textfiles/sex/EROTICA/C/copulatn.txt

THE NEXT COPULATION
===================

By shelley, Oct - Dec `94
=========================


The door of the Captain's Ready Room hissed shut behind Commander Riker's
back as he planted himself firmly before the desk.

The Captain was clearly troubled. He looked up from the Padd before him and
let out a sigh. "Number One," he acknowledged.

Even Riker could see the exasperation in Picard's face. "Something wrong,
Sir?" he enquired evenly.

"Bloody Wesley bloody Crusher, that's what's wrong, Will. The little
bugger's driving me to distraction!" hissed Picard through gritted teeth,
smoothing back hair long since gone to oblivion.

Riker smiled wryly, stroking his beard. "Still clinging to his mother's
apron strings, Sir...?"

"Yes!" snapped Picard, "and especially when I'm trying to get Beverly's
apron off!"

Riker almost laughed out loud. The on-off romance between Picard and
Crusher was ship-wide knowledge, though, of course, everybody pretended to
have absolutely no idea, for the Captain's sake. This admission from his
Commanding Officer was unusual and out of character. The old boy must be
really worked up, he mused. "Anything I can do to help, is there Sir?" he
grinned.

"Well, yes Will, there is. I think the Wesley brat needs something to
occupy him when he's not getting in everybody's way in engineering or
making up dangerous experiments that threaten the ship." Picard took a deep
breath and leaned closer to Riker. "There's a limitless library of sexual
diversions on the Holodeck. Every trip to a Starbase fills the ship with
lovely young Ensigns. The saucer section's stacked with hordes of bored
parents and offspring doing nothing whatsoever that I'm aware of... the
point I'm trying to make, Number One, is that young Crusher has it all on a
plate, and yet shows no signs of taking a slice..."

"...and you feel, Sir, that once he does, he might not be, er, *around*
quite so much."

"Exactly!" Picard smacked the desk before him andsat up in his chair again. 
"Now, Will, I'm, er, *aware* that you have an, er, fondness, for the, um, 
`Tradesman's Entrance', if I might put it that way," stammered Picard, his 
bald pate reddening.

Riker grinned. "If you mean I like a bit of butthole, yes indeed Sir! I've
never made any secret of wanting to explore the rear ends of every male,
female or alien on this ship. Except, perhaps, for Mr Worf's..."

"...and my own, I trust!" gasped Picard.

"Well, not if you don't fancy that sort of thing..."

"I know it's rife at Starfleet Academy, but I never picked up the habit. I
stuck to running and fencing and reading. Us French aren't very keen on that 
sort of thing, you know. We tend to leave it to the English..."

Wow! I bet he's really tight! sighed Riker, inwardly. "So you'd like me to,
*introduce* young Wesley to life's pleasures?"

"Yes, Number One! Stretch the little sod's arse for him! Give him something
to think about every time he sits in his mother's quarters! The boy needs a
shag!"

Riker couldn't help laughing out loud this time. "Consider it done, Sir!
Next time he's in the way, just tell him to report to me. I'll sort it
out," he beamed.

Picard nodded gratefully. "It's either that or I'll blow him out of a 
torpedo tube... Anything I could do for you in return, Will?" he asked.

"There is, Sir. See if you can find out why Deanna prefers Worf to me. I'm
told he's hung like an Aldebaran donkey, and that's what I find strange...
Deanna wouldn't open up for *me* - either end -  and mine's tiny..." he
indicated, spanning a small space with thumb and index finger.

"I'll see what I can do..."

++++++

Ship's Counselor Deanna Troi stood before the mirror, her big black Betazoid 
eyes admiring her cleavage. It was nice to get off duty and put on her old 
mauve jumpsuit; nobody took much notice of her now she was forced to wear 
regulation uniform on the bridge. The old-style uniform had been okay, the 
one with the mini-dress and thigh boots, but some bore had decided it was 
sexist and had banned it. Pity. She had enjoyed flashing her knickers at 
some unsuspecting Ensign and chuckling as she empathically read his 
emotions. 

As she turned from side to side, thrusting out her chest, she was reminded 
of the underwear that performed the trick. "Wonderbra" it said in the ship's 
replicator catalog. One day she would have to ask the computer what that 
meant.

