From the log of USS ARTEMIS (NCC-69069)
|by Van ©2010|
Angie opened her eyes—then closed them again. Her head hurt like crazy, but it was getting better, fast. She opened her eyes, again—and found herself staring at a metal bulkhead. She was on her side with her hands behind her back, on a textured, rubberized deck. The Andorian's shuttle, she realized, blinking her eyes. I'm still in the shuttle, and—
She was naked—again! Not that wearing the borrowed Orion "pirate uniform" had exactly made her feel all that clothed, but she was naked—again!
And she was bound and gagged—AGAIN!
Her hands were encased in some sort of tight, restrictive mittens. She could wiggle her fingers, a little, but they'd been rendered useless. The mitts were like balls of foam with a semi-hard shell, and were attached to a five-centimeter-wide belt of slightly flexible material that encircled her waist. Wide, joined cuffs of the same stuff bound her ankles. Her bonds were a dull, silver-gray in color, what she could see of them. Probably a plastic polymer of some sort, she decided. Finally, a panel-gag with a semi-soft plug filled her mouth and covered and pressed against her lips.
As Angie's mind continued to clear, she realized she was not alone. She rolled over and found the Andorian, Chel, lifting a naked, bound, and unconscious Lyra and holding her back against the wall of a tall, narrow alcove set in the opposite bulkhead. The pirate was wearing a pair of black leather thigh boots and the green chamois bikini Olena had confiscated from the Ruby Queen. A pair of holstered disruptor-pistols on a black leather belt rode her hips, and a Starfleet phaser-pistol was tucked, sideways, into a holster against the small of her back.
And speaking of Olena, she was in an alcove of her own, to Lyra's left, and Gwen was in a third alcove to Lyra's right. Angie's two senior officers were naked, unconscious, and bound and gagged in a manner similar to herself. In addition, their bonds included straps above and below their knees and body-harness that pinned their arms to their sides and yoked their shoulders. All of their silver-gray bonds appeared to be attached to the back of their alcoves, holding them upright with their feet off the deck.
Also, a clear, rubbery membrane of some sort was very tightly stretched across their bodies, hugging every contour and curve and providing additional support. It reminded Angie of the shrink-wrapping sometimes used to bundle cargo containers together for shipment as a single unit. Only the captives' gagged, lolling heads were exposed, emerged from silver-gray collars incorporated in the membranes.
A series of rapid, metallic clicks sounded, Chel stepped to the side, and Angie could now see that Lyra was bound like the others, with flush-mounted clamps set in the back wall gripping her bonds and holding her up. Angie watched as Chel stretched a third, very loose membrane across the alcove and the bound body of her Orion friend. She pulled Lyra's head and hair through the opening in the membrane and clicked the attached collar closed around her throat.
The Andorian tapped a pad key, there was a quiet hum, and the membrane tightened and stretched until it hugged Lyra's body like a second skin, effectively vacuum-sealing her into the alcove, just like the others.
"Awake, I see," Chel said, smiling at Angie. She pulled a hypospray injector from a small pouch on her belt. "This drug is quick and effective on Humans and Orions." She pressed the injector's head against Lyra's neck, just above her gag-strap and behind her left ear, and pulled the trigger. Hisss. "My shuttle is programmed to protect me," she explained as she stepped to Olena and gave her an injection, as well. Hisss. "If one of my secret security systems are triggered and I don't enter the correct override code by a preset time—" She gave Gwen an injection. Hisss. "—the life support and medical monitors analyze the physiology of the shuttle's occupants, then use ultrasonics to stun any non-Andorians. A clever secondary defense, if I do say so, myself. Not much help in a mutiny, of course, but it's served me well on this occasion, don't you agree?"
Angie fought her bonds and glared at her captor—her latest captor. Dammit, she thought, what is she doing to them? And why isn't she doing it to me, too?
Meanwhile, Lyra, Olena, and Gwen had begun to stir. One by one, they opened their eyes, realized their situations, and began to struggle and mewl through their gags.
"The cries of freshly caught slaves," Chel chuckled, "my favorite music." She walked down the line, tapping a key on the control pad by each alcove as she went.
One by one, the membranes trapping the prisoners began to expand, like clear foam. They didn't stop until they completely filled each alcove, with the exception of the areas immediately around each captive's head. The material then turned ever-so-slightly opaque and all motion on the part of the trapped prisoners ceased, with the exception of their flaring nostrils and rolling eyes. They were like flies trapped in blocks of clear amber.
