|
Star Trek TNG: Talent Show 2 - Repercussions
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.
[This is part two of the "Talent Show" series. Each piece can stand
alone, but they are better read in order.]
@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@
%@ @%
@% Repercussions %@
%@ @%
@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@
by Sandra Muskan
Wesley adjusted the program again.
The swaying six inch tall figure froze as the computer gave the
hologram different facial features. Now the body had eurasian
features, and the wavy hair had become straight as silk. Once again
it began to dance, and once again it was stripped bare to dance nude
upon his bedside table. Soon it approached a seated masked man and
offered her breasts to his caresses--
Wesley snapped it off.
Funny. When he'd overheard those crewmen in Ten Forward
discussing the talent show and learned what he'd missed by being on
duty the mere idea had aroused him so much he had run right back to
his quarters to beat off. And when he'd thought to check the computer
files, on the off chance that there might have been a recording made--
why, he'd had a hard-on watching just the moire pattern as he
downloaded the file. And now it bored him. The fact that he was
lying there nude was pretty good evidence that he wasn't after
intellectual stimulation -- but his cock had barely stirred as the
Butterfly started her long ago memorized movements.
Weeks ago, when he gotten over the first stunned pleasure, he had
started manipulating the image. By cross-referencing the bodily
measurements of the butterfly with the medical records in the
personnel files (supposed to be access-limited to superior officers on
a need-to-know basis, but when had details like that ever stopped
him?) he had quickly learned that the woman dancing for his solitary
pleasures was Deanna Troi. This he found off-putting rather than
erotic. Sure, she was beautiful, and that she would do something like
that was an unexpected twist, but because of her empathic snooping
he'd trained himself out of any erotic attraction to her soon after he
was allowed on the bridge. How could you lust after someone who
reacts with a superior, knowing, *forgiving* smile??
So he had the computer manipulate the image, giving it in turn
the face of every girl in his classes, then every cute woman he'd ever
passed in the hall. He'd enlarged the figure and shifted its point of
view, and beaten off dozens of times as one of those phantoms stroked
her cunt above his face-- but that had paled, too.
Lately he'd started altering the man's appearance, too. That it
was Worf hadn't been a surprise: the swarthy skin and massive size
had cut the list of possible suspects drastically. A little editing,
though, and the ghostly woman sucked his balls instead of Worf's.
That kick, too, had quickly faded. He could do what he like with the
images, but they still remained insubstantial, untouchable. (Damn his
youth, anyway! What he could do with the holodeck if he hadn't known
all his programs could be reviewed by his teachers and any superior
officer who cared to run an eye over them!)
Wesley sighed, and accessed the computer again. He had the mask
put back on the dancer and told the computer to assign the figures
appearances generated at random. A split-second later, the show began
again. This time the woman had shorter, red hair, and the man was
much smaller and fairer skinned. Wesley leaned back against his
pillows and started to stroke his soft cock determinedly. He *would*
get it off, no matter how boring-- but was it? He found himself
watching the show intently. Something about it was familiar, in a
strangely back-of-the-mind way . . . As if he'd seen it before . . . .
* * *
Beverly Crusher rubbed the sponge over her breasts. It had been
a long hard day. And not the satisfying, use all of her ability, type
of hardness, either, but the mind numbing boredom of inventory and
paperwork and more mountains of tedious, useless paperwork. (The
incongruity of the word paperwork failed to amuse her even slightly.
The paper may have been long gone, but the work remained, and amassing
heaps of statistics was no more stimulating for being done on a screen
instead.)
With a sigh she picked up the glass balanced on the tub rim,
drained it to the tinkling ice cubes, then reached for the flask
stashed handy beside the tub for another refill. What a waste of
time, she thought. And, what's worse, I have nothing better to fill
the evening ahead. Here I lie in a tub full of Jungle Gardenia
scented foam, making myself beautiful, and for what? How long had it
been since she'd had something exciting to look forward to?