However, that would have to wait. She was busy. She had a good deal of 
course work to get through. Deanna had decided that she had better do a 
postal degree in Psychology. She had lied about her qualifications on her 
Starfleet job application form, relying on an extra low-cut top and a 
wonderfully retro miniskirt. 

It had worked, but now, whenever an alien face popped up on the Viewscreen, 
all she could offer was "He's hiding something..." People were beginning to 
notice.

She gave her breasts one last fond little jiggle, then sat at her desk and 
swung the Padd around to face her. She selected her paper "Personnel 
Relationships on Long Term Deep Space Voyages Aboard Galaxy-Class Federation 
Starships". She wondered if she might not have overdone it with the title, 
but decided it made it sound more impressive.

It might have had an impressive title, but the Counselor had precious little 
work done on its body. Seeing that she knew next to nothing about 
Psychology, she had made a conscious decision to cheat right from the 
outset.

Betazoids, especially those employed as Ship's Counselor, were not supposed 
to poke about inside the heads of their fellow crew members to seek out 
suppressed desires in order to further their own careers. That was only 
permitted in the pursuit of masturbatory fantasies.

Still, decided Deanna, licking her lips, all I've got to do is change their 
names about a bit. "Right then, let's see where I've got to," she said to 
herself. Her words sprung up at the bottom of her paper. "I wasn't talking 
to you!" she yelled at the computer. "Delete that last sentence!" The 
computer duly did so. "Computer, only write down what I'm saying if I begin 
with "write this down. Got that?"

"Acknowledged," relied the discarnate voice, its tone always reminding 
Deanna of her mother for some reason.

She took a deep breath. "Right then, let's see who fancies who. I know Worf 
fancies me all right, but he's just *too* big. The last time I saw anything 
like his sexual equipment it was radiation-enhanced tubers in that market on 
Alpha Onias Nine! 

"I don't think I need to be Betazoid to know that Jean Luc's got it hot for 
Beverly. Trouble is, *he* doesn't know *she's* absolutely panting to get 
inside *my* jumpsuit!"

Deanna laughed to herself about that. The poor old Doctor hid it *so* well 
on the outside, but Deanna caught waves of lust flowing from her whenever 
they were together, especially when they were alone, like for their morning 
exercises. Deanna could almost *see* Beverly peeling off her leotard in her 
mind! Not that she minded, of course. It was healthy to keep an even 
balance of sexual partners, be they male, female, androgynous, alien or 
android.

Deanna would wait until the day dear Beverly admitted her desires, and then 
she could treat the woman to a full-blown Betazoid sexual workout. No need 
for the good Doctor to go fancying humanoids with slugs in their bellies 
after that! No, a good grapple with the fiery-haired physician sounded fine 
to her...

"Much better than that caveman Will Riker," she said out loud. "All he ever 
wanted to do was flip me over and attack my butt with his sad little 
sausage! I'd sooner squirt on a bit of lubrication and take Worf, thorns and 
all!" she laughed.

This intellectual stuff was proving to be rather stimulating, she realized, 
giving herself a couple of discrete rubs between the thighs, where her 
outfit could be embarrassingly clingy sometimes.

"Anyway," she continued, "Geordi worries me the most. All I get from him is 
images of narrow hips and slender limbs, tender young genitals with just a 
dusting of downy hairs, flat chests and budding breasts. I might have to 
mention it to the Captain.

"Lieutenant Data doesn't really count, but everybody else sees him as some 
exotic kind of sex toy. There's a rumor going around the ship that he's 
capable of fitting on different parts in different shapes and sizes. I might 
ask him if he's got anything in my size one day...

"...and what about myself? Do I include me? Shall I admit I've got a thing 
for men with bald heads? That shiny skin rubbing between my thighs? Just 
what would Jean Luc say if he knew?" she mused, hand travelling down towards 
her groin again.

An idea suddenly struck her. She didn't have many, so she sat up and took 
notice. "Now, I fancy J-L, he fancies Beverly, Bevvers fancies me. Perhaps 
it's the sign of a good ship's Counselor to bring the three of us together 
to discuss our emotions, bring out all those repressed desires... Oh yes!"

