textfiles/sex/EROTICA/T/three.txt

     It had been a week since several crew members of the
Enterprise arrived here on shore leave.  I won't even try to
describe my initial reaction to the captain, Jean-Luc Picard.  When
we were introduced and shook hands, I felt my entire body tingle. 
I stared into his eyes intensely, but his smile froze and he closed
up as soon as he recognized my immediate attraction to him.  Great
-- one of *that* type.  Just my luck.

     So today I had a friend of mine mention that we were running
short on mock attackers in our children's self-defense class.  I
figured if I were lucky -- and I tend to be when I want something
badly enough -- the captain would be one of those willing to help. 
Unfortunately, I learned later that the captain has a somewhat
bizarre reaction to children -- they frighten him.  My heart sank
as this news reached my ears, but then, Renda explained that she
told him that attackers were mostly needed to attack adults, who
would then demonstrate technique to the children.  An attractive
redhead -- the doctor Renda says -- convinced the captain to
assist.  It seems, via the grapevine, that this woman and the
captain are involved, or were involved, or are trying to figure out
whether they're involved.  Either way, I'll bet she had no idea
what the captain would wind up doing after class.

     Everything was rather uneventful as self-defense classes go. 
I made my usual pep talks; we went over de-escalation strategies,
etc.  Then it was demonstration time.  

     Only Riker, the first officer and the captain had decided to
attend.  We had hoped their Klingon security officer would come,
but he apparently decided the children would be too frightened to
practice with him -- he doesn't know much about our children, this
Klingon.  At any rate, we were quite disappointed -- he was a
martial arts instructor in his own right, after all.

     Renda and Riker did a few demonstrations and then Riker suited
up and "attacked" sever kids, most of whom did a damned good job,
and if he weren't wearing that protective gear, he would have been
seriously injured at most and finely stunned at least.

     "Captain Picard, please take over; just follow Christine's
instructions."

     I told him what type of attacks I wanted, and in what order. 
First, he was to come up behind me and press his arm about my
throat; second, he was to come at me with a knife -- a rubber knife
in this demonstration -- while I "slept" and pretend he wanted to
kidnap me; third, he was supposed to be attacking a teenage girl
with the intent to rape her.

     For the first attack, he came up behind me and slid his arm
forcefully around my neck; I felt the constriction as his arm hit
my throat.  I came down hard and fast on his foot with my heel --
just a shocker, not a stopper, of course, and followed immediately
with a rear kick to the kneecap.  Were he not wearing gear, his
kneecap would have been broken.  We did the attack again, this time
with me sending one elbow and then the other into his ribs, then
following swiftly by raising my elbows and swinging each in quick
succession against either side of his helmeted head, which sent his
head jerking from one side to the other -- again, I'm sure he was
thankful for the gear.  Then I ran like hell.

     For the second attack, I lay on the mat and pretended to
sleep.  I awoke to a knife at my throat and a stern command to get
up and come with my attacker.  I pretended hysteria, pleading that
he not hurt me as I slowly moved my head so that the point of the
knife was not as much of an immediate hazard.  He leaned in close
and grabbed one of my hands; and my other hand, which I had slowly
moved up next to my face, shot out and slammed a palm-heel against
his nose, inward and upward.  Almost simultaneously, my other hand
broke free from his startled grip and clumped down on his wrist so
that he couldn't move it -- I bore down and twisted, and removed
the knife from his hand, then showed various slicing options to the
audience.

     Third was the attempted rape.  I was walking nonchalantly down
the mat and he rushed me, wrestling me to the ground.  He used his
legs to open mine and get between them.  He was in the perfect
position to enter me were I unclothed.  I raised my legs up around
his ribs, crossed them in a scissor and squeezed with all my might. 
When the grip was held fast, I used my hip muscles to roll him over
so that I was on top and slammed several nasty palm-heels into his
face and throat, followed by several demonstrations of how one --
even a child -- could break bones with relative ease -- and I ended
with a speech about practicing so that reaction became reflexive,
etc. etc.

     But my concentration was totally off.  When his hands had been
on me, when he had wrestled me to the ground, when he lay between
my legs and I could feel him beneath his uniform -- I felt an
overwhelming urge to drag him from the mat and go somewhere private
and show him just what I had wanted to do to him since I had first
met him.  By the end of class, my uniform was wet for more than one
reason and I was aching and hot for his body to be against mine,
skin to skin, alone, away from everyone.  

     The locker room was unisex and I quickly stepped into the
shower and lathered up, rinsed off and stepped out.  He was in the
next stall; I saw him briefly as he closed the curtain and turned
on the water -- oh, sweet pain!  

