. She wiped and blinked her eyes, trying to comprehend how she came to be crouching in a sea of mud and covered in mud. There was a body under her and it did not seem very active.
She thought to herself that she had to get a communicator and get them all three beamed back to the ship. She knew bones were broken in her left forearm and presumed similar damage to her two male companions. Tom rose from the muck within five meters of her, downslope. Behind him appeared what might be clothes, with a communicator possibly sparkling under the untroubled sunny sky.
"Tom," she commanded. "Get that communicator ... no ... over there, yes, we've got to get ourselves to sickbay." Later she would try to discover what the hell had happened.
Just then another figure rose from the mudfield, groaning and cussing. Presumably in Chinese. Harry Kim? Then who was this under her hand?
She shifted her touch and proved to herself beyond any doubt that another female lay alongside. Since this unknown female didn't protest being touched intimately, B'Elanna surmised she was probably badly injured. Whoever the hell she was. And how the hell had she got there?
"Tom," B'Elanna ordered, "tell them we have four to beam up."
In the event, they weren't retrieved for nearly ten minutes. When those multiple super-waves finally hit the VOYAGER, it bounced the spaceship nearly eighteen-hundred klicks away. It took a little while for the mostly-unharmed ship to recover. And to beam up their mud-covered and naked crewmates. As well to examine the wounded prize they had acquired.
When they recovered all the uniforms from the mini-disaster site, they found four communicators. One of them was a century out of date. The molecular signature in it said the holder was a Lieutenant Tonia Barrows. StarFleet number such-and-so. The VOYAGER Database listed her as a member of the ENTERPRISE crew during the Kirk and Spock years. But no history beyond that. It was as if, back then, she had vanished off the face of the Galaxy.
As if she had fallen into a black hole.
***************
It's been four days, this ship's time. Since the accident that propelled me here. Zulu time. I'm indulging in meaningless emphasis on details, an obsessional practice. I'm still in shock.
I once was twenty-nine years old. On the portal planet. Crouched on a few blankets and earning my ticket out of that dead end by letting that Hairball enjoy my body. One hundred and five years ago. And four days, or thereabouts. And seventy thousand or whatever light-years away from sweet old Terra. They told me the distance but I suppose I'm still in shock. If the calendar is right I'll be a hundred and thirty-five years old month after next.
At least now I could retire from StarFleet.
If we ever get back.
It seems that the Guardian of Time Project has fallen into an official limbo. Fleet databases state a project was there. It deduced nothing could be learned. Wringing their hands, they simply closed up shop and declared the planet off-limits.
And I'm Sarek of Vulcan.
Obviously some disaster occurred. I survived it, I suppose. But the careful explanations in Official Record are hiding a multitude of sins. It is likely I'll never know what happened.
One bright spot is learning dear rough Nonty did well. Him and his Major, Zarabeth, retired to Candlelight in their sixties, and had two children. Frozen sperm and egg. Right now I'm wishing I knew the names of those kids. I miss them more than Terra or my long-dead sister.
I'm sitting in the Captain's Ready Room, looking out at the stars. Not feeling quite so lost as before. Enjoying the Starbow Effect of stars we approach, but bypass. They effervesce into streaks of colors, always to the side.
For once I feel totally lost and useless.
There isn't much I'm trained to do in this generation of Federation StarFleet vessels. But Captain Janeway has pointed out that there is no source of new personnel out here in the Delta Quadrant. Yet losses continue to accumulate.
My experience as a StarFleet Officer is invaluable even a century out of date simply because I AM a StarFleet Officer. I have borne the rigors of training, and have acquired the StarFleet can-do attitude. That alone means I am trainable, even in this more-sophisticated machine called the VOYAGER.
And frankly, they're not inclined to be picky about anything good fortune sends their way. They've already inducted rebels and Delta quadrant natives into the active personnel list.
Fair enough. And Fleet Service has always meant your ties back to home become tenuous at best. Mine have snapped completely.
Apart from the technology, it feels like home. Too small a closed environment liberally spiced with too much stress and too lengthy a period of time with too small a number of people too close together.
Everyone is getting bored with each other. Suddenly I'm the new girl on board. Everyone wants to be my friend.
It's kind of uplifting being the most desired female on a ship. A little bit scary, too. Everyone is very very very softly rolling onto me. But rolling nonetheless. Hoping I'll choose them for my bed partner. I don't even know if I WANT to choose anyone. Not until I know my way around the quadrangle better.
Knowing it's only my uniqueness that is making me such a hot item is considerably less gratifying. But then I'd been complaining for a dozen years how everyone looks at my legs before they look at my service record. Now the uniforms hide EVERYONE'S legs and my service record is immaterial. New clean slate to write on, but quite scary. Everyone wants to roll the new girl. Not a few of the females, as well.
The Captain is behind me again, I can smell that soft antiseptic cucumber-mixed-with-lemon scented soap of hers. Trace of sweet jungle perfume on her wrists, too. Very nice. She gave me a bar of her own soap, nice of her.
Mom used to garden in the commune vegetable patch, and she always could be found in the kitchen in summers. Slicing off bits of cold cucumber and snacking on them.
Captain Janeway -- she wants me to call her Kathryn when we're not in the company of others. She likes me and is determined to ease me into her circle. Being here is no tame exercise. This is an extreme risk scenario out here. Any slackers and we might all die. I can, however, rely on Captain Janeway and her crew to do their best. Unlike the officers back at the Guardian Project site.
Jane -- Kathryn's hands are on my shoulders and neck ... Aaaahhhhh .... a massage! The Captain gives massages! Janeway knows where all the nodes are on a girl, and has the muscles to work them properly. To look at her you wouldn't think she had the strength to lift ten Padd's. But she does.
Love those strong fingers getting my tense spots. Physical strength and command strength. She runs this ship like a mechanical watch. Always winding it up, keeping it operating at optimal efficiency. If we ever get home again, she'll be the one that did it.