Beverly rubbed the sponge around one breast. Or should that be,
someONE? A new man, someone to get to know, to reveal myself to. She
pressed harder with the sponge as she contemplated this attractive
stranger. Her nipples stood up perkily as she brushed the sponge
across them. Or maybe not get to know. Maybe a brief, passionate
encounter, two unknowns pleasuring and parting--
Her thoughts broke off as she realized what she was doing. She
was a mature woman, not a horny young boy to masturbate in the
bathroom. And thinking of young boys, should she be getting worried
about Wesley? He seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of time
alone in his room with the door firmly shut. Was something wrong with
him? He works himself too hard. Why, any puzzling new problem can
become a near obsession with him.
Beverly shook herself from her reverie. She drained the water,
gave herself a brisk but brief rub down with a turkish towel, and
wrapped a silk kimono about her rosy from the bath body.
She knocked on Wesley's bedroom. There was no response. She
knocked again and called, "Wesley? Are you all right?" When he still
didn't answer she keyed the door and walked in. Wesley was lying
nude on his bed, staring intently at a holographic display. "Wes?"
she repeated.
Wes started, and quickly flipped the sheet over him. "Oh, hi, I
didn't hear you."
"What are you watching," she asked, as she crossed toward him.
"Nothing," he stammered, and instantly snapped it off. "I was
just . .. " his voice trailed off and he stared at his mother.
"That's it!" he breathed. "I woke up crying, because dad was
dead, and I came downstairs, and you and Captain Picard were--" He
broke off and stared at her. "You were lying there naked and he was
on top of you."
Beverly stared at him in shock. She remembered that night, would
remember it to her death, but hadn't known he'd witnessed it.
"How could you, Mom? You just found out that dad was dead and
there you were letting him fuck you-"
"Oh, Wes! You don't understand!" Beverly paused for a long
moment, then sat down beside him on the bed. "I loved your father
very deeply. I felt very alone and lost, I needed someone to comfort
me.
"Jack wouldn't have minded. He wasn't possessive, he was always
willing to share."
"Share!" Wes exclaimed. "We aren't talking about a candy bar!"
"I know, Wes. We're talking about love. And sex. And I knew
Jack wouldn't mind my taking comfort and pleasure with Jean-Luc," she
drew a deep breath and continued, "because he'd shared me with him
before."
Wes stared at her. "You mean you'd had an affair with Captain
Picard? You cheated on dad with-"
"No, Wes, not an affair. It was what I said, sharing, not
cheating. Jack and Jean-Luc and I became very close on our first
voyage together, we worked together so very well as a team.
"And then the mission was over. Jack and Jean-Luc would be going
out on the next voyage but I was going to Nyreal 5 for specialized
training. Our last night aboard we had a farewell dinner together,
just the three of us in Jean-Luc's quarters.
"It was a wonderful evening." Beverly's voice had become softer,
a reminescent smile on her face as she gazed blankly at a bulkhead,
seeming to watch those long ago events unfold. "We sat around the
table for hours, sipping Saurian brandy and reliving the whole
mission, with each 'Do you remember' reminding someone else of another
story.
"Finally I started to cry a little. It was so sad -- we had been
so close, and I would be leaving and wouldn't see either of them for
two whole years. Jack pulled me into his lap and kissed me, trying to
cheer me up. And he called for Jean-Luc to kiss my tears dry, too.
"It felt so right, being held in Jack's arms, with his hand in my
hair, holding my head still while Jean-Luc kissed me, little butterfly
kisses all over my cheeks, until he reached my mouth where he lingered
and lingered."
"When Jean-Luc finally lifted his mouth I looked at Jack -- and
he was smiling. He kissed me, too, then he helped me to my feet and
gave me a litte push towards Jean-Luc and said, 'it's your turn to
hold her' and so that's what Jean-Luc did.
"That kiss seemed to go on forever, as our tongues probed and
stroked each other. Jean-Luc was crushing me to him, grinding his
hips against mine. The feel of his hard cock against my stomach was
the most real thing in the universe -- except for Jack's hand stroking
over my hair and rubbing my ass.
"That became the pattern of the evening: Jack and Jean-Luc shared
me, turn and turn about." Beverly's eyes had brightened as she told
her story to the bulkhead. Wes, a forgotten but avid listener, was
hanging on her words.
"It was wonderful. The two of them undressed me -- and four
hands stroked my breasts and belly. And then we were all naked, and
stretched out on Jean-Luc's bed. I held a stiff cock in each hand as
they suckled me at the same time. I had never felt anything so
wonderful!
