Title: "Yesterday"
Parts: 1/1
Author: R.Schultz ( cousindream@aol.com )
Rating: NC-17, for sexuality.
Series: TOS/TNG
Code: F/F
Pairing: Janice Rand/Vash
Disclaimer: All Trek belongs to Paramount/ViaBorgCom, yattata, yattata, yattata, etc. This story mine under Berne Copyright Laws. 5000 words, December, 2002, written for the FFF.
Summary: Kirk and his ENTERPRISE are embarked upon a five year mission. To go where no other man has gone before. Including Yeoman Janice Rand's living quarters? In the meanwhile, Janice Rand has a guest. Who keeps popping in and out. Literally.
Warning! This fiction includes representations of female/female lust. If this abrogates your intra-phaseic shielding, go listen to Lott or Saddam proclaim his innocence. (And they call Lord of the Rings a fantasy!) If you're underage or exist in a ThoughtFree, I mean SmutFree, country or locale, you may not enter here. Shoo! Vamoos! Entrit Verboten!
Written for the FFF -- http://www.oocities.org/femme_fuhq_fest/ , and will be archived at the ASCEML.
Comments to R.Schultz ( cousindream@aol.com )
by R.Schultz
"Yesterday upon the stair
I saw a girl who wasn't there.
She wasn't there again today.
Gee, I wish she'd go away!"
"Q!!!!" I screeched as hard as I could.
Then I slipped in the soapy water, and I grabbed the woman in front of me to keep from falling. Naturally that meant we both splashed to the bottom of the shower. Hard.
She screeched in surprise and shock, I screeched in surprise, shock, anger, pain (I was the one on the bottom), and fright. A lot of screeching going on. I hate screeching, especially when I'm the one doing it. It's so undignified.
I am POSITIVE I heard a supercilious self-satisfied smug Q-type chuckle off in the distance somewhere. The.... The.... Fart!
It was a damned small shower, or I could have hurt myself. Or her. Whoever she was. We'd sort of slid down the sides of the shower together, and my bum hurt like the Devil, but as I took stock, it was obvious nothing was broken. On me.
It was obviously a her because my hands were mostly around her and breasts were weighing one arm and a quick exploratory gesture seemed to give me the impression of something woman-soft under my other hand. Being a lady, I naturally did not attempt to grope much further.
"Eep," she said when I moved my hand. Woman's voice. Not necessarily a sure sign, but....
I was wet. Very wet. Warm water was running down the front of my good RoArin Turbofils tri-gray tri-skirt. My GOOD gray dress. DAMN Q! Damn him straight to a Cardassian Hell!
Still, it WAS Turbofans. Hang it out to dry and it'll be good as new.
The girl, the blond, she twisted in my grasp to look me in the face. She wore something to protect her hair. She had a hideous hairdo, something big and tall and antique. The hair protector looked like an old style quaith, like my grandmother used to wear when puttering around her house.
Young. Reasonably pretty. If she restrained her makeup to something less altogether-too-much, and a non-repulsive hair style, she'd be yummy.
"Who are you?" she asked. "And what in bloody damned hell are you doing in my shower?"
How to explain my lack of interest in .... somehow .... sexually satisfying an omnipotent being with the attitude of the Emperor Caligula on mind-altering substances? It'd be a long, long, long story I'm afraid, my dear.
"Just for curiosity's sake I'd like to know," she continued. "I don't imagine I'll be able to ask you much after I tear you to shreds for jumping in on me this way. Just give me a second and then you'll die. In great pain."
Nice recovery. Very butch. A little surprise and confusion at first, but she was now managing to cope, being assured and stiff upper lip. If she didn't look so pissed, I'd laugh and start fondling. Find out whether she likes girls. Probably doesn't. And she's not my type anyways. Too soft and teenage looking. Go to fat in a few generations. Too blowzy blond femme for me.