Deanna stood and headed for her wardrobe, wondering if she still had the 
see-through dress from that episode where the Ambassador was draining her 
life force. Her nipples hardened at the thought.

She stopped and turned. "Computer? Did you get all that?"

"No, because you did not begin with the words `write this down', as you 
instructed."

"Shit!"

++++++

"Oh Dee, Dee!" breathed Beverly Crusher, knees weak and hands shaking as she 
struggled with the fastenings of Counselor Troi's outfit.

"Oh Jean Luc!" sighed Deanna, tugging at the collar of the Captain's 
uniform.

Picard, with a silent `thank you' to Will Riker and the Sacred Chalice of 
Rixx, reached for the secret zipper that held the key to Beverly's body, his 
at last.

"Data to Captain," came the android's voice over the Comm, "There's an 
incoming message, on a Secure Channel, Priority One, from Admiral Nechayev 
on Starbase 127..."

"Bollocks!" yelled Picard.

"I'm sorry Captain? Bollocks...? Searching.... Ah, human testicles, a 
slang.."

"That'll do, Data! Put it through to my Ready Room." snarled Picard, 
reluctantly letting go of Beverly.

"It would be more expedient if I were to put the admiral through to your 
quarters. Would you like me to do that, Sir?"

"Don't you bloody dare!" gasped Picard, fastening his uniform in panic. "Do 
what you're told, you bag of bolts! Picard out!"

He turned to the women on his sofa, both gasping with disappointment. "I'm 
sorry, ladies. We'll have to, er, try again another time. Oh, and you had 
better not, er, carry on without me, as I expect I'll have to do something 
tedious like call a meeting of the senior staff after this message from 
Nechayev. The bloody woman always means trouble..." Without further ado, he 
strode from the room.

Beverly was crying. Deanna slipped an arm around her shoulder. "Never mind," 
she whispered comfortingly. "J-L's bound to be busy later, and we can slip 
away..."

"All this time, and I thought you didn't care!" sniffed the Doctor, through 
tears of joy rather than disappointment. "The nights I've spent alone with 
the handle end of a Hypospray!"

"There, there," soothed Deanna, in what she hoped was a professional way. 
"You can have lots of visits to my Psychiatrist's couch now!"

Beverly's face brightened with a smile, and Deanna fondly kissed her cheek, 
leaving, unfortunately, a smudge of lipstick. "I'll be able to try some of 
that Simon Fraud stuff on you..."

"Simon Fraud?" wondered the Doctor. "Do you mean Sigmund Freud?"

"I expect so," blushed the Counselor.

++++++

"Admiral Nechayev", acknowledged Picard, standing before the screen in his 
Ready Room.

"And about time, too!" snapped the Admiral. "What the hell have you been up 
to...?" The Admiral leaned forward in her seat, eyes screwed up, closer to 
the viewer. Unexpectedly, her face broke out into a broad smile. "Well, well 
well, Captain Picard! Looks like you're all excited to see me after all, or 
I can't spot a throbbing erection in Starfleet issue pants any more!"

Picard hurriedly moved his hands to cover his embarrassment. "I, er..." he 
stumbled.

"It's okay, Jean Luc! I'm delighted!" she beamed. "Look, why don't you pop 
it out and whack off. Give me a moment and I'll slip off my uniform... I'm 
sure I could pop my bottom on the desk and spread my legs so you can watch 
while I use the butt of this phaser..."

"Admiral!"

"Hmm?"

"You called me Priority One, Secure Channel..." he quickly reminded her, as 
she had already tugged down her pants, revealing the cream silk camisole set 
she wore under her starchy Flag Officer's uniform.

"Oh, yes, I did, didn't I?" she sighed. "I suppose it'd better be business 
before pleasure..."

++++++

"Risan sexual lubricant - mint flavored - body temperature," ordered Riker. 
The replicator fizzled and produced a tub of glistening goo. He scooped out 
a dollop and slapped it upon his engorged organ, swollen to its full size of 
three inches. "Now," continued Riker, as he went back to Wesley, "just brace 
yourself against the table and raise your butt as high as it will go..."

The Red Alert siren went off. "Captain to all Senior Officers. Meeting in my 
Ready Room in five minutes." Yelled Picard, over the racket.

