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Star Trek TNG: Talent Show Part 3 of 3
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.
As it died down, the Butterfly dropped to her knees before the
prince. "Oh most great and marvelous prince, Princess Mirania
will be fortunate above all other women!" She reached out slowly
and touched his shins. "Let this humble dancer give you what
pleasure she can," she begged. She waved a hand toward the other
princes. "They will all bear witness that your oath is not
broken."
The pause before Prince Caspian nodded was longer this time, but
his proudly standing cock belied any true reluctance.
The Butterfly began to caress the Prince, sliding her hands over
and around his lower legs, stroking and kneading the flesh of his
calves. Slowly she proceeded up the muscled columns of his legs
to his knees, where she allowed her fingers to linger and flutter
on the soft skin behind them. Caspian's hands were again
clenched into fists as he strove to keep still.
Still her hands trailed up, over the long swelling muscles of his
thighs. As her hands rose she began to rub her cheeks against
him, and kissed and gently bit at the muscles which clenched and
shifted as the Prince tried to remain regally aloof. Her
movements became ever slower and more tantalizing as she
approached the top of his legs. The prince's cock, always hard,
had seemed to swell and stiffen even more as she worked her way
up, until now it almost pressed against the hard muscles of his
belly.
The Butterfly breathed, "My prince, what a man you are!" Her
fingers slid the last inch and stroked the heavy balls within his
sack. He shuddered and swayed, then planted his feet further
apart, though whether to steady himself or allow her freer
access, who could swear?
Her hands continued to play with his balls, sliding the skin
gently over them, cupping them warmly in her palms, dancing her
finger tips all over them with butterfly light touches. Then she
moved her mouth closer to her toy and, sticking her tongue out as
far as she could, slowly drew the very tip of it along the seam
of his sack, from bottom to top and back again. Prince Caspian
gasped but then crossed his arms resolutely across his chest.
The Butterfly opened her mouth and sucked one of his massive
balls entirely into her mouth. Prince Caspian moaned. She
allowed it to pop out only to suck in the other. A drop of clear
fluid could be seen gleaming on the head of his cock. She
repeated her action several times, then attempted to draw the
entire sack into her mouth. By now Prince Caspian's hips were
working involuntarily, thrusting his straining cock forward as if
to fuck the very air. With a helpless groan he started to reach
towards his cock, but the quick hands of one of the other dancers
prevented the touch.
"Lady, let us make him more comfortable," she said. The
Butterfly drew her head slowly away from his body while still
sucking as hard as she could on one of his balls, so that it
strained between them until it popped free, wrenching another
moan from the Prince and causing his knees to nearly buckle.
She rose from her knees and watched impatiently as her maids
silently urged him down to lie on the divan, and pulled his
trousers free of his feet. They arranged him with limbs
spread-eagled, eagerly stroking his arms and legs and chest and
belly as they did so. The Prince cooperated silently.
The Butterfly spoke to her maids, "I charge you with preserving
the Prince's oath. Each of you will hold one of his limbs, thus
preventing both you and him from accidentally touching his cock."
At once the maids shifted to kneel and hold a limb. She stood
there looking at him for a long moment, as if to admire the sight
or to allow the watchers that pleasure. The two main figures
were a beautiful, matched sight indeed: spread upon the divan was
the massive body of a strong, perfectly formed male with his cock
rampant as if demanding worship. Before him posed the perfect
curves of a voluptuous woman. Each was masked, he with his
leather half-hood, she with her golden butterfly wings. Each was
nude, with every inch proudly displayed. His arousal was clear.
Hers became so when her fingers slipped to, then within, her
hairless crack. For almost a minute she openly caressed herself
while Prince Caspian, lifting his head, watched.
"Forgive me, Lord," she entreated. "I ache for the pleasure you
have reserved for your bride." She walked to the head of the
divan, then knelt atop it, straddling her knees wide across his
head. From the distance of less than a foot he stared directly up
into her slit as she stroked it. He strained his head up but the
maids holding his shoulders to the divan prevented him from
reaching her. She dragged her hand from her cunt and drew a
shuddering breath.