     I glanced about the room -- Riker, already showered, was
leaving, calling his intended destination out to the captain before
his departure.  The children were dawdling and for the first time
in eight months of teaching this class, it bothered me to no end.

     "Children, let's go!" I barked.  "Out!"

     Amazingly, with a little more prodding, they were gone, and
without stopping to think, I hurried to lock the door.  As I
reentered the stall room, the captain pulled aside the curtain and
stepped out, wrapping a towel about his waist.

     "Captain, you did a fine job this afternoon," I said, my heart
racing.  The flimsy robe I had on barely hid my erect nipples --
the room was steamy; there was no mistaking why they were standing
at attention.

     "Thank you --"

     "Christine," I said, somewhat disappointed.

     "Captain!"

     He was preparing to dress in one of the curtained stalls just
outside the shower room.

     "Yes?"

     "When is your ship leaving us?"

     "Tonight."

     "Well, then, I certainly don't have much choice, then -- do
I?"

     "Choice?  I'm afraid I don't understand."

     "I can't let you leave without throwing pride and dignity out
the nearest airlock and proclaiming in no uncertain terms that I
want you.  Now, here -- all afternoon."

     His look was the oddest I had ever seen on a man's face who
had been given such an offer from an attractive woman.  It wasn't
pleasure; it wasn't disgust; it was -- shock -- no, maybe it was
simply surprise?  How could he be surprised?  He must have noticed
my reactions to him.

     "Well, -- I -- I'm very flattered, but I'm afraid I can't
oblige you, Christine."

     Oh, shit -- the gentlemanly letdown.  I would have preferred
it if he had gotten angry or outraged, but no . . . that steady,
unperturbed look was back in place.

     "You are wasting your time with him, my dear."

     Startled, we both looked toward the voice.  A rather alluring
man in a Starfleet Admiral's uniform stood slightly behind the
captain and to his left.  

     "Who are you?  How did you get in here?" I snapped.

     "Q," the captain muttered angrily, "Get out of here!  Right
now! -- Please!"

     "Oh, you are desperate to be rid of me, aren't you, Picard? 
*Please?*  This will be fun to remember for all eternity."

     "Is this guy nuts?  Who is he?"

     "This is Q," Captain Picard said wearily.  "He is an
omnipotent being who has at times been of great help to the
Enterprise and even to me personally, but who rather unfortunately
appears to delight in tormenting me much more."

     "Oh, *mon capitan* -- if I had feelings, they would be sorely
hurt.  Torment you?  Well, you could have chosen death; then you
would have been rid of me -- oh, that's right -- no, you wouldn't. 
I forget myself."

     "This is an omnipotent being?  I would think he would have
something better to do," I said, somewhat uncertainly.  Part of me
expected to be vaporized, only to spend eternity floating about in
conscious bits, utterly lost and alone.  Another part of me
wondered just exactly what it would feel like to have an omnipotent
body like this one all over me -- my hormones were in an uproar,
screaming neglect.  Oh, why had I turned down that feisty Klingon
woman last month?  

     "Oh, my sweet!  You have the gall to question my activities
when the foremost thing on your savage, puny little mind is
exploring Picard's most intimate areas -- as well as mine, it would
seem?"

     "What does one do to get rid of this jerk?" I said,
embarrassed that my mind was being read and so crassly denuded.

     "Usually, -- do what he wants.  Go along with the game."

     "Splendid.  What do you want -- what's your name, -- Q? 
What's the game?  Insult the Mortal?  Eternal Banter?  Slumming
with Savages?"

     "Oh, she's so uppity, Picard -- reminds me of Vash.  Now that
very fact should pique your more prurient interests."

     "Who's Vash?  Was that a compliment or an insult?"

     "Ah, Picard, you are so unwilling to give women what they want
from you.  They have to try so hard -- but then you're the same way
from me -- one has to toil and toil before one gets anywhere with
you.  Trust me, my dear -- he's not worth it.  Besides, how
interesting can it be to experience carnal explorations with mortal
after boring mortal?  I'll admit I understand the need for such
indulgences; your lives are so empty otherwise -- but --"

     "What would you suggest, Almighty One?" I said, never one to
stand for being goaded so strenuously.  "Is this your way of
propositioning me?  I can handle it!"

     "Christine!" Captain Picard's voice was strained and somewhat
frightened; he was warning me that I was getting in over my head. 
I knew it; I felt it.  I didn't care.  I was pissed.  This
omnipotent pain in the ass was ruining my potential afternoon tryst
-- sure, it hadn't been going anywhere, but now he had really
thrown Picard for a loop, and Picard's good, though stoic mood was
clearly gone.

     "oh, what's the worst he can do?  Kill me?"

     "Oh, don't be silly, little human; killing comes too easily;
it's rather boring and unchallenging."