Such nice hands, love that scent, going to fall asleep if this keeps up much longer. She's kissing the back of my neck, I like that. Girl-girl stuff. Her fingers feel so comforting in my hair and on my face and neck. How does she know to run forefingers in a girl's hollow of her throat and her shoulder. I'm going to fall as...l...e...e...
Ummm. I went under for a second.
She has a couch, and it looks so alluring. I haven't allowed myself to unwind once, not once, ever since I woke up in their Sickbay. Her hands are under my arms, and she guides me to that delightful couch, and is she ...? Maybe it's just accidental, her touch. It DOES feel good to have another female's hands on my breasts, even by accident. Such a delightful couch. She kisses me on my cheek good night, and I'm gone ...
***************
I am standing at my accustomed station at Astrometrics when Captain Kathryn Janeway exits her Ready Room. It is certain. My Borg enhancements clearly indicate the Captain has exited her Ready Room with her body temperature elevated, her pulse rate increased, and her face and throat showing higher gradients of heat. Her eyes are dilated. If I stood close enough to her, my still-active Borg senses would detect the faint but undeniable musky underscent of juices of humanoid female arousal.
Last week Captain Janeway exhibited these attributes when she was near me. Last week I had determined that this week optimal conditions would prevail and she would seek to copulate with me.
Most probably at the finish of a VeloCity match.
Instead she has canceled two VeloCity matches with me. Her excuses are spurious.
Now she takes the time to interact with the refugee through time, that Tonia Barrows woman. She makes it a point to talk with Lieutenant Barrows. She seeks to touch her many times in a conversation. Her eyes are different when talking to this stranger. When Lieutenant Barrows walks away Kathryn Janeway watches her body move. Once Captain Janeway devoted her attention to my enhanced body and the way I moved in my tight catsuit.
This catsuit is only marginally efficient. I would have worn StarFleet uniform if it were not for the fact I enjoyed Captain Janeway admiring my body in it.
I have overheard crew members refer to Barrows as the cute one with the great body. Captain Janeway must also think Lieutenant Barrows has a great body. She watches Barrows move every chance she gets. Captain Kathryn Janeway wishes to copulate with the oddly aged Lieutenant.
That is unacceptable.
Last week she watched my every move. Last week she obviously thought I had a great body. A great pair of tits. A great ass. That is what I have overheard other fellow crew members state in reference to my physical attributes.
I saw Captain Janeway watching that particular portion of my anatomy many times. In the reflections of many shiny surface's. I enjoyed wearing catsuits that let me show what a great backside I have. Megan Delaney used that phrase about another crew member's buttocks. Her sister used it in reference to mine.
One day when B'Elanna and I were not arguing, I said I'd been referred to as someone with a great rear, and did she concur? B'Elanna made me walk in two small circles in Engineering, judging and smiling broadly at the same time. She guided me to an alcove and kneaded both cheeks of my buttocks. She said I did indeed have a great ass.
I believe B'Elanna Torres is now another person who wants to copulate with me. When we are not fighting.
It is very difficult to understand B'Elanna. I do, however, let her pat me on my buttocks when no one else can see. It is using my 'feminine wiles' to allow her to do this. Or so I inferred from my researches. Presumably the accumulation of hormonal signatures centered on me will prompt Lieutenant Torres to be more ready to realize the accuracy of my observations and the superiority of my courses of action.
She still argues with me, however. The data was obviously flawed.
She argues with me 8.7% less frequently now. 19.8% less often when she has fondled my butt in the previous one hundred minutes. The data might be correct, but needing revision in parameters. I shall rub my body 2.0 times more frequently daily against that of Lieutenant Torres and observe if the maneuver alleviates B'Elanna's inefficient engineering tendencies.
Yesterday I wore a one-ply bra instead of my customary four-ply bra. Captain Janeway did not notice. Lieutenant Torres visited Astrometrics nine times after she stared at my bosom in Engineering. Tom Paris visited Astrometrics eight times. Ensign Kim visited Astrometrics fifteen times. A new record. Chakotay visited three times.
Neelix spilled a large wok of Leola Root 'Mulligan' Stew when he suddenly turned around and realized he was within 120 millimeters of my 'boobs'. Several human's cheered when Neelix spilled the Leola Root stew.
Now only males or B'Elanna watch my butt 'jiggle'. Or watch my bosom sway and 'jiggle'. Captain Janeway once obsessively observed me move and 'jiggle'. Our VeloCity matches were propitious moments for her to observe me move and 'jiggle'. I want Kathryn Janeway to again watch me 'jiggle'. It excites me when she watches me. Or stands too close.
I enjoy the faint scent she exudes when she stands near me. It is similar to the scent I exude when she is near me. Stood. Now she exudes this desire-to-have-sex smell when she is near Lieutenant Barrows.
This is unacceptable. I wanted to copulate with Captain Janeway first. Commander Chakotay says seniority counts for much when determining precedence in many situations. I have seniority over the smaller female. Janeway should copulate with me first.
Maybe Captain Janeway is attracted to her because Lieutenant Barrows is older. I can do nothing about that. I shall attempt to divert her attention in other ways I have studied.
I approach the captain in her command chair, easily keeping my face neutral. She does indeed smell of musk. She came from the ready room with sex pheromones emanating from her groin. This is relevant. It is also unacceptable.
I lean forward, letting one breast rest against her smaller arm. She moves her arm and leans to one side. Away from me. Unconsciously, it seems. This is totally at variance with her previous patterns.
I drop two Padd's and bend over to pick them up. Captain January's temperature and breathing remain unchanged. Harry Kim's temperature and breathing has explosively elevated, however. Commander Chakotay closely observed my body when I bent over. His penile member has engorged with blood and erected. Ship's database does not indicate whether or not Chakotay receives pain when he crosses his legs so suddenly. Pain must be irrelevant.