Doctor Beverly Crusher, now SHE was more my type! It would have been SO much fun getting her and Bald Eagle in the same bed with me. Alas, too much puritan in Jean-Luc for THAT. Who ever heard of a puritanistic Frenchman?
Or that sweet-tooth trill I met on DS9. Or....
"My name is Vash," I explained. "I think I got Q irked at me, or maybe he just.... But you know how Q's are.
"Do you know about Q's?" Understanding did not paint itself on her face. Oh hell.
"Listen," I purred, "what say we get out of this shower and I'll try to explain it all to you. You and your hubby or boyfriend or whatever. Just stand up, turn the water off, and we'll go from there...."
Suddenly the water cut off all by itself.
"Damndamndamndamndamndamndamn!" the blond cursed. "Unless I override, that's the last of my hot water for a shower until tomorrow morning!
"And I'm still COVERED with soap!" She looked distinctly unhappy. She was also correct. Nicely scented soap, a bit too sweet for my taste, but not half bad. Definitely soap.
"I'm sorry if I interfered with your ration.... Excuse me, could we get up? Good. Could you give me a hand.... Much better. Thank you.
"Again, I'm sorry, but it wasn't my intention to show up here and raise havoc with your showering, but believe me, I had no choice in the matter. And where are we?"
She looked funny at me, wondering how in blazes I could fail to know that. If she didn't know about the Q, I could foresee a long period of fruitless explaining lying in front of me. Later. After I got out of this dress and left it to dry.
"We're in my cabin. That's 3C 46, deck twelve, seven o'clock sector."
"Hi. I'm Leeslee Vash, archaeologist extraordinaire, at your service. You can call me the Tomb Raider. Or Indiana Vash. Can I get out of this dress and put it somewhere to dry? And who are you, please?"
"I'm Yeoman Janice Rand, of the StarShip ENTERPRISE."
"Wonderful! Goody! Captain Picard and I are old buddies together! Just Comm him on your badge and I'll get out of your hair and he'll probably give you all the hot water you want, just as a favor to me! Or is this water rationing something new? Having a problem of some sort so water is in short supply?"
"Who?"
"Jean-Luc. Captain Picard. You did say this was the ENTERPRISE, didn't you? Has it gotten a new Captain, perhaps? You know.... Baldy eagle? The sexy little guy with not much hair?" Pause.
"Who's the captain here?"
"Captain James T. Kirk."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Plus side. Her looks grow on you. Rand. Really nice figure.
Negative side. Q shifted me in time and put me on the Kirk ENTERPRISE. Positive side on that is the Big E under Kirk never got terminated until after his retirement. Negative side on that is I don't know when .... or IF .... Q is going to quit smirking long enough to bring me back to where I belong.
"You're from the future," she stated. Not a question.
"Certainly am," I replied. I was finishing hanging my dress and unders all over her dumper space. She liked the feel of Turbofils. She didn't like my using HER space. She also hurriedly tossed me a robe to wear when I stripped. From the speed with which she obtained that item, maybe she wasn't 100% straight after all.
Faint hope.
She got her Comm badge off the side table and called for Security.
"Intruder alert! Stranger in cabin. Please respond immediately." So much for my soft reasonable approach.
Nothing to do, so I leaned back against a wall and mentally prepared myself for some quality time in their brig. I heard the door hiss .... how quaint!, I thought. It hisses. The next thing I did was
SNAP!
back. Faintly nauseating, whatever the damned SNAP! was.
Looking around, the Yeoman had gotten clear across the cabin to the door. Nice trick. I wish I could learn it. Could have used it a few times in the past. And if I ever got back to where I should be, in the future, I could use it then, I presumed.
eep eep
she said. So what was her problem?
I waited a few heartbeats for Security to arrive. Nothing happened.
"Hello there? Is Security coming? When they take me off to the brig, could you arrange for my unders and dress to be delivered to me when they dry?
"Say, these Security personnel wear those famous red shirts, here! Do they all have bulls-eye targets printed on them, like I heard? I want to see one of those shirts. Or did they just have "Shoot Me!" printed on their front and back?"