     "Well then?  Where's the challenge in me at all?  You're so
mighty and we're so weak and savage and loathsome.  Where's the
fun?  What's the point in your being here at all?"

     "Well, frankly," he whispered in my mind -- I know Picard
didn't hear, "I like to make Picard feel trapped and inadequate,
because he intrigues me when he rises to meet my challenges.  He
doesn't always succeed, but it's great fun watching him try."

     "How is this encounter making him feel inadequate?" I thought.

     "Oh, you'll see -- or should I say, you'll *understand* -- in
a most -- intimate way."

     I felt a hand on my breast and drew in a breath.  There wasn't
anything there.  Q's physical form was where it had been the whole
time; I touched my breast quickly, -- my hand brushed nothing, but
my breast was still enveloped in a soft grasp, and fingers were
seemingly tracing my nipple, tugging at it, pinching it.  Between
my legs, another hand was groping, fingers plunging inside me. 
This was horrible -- I had no control over this; I couldn't feel
the entity behind the hands, just the hands.  They were not really
there, and yet, they were everywhere.

     "Stop it -- I want you to --"

     I met his eyes.  They were mocking but so . . . so . . . oh,
no, I had to stop thinking like this.  Was he controlling my mind,
too?

     "Oh, no, my dear; your thoughts are all your own."

     I gasped as I was engulfed in an invisible embrace, then
suddenly Q was there before me, and my eyes met Picard's briefly as
Q picked me up.  They were shocked and staring -- the kind of look
I would never expect to see on a face like Captain Picard's.

     "Q, stop it!  Are you going to rape her?  What are you doing?"

     "Oh, Picard, your knight in shining armor routine is not
required here.  The little minx wants me -- oh yes, she wants me in
the most disgusting manner -- not quite as much as she wants you --
not yet, at least.  Let's see who she wants to spend the afternoon
with in a few moments, shall we?"

     All of this came to me in a haze as I lay in Q's arms.  His
hands weren't moving over me, yet hands were everywhere, gripping
me savagely, touching me lovingly, searing me with heat at the same
time a cold trickle of fear washed over me.  

     "Oh, I won't hurt you -- at least I don't think I will," he
smiled down at me, then pressed his lips roughly against me.  I
wanted to fight him -- I wanted to so much; my mind screamed
against my body, fighting for control -- but oh, shit -- his mouth
was so marvelous and his breath so sweet; I grasped the back of his
head and pushed myself against him hungrily at the same instant,
wanting to drown inside the kiss.  I was gasping for air and
moaning deep in my throat -- my stomach, my groin, my hands -- they
were burning -- so hot -- so *hot*.  And my skin -- it was -- it
was -- my robe was gone.

     I let out a moaning growl as my naked body touched Q's.  His
skin seemed to be covered with energy which poured into every pore
of my being.  I clung to him, digging my nails into his neck, his
chest.  I heard an hysterical voice screaming for him to please
stop -- please -- I'm going to die -- please stop -- and with a
jot, realize it was my voice pleading for mercy.  

     And yet, my body was trying to meet his entirely, I kept
thinking that if he would just surround me with his body, so that
absolutely every inch of me was covered with him -- life would be
complete, the epitome of desire reached.  

     "I'll do that if you ask me to spend the afternoon with you,"
he crooned in my ear.  "And if you tell Picard to leave.  Go ahead. 
Tell him to leave.  I've unlocked the door."

     Everything stopped.

     My body was covered with sweat; my heart banging ferociously
against my ribs.  My head hummed; my ears rang.  My clit throbbed,
unfulfilled, against Q's stomach as he stared into my eyes.  I saw
hunger there, and knew he was reflecting what was in my eyes.  I
saw desperation, pleading, -- holy fucking shit, what had just
happened?

     "Oh, don't tell me you've forgotten already," he teased,
flicking his tongue against my throat.  "Tell him to leave,
Christine.  Or I'll leave.  You have two minute."

     Q!"

     I actually think he was as startled as I.

     "What is it, *mon capitan*?  Would you like me to spend this
evening with you, perhaps, after Christine and I are through?  I
promise, I won't be tired."

     "you are despicable!  I didn't think you would sink to such --
such -- vulgarity simply to harass me.  Using another person in
your never-ending quest, Q?  You dare to judge my decision, my
motives?"

     "Oh, stop prattling, Picard.  Our hot young friend here is
cooling off; we don't want that, do we?  I don't think she does."

     "It's not a real contest unless you allow me to try to
convince her to have *you* leave, Q."

     "Oh, picard, please!  Surely you don't expect to be able to
compete with me?  I admit you have had more experience in your puny
short lifetime, but I assure you, you simply can't compare to what
I can do to this hungry, waiting woman."