"Forgive me, Lord," she repeated. "You excite me so much I
forget that I am to pleasure you, not my unworthy self."
She got off the divan and walked to its foot. She knelt between
his spread legs and began to stroke him again. Her hands were
bolder now, and slid swiftly all along his legs and over his
belly up to his chest then back, avoiding only the tautly erect
organ that silently pleaded for her attention. All that could be
heard were hoarse moans as the Prince writhed beneath her hands,
twisting and turning, his swollen cock striving for some, any,
release. She firmly placed her palms flat on his belly, one on
each side of his cock, surrounding its base but not touching it.
She began to rub her hands back and forth rapidly, causing his
cock to twist and jiggle wildly. Not even the four maids could
hold him still under this stimulation and he thrust his hips up
repeatedly, arching his body off the divan from shoulders to
heels. Drops of clear fluid appeared at the eye of his cock and
were shaken free by his gyrations, leaving glistening trails as
they slid down his cock. The Butterfly lifted her hands from his
body and he groaned more loudly then collapsed back onto the
divan in frustration.
She lifted her head and spoke to all assembled. "I charge you all
to watch and witness that his oath remains unbroken." Once again
she bent over his body, this time spreading just her left hand
near the base of the prince's cock while the right hand burrowed
between his legs and out of sight. The Prince jerked once, then
the Butterfly lowered her head and once more sucked his balls
into her mouth. Prince Caspian was tossing his head from side to
side, then threw it back as far as possible and roared as his
overstimulated body finally achieved release. Spurt after spurt
of cream shot from his cock, falling in white dollops onto his
belly and chest. Every ear, of cast and crew, was filled with
his roar and each eye, on both sides of the curtain, watched
raptly as that jutting cock spasmed forth its lava. This time
the applause had no obvious start as all the onlookers clapped
and shouted their approval with one mind. The waves of noise
rolled over the stage as the light began to dim and the white
curtains slowly drew together. In the deepening gloom the
audience could just barely make out that the Butterfly had moved
to the prince's side and was starting to lick his body clean.
"And the next day the wedding of Prince Caspian and Princess
Mirania was celebrated with much feasting and joy, and the Prince
took the Princess to her wedding bed with his vow unbroken."
The audience was startled to hear the quiet voice of the narrator
again, having been so caught up when the story she'd been telling
came to life that they'd forgotten her existence.
"The Prince kept his promise to the Vizier and made him wealthy,
and gave him the Princess Tamsin as wife, to cement the bond.
"The Princess Mirania, though, cursed the Vizier for being a
liar, since she grew aged and wrinkled at the same rate all women
do."
The woman rose to her feet.
"Or as most women do. For, though none know for certain what
goes on in another man's harem, it was rumored that the Princess
Tamsin remained radiantly young and beautiful, and greatly
pleased the Vizier through her love of dancing."
The narrator paused, then added, "But that's a story for another
day." Then she made obeisance, and walked off into the wings.
There was a minute of silence, then the applause started again,
though a perceptive person might notice the audience tended to
avoid looking at each other. Riker was clapping as loudly as the
rest when he noticed the captain making his way up an aisle. As
Riker hurried after him the curtain rose again, to reveal a trio
of singers. He caught up before the turbolift left.
"Ah, Number One, uh." Picard cleared his throat and started
again. "A surprising variety of acts in this show of yours."
"Yessir," grinned Riker.
"Do you think that last, er, tale was entirely appropriate?"
Riker laughed. "They didn't clear it with me, sir. Anyone who
wanted to perform checked in with the computer and it assigned
them a slot."
"Hrmmph." The doors whooshed open and they walked out onto the
bridge.
"It seemed to go over well with the audience," pointed out Riker.
"Yes, well, it's done now." Picard paused, then added "Have
Counselor Troi feel out the crew, see if there are any, er,
undesireable reactions."
"Yes, sir."
* * * * *
The next day, Troi reported to Picard in his ready room. "You
wanted to see me, Captain."
"Ah, yes. Did Riker tell you . . ."