"eeep!" she repeated. Did Q pop me in with the StarFleet equivalent of the Village Idiot?
She turned and the door opened
SNAP!
and she was looking very pale and was sitting on the bed close to me. She'd managed to put on a lace-fringed red/green pants suit thing with bows during the whatever-it-was I'd just been subjected to. DAMNIT! was I getting a damned headache.
As stated previously, she'd managed to get a lot done in the blink of an eye. Except maybe....
I lifted both hands, palms out, trying to be non-threatening. Yeoman Rand sort of teleported to the corner furthest from me and said
eep
again. I'd always thought the expression about a person's eyes getting to be as big as tea cups was just an exaggeration. It looked like Q had put a kebosh on the deal. Again.
"What do you think just happened?" I asked the blond. "Again?"
StarFleet training took hold and she managed to stop, breathe deeply and answer.
"You disappeared," she managed. "No, no, what you did was you turned SIDEWAYS until you were just an edge and then you sort of retreated into the wall. I think. It looked that way. Once you were an edge you traveled over to the wall and vanished or interpenetrated it or SOMETHING!"
"Q," I sighed.
"Who is this 'Q' person?"
"He's from another dimension, more or less and all Q are omnipotent, obnoxious, selfish, childish, omnipresent, omni this and omni that and the other damned omni thing and generally a royal pain in the ass, especially when they're playing their little games. They pop in and out of our reality and make a royal mess of things.
"This Q wants me to bear his goddamned child or something, I think, he's not really the most outgoing of pains in the ass, this one isn't. Do I make any sort of sense?"
"Trelane," she whispered. A word fraught with loathing, fear and not a little disgust.
"He wants to have SEX with you?" she asked.
"I think so. His version of it. The way he describes it I'd rather get a pelvic exam by a Cardassian abortionist. All painless, but very zip, zip, zap, and I'm a mother. Or whatever. An honor I'd just as soon pass on. Though at least I'd get Mothers Day cards from then on. I think."
"Sounds icky." Pause. "What's a Cardassian?"
I thought for a second. "Think of the brother a Klingon would be ashamed of and would keep locked up in a basement all the time."
She nodded her head to that. "I know the type. I had a blind date once.... He turned out to be a distant relative, not nearly distant enough I guess. The side of the family that inbred too much, I think. But we needn't get into that.
"So, anyhow," she continued, "this Trelane of yours wants you to boogie with him and this trip here is punishment for a lack of enthusiasm?"
"I think so. Or just someplace unique to park me while he goes off and buttfucks slime worms or whatever it is Q do for long boring Saturday afternoons when there isn't a game on. Teach me a lesson without descending to the level of actual physical pain.
"Trelane," she murmured. "Big time baby with all sorts of power. Does this one have parents who will spank him? That's what our Trelane got for his troubles."
"Doesn't sound nearly lethal enough," I answered. "No, he doesn't seem to have parents or monitors or anything."
I walked over to the cabin door, deciding to see just what my limits were here and how close I could get to escape from this cabin. The door began to hiss open
SNAP!
and I was turned around.
Yep. Definitely getting a migraine.
"I think I'm stuck here. Could you please perform a little experiment? Step outside, into the corridor, and go somewhere? Anywhere.
"Once you're there, try to tell someone what's going on and you have this intruder who fades ...."
"Slides," she corrected.
"....into the walls. Just try it and we'll see what happens, na?"
She thought, trying to find a flaw, and stood in front of me. "I'll try it," she agreed. "We'll see what happens."
"Thanks, sweetie," I smiled. "I have a feeling not much will be accomplished, but if you never try you never learn...."
Rand turned and strode to the door
SNAP!
and stumbled against the mirror. Definite headache. Where the hell are the analgesics?
Later, after her return, we both sat on the edge of Janice's bed, despondent and moping.
"We're trapped, aren't we?" Janice asked.
"I think we are," I murmured.
"I can't tell anyone about the situation here, and you can't leave."