"Wouldn't you know it!" growled the Commander, thumping the pot of lubricant 
on the table. Sometimes Picard really was the limit! Why couldn't he just 
tell everybody what to do, like those old-time Starship Captains you read 
about, instead of holding an encounter group every time the menu needed 
changing in Ten Forward?

Worf heard the summons too. He dropped the Pain Stik he was using in an 
attempt to stun his genitalia into submission. It wasn't working. He was 
still as hard as a bat'telh. He couldn't erase that picture from his mind. 
That picture of tiny, fragile little Deanna Troi, teeth gritted in 
determination, lashing his bleeding flesh with the strength and conviction 
of a true warrior... Deanna Troi, whip in hand, dressed in soft, skin 
hugging leather with lots of buckles and straps... He zapped his organ 
again, the red glow of agony making his testes shrivel but his erection 
harden all the more.

With a guilty jerk, Chief Engineer La Forge snapped off the tricorder. It 
was passing images from the latest edition of the limited-circulation 
magazine `Adonis' directly into his brain via the VISOR's sensory inputs. He 
banged the cover of the EPS conduit shut and dropped down out of the 
Jeffries tube he had concealed himself in under the pretence of `fixing the 
plasma conduit'. One day, if he saved his pay, he could afford a private 
Holosuite of his own. Then he could indulge himself without the constant 
worry that someone would walk in at any moment, as they were apt to do with 
the ship's Holodecks. Were the ones with locks more expensive or something?

"Stop it, Bevvy," giggled Deanna, as the Doctor slid a hand across her taut 
buttocks with surgical skill, the passing lights of the turbolift shaft 
reflected in her blue eyes.

Beverly Crusher was drunk with happiness, hardly able to control herself. "I 
want you, Dee," she whispered. "Emergency Stop!" she said out loud, and the 
lift halted.

"Bev! We'll be late!" protested the Counselor, though not too vociferously, 
as Beverly's lips traced a path from under her chin towards her cleavage. 
She was beginning to enjoy the Doctor's attention. Somehow, the Captain's 
bald pate seemed less and less attractive. "Later!" she hissed.

"But I'm all hot and juicy!" panted Beverly, hugging the Counselor so 
tightly that Deanna felt their Comm badges pressing into one another and 
heard a double chirp as they went off.

Deanna gave her a last, lingering kiss, then said "resume". The doors flew 
open just as they parted, admitting the rest of the senior officers.

Riker look at the Counselor. "What's going on?" he asked, as the others 
reluctantly entered the turbolift, dragging their feet.

"Nothing. Nothing at all! We weren't doing anything!" she blushed.

The Commander looked puzzled "The Captain's summons..."

"Oh!" she blushed ever more furiously, "I don't know. Admiral Nechayev or 
something..."

"*That* bitch!" he scowled. No goddamn tea for us tonight!"

Beverly Crusher gave the Counselor a `but there's late supper for *you*' 
wink.

++++++

"Didn't the Nechayev bitch give you any clues as to what they want?" asked 
Commander Riker, lounging in the mauve high-backed chair and swivelling it 
around to face the others in the Conference Room.

"*Admiral* Nechayev, if you don't mind, Number One," frowned Picard, as the 
rest of the Senoir Staff sniggered like schoolchildren. "And, no, she 
didn't. She just ordered us to rendezvous with Commander Tomalak at some 
place or other..."

"Vaguest 3, Sir!" offered Data.

"That's, er, *miles* away!" noted Riker.

"Three hundred two thousand billion..."

"Thank you Data," cut in Riker. "How long 'till we get there?"

"About a day or so," offered the Captain, before Data offered then an ETA 
down to the nanosecond.

"So what's the Red Alert for?" asked the Commander, surprised.

"Ambassador Lwaxana Troi will arrive shortly by shuttle..."

The Conference Room erupted in groans and accusing stares fixed themselves 
upon the red-faced Counselor.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, staring at the table top, as waves of less than 
positive emotions reached her. She cheered up a little as she felt the 
Doctor's hand on her thigh as a gesture of support. She blushed for a 
different reason as fingertips sought and found the hot, aching place 
between her thighs.

"Dismissed, thankyou," said the Captain, and they all stood with a scraping 
of chairs. "Will," he nodded, and the First Officer stopped and turned.