My Captain barely noticed my calculated exposure of my physical attributes. There is nothing between my flesh and my catsuit today. Available data has suggested wearing tight clothes and no undergarments is a guaranteed method of drawing your love's attention. I must have misinterpreted the information. Human societal and mating patterns are frequently contradictory and perverse.
I must talk to B'Elanna. I believe we are on speaking terms today. It is always pleasing to have my butt kneaded by the Chief Engineer. She is less ready to argue with me when she has fondled my body. Maybe she could suggest a new course of action.
Perhaps if I smile more when she enjoys my 'tight ass', we might disagree less. I doubt it. She is in error so much of the time. I am not likely to deny reality in order to gain ephemeral acceptance. That would be illogical.
Lieutenant Torres' purr when she rubs herself on me is pleasing. Pleasure is NOT irrelevant. The Collective was in error to state this as a self-evident truth.
I particularly find chocolate, masturbation and the way Captain Janeway's buttocks 'jiggle' to be quite pleasing.
Watching Captain Janeway move when she is in her activity clothes is pleasing. It makes me exude sexual pheromones.
The Doctor would be happy to find me interacting socially so successfully. With the addition of B'Elanna Torres, the list of fellow crewmates who wish to copulate with me lengthens daily.
Excepting the Captain. This situation must be corrected. But how? Further study is indicated.
I have observed that my body reacts to fellow female crew members only. Especially to Captain Janeway. Available data indicates I am a lesbian. Labels are irrelevant, and frequently inaccurate.
***************
Deck 6, Section 12, Lt. Torres' cabin.
I came to the door of B'Elanna's cabin precisely twenty-one minutes after she had gone off-shift. She had now been the beneficiary of sufficient time to 'relax'.
I had found many reasons to be in Engineering today. It was a most uncomfortable series of visits. I felt numerous times that I should point out to Lieutenant Torres where she was being inefficient or capricious. It is difficult to avoid speaking when I have this urge to correct her errors. Engines should always operate at highest possible efficiency.
Today there is an over-riding necessity to learn more about humans. It is important to correct Janeway's present erroneous interest in Lieutenant Barrows. Available data indicate it is imperative to correct errors in personal judgment as quickly as possible. Captain Janeway wishing to copulate with Tonia Barrows is an error, as I have the superior body and mind.
B'Elanna Torres is a sexual paradigm, and I might learn much from her. She is well-versed in humanoid copulating techniques and procedures. She fucks around. Frequently. Or so say other members of VOYAGER. Still, I must approach this encounter carefully. I tapped her cabin door signal.
I heard B'Elanna's voice and the door slid open. Inside I saw her near her bed. Her tunic was off and she was in her issue undershirt and trousers. Her feet were bare. She relaxed and smiled when she saw that it was me.
"What can I do for you, Seven? Or Annika, if you wish. Now that we're both off-duty. Say, I happen to have some of that yellow liqueur we picked up last month, if you'd like a drink." She was already passing me to reach her kitchenette.
She was being a graceful hostess, and I observed carefully. I did not reject her offer of alcoholic beverage. It would be bad manners for me to do so. Consuming alcoholic beverages were a human habit I had yet to fully master. My Borg nanotechnology rejected alcohol. It could tolerate small amounts, however. I took two sips of her gift. Alcoholic drinks were not always objectionable, and the yellow brandy was 'tasty'. The undertaste was of sweet almonds. That was acceptable.
"B'Elanna Tores," I began, after she had clinked her small glass against mine. "I wish to learn from you. You are reputed to be remarkably proficient in many areas, and have indicated a willingness to share your experiences with me. Please help me." There. The Doctor would be very proud of me.
Torres indicated I should sit on the couch next to her, and I did so. She appeared relaxed, but she was tense, and her hormones were noticeable and elevated, according to my superior sense of smell. That was acceptable. I needed her to be excited when near me.
She laid a hand upon my arm, smiling down at the point of contact. Bending minutely to bring herself closer to me. "If I can help, that's fine, Seven. Can I call you Annika?"
"Annika would be satisfactory." I tried to imitate B'Elanna's relaxed leaning into the back of her couch. "I need your help in learning to integrate myself more fully into the life aboard VOYAGER. From the comments others have made, I believe that you are an individual who could give me invaluable assistance." She was caressing my arm again. It was pleasing. Not on the level of chocolate, but pleasing.
B'Elanna had wriggled closer. Her body now touches me at four points. This is intentional. According to available data she is 'rolling on me', approaching me in an attempt to see whether or not I would accept closer contact with her.
"How do you think I could help you, Annika?" B'Elanna lightly kissed my shoulder, observing my reactions carefully. The fingernails of one hand lightly scratched the back of my hand. She was seducing me. This was pleasant. Pleasure is not irrelevant.
Now her fingers are on my throat. She touches the hollow of my throat and then traces the line of my chin. I file this approach away in my memory. If it pleases me, it should also please Captain Janeway when I do it to her.
B'Elanna's hand is moving slowly in small circles on my back, before she leans closer to lick my neck. She is pleased that I am not resisting. Her aroma is slightly different from that of either my own want-to-have-sex scent or the Captain's.
Once Neelix successfully attempted to cook sugar-based caramel for an apple delicacy whose recipe he had discovered in the database. B'Elanna smells like that. Fresh caramel. That is good. The resulting dish was pleasant in taste. I hoped B'Elanna would taste like caramel. Perhaps that is what is meant when her or some other female is described as a 'sweet dish'.
It was quite amazing. The prospect of sex was now engaging all the gamut of my human sensory perceptors. B'Elanna Torres is much more agreeable when she is sticking her tongue in my ear than when she is defending an incorrect pattern of action. I wonder if I could use this knowledge when I was in Engineering next time? I would have let her touch me on many occasions if I had known fondling me would quiet and defuse her tendency to aggressively embrace erroneous and inefficient methods.
My breathing is both deepening and growing faster in pace. My throat feels warm, as does my lower abdominal area. Her hand is holding and lifting each of my breasts in turn.