She had it in a nutshell.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The strawberry waffle was almost delicious, even if it was from a replicator with only half a lung. You could taste the artificiality of it all, but that's why you went for something too sweet or too fatty or too whatever.
Not being able to make it to the mess hall left me with few options. The gourmet wine tasted like alcoholic gooseberry juice flavored with plaque remover, and the tea left stains on my teeth just looking at it.
They'd really had to rough it on the old ENTERPRISE.
The cabin door whooshed open and Rand came back, not the picture of carefree abandon. One presumed she'd ate something and drank something in their mess hall. Not that she'd reveled in the experience. At least she looked less ridiculous in that light red/green pants suit than her issue uniform. StarFleet must have had nothing but sex on their supposed minds when they designed those skirt things. Probably any gal with thunder thighs left the service streaming tears of anguish.
Not that Rand's thighs were thunderous. Nice creamy looking things. Probably heaven to stroke, with either a hand or a tongue.
*sigh* Straight girls.
Give her twenty years and then maybe one would think of Zeus hurtling lightning bolts when you saw them. But not right now.
I'd studied her artwork, not too bad. From her charcoal of The Kirk, I'd say the girl had definite hero worship. Had. At one time. The oil-in-progress was a still life of bottles. The charcoal had a patina of dust on it, as if it's creation had occurred a long time ago.
An artist. Could be worse.
She bent to check out my now-dry turbofils tri-dress. She liked the feel. A lot like this Chinese silk robe of hers I was wearing. Luxurious, flowing, sensuous. Scrumptious on a gal's skin. The inevitable happened, of course. After all, we were two girls together.
"Mind if I try it on?" No problem. I always liked to check out the straight gals.
Her figure grew on one. "Grailocaine" was the perfume, whatever that was, that she wore this time. I bet it tasted terrible if I licked it off her skin. Girl must have had thirty perfumes on her shelf in the dumper.
I smiled, sort of, when she tried to close the top. Difference between an A cup and a C, baby. I reminded myself of how responsive mine were. I bet myself only her nips got hard. Made me feel a HELL of a lot better, yeah.
*sigh* And locked in a cabin with her.
I got to grope and fondle a bit when I helped her get the cleavage mostly stowed away, but that only made it worse.
There was still a lot of unsupported her showing when we were done. Gray was not her color, but turbofils looked good on anyone. She jiggled sweetly when she moved, swirled or breathed. Her giggle was bloody cute.
"Let me try something," she said. And waltzed out the door wearing MY dress.
I couldn't go out there, but a new dress was just a new dress, and no matter turbofils wouldn't get invented yet for another generation or two. She was still giggling.
After the first hour I was mad as hell. After the second I had resigned myself to whatever, and lay back on her bunk to get some nap time. Smelling her on her bed I wound up opening the robe and getting some quality time with Miss Hand and her five daughters. Maybe it was the tensions and frustrations, and maybe it was the scent of young female. In any case I was almost to my second come when Janice came back from her late snack or rendezvous or whatever.
I stared at her, then mentally told her to fuck off and finished the business at hand, so to speak. Rand left, but she was back in about ten minutes.
She peeked her head in first, face red, and rushed in when she saw I was sitting in her single chair. She didn't know what to say.
"Sorry for the use I made of your bunk," I said. "Couldn't leave a Do Not Disturb sign on the outside. But sometimes a gal just has to take things into her own hands. You understand .... yes?"
"I do it a lot myself," she admitted. "Just never thought I'd find another woman.... In my bed.... You know."
"Who do you think of when you do it?" I leered. "Captain Kirk? Or that Vulcan, whatshisname?"
After a minute. "Amongst others," she admitted. "Who do you think of?"
I named a few names, and then wound up explaining a bit about them. I wondered about time causality and stuff like that, but nothing I said seemed to change things in this earlier time. Thus far.
Told her about Doctor Crusher on the future ENTERPRISE, and her eyes got big before she popped the inevitable query.