"Marta's green-skins didn't even know these slave-cells were here," Chel said, smiling down at Angie. "Some privacy, and then we'll talk." She tapped a key on another control pad, this one beside the door to the cockpit, and solid panels began rising from the floor, sealing off the alcoves and concealing their very existence.
Angie watched in horror as her shipmates disappeared from view and the sounds of their desperate, gagged moans were cut off, one-by-one, as each panel closed with a solid thunk followed by a quiet hiss.
"Don't worry about your friends," Chel purred. "The life support modules will keep them alive, and they're among the shuttle systems that are heavily shielded from detection, so I can allow them to function. At the moment, we look about as interesting as a large rock to any of Marta's cohorts that might be passing overhead—"
As if on cue, the clap of a Thruster-shark crossing the sky at supersonic speed sounded. It was significantly attenuated by the shuttle's hull, but was audible, nonetheless.
Chel's smile widened. "Perfect timing. Anyway, your friends will remain alive, and we'll enjoy vital services and be able to passively monitor the surrounding area. This isn't the first time I've had to hunker-down and hide from hostile scanners." The Andorian walked to yet another panel and tapped a key. A horizontal, ten centimeter thick slab slid out of the bulkhead and into the cargo bay. She lifted Angie and dropped her onto its padded surface.
Angie twisted in her bonds and continued to glare. A bed, she realized. It's a bed. She watched as Chel removed her weapons belt and hung it from a hook, then sat on the bed and began removing her boots. Angie eyed the holstered weapons and heaved a despairing sigh through her gag. With her fingers and hands encased, the Andorian could have placed the weapons on the bed and left her alone and they'd still be useless to her.
Chel stood and began peeling off the chamois bikini, all the while smiling at Angie.
Angie stared, then swallowed behind her gag, as best she could. What's she gonna do?
As naked as her pink-skinned prisoner, Chel stretched and yawned.
She's beautiful, Angie had to concede. As beautiful as any Andorian I've ever seen.
Chel rolled onto the bed, embraced Angie, and planted a surprisingly chaste kiss on her forehead.
"When the others wanted to leave me behind," Chel whispered, "you were the one who spoke up for me." She kissed Angie's forehead, again, and caressed her right breast. "You were the one who wouldn't let me be left behind." Her other hand slid down Angie's side, caressed her hip, then slid between her thighs.
"And Marta would have tortured me," Chel whispered, "no doubt about it." She slid the edge of her hand against Angie's labia. "You saved me, little one."
Angie shivered and tugged on her bonds. Why me? Why do they all want to do this to me?
Chel continued her gentle, slow caresses, sliding her blue hands across Angie's pale, pink skin—pressing Angie's gagged face into her full breasts—wrapping her long, strong, legs around the little captive's bound body.
"I think I'm going to keep you," Chel whispered. "I'll sell the others, but I'm going to keep you. I've always wanted a Human pet."
Angie continued squirming and moaning through her gag—but the Andorian was so warm, and smooth, and strong—and Angie was so helpless and tired—and what the pirate captain's hands were doing to her felt so good! "Nrrr!" She had to fight. She had to be strong, and fight, and help the others—somehow—but it felt sooo gooood!
"You are mine, forever," the Andorian purred. "We will have much fun, together. This first time will be nice and slow, but you will cum for Chel. I promise you, little one, you will cum."
And despite her best efforts, quivering in her bonds and her captor's embrace, Angie did cum... eventually.
Ezri powered down the cutter, with the exception of the docking subsystem that would allow her Klingon hosts to handshake with ATALANTA's warp core, impulse engines, and weapons. This was standard protocol and required by treaty. Any Starfleet secrets in the computer's data banks would remain secure, but NING'PARA's engineers needed to be able to easily monitor the guest vessel's most dangerous systems. She shrugged into her teal and black uniform tunic, straightened the front with a jerk, then opened the cutter's side door and made her exit.
Captain Larga was waiting. Members of her crew, all of them female, Erzi noted, were bustling about, attaching power leads and vent hoses to the cutter and performing other duties.
Ezri snapped to attention as soon as her boots touched NING'PARA's deck. "Permission to come aboard?"
"Permission granted," Larga replied. Military courtesy satisfied, she stepped forward and grasped Ezri's arm. "Well met, twice-married ally of my house."
Ezri grinned as she returned the greeting. "Married, half-separated by death, half-remarried, then amicably double-divorced... We Trills have language for complex host/symbiont marital arrangements, but the scribe of the House of Martok is still trying to sort things out. Your house is allied with Martok?"