I have said nothing for three minutes, twenty seconds. I opened my mouth, seeking the correct phrases and words to indicate to B'Elanna that I wished to learn sexual techniques from her. She moved quickly to lay her mouth on mine.
This was a kiss. She looked at me, obviously seeking information from my facial expression. As my body was responding to her continued caresses and fondling, my face must have indicated to her it was acceptable to continue.
The second kiss was not so unexpected, and pleased me more. I could feel her breasts on my arm as I attempted to 'respond' to her lingual assault. I played my tongue against hers. It excited me.
This was more than acceptable.
Immediately B'Elanna was straddling me, sitting in my lap. Her breasts swaying against mine made my nipples spike. We were still kissing. It was exciting me to kiss her. It was exciting rubbing breasts together. It was exciting feeling her smaller body riding mine. My groin had gained a measure of moistness, heat and increased musk scent. B'Elanna Torres rubbing her body on my abdomen and thighs excited my body.
This might be more pleasant than chocolate.
Ship's library had indicated manual stimulation and 'pinching' of female nipples were indicated when engaged in sex. B'Elanna convulsed when I did so. She kissed me more frantically than before. I became aware B'Elanna was masturbating with one hand as she rode my thighs. She was doing so by having her hand down the front of her trousers and unders. She was doing so swiftly and with great force.
Masturbation I knew of. I do it frequently before and after I regenerate in my alcove. Therefore I shifted her to allow my hand to search for her groin between her abdominal surface and her clothes. Her kissing was now frequently interrupted by moans, growls, humming, panting, whistles and whispers of nonsense words.
I felt her wetting my hand. Then she smelled of female musk, though sharper and more spicy than my own. As well as a sharper underscent of her caramel odor. The combined scent increased eight-fold. I had just made Lieutenant Torres orgasm by the simple expedient of rubbing her clitoris and upper vaginal area.
Once I would have stated enjoying pleasure because I had given another humanoid an orgasm was illogical. It was obvious I had been in error. B'Elanna's 'come' excited me sexually. I began to masturbate through my clothes, but my new 'lover' had other ideas.
Klingon's have legendary muscular prowess, but I had not expected Lieutenant Torres to grasp the neck of my catsuit and proceed to rip it in two. This was inefficient. She could have asked me to take it off, had she wished. Now I will need to replicate a new catsuit. I pointed this out to her.
Her illogical response was to bend to take my nipples into her mouth, each in turn.
Not an illogical response at all. This was .... uuhhh ... She was .... My groin was growing very tight ... and warm. I believe my pre-orgasmic fluid discharge was increasing markedly.
Correction. It was indeed increasing.
Her hand was between the remnants of my catsuit and my vagina. She rubbed me .... then .... The palm of her hand was pressuring and rubbing my upper vaginal area. Faster. Harder. My hips were 'fucking', swaying back and forth in a sexual rhythm. Then she sucked hard on each of my nipples in turn. Uuuuhhhhnnnnnnnnnnnn!!!
I continued to orgasm as she masturbated me, and as she bit my nipples short of drawing blood. This was EXTREMLY pleasurable. Much better than chocolate. Available data suggested copulation with B'Elanna Torres would become increasingly thrilling and pleasurable once we 'got our act to bed'. I looked forward to having increasingly pleasurable sex with her.
I rose, cradling B'Elanna Torres' smaller frame in my arms. She squealed loudly, and her hands clutched my arms in panic. I carried the smaller female by her buttocks. This felt ... exciting.
Her panic ceased when I leaned forward to kiss her mouth. Three more such kisses and she was rubbing herself against me, and kissing me back. She enjoyed my kisses. They were duplicates of the ones she had given me. This was obviously satisfactory to her as she ceased fearing what I was doing.
Rubbing tongue tips was a pleasurable experience. I must do it more often with B'Elanna Torres. She must know a great deal about kissing. I especially enjoyed the way she would trace the lines of my lips with her tongue. She groaned quite loudly when I did it to her. B'Elanna was obviously going to present me with a large amount of useful data concerning humanoid copulation techniques and protocols.
'On the job training' was a phrase Chakotay used in a different context. It applied here as well. B'Elanna was 'one hot piece of ass'. Actually she had two segments of ass. Buttcheeks.
"B'Elanna," I asked, once a moment had been reached where we were not kissing. "I have overheard fellow crew members refer to you as 'one damned hot piece of ass'. I am holding two segments of your 'ass'. They are both warm to my touch. Which one is the hot one?"
She laughed for 133 seconds before she began to explain. Before she would explain I first had to bring the both of us to her bedroom alcove. She held my ripped catsuit on while I easily carried her to her bed.
She tumbled backward onto her bed when I released her on command.
It had been pleasant carrying her by her buttocks. Why it was so pleasant is not clear. It was also pleasant watching her pull her trousers and unders off. Obviously my male crew members were accurate when they said it was a joy to observe a naked female humanoid. Especially a smaller one. With a good 'build'. Pretty. Sexy. 'Nice' breasts. Which B'Elanna quickly exposed and held out to me.
All these were subjective judgments, of course. Part of learning humanity was discovering and understanding the thousands of such subjective judgments. Those judgments concerning B'Elanna were held to be true by a large majority of my crewmates. Therefore they were 'accurate'. As a working hypothesis only.
It did not explain the aroused state my body achieved as I watched her remove all her clothes. I felt compelled to touch that soft looking skin. To kiss those -- petite -- breasts and the fiercely dark beauty of her stiff nipples.
It was both confusing and pleasurable to find myself reacting in such an unreasoned way. Using such words. Touching her belly and legs were able to make my skin feel tight and my groin feel wet and pulsing.
She made me finish removing my clothing before I crawled into her bed. She made -- noises. She approved of my body. My heat increased and I felt my vagina become increasingly lubricated.
It was a revelation. I perceived B'Elanna Torres as 'one damned hot piece of ass'. Without reservation. The database had referred to my present heightened attitudes towards B'Elanna as lesbian and not entirely approved of in many Federation planets. They were in error.