"Perhaps we could assign Ensign Crusher the duty of greeting the
Ambassador," suggested the Captain to Riker, after the rest had left.

"Won't she be insulted if none of the senior officers turn up?" he
wondered, scratching his beard.

"Hopefully..." whispered Picard, half-suppressing a grin.

Riker smiled broadly. "Seems like a good idea, Sir. Mr Crusher needs
diplomatic experience as part of his training, don't you think?"

"Indeed! I don't suppose Chief O'Brien will miss him for a bit. Apparently
he's been fiddling with the pattern buffers or something..."

"Yes, I've heard something along those lines," nodded Riker. "But I heard it 
was *O'Brien* doing the fiddling - apparently he's working on the
Transporter Biofilters..."

"To what end?" wondered the Captain.

"To see if he can filter out Wesley as a virus the next time he beams up!"

++++++

"Just you wait until I see that Captain of yours!" threatened Ambassador
Lwaxana Troi huffily, as she strode along the corridor towards the Guest
Quarters, Mr Homn following closely behind with her luggage, and Wesley
Crusher almost running to keep up.

"Uh, it's the first room on the left, Ma'am," he offered desperately, and
Lwaxana, almost without breaking pace, stamped inside the room.

"Same miserable pastel shades," she sighed, hands on hips, as her cases
thudded down beside her, Mr homn off in search of the drinks. "Haven't you 
people heard of color?" she scowled.

The room filled with inflamed pheromones, special extra-strong Betazoid
ones that suddenly sparked a reaction in the young Ensign. Wesley, riding
on a blast of testosterone, thought Mrs Troi looked rather desirable in her
backless dress, cut almost to the cheeks of her behind...

...and that thought, of course, was instantly picked up by the Ambassador,
who spun around. "Why, thank you, young man! I'm glad you like what you 
see!" she announced, her dark eyes fixed on his.

Wesley blushed furiously, wondering...

"...if I might like to relieve you of your virginity?" beamed Mrs Troi.
"I'd love to, young man! Come along this evening when you're off duty and
you'll leave well-relieved, I can promise you!"

Wesley backed out of the room wordlessly, still red-faced and overcome with
surprise.

Lwaxana smiled indulgently, and gave him a wink as the door closed. "Well,
well, well! Looks like this wasn't a wasted trip after all!" she laughed,
as fresh hormones coursed through her Betazoid body, where middle-age meant
nothing.

++++++

As the Turbolift zoomed towards Crew Quarters in the Saucer Section, Deanna 
Troi reached out to gently tug the communicator from Beverly's heaving 
breast, adding it to her own, already in her palm. The lift stopped and 
opened to reveal a cleaner pushing a trolley with buckets, mops and dusters. 
The two officers stepped out and helped the hunched up old lady into the 
lift, Deanna plopping the communicators into one of the buckets half-filled 
with gray water.

Beverly gave Deanna a nod and a grin. "That'll keep them off our backs for a 
bit, laughed the Counselor, as she opened the door to her quarters.

"...but it won't keep me off yours!" giggled the Doctor, chasing her into 
the room.

++++++

"Come in, young man," beckoned Ambassador Lwaxana Troi, stepping away from
the door to allow Wesley Crusher, on shaking legs, to enter.

"Thank you," he croaked nervously.

"I've packed Mr Homn off to Ten-Forward and made sure we'll be undisturbed
for the evening," Lwaxana smiled, trying to reassure and calm the boy. "I've 
set us a light meal, and when we've done with that I'll introduce you to the 
one thing that makes life, with all its troubles, worth living."

Wesley was close to swooning. Mrs Troi was completely naked, after all, and 
it was difficult for him not to look.

She tutted and batted her eyelids. "Oh, you silly boy," she laughed, "You're 
*supposed* to look! I *want* you feast your eyes on my very favorite outfit 
of all! This is an honorable and ancient Betazoid tradition, the 
introduction of young male friends into the ways of love, and I'm delighted 
I've beaten Deanna to you!"

She smiled again as another thought crossed the boy's mind. "... and don't
worry about getting an erection, young man! I'd be offended if you didn't! 
We'll deal with *that* later, because it won't be your last! Now sit down 
and try and eat something with me. At least with Mr Homn out on the town you 
won't have to put up with that gong!"