"Martok and Rohana have been allies for centuries," Larga nodded, "when we weren't slaughtering each other on some battlefield."
"The stuff of Klingon opera, no doubt," Ezri chuckled.
"Most assuredly," Larga grinned. "Captain Worf is well?"
"Yes," Ezri answered. "He took command of ARK ROYAL seven months ago."
"K'Plah!" Larga responded. "All right, enough inter-house etiquette. NING'PARA is cloaked and en route to the Scatara system at warp seven. What was your situation on Scatara-IV?"
Ezri's smile faded. "I was alone, in orbit. The rest of my teammates were on the surface. At least three pirate vessels attacked, plus fighters, acting as a well-coordinated fleet. I raised shields, and..." Her breath caught in her throat.
"You realized you were greatly outmatched," Larga suggested, "and so you refused battle and fled, in order to summon help."
Silence hung in the air for several seconds.
"It was your only honorable and intelligent course of action," Larga continued. "If you were my officer and had acted otherwise and survived, I would have you flogged and demoted. Duty is a harsh taskmaster. It may require glorious death in battle, but never suicide as an alternative to unfinished work. You did not abandon your shipmates."
Ezri's expression was grim. "No, but I may have incurred blood debt to their families."
"As it would happen," Larga chuckled, "such is almost certainly not the case."
Ezri stared. "I don't understand, and I fail to see the humor in the situation. My shipmates are enslaved or dead."
"Forgive me." Larga gave a small bow of apology. "The Syndicate vessel we just captured is on its way to your Starbase Seventeen under a prize crew with one of my junior officers in command. Her crew is in my brig, but they are not alone. This is the second raider we have captured during this operation. Come." She gestured towards the shuttle bay exit. "There is reason to hope."
Still puzzled, Ezri fell in beside Larga.
NING'PARA was dark and cramped, like all Klingon warships of Ezri's experience. However, she knew the rust-brown color of the bulkheads and the awkwardly jutting support struts were a matter of cultural aesthetics, not a lack of sophisticated naval architecture. By any objective criterion, Klingon technology was on a solid par with the Federation—marginally inferior in some aspects, marginally superior in others.
They entered the brig—and Ezri stared in surprise.
The cells were crowded with naked Orion women, to the point that the occupants barely had room to sit.
"We had to put some in the food kennels," Larga explained, "chained by the neck across from the borgrat cages. I reserved those accommodations for my least cooperative guests."
The spectacle of the captured pirates was not what had seized Ezri's attention. Across the brig, in the midst of a squad of Klingons, stood a diminutive figure, no taller than Ezri, herself. She was in Klingon uniform, like the others, but had a long, swishing tail and tawny fur, and unless Ezri was very much mistaken, she was a Carmow of Scatara-IV!
"Oh, yes," Larga chuckled, "allow me to introduce my newest officer. Acting-Ensign Zeeka!"
The cat-girl hurried over and snapped to attention. "What are your orderrrs, my Captain," she said, smiling up at Larga with an earnest, toothy grin.
Larga indicated Ezri. "This is Starfleet Lieutenant Ezri Dax."
Zeeka turned her smile to Ezri. "I am Acting-Ensign Zeeka of the House of Bendwater. You are the star friend with spots Olena spoke of, yes? You were about to land the Starrrfleet ship when the green-skins attacked."
"Uh, the same," Ezri responded.
"Report, Acting-Ensign," Larga growled.
Zeeka braced to attention, again. "My Captain, we are about to question anotherrr of the pirates."
Larga nodded. "Proceed, Acting-Ensign."
Zeeka tapped a closed fist to her shoulder in salute, spun on her booted heels, and rejoined the others. Ezri watched as one of the Klingons unlocked a cell door, grabbed an Orion by the arm, and pulled her out. The pirate struggled and complained— "No! M'mmpfh!" —but couldn't prevent the much larger Klingons from cuffing her wrists behind her back and stuffing a plug-gag in her mouth.
"Is she not the cutest little targ-pup you have ever seen?" Larga whispered to Ezri. "The armorers worked through an entire watch cycle making her that uniform."
"The Carmow?" Ezri whispered back, and Larga nodded. "I assume at some point you are going to tell me how she came to be here?"