It was correct. My body told me it was correct. My mind told me I was not in error to -- to 'love' this female.
I am not thinking as I normally do.
Leaning over B'Elanna to take her dark-brown nipples into my mouth confused my reasoning processes. Her groans as I hesitantly bit down on those warm hard nipples short-circuited my reasoning. I moved B'Elanna's body and brought my face close to her groin. Smelling the source of her sexual fluids over-loaded all my reasoning protocols.
Kneeling before her, both of her ankles rubbing my arms, helped focus my thoughts on how edible and soft her groin appeared. On my knees, I looked up; watching her bright dark eyes intent on me. Her sexual mound was incredibly soft. When masturbating myself, it had never occurred to me how lovely and edible a woman's sex was. I am thinking in imprecise terms.
I must taste this fascinating half-Klingon's glistening wetness. She is beautiful. She is desirable. I must taste her come.
As I licked and kissed her, B'Elanna managed to guide my first efforts at cunnilingus, so as to make my efforts successful for her. She told me what to taste, and what to pull with my mouth. She especially enjoyed the attention my mouth paid to her labia. She liked them pulled and chewed on. She had her first orgasm from my mouth while I was stretching one of her lips away from her soft body.
It was amazing how such a muscular and strong a being as B'Elanna could at the same time feel so soft and giving. The feel of her skin under my palms mesmerized me. She told me to lightly scratch her skin, especially on her belly. She had me lick the palms of her hands. I discovered the pleasure of searching the cup of her belly button with my tongue, on my own initiative.
Such words I am using. So very inaccurate. So accurate? I could no longer tell.
We kissed eleven more times, four of them being for intervals longer than ninety seconds. It was pleasing. B'Elanna searched my groin with her hand, masturbating me until I had to cry aloud in my pleasure. She told me eight times how much she enjoyed touching me in my sex, penetrating me with her fingers.
As I came on her hand, she rolled me onto my back. Once there she positioned herself on my thigh and quickly brought herself to another satisfying orgasm. During part of her masturbatory riding of my body she brought her groin up to my belly. She whipsawed herself on me there, then forced her vagina down my belly until my vagina touched hers during her sexual frenzy.
B'Elanna pushes one small perfect thigh under me, with the result that we are vaginal opening to vaginal opening. She is rubbing her wet groin against my wet groin. I am rubbing and jerking my sex on hers. Faster and faster. I am moaning and groaning louder and louder.
The process of rubbing her vagina on mine brings tears to my eyes. It was so unbelievably good as we both lubricated together. Tears no longer appear to be unacceptable. B'Elanna orgasmed against my sexual parts and had to stop. She was in a mild form of shock. From her incoherent cries and continuing spasms, her orgasm must have been very good. I did not enjoy orgasm at that time, but I had been close. We both panted, trying to calm ourselves.
B'Elanna rose up again, her hand holding mine in a nearly unbreakable clench. I felt feverish, complete, alight with a thousand fires all over my naked skin.
I am not thinking clearly. I am not being -- efficient. This is acceptable. Pleasure is relevant. Pleasure is....
Our ... So wet ... I cannot talk sensibly while I .... She is rubbing.... I cannot think sensibly. All my perceptors are being overloaded with.......
"Uuhhhhnnnn........" I am groaning. Her hand is hurting me, she is holding me .... acceptable. Pain is acceptable. Uuhhh....
I must also be hurting B'Elanna. My lover. We are holding on to each other's thigh in order to force our groin's more tightly together. She is moving so ffaaaaasttt....
My mind is full of phrases and words I have read in a thousand Padd's, heard on a trio of hundreds of holodrama's. I cannot think properly. I can no longer reason. I have become chaotic and inefficient. Unbalanced and deranged. My mind is clogged with heat and fire and my body is increasingly wet as we hold our groins together. We are both wet. We make liquid noises as we rub together. That sound is pleasant.
I am groaning again. For 44 seconds I mumbled nonsense words. Or two minutes. Or four. It is no longer relevant. B'Elanna is muttering, mumbling, cursing, and telling me she loves me. She is deranged with sexual need.
"Oohhaareeeeeeddaaaansaaaa...." I am deranged as well. I do not recall what it was I wished to say in that last outburst. I think I was quite loud. I can no longer use words of precise definition. I am ..... I am .... I am.
We are both so well lubricated, it is so much more pleasurable now that I fear for my hard-earned sanity. We hump our groins to each other's so swiftly. With such force. With such slick slurping sounds. As we manage to orgasm together this time.
There are loud noises in this cabin. Some of them are mine. I cannot see. I see lights. My eyes rolled upwards into my head for ... I can no longer tell time precisely. It is too good....
My entire groin hurts, my clitoris is throbbing erratically, we are making very wet noises together. It is so good. I can no longer maintain precise.... I cannot think.
My belly is washing... There is pain. Fire. "Ooooohhhhhhh."
I cannot state whether I had two climax's or one extended one. This is MUCH better than masturbation.
B'Elanna is having a longer-lasting orgasm. She is jerking herself against my soft mound for -- maybe -- three or four minutes, maybe..... I can no longer define events precisely. My skin hurts. It is full of ... tingles. I have collapsed. B'Elanna is using my body to rub out her extended ... come. I feel so complete. It gives me great satisfaction to observe her coming on me. I ignore the super-sensitivity pains of my post-orgasmic release. Pain is irrelevant. If it gives my lover pleasure.
B'Elanna and I sprawl ... an imprecise word. Imprecise words sound very ... satisfactory. We are lovers. I understand the word now. I do not understand the word. Yet. It is clear in my mind. It is not clear in my mind.
It is no wonder people in love act irregularly. Their neural pathways have been short-circuited.
"I ... I think I ..."
B'Elanna twists, her small lithe body ... such words come to my mind now. I am becoming more human. The Doctor would be pleased at the speed with which I am habituating myself to human imprecision's.
