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Cruzing (ff/fff/mf/nc/bd/ds/alien/startrek)
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Warning! Be advised that this story contains graphic, sometimes lightly
non-consentual depictions of sexual interaction, both hetero and
homosexual. The story also contains vivid, clinical, detailed
descriptions of sex with a humanoid alien. If you are under the age of
18, or if any of these subjects is likely to disturb and/or anger you,
please read no further, and save us both a flame.
Dekaddemon shall not be liable for any wrongdoing, whether knowingly or
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So there.
CRUZING
Chapter Seven: Bound for Glory (part 7a)
The drop ship shook so hard that Vas' teeth rattled. Barclay looked like
he wanted to crawl into his phase-shielded helmet.
"Target has acquired us!" Ro's firm, modulated voice called over the
crackling intercom. "Hang on back there, this could get. . ." Her last
words were drowned by a loud, jarring near-impact of a Romulan warbird's
disruptor burst. The tiny drop ship seemed to squirt to the side in a
crazed maneuver seemingly designed to test the structural integrity of
every load-bearing member of the craft. Vas heard a hissing squeal from
below decks; she knew that sound.
"Brace, people!" Vas barked to her squad. "Inertial damping's going off!"
The next half a minute or so was a gut wrenching blur. Vas smelled
vomit, and saw that Hicks had woken up long enough to reach over and hold
Ensign Richards, whose meager stomach contents now decorated the metal
deck in front of her, securely in his arms. She looked scared and
relieved at the same time.
"Shield penetration in twenty seconds; arming the PSP's now!" Vas smiled,
as Ro calmly ticked off the objectives one by one. She heard the whine of
good old-fashioned servos as the PSP's, photon shield penetrators,
unfolded from the side pylons of the drop ship. At the same time, the
orange warning strobes ringing the infiltration hatch in the center of the
floor blinked on. Another large boom reverberated through the small ship,
but it stayed steady on course.
Hicks steady, firm voice suddenly cut through the din. "O.K., people,
remember your training! Weapon, placement, movement. It's the same damn
thing we've run in security mock-ups, just with noise!"
Ro's voice came again over the intercom. "Standby PSP launch enable. . .
Launch!" The ship bucked slightly. "Hang on to your shorts, there could
be a little bump." The PSP's were launched a few seconds ahead of the
drop ship, directly at the warbird's shields. The penetrators,
essentially modified photon torpedoes with magnetically shaped blast
radii, were designed to impact the shields and momentarily destabilize
them, rather like driving a wedge into a piece of wood. Moments later,
the drop ship would follow the torpedoes to the destabilized area of the
shield, and punch through. In theory.
The "little bump" was more like a titanic yank, as the ship sliced neatly
through the Romulan shields. Vas heard her drop harness creak. She
flicked her eyes over to the weapons rack; not a single gun or piece of
equipment had jarred loose. Points to the squad; they'd done a good job
of securing them. Somebody yelled "Shit!", which brought a secret smile
to Vas' lips. These people were making the transition from Starfleet's
way of doing things. . .
. . . To hers.
"LET'S ROCK!" Vas yelled, and the squad, like a tidal wave of raw,
military force, boiled out of their seats, throwing off their drop
harnesses. Although the quarters in the troop pod were cramped, not one
person misstepped. Within ten seconds, weapons had been distributed,
checked, safed, and slung, and the ready line had been established, to
either side of the infiltration hatch. Having taken Vas' and Hicks'
example to heart, the squad had become very physical with one another,
with an assortment of slaps, pounds, and nudges passing among the security
team as they helped one another prepare for the imminent infiltration of
the Romulan warbird.
"Soft dock in ten seconds!" Ro called over the intercom. In all, four
people now stood in a tight circle around the ring of the infiltration
hatch. Hicks and Sorenson stood ready, facing each other across the
four-foot diameter hatch inset into the deck. Each wore antigrav-assisted
ankle shocks attached to their reinforced boots, to prevent injury when
they dropped through the hatch. Being the first two through, they had to
be the quickest. Vas and Barclay completed the intimate little circle,
again facing each other. The rest of the squad was lined up directly
behind Hicks and Sorenson.
"Fuck, I wish I had my smartgun," Sorenson breathed.