"Yes, sir. You wanted to know how the audience felt about
Scheherazade's tale." She smiled, "The short answer is, they
loved it. I think even non-empaths could tell that."
"Well, yes," admitted Picard. "But after the immediate, ah,
pruriant appreciation wore off, how do they feel about having,
ah, ..."
"Watched a sex-show?" Troi filled in helpfully. "The crew has
mixed feelings today, but none of it is negative, sir. Those who
weren't there are envious, and those who were are mainly curious.
According to the computer, that slot was assigned to "Ensign
Secret and the Unknown Players" -- and of course there isn't
anyone by that name aboard. There are debates going on all over
the ship, over which of the characters were real and which
holodeck constructs."
"Which were constructs--," Picard stared at her. "I assumed they
all were, except the narrator! Surely no crewmember would--"
"That's one main school of thought," Troi agreed. "The other
holds that the two lead characters MUST have been real people,
otherwise why would they have been masked? The first school
counters, misdirection, so we WOULD wonder." Troi smiled. "Even
those who agree on WHICH characters are real can't agree on who
played them. The debates are doing more to take the crews' minds
off their missed shore leave than anything else ever could."
Picard stared at her for a few moments, then said, "So it is your
professional opinion as Ship's Counselor that the show was a
successful effort in raising ship's morale."
"Yes, sir."
"Very well, the matter is closed." As Troi turned to leave,
Picard added, "Surely you know. I mean, an empath can tell the
difference between people and constructs?"
"Of course, sir. But I would never tell."
Picard looked at her curiously.
"If the truth were known, the interest raised by the uncertainty
would be gone." She hesitated, "Unless you are ordering me to
tell you?"
"No, no." Picard waved her away. "That will be all, Counselor."
"Thank you, sir."
* * * * *
A nude man lay sprawled across a rumpled bed, watching as a nude
woman twisted before the three-way mirror in her cabin admiring
her body. "Was it all you expected?"
She turned to him with a radiant smile. "Yes. Oh, yes! All
those eyes upon me, I mean us, sharing, enjoying our bodies, our
pleasures!" She cupped her hands under her breasts and started
to rub her thumbs across her nipples. "The hardest thing was to
stop stroking myself on stage, I wanted them to see me come, to
have an orgasm with all their eyes burning into me ... "
"They why --"
"But I wanted the other even more! I've told you, as far back as
I can remember, I've always fantasized about sucking a man off in
front of an audience!" She smiled. "And you let me make my
fantasy come true."
"My pleasure," said the man with heavy irony.
"No, don't belittle your cooperation! I know exhibitionism isn't
your turn-on, but you performed with me anyway. Do you know how
rare that is? Most men would never consider it." She slid one
hand down to her hairless crotch and began to stroke it as she
continued, "I started to tell my fantasy to Will once and he was
so threatened I had to turn it into a joke and change the
subject. That show will always be my most thrilling memory.
When I'm two hundred years old, and confined to bed, and no one
is interested in touching me, I'll roll the details over in my
mind as I roll my clit between my fingers." She turned back to
the mirror and watched her fingers passing over her crotch. "I
can't get over how different it feels. I'll have to stay very
healthy until my hair grows back."
The man grunted. "Would it be so awful if they knew?"
"Oh, not really, though it would weaken my image as the cool,
controlled counselor if they knew that they'd watched me perform,
no, LOVE performing fellatio in front of them." She turned to
smile at him again. "Even though THEY loved watching it. Did
you know that Captain Picard asked me how the crew reacted? I
was tempted to tell him, 'They were so turned on some of them
came as they watched.'
"Late at night, after the show, I walked through the ship and I
could feel the waves of lust. I'd swear half the men on this
ship were having their balls sucked and thinking of the
'Butterfly'!"
"Not just thinking," the man said as he rolled onto his side.
"What do you mean?"
"Riker came to me a few hours before the show and told me to
record the whole thing so nobody would have to miss any of it."
Deanna stared at him.
"Then today he suggested that I 'edit' the record. His
suggestion came a little late, though. According to the
computer, forty three crew had downloaded copies of our act to
their private files.