She kisses me for ... some time. I am kissing her back. Still sprawled across the bed. It feels incredibly pleasurable to feel her hard little body rubbing itself on me.
"I think I love you, Annika Hansen, beautiful Borg. Have you assimilated me? If so, I agree. Resistance is futile." B'Elanna is attempting to be tender at the same time she is attempting to be 'light' of tone. She is afraid I will not reciprocate her tenderness and emotions.
She is in error to feel that way. I must convince her of that truth.
"I love you, B'Elanna Torres. I think. I cannot think clearly when you are rubbing your breasts against mine." She made as if to roll off me. I hurt her when I reacted so swiftly. I apologized and kissed her again. That was ... I think ... an appropriate response. My enhanced hand may become a problem. We shall manage.
"Please ... stay. Remain on top of me. It feels very pleasant ... it feels very WONDERFUL to feel your body on mine." We kiss again, my hands massage and knead her buttocks. It feels right to do that. It feels right to kiss her. When I find her vaginal opening from behind, she squeals and cries in a high pitched tone. It is extremely pleasant to feel her jerk and wriggle on top of me. My nipples are very hard.
"I love you, B'Elanna Torres." Such a ... ambiguous word, love. It sounds very good in my mouth.
I am arrogantly pleased that I am a lesbian. This pattern of sexual contact is a great deal more than satisfactory. Most available data implies customary heterosexual partnerships could not equal the sexual endurance and enthusiasm which B'Elanna Torres has shown, and which I am attempting to emulate. I believe I now know what my fellow crewmates have been stating when they referred to Lieutenant Torres as 'one hot piece of ass'.
I am enjoying using inefficient and imprecise phraseology.
I complimented B'Elanna on her muscular physiology. This was good, because she went into another series of kissing, followed by additional body rubbing. B'Elanna said I kissed good, and asked who I had had practice on? I explained I was merely returning patterns and intensities of kissing which she had given me.
I had never heard B'Elanna Torres giggle before. I think.
She eased herself down my body. I refrained from keeping her in place. My patience was rewarded when she began nursing at my breasts. Biting them. Worrying them ... I think is the phrase. It made them hurt more. It also made them harder. And made them feel better. Making love to B'Elanna allows chaotic thinking and emotional responses to be appropriate.
I had not realized before how aspects of ... loving, sex, foreplay could be so contradictory, confusing, and satisfying. I am groaning again. Her hand has found my groin again. Her masturbating me is ... better.
I idly wonder if males understand masturbating females, but I somehow doubt it.
She continues to move down my body, her intent obvious and eagerly anticipated. She is going to 'eat me out'. I am lubricating profusely. My own groin has few hairs in comparison with B'Elanna's thick dark growth. I hope she will not be disappointed.
I had not known previously that the navel could be an erogenous zone. Her tongue there makes my knees rise and my thighs open. I presumed this was the intent until B'Elanna raised her head and spoke. She caressed one of my thighs, then the other. She licked her tongue in my belly button, squealing to see my legs rise into the air and open.
"You really like that, don't you? Is that some more of that nanotechnology? No, please, no, don't answer. I'll just enjoy my blessings without asking about them."
At that point she returned her delightful tongue-tip to my navel. Prompting me to raise my legs again. I am not certain I could have told her my name once her hand had once more found my clit. Certainly my Borg data-base was off-line. I think.
I recalled a phrase many crew members had used previously. Who gave a flying fuck? It felt good to use these words and phrases properly, in this appropriate context. I did not find it necessary to think or articulate clearly. A simple groan appeared to be sufficient to encourage B'Elanna in whatever she was doing.
My randomized responses increased in volume and intensity once she began licking her way through my pubic hairs. I -- we -- have discovered another erogenous zone on my body.
She is licking my
I come
It is very good
I am ashamed because I think I just urinated on my lover
B'Elanna Torres is squealing again, licking my vaginal opening and significant areas of my pubic area.
I am still
Or again
I return to some measure of control. My thigh, all my leg muscles hurt. Pain is irrelevant in this context. I presume the pain is from involuntary muscle spasms.
Sweet B'Elanna is making noises as she orally caresses me. It is satisfactory. I hurt to a small degree. I will not stop my beautiful lover from loving me with her delightful mouth or teeth.
I apologized to her for my involuntary urination. She laughs and chuckles. She finds my apology humorous.
"Annika, darling innocent," she replied. "You ejaculated, you squirted. You came so hard you gave me something precious.
"Most females have never done that. Squirted. They may have incredible comes, but not many find that ... that method of expressing love." She appeared troubled.
"Dear Annika of mine, sweetest of drones ... I'm your first love, lover, aren't I?"
B'Elanna is worried that she might have 'corrupted' me by seducing me.
"Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres, you have been my first lover. This is fact. Others have made it known to me they wished to be my lover. Most wished to be my first lover.
"You were my first love, yes. Once you kissed me, I knew you would be my teacher of the improbabilities of love. I made a good choice." I gently pressured the back of her head. Smiling. As only a lover can do to her heart's holder.
"I enjoyed your loving me with your mouth. Correction. I had no life before you loved me with your incredible mouth. Would you please do it again? Would you please do it forever? And after that I will do it to you forever. I think that is an even trade."
***************
I held my sleeping beauty for one hour and twenty-one minutes until she roused herself. She found herself staring at my larger breasts as she awoke. She leaned forward and began sucking on them. She was quite skilled at that. It was satisfactory.
After six minutes and eight seconds, B'Elanna leaned back, prompting me to remain on my side. She twisted around so her face was to my groin. I began to lubricate.
The bed suite had a strong scent of human and Klingon sexual fluids to it. It excited me. It pleased me. I wanted to taste more.
B'Elanna pointed out a problem in doing a '69'. Our extreme differences in height meant our mouths could not mutually satisfy each other orally at the same time. We would have to 'take turns'.
"That is an easily solved problem, my honey-skinned lover." (Such words I am using!)