Vas gave the boyish ensign's face a light slap of camaraderie. "Gotta
move quicker than that, amigo," she told him quietly, smiling softly at
him. "I've seen you practice; you'll kick ass fine with this. . ." She
gave his slung pulse rifle a light tug. The look the ensign gave Vas was
one of undying admiration bordering on worship, a look which thoroughly
moistened Vas' vagina. She saw Hicks give her a sly smile, as he sniffed
the musky cinnamon scent of her arousal in the tight confines of the troop
pod. She had no doubt that the rest of the squad knew what that smell
was, too.
"Standby, soft dock. . . " Ro called over the intercom, and a moment
after everyone braced themselves, a harsh, jarring jolt shook the ship,
accompanied by a distinct "thunking" noise. "Maglocks are green, we are
*cutting*!" A weird, buzzing sound filled the ship, as the powerful
fusion cutters went to work on the hull of the Romulan warbird, to which
they now clung like a small parasite, just aft of, and one deck up from,
the ship's main engineering section. Right where the hull was thinnest. .
.
The orange strobes flashing around the infiltration hatch abruptly changed
to green, as Ro's supremely calm voiced announced, "Hard dock confirmed,
and thank you for flying with us this afternoon." The hatch slid back,
revealing a blackened hole leading more than two feet through the
warbird's hull plating. It still dripped melted plasma.
Hicks dropped through the gaping hole like a demon in human form,
unslinging his pulse rifle even as he dropped. Sorenson stepped out and
shot through the hole a heartbeat later. Vas saw that the had landed
perfectly back to back, weapons out and ready, ten feet below in enemy
territory. She heard Sorenson give a surprised yell of "Fuck!", and she
saw his overmounted phaser discharge with a red flash even as he squirted
off a dozen rounds of rifle ammo.
Vas saw the naked shock on the faces of her squadmates, and smiled
mentally for a millisecond. "DID YOU THINK THIS WAS GOING TO BE A FUCKING
PUSSYHUNT?" the Cruzer roared in her best, pissed-off command voice.
"MOVE IT!" The squad was energized as if wired together and holding an
unshielded plasma conduit. With beautiful efficiency, they followed their
squadmates in alternating sequence through the gaping maw, into the belly
of the beast. In a blissfully short moment, Barclay dropped through the
hole, and Vas, the last off, dropped through after him.
She landed in a wide service corridor that smelled of burnt flesh. With
savage efficiency, Vas allowed her eyes to rake the squad's placement.
Hicks and Sorenson holding both sides of the corridor, backed by two
secondary gunners each, with the technical and medical support right
behind, and the commo officer keeping in touch with Ro. She saw Barclay
favoring his right foot, confirming what she'd heard with her sensitive
ears as she'd dropped through the hatch: the distinct sound of a bone
breaking. The ankle shocks were good, but you still had to land right.
"TIME!" Vas called loudly, and suddenly, the Romulan accessway dissolved
into the more comforting grid pattern of the Enterprise's main holodeck.
She saw Ro just getting out of the still-formed representation of the drop
ship's pilot couch; it winked out of existence as soon as she was on her
feet.
The squad looked at Vas with terrible expectancy. Vas gave a subtle nod
of her head to Hicks. Her second officer grinned smoothly. "Computer,"
he called in a firm clear voice. "Time from drop release to soft lock. .
."
"Fifty-two point zero zero six seconds," the computer said impassively.
The squad, to the officer, cheered lustily, and Sorenson gave Ro a firm
clap on the back, which was shortly followed by an assortment of gentle
shoves, pats, and taps from the rest of the squad.
"Congratulations, Ensign," Hicks said to Ro, standing before her. "That's
a new record by over 1.3 seconds." He smiled wickedly at her. "Which
means, you get two extra days shore leave, and a Class One favor from any
squad member." There were a few sly, good-natured catcalls from the rest
of the squad, as they encouraged her to exercise her wicked imagination.
A Class One favor was squad-talk for a minor service that a squad member
could require any other squad member to perform. The favor scale went as
high as Class Three (a major service), one of which Sorenson had recently
earned for being the best shot in the squad. He had asked for his own
personal pulse rifle (an acceptable, but somewhat benign favor, in Vas'
long experience), which Vas had presented to him, all tied up with a nice,
red bow.
The favor system was, of course, a thinly veiled invention of Vas' to
encourage dynamic integration of the squad. She'd learned it from her
sergeant, when she was a raw grunt, and adopted it when she was a sergeant
herself, and later, when she became an officer. --There will come a
time-- Vas thought to herself with amused arousal, looking at her
assembled team --when a nice long, intimate fuck with one of your
squadmates will be a viable Class Three favor-- On the Sulaco, she
regularly entertained her grunts in her bed as Class Three favors for
excellence on the job; rewards like that tended to get their tails *fully*
in gear.