"Jack lay back against the headboard, and pulled me over to lie
face up between his spread legs. He hooked my legs up over his bent
knees, leaving me spread wide open before Jean-Luc.
"Jean-Luc stroked his hands along my inner thighs, then bent to
my vulva. I felt glorious, cradled warm and secure in my husband's
embrace with his hands playing with my breasts while our lovely friend
licked and kissed and sucked on my cunt -- I started to come almost at
once. I felt like I had to move but I couldn't, I was pressed so
firmly between them and my orgasm seemed to go on forever!
"Finally it ended, and Jean-Luc moved to kneel between my, no OUR legs.
His cock was so stiff it was almost purple and it was already weeping
fluid but he paused anyway, as if he wasn't sure Jack would let him
fuck me, but Jack reached out and grasped his cock. All three of us
stared down to watch the marvelous sight of Jack's hand guiding Jean-Luc's
cock into me. And then Jean-Luc was thrusting into me wildly, with no
control, forcing my body back hard against Jack, rubbing my back
against Jack's cock. Within minutes he stiffened and shot into me,
then collapsed to lie in both our embraces.
"Jack, though, hadn't come, so in a few seconds he stirred, and
we shifted positions, so that Jean-Luc held me while Jack in turn ground his
cock into my vagina.
"We spent the whole night together, cuddling and kissing while
they shared me in perfect accord and friendship. Each of them fucked
me repeatedly, the thrusting of one man's cock forcing the other's semen
deep within me as he built to his next climax -- and I loved every
second of it. I'd come and come, and then when I was so satiated I
couldn't come anymore I lay there drifting blissfully as one or the
other worked within me, feeling so cherished and loved I never wanted
to have to leave their embrace.
"Six weeks later, at Nyreal 6, I realized that I was pregnant. My
yearly contraceptive shot must have worn off a little prematurely.
The genetic scan showed that Jack was my baby's father, but I like to
believe that I got my child the night the three of us shared."
Beverly's voice had gotten husky as she said the last few
sentences, and her eyes filled with tears. She jumped as Wes put his
arm around her shoulders and said, "Don't cry, mom."
"Oh, Wes!" her face was still flushed, but she was no longer lost
in the past. "I shouldn't have said, I got carried away and forgot
who-"
"It's okay," said Wes, as he clumsily patted her shoulder.
Beverly looked down and saw that the sheet was tented over a jutting
cock. Wes followed her gaze and blushed, and started to turn away
guiltily with a mumbled, "Sorry."
Beverly touched his shoulder to turn him towards her again.
"It's all right, Wes. It's perfectly normal to be, er, stirred by,
ah, erotic, ah," her voice trailed off uncertainly. Then she gathered
him into her arms, intending a reassuring hug. Wes clutched her, and
burrowed his face into her -- but her kimono had started to slip
and he found his cheek pressed against bare warm flesh. Instinctively
he rubbed his face over the silken skin, his senses swimming in the
heady scent of gardenia.
"Wes," she started to remonstrate, then his mouth touched her
nipple, and opened to suck it in with an infant's greedy avidity.
"Wes," she started again, then her voice tailed off as her other
breast was seized. Her body had become fullly aroused as she
relived that past night, and this stimulation was achingly delightful.
She looked down dazzedly. She knew she had to stop this, but having
that mouth tugging on her right nipple stirred long remembered
feelings, both maternal and erotic mingled. This was the same little
boy-- but then she looked at the hand kneading her left breast. It
was large, and long fingered: the hand of a man. The hand moved to
brush that side of her kimono further aside, and she allowed the
weight of his body to press her down upon the bed.
For long minutes the only sound was her increasingly ragged
breathing as Wes sucked hard on her breast. He lifted his head to
stare at her body as he pulled her kimono completely open. The
interuption gave Beverly a few seconds to come to her senses, but her
clutch for her robe died away as Wes's mouth fastened over a nipple
again, and the hard, fast tugs resumed. Beverly closed her eyes and
gave herself over to the tingling sensations. When that strong supple
hand slipped down past her waist, over the smooth belly to her nest of
titian curls her thighs relaxed and parted seemingly without volition.