"My need is greater, so I will orally caress you until you orgasm. You are quite good at masturbating me, so you will bring me to climax with your fingers. Once that is accomplished, you may lick me into another of your customary 'comes'. Your groin will enjoy the use of my digits on yourself. Present cursory deductions indicate the occurrence of our mutual orgasms to have a high order of probability. I look forward to feeling your tongue in my vagina again."
It took more than two minutes and seventeen seconds before she stopped giggling and began licking my pubic hairs. B'Elanna states she enjoys tasting my fluids there. Everywhere. I am delicious.
***************
When B'Elanna next awoke, she pulled my naked form erect and urged me to join her in the kitchenette. I touched my Chief Engineer four hundred and fifteen times before we stood before her replicator. She enjoyed the procedure as did I. Fondling is more than acceptable. B'Elanna giggled more and more as the night proceeded towards morning. She was happy. That is relevant.
She fondled back. Emphasis on barely touching my latisimus dorsai muscles in my side prompting much giggling on my part. Giggling is relevant. Giggling is pleasurable. As is tickling. Tickling is good.
B'Elanna enjoys my licking the bumps of spinal column in the back of her neck. She ordered something for us called chocolate syrup. I had told B'Elanna of my rating events and emotions according to their degree of pleasure against the pleasure of chocolate.
She referred to it as the metric chocolate measure. Much research may be done on an informal basis. Starting tonight.
I used one of my own rations to replicate two caramel creme chocolate eggs. One for her, one for me. I told B'Elanna she tasted different but much like the caramel egg.
She giggled. Then she attacked me, forcing me to the carpet. It was uncomfortable having sex on the rug. My lover referred to it as 'rug burn'. Pain was not irrelevant but surmountable and acceptable.
It was ... I think ... easier to 'lock loins' on the floor. When I am having sex with my lover it is difficult to maintain precision in time measure or anything else. My circuits overload. Especially when we both get very wet and the slick fluid sounds increase. If I am ever forced to choose, it will be extremely difficult to rate any particular form of sex over another.
Fortunately such thoughts are irrelevant. And unlikely.
After a suitable interval, B'Elanna recovered from our sex serious. It is termed play in some data bases. Perhaps the term 'serious' might be more appropriate.
B'Elanna disagrees. In Engineering her blood pressure rises and her body heats. She yells. Often.
In her cabin when we disagree her blood pressure rises and her body heats. She always yells when she has a climax. It is different. She does not giggle in Engineering.
The next time we disagree in Engineering I will tickle her, kiss her, and 'goose' her. It is possible that I may have discovered a method of our working together harmoniously. That will be efficient.
After I had digitally manipulated my lover into another orgasm, she returned to our squeeze of chocolate syrup. Even bedraggled, her hair is beautiful and her forehead crest remains something I enjoy caressing.
We had some of the syrup directly into our mouths. My sugar intake for this night was prodigious. A caramel egg and now this syrup. It was acceptable. Unfortunately increased activity and lessened caloric intaking was indicated for tomorrow and the day after.
B'Elanna showed me an interesting use for chocolate syrup. You put some on a nipple and then proceed to lick it off.
Chocolate is good.
You can apply chocolate syrup to other portions of the anatomy as well.
It took B'Elanna nearly an hour to lick all the chocolate from my groin.
Chocolate is VERY VERY good.
Rug burn be damned. Or however the phrase goes.
***************
B'Elanna stared at me, lying sprawled on her bed. She had 'that' look in her eyes again. She is a very inventive individual. I groaned and smiled at the same time. B'Elanna is ... acceptable.
She told me to get on my hands and knees, with my butt facing the edge of the bed. I enjoyed her caresses. Especially the way she probed my vagina with her fingers. She bent to kiss my buttocks.
It took me five and a half seconds to realize what B'Elanna intended to do. First she gave my impeccable buttocks many kisses. Kisses which were eventually occurring between the cheeks of my ass.
"B'Elanna," I began, "is it not unsanitary to place your mouth there? Please explain why you want to ..... Uuhhh!"
"Feels good to have my tongue there, doesn't it Annika? Here, let me..."
I had to groan as she cleaned me there with her tongue. It might be unsanitary, but B'Elanna presented me with additional data on humanoid mating patterns. When you are passionately involved in pleasing someone else, that and that alone becomes your single and most essential goal.
Moreover, since using your mouth on another female's vagina was unsanitary as well, anilingus was merely a variation of degree, not type.
Her fingers used me, the palm of her hand, the thumb on my clitoris. I orgasmed again for B'Elanna. Her tongue worming inside me and two fingers penetrating me. I squirted again. I realized I was approaching my personal limits of stamina and strength. That was acceptable.
I had discovered I enjoyed being licked there. B'Elanna explained that not all women enjoyed caresses or kisses there. The thought occurred to me, but I did not mention to B'Elanna that we still had a third of squeeze of chocolate syrup left. Now I have something to anticipate for tomorrow.
That brought me to a stop. I had to ask B'Elanna if there was going to be a tomorrow. At least for us, as lovers. She said yes nineteen times between kisses and giggling.
Vorik, Tuvok and others would probably disbelieve my words if I told them how B'Elanna Torres enjoys giggling. When she giggles in my ear it is especially acceptable. Or rear.
I immediately returned the pleasing pattern by placing her at the edge of the bed. On her hands and knees. Then giving her similar loving anilingual sex.
This encounter was of additional interest because her sexual fluids came out as a quite strong and prolonged 'squirt' this time. I had already observed and tasted this ejaculate before. I had read of it in my studies. I had been prepared to taste it, smell it and enjoy it. This bounty was beyond my expectations, especially as I had not been sure I would ever find it in a woman of my choice.
B'Elanna Torres screamed quite loudly when she did so. It is self-evident that her neighbors in their cabins knew Lieutenant Torres had a new lover.
All of them.
B'Elanna claims she does not scream when she has an orgasm. I read a phrase which, appropriately re-phrased for this occasion, appears apt. "Whatever my baby wants. If she says she does not scream, she does not scream."