Ro looked Hicks right in the eyes, considering her options. "Sir, I'd
like you to kiss me," she said finally, which elicited an immediate,
enthusiastic response from the rest of the squad.
While Hicks made a bit of a show out of the deep, hot kiss (he even dipped
Ro, to her pleasure and the great amusement of the squad), Vas came over
quietly to Barclay. He'd been studiously concealing his injury, but the
look on his face was enough to tell Vas he was in pain. She nearly tapped
her combadge, then thought the better of it; the last thing he'd want was
for the squad to see that he'd broken his ankle.
Vas sidled up next to Reg, who was leaning against a bulkhead (and using
it for support), and took his arm, threading it around her broad, powerful
shoulders. "It's all right, man, nobody's looking," she told him quietly,
taking some of his weight. Indeed, the assembled security officers were
enthusiastically cheering Hicks on as he thoroughly frenched Ro for her
(and their) benefit, giving the Bajoran the most her Class One favor could
buy. Without a single security officer noticing, Vas helped the injured
Barclay gently off the holodeck.
Once outside, Barclay grimaced noticeably. "Can you make it?" Vas asked
him softly.
"Yes, I-I-I think so," he responded, his voice tight. "I feel like
s-s-such an *idiot*, Major."
"It's all right, Reg. I threw you all a curve today, with those Romulan
centurions Sorenson fragged. You can train 'til you're fucking trained
out, and still get the shit surprised out of you when the unfriendlies
actually start shooting back." Vas adjusted her hips and shoulders, and
took more of Reg's weight. "And don't forget, you *moved* when you needed
to. You can work on the landing for next time. . ."
With surprising grace and no small amount of physical strength, Vas helped
Barclay into a turbolift.
"I-I-I just wish I could be more l-l-like you," Barclay chided himself.
"C-calm under fire, unflappable, fearless. . ."
Vas laughed lightly. "I'm not fearless, Reg; I just know what fear tastes
like, what it smells like. It holds no mystery for me." Vas looked him
deep in the eye. "So I'm prepared for it, kind of like a pendejo in-law
come to visit; you just learn to live with it."
Reg smiled with a stiff upper lip, but Vas wanted to sink the message
home. So she kissed him, sweetly, tenderly, with slow passion. His
tongue hesitantly contacted hers, and Vas delicately encouraged it to come
out and play, until together they danced an intimate, wet dance, dipping
back and forth between each other's moist mouths. Gently, she broke the
kiss, feeling him gasp, his pain forgotten.
Vas slowly caressed his shoulders as the turbolift journeyed toward
sickbay. "You have come so *fucking* far in the last three months. . . I
don't believe you're the same man." Vas' black-within-black eyes glinted
mischievously. "I know, maybe you're Reg's twin brother Floyd, right?
The hot stud with the mouth that can kiss Cruzers into submission." Vas
was gratified by the reluctant smile that spread across Reg's face.
"You always know just what to say," Barclay said, in a soft voice, without
a tremor.
"Hey, all part of the service, man," Vas told him. She kissed him softly
once more, enjoying the subtle taste of his mouth. "Later on, I'll come
by and massage that foot of yours for you. . ."
"O-o-ohh, that's not necessary, Major!" Barclay protested.
"Well, your foot's not the only part of you I intend to massage. . ."
The turbolift doors slid open with a soft swoosh, but Vas remained close
to Barclay, looking deeply into his face. "Reg, I know you've got what it
takes to be on my team, but I want *you* to be sure it's right for you."
The concern on Vas' face was evident in the slight furrow of her dark,
slender brows. "I know I can be pretty intense, but I really want you to
sit down and think about what's best for Lieutenant Reg Barclay." Vas
smiled gently. "Don't let me run your life, because I will if you let me.
. ." she laughed, once again taking his arm across her strong shoulders,
and helping Barclay down the hall to Sickbay.
As Vas and Barclay entered Sickbay, Dr. Beverly Crusher looked up from a
diagnostic table, where Chief Engineer Geordi LaForge was comfortably
reclined, his VISOR off. "Oh, no, not another one," the redheaded doctor
fretted, motioning for an orderly to help Vas get Barclay to an unoccupied
diagnostic table. Barclay stretched out gratefully, as Bev stepped over
to him, running a medical sensor over his injured ankle. It was badly
swollen. "Get comfortable, Lieutenant," she directed Barclay firmly.