"You do girls?"
"Any time I can, sweetie. Only if they're willing, though, so you can go ahead and feel your honor is in no danger of being compromised. You're cute, but I'm not into virgins or rape."
"I'm no virgin!" she indignantly pointed out.
"To girl-girl stuff, I mean. So feel safe with me." Which was a double-damned lie, but as we looked to being cabin-mates for a while, it was best to smooth things over.
She let me chatter on a bit about archaeology, or tomb-robbing as some have called my version of it. Hey, a girl's got to make a living, right?
She liked that. She'd joined StarFleet in order to do something other than milking cows or some such, and she was seriously hooked on the adventure end of things even now. She had dreamed once of gallivanting all over the Galaxy with her trusted crew and doing spectacular things and marrying a Prince and ruler of an Empire and having oodles of money and sex and so forth.
Instead she carried clipboards on the ENTERPRISE and painted oils she gave away to friends on the ship. And got her ass fondled by The Kirk on days when he was into blondes. Which was every fourth day, evidently.
Frankly her opinion of coitus with The Kirk was several orders of excellence than Kirk's opinion of sex with The Kirk. Not bad, but still.....
One's illusions die such whimpering and bloody deaths.
She listened to my finding of the Chalice of Life, which a certain Oglikracht Arbiter of a planet off near Bajor thought would do wondrous things for his longevity. As he got overthrown and turned into a molecular film under the Official Millstone Of Justice (which ground slowly but very well), it's effect had to be considered problematical.
I told her about the Quest I had with Captain Picard, and the questing way with a tongue and fingers he had. And our adventure, which brought me no profit, but gave me a few laughs.
I think Rand was a bit jealous. So I tried telling her about sleeping in caskets, drinking black brackish water and having to do what women have to do when I had to. Then she felt a little sorry for me, but asked me why I kept on at it.
That brought us back to adventure, and we understood each other better than we had. I snuck a quick kiss on the cheek when she was feeling sympathetic and bonding and what-not. She looked at me funny, but didn't do anything about it.
She was the one who stood up and began realizing there was only one bed for the two of us.
Rand was ingenious as hell. She went out half a dozen times, raiding stores and replicators throughout this quadrant of the ship.
What we wound up with was a Nasnor, which she called a futon, and a few blankets and sheets. The blankets went underneath the sheets, and testing it I proclaimed it worthy of this Tomb Raider's tender backside.
We had a little more of that nauseating wine they served in the Replicator, and began preparing for a night of mutual stiffness and embarrassment. I was prepared to nude it out, but decided to ask for a night dress or appropriate garb instead. No use offending or frightening my inevitable cabin-partner (or whatever she was).
Once out of the dumper, I passed a red-faced Rand heading in to change her clothes.
I was tailor-fashion on my Nasnor when she re-emerged. A few clothes are always much more erotic than nakedness is.
She was wearing a completely ridiculous baby doll made up of white laces, bows and frills. A concoction with dainty see-through panties and no bra. I realized she had to be wearing her usual nightwear. Very femme.
Rand got about five steps from her bed when she happened to look down at herself and realized how she looked. Her nipples spiked like small horns and she turned a remarkably uniform reddish haze in color. All over.
She squealed back into the dumper. She returned with an ankle-length thing that started at her neck and was built for three women to hide under. I managed not to smirk.
The lights were called out, then a low one was left in the dumper, and we both tried to settle down for the night. I'd slept with large lizards mating and eating each other in that order. I'd slept with snoring StarShip Captains and drooling Bondage butches and kill-dogs with fleas, and all in all I figured I'd go to sleep in an hour or so. In the event I was asleep in much less than ten minutes.
My typical hyper-alertness woke me completely once Rand said something. Us Tomb Robbers have to sleep lightly. "Are you awake?"
"Yeah," I whispered.
"You know, Vash," she hesitated, "well, maybe I should tell you, you know, it might be important.