"All over the ship people are watching little 3-D copies of you
sucking little 3-D copies of me."
Deanna flushed and rubbed her crotch harder. "Oh! oh!" She was
leaning back against the mirror with her legs bent and widely
spread as she rubbed frantically. "It's too much, I can't stand
it!"
The man watched her with an impassive face, though his cock was
standing stiffly. "You really love it, don't you? The thought
of people watching you, over and over, doing enlargements,
bringing your image up to full-size, close enough to touch."
Deanna moaned and slid down along the mirror to sit with her ass
on her heels and her knees spread as wide as possible. "Who?
Which of them?" She had three fingers of one hand working in her
vagina while the other hand continued to rub her clit.
The man rose and tangled his fingers in her hair, forcing her
face up to look at him. "I set up over a dozen lenses at all
angles, to allow the best possible recording. Do you realize
that right at this instant you may be straddling the faces of
twenty men, masturbating inches from their noses as they whack
themselves off?" he demanded harshly.
Deanna could only moan.
He put his face close to hers and said, "Who? Riker has a copy.
So does LaForge. So does Wesley." He whispered in her ear, "And
so does the captain."
With a cry like a strangled cat Deanna climaxed over and over, to
finally collapse, spent, on the floor.
"Get up," he ordered, and watched without helping as she
scrambled up. "Kneel on the bed. With your legs apart."
Deanna quickly obeyed. He put his hand on her back and pushed
her down til her chest touched the bed while holding her ass up.
Roughly he rubbed his palm over her cunt then thrust his fingers
up her vagina. Deanna gasped, "Gently, plea--"
He slapped the other hand across her ass with the sound of a whip
crack. "Be still, bitch!" He pulled the fingers from her vagina
and began to rub them against her asshole, working first one,
then two, then three deep into her anus.
Deanna was clenching her muscles, trying to prevent his entry,
"Please, you need more lubrication!"
The man chuckled, "You've already made more than enough." He
rubbed his cock between the gaping lips of her slit until his
cock glistened with her juices, then drew back to lodge the head
against her anus. She gasped as he forced the knob within her.
"Do you love it, bitch? You know you do. Just imagine that half
the ship is watching!" With a growl he lunged forward, sheathing
himself until his balls slapped against her cunt, then froze.
Deanna sobbed out, but calmed as he stayed still. "Remember your
promise."
Her voice was muffled from being pressed against the mattress,
but it was clear enough. "Yes, I remember. I promise. I will
let you act out your fantasy on me when you find another
Klingon."
Worf slapped her ass again. "Not fantasy, bitch. The joining
rite!" He drew partway from her ass then thrust in again, "When
two Klingon warriors share a woman." He stroked in her steadily
for several minutes, with gradually increasing rhythm. "When each
thrusts within her body at the same time," he was slamming in and
out of her ass now, his voice hoarse, "and feels the other's cock
pushing back at him!" Then he could no longer form words and
simply shouted as he forced his cock as deeply as possible into
her asshole, and shouted and shouted as he came within her.
For several minutes neither moved or said anything, then Worf
slowly drew his softening cock from her ass. "Are you all
right?"
Deanna stood up and turned to face him. "Yes," she assured him.
"Betazoid women are not as fragile as humans." She took his hand
to lead him to the bathroom.
For a second he held back. "You will enjoy the rite, I know,
even though the woman is not considered a person but just a
vessel to demonstrate the new warrior's acceptance into the
band." He stroked her cheek gently with his free hand. "It is
traditional for all the other members of the band to witness the
ceremony." He looked down into her widening eyes and smiled.
"Then each of the others probes the woman's ass and cunt to check
for himself that the warriors indeed shed their sperm together."
She was flushing rosily. "Yes, Deanna, every male on the ship,
as many as fifty on a Bird of Prey, rubbing their fingers up you
fore and aft." She shivered. "Something new for you to dream
about," he murmured, then started kissing her deeply.
The end.
[ This story has a sequel, "Repercussions", also available for
downloading from TrekoPhiles. ]
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