"She was cargo on the first pirate ship we intercepted," Larga explained. "The youngling has courage. She challenged the warriors who freed her. Imagine—naked and bound and in the presence of the first Klingon warriors she has ever seen—and she challenges them to a fight! When that one dies, she will feast at Kahless' table in the Hall of Heroes. The crew loves her."
Larga and Ezri stepped aside as the Klingons dragged the mewling, naked pirate through the door. Acting-Ensign Zeeka followed.
"We are interrogating them in our sickbay," Larga explained, "one at a time. The presence of the Carmow seems to make them more... talkative."
"I can see that," Ezri grinned. "Also, a Klingon medical facility does look something like a torture chamber, to the uninitiated. I suppose I should lodge some sort of formal protest. Technically, the pirates are citizens of the Federation."
"They are criminals apprehended beyond the borders of the Empire and the Federation. Their ultimate fates will be determined by a plague of lawyers. In the meantime, they will tell us what we need to know." Larga smiled. "And we have already learned much." She gestured towards the door. "Come. You shall dine as my guest while I tell you more."
Ezri gazed at the naked, miserable captives in the cells. Slavers... now little more than slaves, themselves... She turned to her host. "Gagh?"
"No," Larga chuckled, shaking her head, "bregit lung with grapok sauce."
Ezri smiled her dimpled smile. "I can eat."
Larga led the way.
Angie lay on the bed in the cargo bay. Her gag had been removed, but her mitt-encased hands were still behind her back and locked to the band belted around her waist. The matching cuffs were still around her ankles, but now they were unattached. A pirate captain can't fully use you as her erotic plaything if your legs can't be spread, she mused. I need a bath. I'm... dirty.
The door to the cockpit slid open and Chel entered the cargo bay. She was still naked, as naked as she'd been while making love to her pink-skinned captive. "Good news," she announced. "Marta's rabble seems to have tired of scanning the countryside. All the fighters have left the atmosphere and, presumably, docked with their mother-ships. Not that I'll be fooled into bolting from cover, of course. We'll remain where we are, for now."
She padded to a cabinet and opened one of its compartments, then scowled, her antennae twitching in irritation. "Marta filched all my greeblach and pantac roe, the greedy garbage-fish." She opened another compartment, and her smile returned. "Ah, the occati are still here." She pulled out a small plastic container, peeled back its lid, and delicately popped what appeared to be a small fish into her mouth. "Ummm." She walked to the bed, sat, and extracted another fish, holding its tail between her thumb and forefinger. "Here, my pink pet. You must be hungry."
Angie shook her head, an attempt to toss her tousled hair from her face as much as a sign of negation. "Feed my friends," she huffed.
Chel popped the fish in her mouth. "That won't be required," she said with a grin. "My slave cells dispense measured doses of hibernation-inducing drugs. Your friends require neither food or drink. Or, more correctly, they won't for several days."
"Let them go," Angie sighed. "Let me go. We rescued you."
Chel continued eating. "Yes, they did." She smiled at Angie. "You did." She finished the last of the fish, then drank the juice from the container. "I've been rethinking my decision to keep you as a pet." She stood, went back to the cabinet, and returned with another container, identical to the first. "A pet constantly trying to escape isn't much fun to have around, and is possibly dangerous."
Angie watched as Chel peeled back the lid of the container. Her stomach growled. She was hungry.
"I've decided I will let your friends go," Chel purred, "but only if you promise to join me as my willing pet."
"Never!" Angie growled. "I'd rather—"
"Condemn your shipmates to a life of slavery?" Chel interrupted. She picked up the first fish by its tail and dangled it near Angie's mouth.
Angie glowered at her captor, then opened her mouth and allowed herself to be fed. She'd been expecting something akin to a sardine in oil, but the occati was more like a smoked herring... a kipper. Angie's eyes welled. Kipper. Tree Frog's pet name for her. The thought of her Orion friend—and Olena and Gwen, as well—toiling as slaves for the rest of their lives...
"Food for thought," Chel chuckled as she fed Angie the tiny fish, one-by-one. "Food for thought."
Ezri finished the last of the bregit lung on her platter, swirling the strip of meat in the remnants of the grapok congealing to one side. "This is incredibly good for replicated rations," she said, then gobbled the dripping gobbet with a deft flip of the hand.
"The IKDF has recently reformulated all the fleet-standard recipes," Larga explained. "Decades overdue, in my opinion. The old stuff was worse than the slop served in a quarter-token restaurant."
Ezri wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then lifted her goblet and gulped the last of her watered blood-wine. "Delicious. Now, you say you've penetrated the pirates' sensor-buoy network?"