The sheet had long since fallen away so the bare flesh of her thighs
was soon pressing against equally naked skin as the full length of her
son's lanky young body forced itself between them. Once again she
said "Wes," but this time her voice was nothing but a sigh of pleasure.
Wes released her nipple, and crawled up her body to thrust his
hard cock blindly against her crotch. Beverly started at the new
contact, and began to shake her head and tried to draw her thighs
together but Wes was too lost in his own arousal to notice. His
continuing thrusts were clumsy but blundered at last upon the right
spot. Beverly's vagina was slick and wet from both the bath and her
arousal. With a groan Wes sheathed himself fully in her body. The
novel but exquisite sensation of velvet wet skin clasping his cock
drove him to an immediate partial withdrawal so he could repeat the
thrust, again and again and again.
At last Beverly was fully aware of the situation, as her muzzily
vague arousal focused down to the sensation of her son's cock filling
her vagina. It was shocking, appalling, forbidden-- but bodies
respond greedily, blindly to erotic stimulation. Her mind tried to
deny her participation in the shattering of one of mankind's oldest
taboos, but her hips were rocking avidly in time with Wesley's
increasingly wild plunges. Wes's chest and shoulders hadn't yet
filled out fully, but his cock was full grown, and massive as his
father's had been, and as he drove it in and out of her it tugged and
pulled her lips, providing the final spark to the conflagration. Even
though her mind said it was taboo, or perhaps because it was, Beverly
climaxed, embracing Wes tightly as her vagina spasmed and clutched his
cock repeatedly.
Wes was thrusting desparately when her spasms drove him over the
brink. One last thrust brought him as deep in her body as he
could force himself. He gasped "Oh, mother," over and over as he
spurted his seed within her.
Beverly lay there stunned for long seconds with Wes's sweaty
body pressing down on her. Her mind was repeating "This is awful"
even as the last pulsations of her prolonged orgasm fluttered against
her son's softening cock. "That was wonderful," Wesley murmurred, and
deep within her a treacherous part of her mind agreed.
* * *
Minutes later, Beverly confronted herself in the bathroom mirror.
How could she have let it happen? It was all her fault! She had been
aroused and hungry and looking for satisfaction, but would she just
pleasure herself in the bath? Oh, no -- that was shallow, mildly
shocking, that was beneath her! But exciting Wesley by telling him
every graphic detail of his conception, and fucking her son -- THAT
she was capable of!
Oh, god. He had drifted deep asleep within seconds of his
orgasm, and had barely stirred as she shifted his body off her. He
was laying there, now, sleeping the sleep of the innocent -- with his
cock still wet from his mother's vagina. How was she to face him in
the morning? How to make him understand that it shouldn't have
happened, would NEVER happen again, but that it wasn't his fault? How
to make sure he wasn't crippled by the guilt that already was sweeping
her?
As Beverly paced in the bathroom she started as she felt Wes's
semen start to trickle down her leg. The immediacy of the sensation
pulled her mind from its guilty obsession, and she straddled the bidet
to clean up. She adjusted the water and started to soap her crotch.
She caught sight of herself in the mirrored wall: a slender, naked,
creamy skinned woman with auburn hair waving on her shoulders and both
hands rubbing between her legs. Her breasts were nearly as high as
when she'd been a teenager but that innocent young virgin had never
had such deep-red nipples, swollen and tender and tingly from a man's
sucking. And her fingers had never stroked a vagina slick and
slippery with a man's sperm-- With a shudder Beverly realized her
washing had turned to caressing as her body reveled in the afterglow
of (admit it, dammit) the strongest orgasm she'd had in years. It
hadn't been 'a' man's sucking, it wasn't 'a' man's sperm: it was
Wesley's! What kind of a monster would wallow in sensuality over such
a perverted act??
With a strangled cry she turned the water all the way to cold,
and scrubbed her crotch as harshly and hurtfully as possible, to
punish herself and banish the last pleasurable tingles.
Tomorrow, she vowed, she would go see Deanna first thing. How
she could bring herself to admit to the auful thing she had done she
didn't know, but somehow she would, and Deanna would see that Wesley
didn't suffer psychological harm from his mother's disgusting actions.
[ The story is continued in TNG-XXX3.TXT, "Man to Man". ]
|
|