     Oh, yuck, I couldn't believe this twit's tongue had been
probing my mouth -- or had it been my soul -- only a moment before. 
And yet, the memories -- oh, help!

     "How can you possibly do in fifteen little seconds what I
accomplished in that time?"

     *FIFTEEN SECONDS*!?  That was all it had been?

     "Ah, you see, my sweet -- just imagine what I could make you
experience in a few hours -- I believe I'll ruin all future
encounters for you."

     "If you're so sure of yourself," I forced my mouth to work --
something I rarely had to concentrate on, "Let Captain Picard try
to compete."

     He immediately complied, letting me go.  I instantly felt
empty and dejected; the flushed feeling left my whole body, and all
desire vanished.

     Then I glanced at Q -- and I came so hard I nearly fell onto
my ass.

     "You're not -- playing fair," I gasped, shaking, clutching the
back of a chair.

     "Oh, my dear, mortal life isn't fair.  You know that by now."

     Captain Picard was beside me, taking my hand.  It was warm,
strong, reassuring.  It was very nice, comforting, inviting.

     "I know you want him," he said to me quietly.  "I can only
imagine what he is capable of making you feel."

     "You don't have to imagine it, Picard.  I would be happy to
show you."

     Ignoring him, the captain continued.

     "But I suspect your interest -- your initial interest in me
was not only based on physical desire and an attraction to me, but
also the desire for a mutually satisfactory experience.  Certainly,
to be pleasured by a highly skillful lover is a fantastic
experience, not to have to satisfy that lover at all, to simply
accept everything as it happens, feel it and be overwhelmed by it. 
But is there any please in this for Q, except the insipid joy he
apparently receives from goading me?  I thought his games had more
significance than this -- they have in the past, but maybe I'm just
missing something.  Either way, nothing he does to you, and nothing
you might want to do to him, will affect him the way it would an
over-indulgent lover.  Nothing you do will excite him or surprise
him; he'll forget you immediately as a little game he played during
a tiny, tiny part of his existence.  His only joy in this
experience will be conquering me, not you.  You are a means to an
end.  And I am positive he can make you feel more than you've ever
felt, and you will no doubt yearn for it to happen again and again. 
Will he grant that to you?  Probably not.  He just might ruin
physical intimacy for you if you do this, Christine.  And you will
be left with a desire for something he will never give you again;
nothing and no one will be able to compare, and you will be
unfulfilled, no matter how special a person you might meet some day
-- he will ruin a very special part of life for you.  He doesn't
want you; don't give him what he does want."

     "You don't want me, either, Captain," I countered.  

     "I -- I do find you very attractive, and I certainly am not --
put off by the idea -- by the possibility -- of -- an intimate
afternoon with you.  I didn't turn you down for that reason; I
turned you down because I am not used to casual encounters and I am
-- in a fashion anyway -- involved with someone."

     "I'll never see you again, most likely.  And I'm sure you
sometimes make exceptions to your rule of passing up casual
encounters?"

     "Yes," he said, clearing his throat and looking warily at Q --
I suspect expecting him to make another comment about the
aforementioned Vash.

     "Well then, Captain?"

     Captain Picard took me into his arms gently -- oh so gently --
and kissed me.  The kiss began slowly, lazily, and I closed my eyes
and felt myself sink comfortably into the jangle of feelings which
began to creep throughout me.  He began to build the pressure in
his lips and tongue, and his embrace became more insistent.  I
nuzzled against him, fighting his tongue back into his mouth and
exploring it hungrily.  One of his hands pressed against my upper
thigh, and I felt the pulsebeat in my groin quicken and the
suffusion of heat enclose my clitoris.  Just when the kiss was
becoming almost too much to take, he withdrew and dropped his head
to my breasts, nuzzling each and alternating between my nipples
with his tongue and his fingers.  His other hand crept up with
maddening slowness, and he brushed my clit teasingly with two
fingertips.  I shuddered and gasped.

     He lifted my chin and kissed my throat, nipping me slightly. 
I wound my arms around him and lifted my feet from the floor,
wrapping my legs around him and pushing insistently against his
cock, the tip already slick with pre-ejaculate.

     He tried to pull back, wanting to delay the moment, but I was
hungry, my body had had quite enough of teasing and foreplay.  I
slid around him -- he was rather large -- and it felt so wonderful
I cried out before we had even started to move together.  We
somehow managed to  slide to the floor and we rolled around
entwined, thrusting away and gripping one another.  He kissed me
passionately and slowly, and my body was enjoying intensely the mad
rush each new touch, each new position.  

     Suddenly, I remembered Q, thinking that Picard would probably
prefer it if Q weren't there.  I broke our kiss to tell Q to get
lost -- but I didn't see him anywhere.