"That's a nice complex fracture you've got there; it'll take the subdermal
fuser a few hours to straighten that out.
Bev motioned to an orderly, who rolled over a fuser. Bev positioned the
fuser array's swing arm directly over the affected ankle, and switched it
on. She then prepped a hypo and moved it towards Barclay's neck.
Barclay caught her hand. "T-t-that's quite all right, Doctor," he said
manfully, almost comically, obviously with more resolve than he felt.
"The pain is. . . is nothing I c-c-can't handle."
Vas laughed with genuine amusement, even as Bev *scowled*. "Now, we will
be having NONE of *that*, Mr. Barclay!" the doctor announced with the
finality of the Federation President."
"Give it a rest, Reg," Vas conceded, still laughing. "Only tough, butch
hard-cases like me can get away with that shit. . ."
"Says *you*!" Bev countered firmly. "I've had just about enough of this
egotistical stoicism I've been seeing from your security officers, Major,"
Bev lectured Vas, with a little of her bemusement seeping through to
soften the mock-tirade. The way she said "Major" positively dripped
sarcasm, however. "I've been a doctor for over twenty years now, and I
will *not* have my treatments second-guessed! Pain is just the body's way
of letting you know you've injured yourself. Once it's done it's job, it
has *no further use*. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"
Vas fought to keep the smile off her face. Barclay looked like he was
caught between terror and pride. "Yes, ma'am," Vas promptly volunteered.
Barclay, with startled realization, also offered a belated, "Oh, yes, of
course, sir. . . Uh, Doctor."
Beverly looked from Vas to Barclay. "Hmmm," she hummed suspiciously.
"Two more obedient officers I've *never* seen." She turned to Barclay,
and her face softened dramatically. "Now, don't move this foot; I'll be
back in a while to check on it. And, by the way, you'll live." Barclay
looked relieved.
"Now, as for you," The doctor turned on Vas, poking her lightly in the
chest with an outstretched finger, "I'd like to see you in my office.
Right now." Vas followed the doctor, with semi-facetious meekness.
Once inside Doctor Crusher's office, Bev slid behind her desk, motioning
for Vas to sit. "I'm only going to say this once," the doctor began. Vas
was expecting a big lecture on the parade of injured security officers
that had been passing through Sickbay of late, but she didn't get it.
"Your medical specialist, Ensign Richards? I want her here three days a
week with me, training in advanced trauma medicine, and I also want her to
learn some physical therapy from Dr. Selar." Crusher smiled warmly at
Vas. "From the kinds of training I hear you've been putting your team
through, I think you'll need it."
Once again, Vas sat in amazement over the odd mixture of warm compassion
and motherly concern steeped heavily in old-fashioned common sense that
the redhead seemed to naturally exude. If ever a person was born to be a
doctor, Vas was sure it was the woman sitting across from her. Vas sat
back in her chair, looking at the older woman. "Anyone ever tell you
you're a fucking *fantastic* doctor?" the Cruzer asked, with intimate
intensity. Bev blushed, and harumphed. "Maybe just a fantastic *fucking*
doctor?" Vas gently insisted, which caused the woman to blush much more
deeply.
Vas stood up. "I hereby promise to try to keep the injuries to a minimum,
Doctor," she said with great formality. "If you want to come by my
quarters tonight, we can discuss it in *depth*" Beverly blinked for a
moment, processing the slight, added emphasis on "depth", finally decoding
the veiled invitation to be Vas' sexual partner for the evening. The two
woman had not been intimate since that night on the holodeck with Deanna
Troi, now two months in the past, and Vas had really wanted, since that
time, to share another intimate night with the older, sweetly hesitant
doctor. Just the two of them (Vas had separate plans for the foxy
Betazoid counselor). Vas had been just *intensely* turned on by Beverly's
hesitant explorations of her, own budding sexuality, watching her grapple
with her exotic, deeply hidden fantasies. It was awesomely arousing.
Bev cleared her throat, searching for something to say, but Vas took her
off the hook smoothly. "I'll be up late tonight," the Cruzer said simply,
her black eyes regarding the doctor carefully. "Stop by anytime. . ."
"Uh, yes! Of course, I'll keep it in mind," Beverly nearly squeaked, and
Vas had absolutely no doubt that she would do just that.
*****
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