Hesitantly, Wesley did as he was bid, trying not to visibly tremble as Mrs
Troi leaned across him to pour him some wine, breasts nearly at his lips.

She fondly ruffled his immaculately-combed hair, and perched her bottom on
the table to face him. "Listen, you cute boy. I won't tell your mother, I 
won't tell *anybody* about tonight. You might start this evening being 
nervous and clumsy, but you won't end it that way!"

Wesley Crusher's view of the world went pink around the edges as Mrs Troi 
fondly stroked the hair between her thighs. "You're going to learn *all* 
about this creature tonight," she promised.

++++++

Deanna Troi was surprised with herself. The idea of sex with Beverly
Crusher had always been an intriguing possibility. The idea that she might 
have fallen in love with the red-headed Doctor came as more of a shock. She 
secured the door behind them with a password that came out more like a 
squeak, then let herself be caught by the passion-inflamed Chief Medical 
Officer.

There was no mistaking the emotions coming from Beverly as she sat across
Deanna's buttocks and tugged at the zipper starting at the nape of her
neck. There was no mistaking that Deanna felt them too. There was nothing
she wanted more than Beverly's undivided attention, not even a dish of
chocolate sundae.

She struggled only symbolically as Beverly drew her top off over her head,
dark brown hair extensions cascading across her shoulders. She blocked
Beverly's attempts at unfastening the catch of her Wonderbra, determined
instead to pull off Beverly's top and even up their scores.

They paused for a moment on catching the look in each other's eyes. It was
a look of mutual love and desire. Before they continued their one-for-one
removal of each other's clothes they decided to enjoy a long, deep kiss.

Deanna broke off, surprised.

"Yes," nodded Beverly, "chocolate-flavored lipstick!"

They both burst into uncontrollable laughter, falling into one another's
arms.

++++++

Captain Jean Luc Picard had been staring at the Greek text before him,
turning the pages distractedly, partly because he was suffering from divided 
loyalties, and partly because he couldn't actually read Ancient Greek, in 
spite of the impression he gave of being a Classical scholar.

The screen beeped and displayed the UFP logo and `Incoming Personal
Message'. The interruption was welcomed by him, and he hoped it would make
him forget his troubled thoughts. The still-unknown caller would bring no
such relief.

Admiral Nechayev's smile greeted him. "Hi, Jean Luc," she simpered, her
image full-frame. She crossed her legs, and he could hear the hiss of
whatever delicate fabric it was that covered her legs so sheerly.

Her legs! he realized, sitting up. The Admiral was clearly off duty, as her
skirt reached to mid-thigh at best, and her top cut to display a
magnificent cleavage always hidden by black and red serge. Her blond hair 
was loose and flowing. The woman was astonishingly attractive, he was forced 
to admit. "Ah, good evening..."

She interrupted "...now if you dare say `Admiral' I'll have you demoted!"
she teased.

Picard went cold with the realization that he'd forgotten the woman's first
name. Or perhaps she didn't have one. "...my love," he finished suavely, 
kicking himself.

Admiral Nechayev was clearly delighted by his term of endearment. "Jean
Luc! My God, I wish I was within transporter range, you darling!" she 
purred, skirt slipping further and revealing ever more thigh.

Merde, he groaned inwardly, now I've gone and encouraged her...

Suddenly her happy face was replaced with a familiar and unwelcome male
one.

"Oh, Mon Capitaine!" beamed Q, "she adores you!"

"Go away, Q!" snapped Picard.

"I will, I will! But first, I'm going to grant that lovely woman's request!
Oh, and by the way, her name's Alynna..."

With a whoosh, Q's image disappeared from the viewscreen, leaving Picard
staring at the Admiral's empty room.

"Jean Luc...?" came an uncertain voice from behind him. He turned to find
Alynna Nechayev draped across his sofa, eyes wide with shock.

"I..." began Picard.

"I don't care how it happened," interrupted Admiral Nechayev, kicking off 
her heels, "just get your clothes off, Captain Picard. And that's an order!"

Jean Luc studied her gravely for a moment. "Yes, Sir!" he decided, reaching 
for his collar.

