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Disclaimer: Characters and turbolift belong to paramount, story belongs to me! Summary: Episode addition to “Persistence of Vision” – you remember, Janeway in the lift, Mark appearing, Chak comatosed!!! Rating: NC-17 The Watcher watches me, with beautiful jet-black orbs that do not blink. He is silent and motionless, with broad, muscular shoulders and soft, full lips. I watch him back, though my eyes are misty and heavy. Quietly, I curse as a matt green shoulder jerks close to my face, temporarily severing our link. I am in the turbolift, stuck between decks five and six, and being pressed up against the wall like a rag doll. My immaculate hair is mussed and my jacket is open, allowing the grey turtleneck to be raised high, exposing my white flesh. The black pants of my Starfleet uniform are unzipped and lowered, dangling precariously from my left ankle, snagged on the heel of my boot. How very Captain-like! In my ear, words of love and lust are being grunted, hot sex words, crude and detailed. They excite me and I am aroused, panting and moaning in painful delight as my nipples chafe against the harsh fabric of his sweater. He is solid and firm between my thighs, taking me hard, claiming me. Once more I am his. It is hot and erotic and I am wanted again, and I cling to him, jerking violently against the wall panel, unable to match his rhythm. I have missed him, missed his love, and missed the feel of him inside my body. He was afraid I had cheated, but the total agony of his penetration convinced him I have waited, I have been good. I am good. He tells me so as he bites my neck and chin. Now he grunts coarsely and assaults my mouth, plundering me with his urgency, bruising me. I do not close my eyes because I watch The Watcher, through the grey wispy hair of the man I let kiss and fuck me. My fiancé. He pounds me, hitting the neck of my womb. My empty womb. I long for it to be full and heavy, long for my flat belly to swell with a child, to see my breasts grow large and nourish a suckling infant. Mark suckles and his skin is not baby soft, it is rough and scratchy, but his attentions are brief. My small, neat breasts are inadequate, as usual. They disappoint him. Do they disappoint The Watcher? Can he see them flushed and bare? I fantasise that he can, that his mouth longs to swallow them, tonguing and capturing my nipples. They are dark and yearning, ripened with blood, begging to be touched. I fantasise it is The Watcher’s hands that grip my buttocks and spread me wider, further impaling me on his rigid length. I am open and my juices smear his pulsing cock and trickle beyond it to congeal along my thighs. Would The Watcher lick me clean? Would his tongue wash and bathe me? Would he groan in delight and thirstily demand more? Mark is not keen on that. He refuses to put his lips to mine and torture me with his tongue. He doesn’t like the taste. Even now, after two years apart, he is only willing to arouse me with his fingers, shooting me a disdainful look when I expose my core and beg shamelessly. I love the sensation of having a man’s mouth on me, sucking me, but the last man to take me that way was Justin. He used to enjoy lying between my legs, feeling me tugging excitedly at his hair and grinding against him, climaxing over and over, and flooding his mouth with my salty fluids. I can come so quick like that … if only Mark … It has been a long time since I experienced that kind of pleasure. My back slams and it hurts badly, my jacket offers little protection against the hard bulkhead. Mark is close I know. Soon he will grunt and fill me with his infertility, drenching my cervix with his redundant sperm, thick and yeasty. I am grateful it is not going to be my throat. Ah, you see, Mark is a big fan of blowjobs, he loves nothing better after a stressful day, than seeing me on my knees with his cock in my mouth. He tangles his fingers in my long hair, which I have to free, and fucks my mouth while I fight my gag reflexes. Sometimes he likes to splatter my face, saying it’s sexy. I think it’s dirty. Afterwards, I serve him dinner, with his dried flakes clinging to my raw cheeks. I tense around Mark’s throbbing member, trying to bring on my own climax. I am anxious, I must orgasm first, it is a race and I cannot afford to lose. So I keen and arch, whimper and buck, calling out for God’s help. Funny, outside of sex I am not religious. I concentrate on The Watcher, imagine its him pounding my tight pussy, his breath searing my face with declarations of love, his hands bruising my pale skin. The jet-black orbs continue to watch me, watch me getting fucked by my fiancé, watch Mark’s arse pistoning, driving him deeper and deeper into my body. He sees Mark’s last faltering strokes and witnesses my face collapse in disappointment, glistening with tears of frustration and longing. I’m too late and I lost the race. I cry as I fill with Mark’s burning ejaculate, cry as he pledges his love and gratitude. I am ungrateful, he says, because I want more. It is true. I want the man that watches. Drop me e-mail and lemme know what you think! Return to NC-17 list |
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