"It's not like I haven't ever been kissed by a girl, mind, I have, it just wasn't very good, but we were both kinda young and maybe we weren't doing it right, and now that I know more, I'm pretty sure it was more nerves than anything else.
"But anyways, I wanted to tell you, don't take this the wrong way, but I was kinda turned on when I walked in on you earlier, you doing it by, you know, and I felt ...." She hesitated. My hopes were rising expotentially.
"You spread out like that, it sorta made me hot, you know?"
Never let it be said I looked a gift woman in the mouth.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Living in the Dragon's Mouth the way I have at times, there was damned little confusion when I awoke. I was naked, it was warm with the two of us in the one bunk, and I could see the way my breath moved the tight little body hairs in Rand's delightful vee of ecstasy.
Who says Tomb Robbers can't be poetic?
It was the work of a second to roll on top of the cushiony curves of the Yeoman and stick my face in her pubic mound.
Yummy taste treat first thing in the morning. My hands helped spread her thighs and I slid forward to put my tongue and lips to good use.
Beautiful woman was rising into her first come before she was even awake, I think. Her body knew what she wanted before she did. My kind of gal.
Soon we were both back on our sides, and we were doing what we'd already done a few times last night.
Sixty-nining is sometimes distracting. You start feeling good and you stop applying your face and skills to your partners sexual parts. Or vice versa. Very off-putting if you're getting close to that golden moment.
Thus far it had been more either of us having to stop and get our breath back type of interruption than anything else. As I had learned years ago to bring my fingers into play when these breaks in the action occurred, she was kept happy. She was also a fast learn, because she realized she had to use HER fingers on me at times. All very nice and hot.
God, but she tasted good! But then most women tasted good, down there. Sex butter is marvelous stuff. Her sex butter was great on my taste buds. She was also my first blonde in .... way, way too long. Be honest. My first woman, period, in close to a year.
We lay there and panted, until she squirmed around and we got to kissing. She wasn't the greatest kisser, learned how to from men. She was way too pushy, but was trying to learn. Subtlety wasn't necessary when kissing men. You could safely hold your breath during the obligatory half minute or so most men practiced what they considered adequate foreplay. One reason I had liked Picard. He renewed my faith in the male half of the species. A perfect example of French Kiss, rather than swabbing out your cheeks with the tip of his tongue.
An alarm started to go off.
I taught her three new cuss words as she rattled off a long chain of them. Made me smile deep to hear her. She didn't want to leave the new and very first girlfriend. Granted she was indeed a tad virgin, this old perve must still have it in her (or In her) to rate that sort of response.
I spent several minutes reassuring her I'd still be here by the end of duty shift tonight, and telling her a few of the real (and imagined) delights I was going to introduce her to. When we had time. Lots of time. What I didn't remind her of was the very real possibility that Q might decide to come and get me at damned near any time whatsoever.
Time travel being involved as well might also mean I'd be here for only the next six seconds or six weeks. Maddening. Nothing for it but to presume I'd be a while, and to pretend we could build a semi-serious relationship on that basis.
She toddled off to labor in the sweatshops of the Bridge and I enjoyed the prerogative of all wives everywhere. I went back to bed and to sleep. Poor baby was going to feel groggy later today when the lack of her usual amount of sleep kicked in. I presumed she got more sleep than an hour or two a night.
Poor baby. Feeling sorry for her I put my head under the pillow and went to sleep. Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse, while visions of sugar plums dancing on her nipples swum in my head. I loved sugar plums.
That replicator food was getting to me.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Janice swoozed by when she had a lunch break. I was her dinner. For a gal who was new to this lesbian stuff, she was a quick learn. Developed a real taste for my come. Delightful wench.
I discovered her stash of sex toys, and was madly unimpressed. Checked the replicator menu and discovered why. Risa was discovered, all right, a generation before this point in time. But the sex toy industry there was non-existent.
Appalled, I checked out the replicator menu further. Apart from a few hundred varieties of strap-on dildos of gross simplicity and a few thousand models of hand-held dildo, the toy selection was a vast wasteland. All most of them did was vibrate and buzz in a half-assed manner.
