WARNING: Not for the squeamish. NC17. Enemas, emotional bullying, more crossdressing, more perversion, sex, forced consumption of vegetables, generally nasty stuff, deliberate power inequities, Beverly fucking Jean-Luc in the butt with a dildo.

This takes place before 'Mommy's Bad Little Girl,'

I hope PARAMOUNT never catches me, because they own these two and would be horrified to see what I've done with them.

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By the same Askem Noone who wrote 'Mommy's Bad Little Girl,'

It had started as a simple act of gallantry, but Beverly's perceptiveness took it farther than either of them ever dreamed possible, and now they were too deeply involved to want to stop. They'd been in one of their furtive, 'let's play relationship' modes, and she'd convinced him to accompany her on a shopping jag planetside.

He'd slipped easily into the role of the longsuffering husband who accompanies his wife on a boring shopping jaunt, but truth to tell, he enjoyed watching her pose and model in front of the large three-way mirror while he and the clerk observed and made comments.

Later, she told him it was the hunger in his eyes that gave away his feelings, causing her to wonder what should cause such an expression of longing. She'd watched covertly, and had been amazed to finally discover that he was staring at the dresses--not at her. And if that weren't enough, there was also the way he insisted she try on certain extremely feminine frilly outfits that were not her style at all.

"That's when I realized what you wanted," she told him. They were lying in her bed, her strap-on dildo still moist from being inside his body. Jean-Luc was on his back, nearly crying with gratitude, and willing to offer almost anything in return for her generosity.

'How,' he'd demanded when he'd caught his breath, 'had she known?'

"It was obvious you wanted to wear those dresses. Then when I held that frilly one up to you... well, your reaction gave you away."

"I wasn't the only one who reacted," he answered quickly, unwilling to take responsibility for the strangely intimate turn their relationship had taken.

Beverly smiled. "Let's just say it took us both by surprise."

That was certainly true. Beverly's voice had been strangely husky as she asked him to come into the dressing room with her. She was nude except for panties, and Jean-Luc's heart began to pound at the sight of her soft, pink nipples. A moment later he'd all but forgotten about them as Beverly walked up behind him with the dress she'd just taken off and held it up to his torso.

"Look how pretty she is," Beverly crooned at their reflection.

Jean-Luc was so disoriented by the sudden exposure of his most secret fantasies that his mask completely fell away. Shocked, he stared into the mirror as his face took on an expression of pleasure and yearning that he'd never seen on himself before. He stared up at Beverly trustingly and the word just slipped out before he could help himself.

"Mommy."

Now he watched the shock spread over Beverly's features, followed by lust so encompassing as to be nearly unrecognizable, then shock again; layer on layer of honest response as she realized what game they were playing, then acknowledged how much she liked it, and liked *him* as he stood in the dressing room covered in pale blue fabric.

They'd gaped at one another, almost petrified by this discovery, and Jean-Luc was ready to turn and run except Beverly had him by the arm and couldn't seem to let him go. She pushed him against the mirror by the simple expedient of propelling his body in front of hers as she walked forward, then she was grinding against him, her expression as helpless and lost as his own.

Later they talked about that daring revelation in the boutique dressing room. Jean-Luc enjoyed reliving that moment of mutual discovery. Beverly's hands had been all over him, her expression guilty, but her breathing heavier than he'd ever heard it. She turned him around, then leaned down and took his mouth, for once refusing to pretend that he was taller than she was. When she finally came up for air she'd looked at him with such possessiveness that it frightened him. The more he shrank from her, the fiercer she became, and everywhere he looked, a mirror showed him her intensity and his defenselessness. Her lipstick had smeared his mouth like a brand, but she reached up and wiped it off with her thumb, the gesture carelessly indicative of ownership.

"We have to go back to the hotel now." She was talking down to him, her voice patient and gloating. Had she thought to touch him he might have come all over himself right there, with the clerk just outside with more dresses in his hands.

"Sorry," Beverly told the befuddled clerk. "We just remembered something urgent at the hotel." She turned to Jean-Luc, her eyes possessive and wicked. "Come on, Sweetheart."

He looked at her and nodded obediently, gleefully thinking that the clerk probably saw just another henpecked husband when the real truth was that a good little girl was obeying her mommy.

"Just the thought of you in that dress," Beverly told him, "made me feel so ashamed of myself."