Larga nodded. There was a pause while she also finished her wine. "Several of the green-skins were kind enough to provide the encryption codes. Not only can we tap their net for information, we completely control it."
Ezri's eyebrows lifted. "You can override the processing routines?"
"The pirates bought their buoys from the Ferengi," Larga chuckled. "The counter-penetration and anti-deception features are not military grade. We can make them display anything we want." She held up the pitcher of undiluted blood-wine, then set it back down when Ezri shook her head. "At the moment, they are seeing ARTEMIS on the far side of the Expanse, still seeding Federation spy-buoys and getting farther away every second. In reality, your Captain has already reversed course and will arrive in the Scatara system in approximately thirteen hours. Not by coincidence, that is the same time we will arrive."
Ezri nodded. "Two pirates down. Two to go."
Larga smiled. "They are nothing close to a match for ARTEMIS and NING'PARA. We will rescue your friends."
For the first time since the Syndicate attack, Ezri realized she was completely relaxed. She'd been carrying a burden of guilt, however undeserved, from the moment her friends were captured. And thanks to the Klingons' interrogations of their prisoners, she now knew Olena, Gwen, and Angie were captured and not killed. Lyra's current status remained unknown, but in any case, Ezri's burden was now lifted. There was a battle to be fought and things could still go wrong, in whole or in part, but there was now strong reason to hope for success.
Ezri stifled a yawn, then focused on a tapestry hanging from the bulkhead across the captain's cabin. She'd noticed it upon entering, but only in passing. It was ancient in style, and depicted a female warrior swinging a bat'leth, the classic crescent-moon blade of a Klingon warrior. She was surrounded by a ring of what Ezri had at first taken to be pure decoration, but now she realized it was a stylized form of Klingon glyphs. 'Two against five-hundred they fought', she deciphered.
Larga had noticed Ezri's interest. "The Wife-Equal of Kahless," she purred, bowing her head towards the tapestry.
"The Lady Lukara."
"The same," Larga confirmed. "This vessel is of the Order of Lukara, one of seven such dedicated warships in the IKDF fleet."
"An all female crew," Ezri nodded. "Perfect for operations in the Gian Expanse."
"It was the Order that inspired your Captain and Admiral Janeway to propose this operation." Larga smiled and began unbuckling the breastplate of her uniform. "Are you familiar with the custom of House Welcome?"
Ezri smiled. It was either smile or blink in terror. She'd decided to smile. "Yes, Captain. A guest-ally of equal rank may choose between dueling with their host until first blood, or sharing their bed. Uh... I'm not your equal."
Larga smiled and continued disrobing. "Differences in military rank aside, we are both warriors. You are the divorced wife of a warrior of the House of Martok; therefore, you are an ally of the House of Rohana and my equal. I confess that I am curious to discover why the famous Worf was so intrigued by a Trill... twice."
Ezri felt a thrill shiver between her legs. She was also curious. She had never romped with a female Klingon. This would be a first, even for Dax. She knew her hostess would accept a polite refusal with equally polite grace, but... "I find I am not in the mood for weapons practice," Ezri purred, and reached for the hem of her tunic.
Larga was pulling off her boots, followed by her trousers. Now naked, she turned and watched Ezri disrobe.
Ezri smiled as she removed her own boots and trousers.
Larga was, in a word, ripped. Her tall body was toned and athletic, her muscles defined and her abdomen firm. Her skin was surprisingly smooth. Klingon men tended to have rough, leathery hides. No so with Larga. Her breasts were large without being huge, her nipples dark and wide. Her pubic thatch was thick, luxuriant, and black.
Ezri stood and prepared to peel off her undershirt and panties.
"No!" Larga ordered. "I want to rip them off your puny body as I take you." She went to a built-in cabinet, opened a drawer, and produced a coil of dark brown rope. "Targ tail hair," she explained, shaking the coil, "braided by daughters of the House of Rohana. I'm going to bind you on my bed and make you scream with pleasure."
"You're going to try, weakling," Ezri sneered, dropping into fighting stance. "I'll try not to break your bones while I make you scream like a krencha in heat." It was all bluster, of course, Larga towered over Ezri, and had her by more than a few kilos, all of it hard muscle. Ezri knew a few moves, but Larga almost certainly knew more. The Amazon Handmaidens of Lukara were famous as elite fighters.
Larga growled—Ezri did the same—and their bodies slammed together and they grappled!