Even I needed humanoid sleep now. B'Elanna lay against my back. I could feel each intake of breath on my back, as well as each exhale. I could feel her warmth. I could feel the lines of her head crest as she fit herself to my back.
It was acceptable.
***************
I stared out at the Starbow through the window of B'Elanna's cabin. It was pleasant being nude in the same room with a lover. It was very acceptable. Sex with B'Elanna Torres was more pleasing than chocolate or masturbation. Fortunately it did not appear that I must choose one pleasure over another.
I heard my half-Klingon waken, then rise from her bed. It was surprising to me to realize I had thought of her as 'my' half- Klingon. I felt possessive about her. Though not as much as I once did in regard to Captain Janeway.
Torres padded over to me and carefully fitted herself to my back. When her arms went around my waist, I let my human responses emerge. It was pleasing to be naked with her. Feeling her pleasantly soft body against mine. It awakened memories of sex just past, and hopes of sex still to occur. I clasped her strong arms to me, around my waist. It was also oddly pleasing to know how strong and muscular she was. I heard and felt her breathing in the scents of my hair.
"Is it the Borg nanotechnology?" she asked. I was confused until I connected her question with her breathing in trace chemicals in my hair. Or lack of them, rather.
"I do not sweat as other humans on this ship do. Coupled with customary cleansing protocols, my hair and skin are bound to be lacking many subtle undertones found in other human's hair and skin. The answer is affirmative. Borg nanotechnology and implants reduce body emissions. Is this the answer you wished?"
At first she said nothing. I found myself hoping I had not said the 'wrong' thing to B'Elanna. I wished henceforth not to say irritating words to her. She was my lover.
It was probable she felt the same way about me. She was my lover.
That phrase sounded more accurate to my ears than sex partner. I owed her too many things now, for numerous penetrating insights into my humanity. To casually dismiss her pains or confusions as irrelevant would be both unnecessarily cruel and inaccurate. One night with her and I felt as if all my previous knowledge of humanity, it's protocols and my personal knowledge of myself, were in error. Insufficient.
Once I knew so much of humanity's ways. Tonight I knew so little. There were no facts to support such a hypothesis. Were there?
I felt it to be true, nonetheless. I had a 'gut feeling'. It was quite confusing.
I was reassured I had said the right thing when B'Elanna began rubbing her hands over the front of my body. It was disturbing to know my sense of precise delineation of words might cause pain to someone I wished not to hurt.
She caressed my breasts first, lifting their weight. She enjoyed feeling them move, feeling their weight. That was satisfactory. If she kept performing these pleasurable fondling's, I will have to guide her back to bed and engage in more sex.
Sex with her was more pleasant than masturbation by a geometric factor of 2.7 times.
I think. I am not assured now of the precise grasp of definitions I had nine hours and forty-four minutes ago. She confuses me. She excites me. Perhaps both emotions are inter-relevant.
When she began caressing my abdomen and my implants ridging across it, she began to growl and purr. She brushed my Venus Mound hair before she spoke again. She tickled me by just touching the hair. It was exciting, it was arousing.
"Annika, sweet woman, why did you come to my cabin tonight -- last night? Somehow we never got to that, what with everything. Was it anything important? If so, I'm sorry to have sidetracked you."
Lieutenant -- No, B'Elanna Torres, my lover, had just apologized to me. Without having those muscle signatures which had previously signaled her continued anger at me. That made me confused. I enjoyed the sensation it evoked, but it did not evoke the same emotion that it might have if it had occurred yesterday in Engineering. I am still learning humanity, this is obvious.
I twisted in her arms, enjoying her hands now caressing my back, my head and neck, my 'tight ass'. That her fingernails were lightly scratching my buttocks this morning were of three orders of magnitude more pleasant than her doing so yesterday, through my catsuit. My breasts rested atop hers, allowing me to confirm that her nipples were erecting again.
I anticipated tasting B'Elanna again when she orgasmed. Time for this WILL be found. It is an absolute necessity. The combination of her half-Klingon musk scent mixed with caramel gave me much pleasure. Her vaginal opening and groin were quite 'tasty' when she came. I like it better than chocolate.
Maybe she will issue another round of her 'squirting', her orgasmic ejaculate, just for me. On me. Her extraordinary excitement made me excited. That would be acceptable. More than acceptable.
B'Elanna murmured at me. She still wanted an answer.
"I came to you to request that you teach me how to be a good 'fuck'. Specifically to be an excellent lover of women."
She stared at me with her mouth and eyes abnormally open.
"You have been an extraordinarily superior teacher. This student now feels it is time for further practice in my new skill.
"If you have no objections?"
***************
I regenerated for six hours the next night, then sought out B'Elanna. She welcomed my waking her, and we had additional satisfactory sex. Loving. We are two 'hot bitches' together.
We talked many times that day and next, both before shift and during it. She was quite pleased with my comparison of her female orgasmic exudations with caramel and musk. Her nipples spiked and she had an aroused scent. Words are not irrelevant to sex or love.
She squirted on me numerous times when I gave her additional oral love. She states I am an eager and determined cunninlingual lover. I could stand to be a little less 'sloppy'. She will work with me on this.
B'Elanna Torres also stated she will help me in learning how to squirt when I orgasm. She states we might need numerous occasions together to practice our pleasure. This is acceptable.
At the end of shift she handed me four fresh hot molasses cookies. She had used one of her precious replicator rations to give me a present. I said Thank You to her. My social skills are improving.
The fresh cookies smelled and tasted of a form of caramel. My nipples became immediately and painfully erect. B'Elanna's half- Klingon sense of smell was superior to humans. She accurately stated I became wet when I tasted the first cookie.
That night it was imprinted on my memory that it is not wise to eat cookies in bed. There are crumbs.
However, a cookie moistened with her ejaculate was of far superior taste. Crumbs shall have to be endured.
END