"Ashamed!"

"Yes," she admitted. "Because suddenly I wanted to do things to you that I shouldn't want to do to anyone. I couldn't believe how I was reacting, but you looked so... little, and I simply couldn't help myself."

She shifted so that she could look more deeply into his eyes. "The thought of you as a little girl took me by surprise, but the worst of it was that when I suddenly felt how vulnerable you were, I knew I could get away with anything I wanted because you couldn't fight back. And then," her voice lowered to a whisper, "I took advantage. Jean-Luc I feel I should apologize."

That goaded him into confession. He didn't want to forgive her, he wanted her to do it again, even if that meant taking a chance that the careful distance between them would start to close in on itself. "Beverly. Listen to me. Just a moment ago I was on my knees calling you mommy and you were behind me, pushing that thing inside my body and telling me to be a good girl and not cry, and I've *never* been so grateful for anything in my life. The last thing you need to feel is shame at making me this happy. I understand if you never want to do it again, but please have a clear conscience in this regard."

It took a few days, but during the course of their planetary layover she quickly learned not to feel bad about what they did together. Their games became more elaborate, more sophisticated. Beverly obviously loved the power she had over him in her role as his mommy, and she just as obviously loved him as her little girl. After a few days of having large packages delivered to his hotel room, she simply took him away to a small, isolated cabin for a short vacation where he'd spent the whole time dressed in the little outfits she'd bought him. That week she chose the food he ate, bathed him, even held him in her arms as she read him "The Little Shuttlecraft" before he went to bed.

And several times a day he had to be a good girl for mommy, allowing himself to be draped across her lap so she could pull his panties down and 'help him feel better' by pushing a dildo inside him and fucking him with it while he moaned and cried beneath her, finally coming so hard it was like molten lava was being dragged out of his penis.

One day she tortured him by forcing him to wear the vibrating butt-plug all day long. She put his jacket and leggings on because it was cold outside, then took him with her on a nice, long walk. Jean-Luc was amazed by how she never broke role. When she put him to bed that night she smiled very lovingly as she checked on him before turning off the light.

"How's my girl?"

"I'm fine, Mommy, but I want a glass of water."

"How do we ask?"

He listened to the prompting note in her voice and shivered all over. "Please may I have a glass of water, Mommy?"

She went and got it for him while he marveled at how complacently dependent he'd become. He was in buster bear pajamas with a butt-plug inside him and a cock ring around his penis, but he didn't mind in the least. Mommy loved him. She always knew what was best. Later that night she got in bed with him and showed him how to be safe from nightmares. It was most assuredly not the same treatment she gave Wesley, but Picard doubted Wesley ever slept as well afterwards.

In the afternoons, when she put him down for his nap, he lay quietly and listened to her potter around their rented cabin. At first he'd offered to help clean, but she refused him gently, telling him he was too little. Eventually he begged to be allowed to help, watching covetously as she tidied up around him. Finally, she allowed him to make a few carefully-supervised trips to and from the replicator and he proudly put dishes away under her watchful eye. Forcing him to earn the right to do the simplest tasks reinforced his subordinate status, as did the fact that she treated him like his opinions were very clever but utterly irrelevant. She gave him milk and cookies for his afternoon snack. She demanded to know where he was going when he went outside. She made him wear a transponder around his neck in case he got lost. She called him in when lunch was ready, and she would not let him outside after dark. In short, she treated him exactly like he was a child on vacation with mommy.

And like any other child, he had to test his boundaries, learning the hard way that they were firmly locked into place. He did something he knew would be annoying, then waited to see what the results would be. When Beverly brought a paddle to the supper table and laid it right next to her plate he suddenly lost his appetite. He looked at her pleadingly, but she said nothing, forcing him to finally ask in a weak, hesitant voice if she was going to spank him.

"Did you take mommy's clothes out of her closet and throw them on the floor, Sweetheart?"

"I was just playing, Mommy."

"That was very bad. Now mommy has to teach you a lesson."

That spanking was the first time she used the nipple clamps on him, coincidentally learning how much she liked to see him in pain. She hadn't expected to enjoy this dimension of her authority, but doling out corporal punishment excited her so much that she eventually had to develop another persona in order to fully gratify her need for it. That night she paddled him until his butt was red and sore. He tried to be brave about it, but her scolding voice, combined with the days and days of reinforced dependency brought him to tears.