Ezri yawned and squirmed. She was sore, but in the nice way that evoked memories of her nights with Worf—and in Dax, echoes of Jadzia, the previous host, and her/their nights with Worf, as well. Ezri was naked, her Starfleet issue underwear reduced to ripped tatters scattered about Larga's cabin. She was hogtied, with her wrists behind her back, her ankles crossed, and tight, single loops of rope pinning her arms to her sides, her shins to her thighs, and encircling her throat. It was a stringent tie, and perfect for her captor to flip her onto her back, bound arms, and folded and splayed legs, and to have her way with her—which Larga had already done several times in the last hour—but the position was not conducive to slumber.
Ezri squirmed, again. Her bonds were inescapable. The sweat glistening on her body might have provided lubrication had the tight strands not been positioned and cinched with such skill. Nothing shifted, no matter what she tried. She knew the key knot was somewhere behind her back, but couldn't discover its exact placement. It was nowhere near her questing fingers, of that she was sure.
Larga, also naked and shining with sweat, but very much not bound, was sprawled against Erzi's side. "You're not getting free, Tiny Warrior," she chuckled, then lifted an arm and gently combed her fingers through Ezri's short, sweat-dampened hair. "Did you know your spots flush and pulse when you cum? Do all Trills do that?"
"They do not!" Ezri giggled.
"I wasn't speaking of these spots," Larga purred as she trailed her fingers down Ezri's flank, tracing the band of glyph-like spots that began at Ezri's hairline, ran down the sides of her throat, continued down her flanks, to either side of her breasts, dappled the outsides of her hips, thighs, legs, and the tops of her feet, and finally ended at her toes.
"Stop that!" Ezri complained, continuing to squirm. "That..." She closed her mouth and bit her lower lip.
"That what?" Larga inquired, smiling innocently.
"Nothing," Ezri huffed. She wasn't about to divulge the degree to which Trill spots were ticklish. Once Worf made that discovery, Jadzia had never again come close to winning a wrestling match with her husband. Of course, being significantly smaller, Ezri had never, ever come close to besting Worf in bed, ticklishness aside.
"In any case," Larga continued, sliding her hand to Ezri's crotch, "I was speaking of these spots."
Ezri shivered, and bit her lip, again. "Genital freckles," she gasped. "They're called genital freckles."
"This delicate, heart-shaped pattern of tiny spots forming an outer defense for your blushing fortress?"
Ezri whined and strained to close her thighs, but Larga's rope, as well as the Klingon's legs and arms, held her open. "Not again!"
"Why not, daughter-by-marriage of Martok?" Larga laughed. "The House of Rohana has already conquered."
"We need to rest before... before... Stop!"
Larga chuckled. "I was thinking of sleeping in... of letting Acting-Ensign Zeeka command the battle."
"Liar!" Ezri giggled, struggling for all she was worth. "M'rrrfh!"
Continuing to pin her captive's thighs apart with her strong legs, Larga had looped the apparently still abundant free end of the rope around Ezri's head and between her teeth, once, twice, three times, then cinched it taut— "Nrrf!" —pulling Ezri's head back and cleave-gagging the diminutive Trill until her cheeks bulged. She tied a quick-release knot, then her right hand returned to Ezri's crotch, delicately tracing her super-sensitive freckles and teasing her flushed labia. Her left hand clutched and squeezed the helpless, shivering Trill's left breast.
"Yesss... fight, Tiny Warrior," Larga purred. "Struggle and fight. Lady Lukara is watching. Your struggle is her struggle. Your pleasure is her pleasure." Larga slid her fingers between Ezri's labia and tickled her clitoris. "Struggle, fight, and cum. Honor Martok, honor Rohana, and honor the Lady. Then and only then will you have earned honorable rest."
Her pale skin flushed and dripping with sweat, her muscles straining against the tight ropes and the strong grip of her lover's embrace, Ezri did fight—and she did cum—a glorious victory for both Houses!
And then Ezri lay in utter, spent exhaustion as Larga gently untied her bonds, then tossed away the rope.
Larga stretched her tall, strong body, yawning hugely— "Yaaaargh!" —then embraced her Trill guest, once again.
Ezri knew that before the battle she'd need a side-trip to the cutter for new underwear, then another side-trip to NING'PARA's sickbay for some bruise ointment, and possibly the use of their dermal regenerator. It certainly won't be the first time I've needed minor repairs after a night with a Klingon, she thought as she closed her eyes, but it's always been worth it.