Evidently the Time of Troubles hit really hard in the field of dildo research. They were probably forced to rely on candles and cocoa butter for centuries. Or boyfriends.
A good instant-warm "Tossing Tarantella" with it's patented double-sway-backed motion would have been the instant hit of the Galaxy. Not to mention the first self-seating model. It hurt to think of all those deprived lesbians on a thousand barbarian planets. Not to mention all those smiling guys who liked something with a little more pizzaz than a bearded guy in their heinie. CousinDream productions was generations in the future.
I always figured that items like the "Naughty Neebish" had brought about rapprochement between the Federation and the Klingon Empire. Mellowed out all those angry young Klingon females to the point where they weren't on their males case any more. A nagging Klingon wife must be a real bear.
Not to mention their spray-on sheaths must have been four or six hundred molecules thick, when applied to the dildo or boyfriend. The guys must have felt like they were fucking a Zeppelin hangar when they had those clumsy plastic gloves on their member. No sensation to speak of. Raincoats in the shower.
I felt like asking Janice if the Roman Empire had fallen yet. Prehistoric times.
And their replicator Champagne tasted like bad Ouzo. Pure resin.
I looked over her selection, sprayed on a sheath, and applied lube to my little cuze. With a little effort, I got off. But just barely.
So I went back to sleep. And was in fine condition when at the end of shift Janice breezed in for a kind word and a friendly orgasm or two. Then she conked out for a nap. Poor baby.
A few hours sleep and she was ready for my use of a few of her dildos on her deprived quim. Then I forced her to get dressed (once again in my gray turbofils tri-dress) to get something better for us to nosh on than head cheese sandwiches and Ouzo.
Lovely woman brought back three medium pepperoni pizzas. Still replicator food, but the mess hall food was an order of 2N better than her cabin calories. Besides it's hard to ruin a pizza.
And having gotten all those triglycerides and protopeptides in the system, we had to have some more sex in order to burn off the sinful food.
Who says women can't be logical?
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
After eight days stuck in Rand's cabin, we had settled into a pleasant routine. We had sex constantly, that was a given. We also had a lot of pizza and chicken noodle soup to eat. Besides each other. I also got to develop the model's habit of taking a pose that didn't involve much muscular strain.
Janice was a devoted amateur artist, and I was a captive model. All things considered it was natural that I was a nude model. It was also natural that Rand wound up making a dozen oil's preliminary sketches, or cartoons, as the artists called them. Cartoons of me getting myself off.
It was a blast. She gave up and made four really good charcoals of me with searching digits or one of her dildos. My favorite was me with a large candle and a dazed look on my face. She was good with faces. And such.
The rest of the time she worked on three cartoons she was diligently over-laying with oils. She said her style was akin to that of someone named Georgia O'Keefe, in that she thinned her oils so much they seemed to be almost water colors. They were large canvases, half a meter high, and detailing added to the face by ten or six or one-hair brushes.
It was a tremendous turn-on being a real for-honest model. She let me see one canvas, finally, as she'd done the face to her own satisfaction, and she could get the rest later on.
I was beautiful. In her eyes I was beautiful. I think I fell in love in that instant.
There was nothing for it but we had to interrupt the session in order to have some more lovely sex. Janice was getting me up for my second come on her beautiful mouth when I
SNAPPED!
I was lying on my back, legs spread, my hands holding the exquisite hair of my lover's head. Only she wasn't there any more. I was alone. Sort of.
The problem was that I naked and spread on the main deck of the Promenade of Deep Space Nine, with about a hundred people of twenty races turning and realizing I had suddenly dropped into their midst. Suddenly.
I was surprised. They were surprised. My shoes and turbofils tri-dress were draped over my belly (but not hiding my groin any).
I looked around at all those staring eyes, getting a really bad sinking feeling in my gut.
"Q!", I screamed at the top of my voice.
END