And when she was done with him he had to stand in the corner with his panties down around his knees and his dress tucked up around his waist so that every time mommy walked by she would see what a bad girl he'd been. Jean-Luc stood in the corner and cried quietly to himself. Bereft of her approval, he felt anxious and lonely. Logically he knew she wouldn't stop loving him, but he hadn't realized that the need to please her ran so deeply. He was again encompassed by that sense of running joyfully towards his doom, but this was just too good to give up.

After that, she learned to devise various ploys for making him take his medicine like a good girl. Sometimes she simply made him stand still while she used the bristles of her hairbrush on his testicles and penis. Usually, however, she found things that pushed him, using her knowledge of his likes and dislikes to force him into disobedience. One afternoon his lunch included an assortment of root vegetables; food he loathed and generally refused to eat. When he didn't clean his plate she punished him by using the nipple clamps on his foreskin, causing him to walk very slowly and carefully until she took them off again. From then on, he ate every vegetable she put in front of him, even rutabagas.

Back on the ship, their games continued. Every once in a while Troi would glance at Beverly in surprise, and Picard knew the counselor sensed the possessiveness with which Beverly now viewed him. He wondered if she also sensed his increasing susceptibility towards her dominance. All he had to do was think about the tone of her 'mommy' voice and he would start to breathe more heavily.

Beverly was amazingly distant and professional in public, so much so that her control irritated him because it appeared so much stricter than his own. Once, to tease her, in a staff meeting when everyone else was distracted, he angled his head and looked up at her the way a little girl does when she wants mommy to give her a treat. Beverly flushed bright red, utterly disoriented for a moment. Troi merely poured her a glass of water and pushed it over to her, but later she pried gently, trying unsuccessfully to get anything out of the closed-mouthed doctor.

That night Beverly got her own back, sucking him off while his cock-ring was still strapped on tight, stimulating him but not letting him come. Eventually he broke down and begged for it, but she paid no mind. She gave him his dinner then his bath, then she put him to bed with the cock-ring still wrapped around his penis.

Finally, laying in Beverly's bed in his little cotton nightgown with the lace collar, he gave way to tears. He would not remove the punishing strip of leather because mommy didn't want him to, but he was in true physical pain and unable to find relief. At mommy's bidding he tried to stay quiet and not whimper... he had to wear it because he'd been bad...

He slept very poorly, waking once to cry some more and rub himself on the sheet. The next morning Beverly woke him up very early and gave him a colonic. It was the sort of activity he generally did not participate in, and it embarrassed him even though she was extremely professional about it. Nonetheless, sitting on her toilet, voiding himself under her careful eye, he felt that all will, all choice, had been taken from him. He was like an armless, legless doll, utterly helpless and without volition. A single raised eyebrow stilled his objection when she lifted him from the seat, inspected the waste matter in the bowl, palpitated his lower abdomen, then set him on the toilet again with instructions to push harder. He felt so completely out of control that when she summarily decided he was finished and flushed for him, it never occured to him to object--he simply waited for what came next.

Beverly hummed idly to herself, not meeting his eye or talking to him, working on an inanimate piece of meat rather than a living, breathing human. She positioned him over the tub again, gentling him slightly when he grunted a little at the cold plastic against his warm skin. Then she put the hose inside him a second time and pumped another quart of liquid into his intestines. Enemas did not feel good, but Picard did not know whether to protest as himself or mommy's little girl, so he kept silent, holding his breath as she lay him down in the tub. To his shame, a bit of fluid leaked out of him, running down his legs into the drain.

"Hold it in tight," she admonished. She still did not bother to meet his eyes as she vigorously massaged his lower abdomen.

He could feel the water sloshing inside him with her movements, and suddenly he felt utterly degraded and dehumanized. It wasn't erotic even though the cock ring kept his penis hard between his legs, and he didn't understand why she was treating him this way. He was about to get very angry with her for taking advantage of his vulnerability, but when he realized that his silent compliance could only be construed as tacit consent he felt confused, lost, and suddenly lonely.

He sobbed once, and that finally got her to talk to him though she still didn't bother to look into his eyes. There was only a bit more to go, she soothed. She lifted him up out of the tub and set him on the toilet again, telling him to push hard.

He again felt that flush of humiliation as he performed this most private of acts for her scrutiny. Worst of all, sitting down as she stood over him and waited, he suddenly needed her approval so badly that he didn't dare take his eyes from her face. Straining to pass the water she'd pumped into him, he could feel his penis throbbing in sympathy with his cramping intestines. He realized that she'd taken his sexuality, his dignity, his self- identity, in fact, everything that made him a person. She didn't even bother to tell him why she did this, but simply lifted him, turned him, bent him over, stuck another tube up inside him, and walked away. He didn't want to stay there, but he didn't dare move. As he felt the rest of the water being gently suctioned out of him, his only consolation was that he knew she would probably come back soon, if only to remove the tube.

Five minutes later Beverly returned to run a tricorder over him. Apparently satisfied, she put the equipment away somewhere because when he turned around all he saw was a neat bathroom where his imagination had supplied thick hoses and giant machines.

He was still disconcerted enough that he didn't really enjoy it when Beverly put him in the tub, took off her nightgown and joined him. Bathing with a lady-friend was one of his favorite activities, but this time he stood passively as she efficiently cleaned him from head to foot, then got out and dried him off. Heedless of the way she dripped onto her bedroom rug, she walked him over to the bed, gently ordered him to his knees, then positioned him so that he was bent over the bed with his head and torso draped across the bedcovers.

"Be a good girl and wait for mommy," she told him, then left. A moment later he heard the shower running again. With nothing else to do, he rubbed his penis against the covers a little, wishing with all his might that she would come in and touch him. His reveries were so distracting that when the shower stopped he didn't notice. When she finally did come in he was unaware of it until he felt her kneel behind him.

She entered him without preliminary and fucked him for the better part of an hour. She paused when when she got tired, but after brief rests, she determinedly started up again. Occasionally she pinched his nipples or pulled her dildo out so she could invade him with her fingers, but she cooed at him like he was an insensate little animal who couldn't understand or respond, telling him what a good, brave girl he was, telling him how well he was taking it, and how proud she was of the way he stayed so good and still. He slipped into further passivity when she didn't let go and get herself off like she usually did. He realized that she was doing this to demonstrate that his ass was hers along with all his will and passion, and she could do what she liked with any of them. This was, he acknowledged, her way of teaching him that teasing had a price.

"Mommy's little cunt," she finally whispered, and he began to cry again. He loved it that she made him complicit in his own helplessness, and her insults were worlds better than being ignored. She was hurting him, but he would never tell her to stop. She could do whatever she liked. He would never tease her again.

"Yes," he agreed through his tears. "Your little cunt, all yours."

"This belongs to me." She reached down and grasped his penis, pulling at it as he writhed helplessly, trying to find a rhythm but failing because he was too frenzied to cooperate.

"All yours," he sobbed. He opened his legs wider, wanting to give her access to every part of him.

"Mommy's cunt," she prompted.

"Mommy's cunt," he repeated fervently, meaning it.

"Mommy's whore," she stated.

"Mommy's whore."

"Mommy's little bitch."

"Your little bitch, mommy."

"Good girl." She took the cock-ring off his penis but kept rubbing him. He screamed and came, but still she fucked him. This was simple punishment now, but he didn't care that she meant to hurt him since he obviously deserved it. Gratified, he lay beneath her and moaned until it was time to shower again, eat, then show up for duty.

All that day his empty bowels, his throbbing sphincter, his sore nipples, his penis which hurt from being rubbed against the sheet--in fact every part of his body--reminded him that he belonged completely to mommy. He wanted to whimper at the thought of his helplessness but didn't dare. Nor did he protest when Troi followed him into his office later that afternoon. He'd amply learned the lesson that public life and private life were separate things, and the swiftness with which he slammed his feelings shut wasn't lost on her.

"Captain," she tried to keep her dignity even as she sensed his mental directive to shut up and go away, "I sense a feeling of vulnerability from you, and even though I believe there's nothing I can do since you generally choose not to share personal details with me, I want to remind you that I'm here to listen if you need me."

She withdrew, leaving him to wonder if he could even begin to describe what he was feeling. 'Mommy touched me on my...' the six- year-old didn't even have the words to describe what had happened to her. Helpless. He'd never felt so good.

Next section: Mother, May I?

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