++++++

Alynna Nechayev was now naked except for the archaic leg coverings she
wore. Picard had been fascinated to learn that these strange silky affairs
were all the rage hundreds of years ago. They were fastened to little tabs
that hung from a frilly belt around the Admiral's waist, and were decidedly
erotic. Alynna explained to him that they were very French, and it seemed
to stir some racial memory in him. He grasped a stocking-clad ankle in each
hand and placed the Admiral's admirable legs upon his shoulders.

Deanna slid Beverly's sturdy knickers off her childbearing hips then along
and off her dancer's legs. The Counselor was already naked, as she did not
wear panties, a legacy from the days of her jumpsuits and the need to avoid
any unsightly lines. She ran her hands through the Doctor's thick red
hair, noticing that her roots needed doing, and was about to mention it to
her when Beverly's lips descended to her brown, erect, Betazoid nipple.

Ambassador Lwaxana Troi helped the shaking boy step out of his Starfleet
pants, now around his ankles, and returned her attention to Wesley's
overexcited organ. The poor lamb must be fit to explode, she mused. It would
be kindest to release the pressure quickly, then build it up all over again. 
After all, the young Ensign would be on active service the whole night. She 
licked her lips in anticipation.

The Red Alert hooter went off.

++++++

Arriving on the bridge, Picard found the image of Commander Tomalak leering
down at them from the main viewscreen.

"Ah, Captain Picard!" jeered the Romulan, "Your crew has managed to find
you after all!"

Picard made a neck-slicing motion towards Worf, who had only just gotten
used to the idea that this meant `shut off the sound' and not `kill them'.

In the Captain's opinion it was a bad decision by Starfleet to have
communications and weapons controlled by the same officer. Although Picard
hadn't dared admit it, the infamous Battle of Maxia, back when he was in
command of the USS Stargazer, had been directly caused by a wrong button
being pressed. A friendly Hail to the Ferengi vessel had turned into a
first strike with Phasers.

He turned to Deanna Troi, who had just appeared on the bridge with Doctor
Crusher, both of them looking somewhat dishevelled. "Do you detect
anything, Counselor?" he frowned.

"He's..."

"HE'S HIDING SOMETHING!" chorused the entire bridge crew, in perfect
unison.

"Well, he *is*..." pouted the Counselor, hurt.

"I think that's bloody obvious to everyone!" snapped the Captain. "That's
like Mr Worf when he says `the ship has been destroyed' right after the
thing's just blown up in our faces! Honestly, I might be thinning a little
on top but I'm not blind..."

"Don't have a go at me, you cantankerous old bastard!" yelled the Counselor
in retaliation, making everybody on the bridge cringe, bar Worf, who glowed
with pride and admiration.

Deanna leapt out of her seat and stalked off the bridge, nearly throwing
herself into the turbolift.

Worf got one last look of his beloved, her arms crossed, glowering, and
sighed. He pictured himself reading the fiery little creature Klingon love
poetry as she hurled vases, chairs and other exciting blunt objects at him.
A true Warrior's mate! His sexual weaponry bucked painfully inside his
duranium codpiece at the thought.

The bridge stood still in deathly silence, then suddenly everybody found
something to do and say and be busy with before the Captain had a chance to
do or say anything.

Picard raised an eyebrow at the Doctor beside him.

"Coitus Interruptus," she explained, with a sigh.

"I know the feeling," he grimaced. He looked at the doctor questioningly.

She smiled coyly, "yes, we are. At least we're *trying* to!" she grinned.

"Ah..."

"I know. You've got someone else on your mind." said Beverly.

Picard felt the back of his neck in case the Doctor had reinstalled their
mind link during the night, making her laugh.

"I know you too well, Jean Luc Picard. Remember, I'll always have a warm
place between my thighs for you," she simpered, fixing him with her blue
eyes and causing renewed swelling in his pants.

Beverly wanted him. Deanna, hopefully, still wanted him. Alynna most
definitely wanted him. Captain Picard decided that, just to be on the safe
side, next time he was alone he would say out loud "Computer, exit!" just in 
case some cruel practical joke was being played on him involving the 
Holodeck.

"Hadn't I better go fetch Dee?" suggested the Doctor.

"Make it so," he smiled, mesmerized. He watched Beverly go, and fervently 
hoped that nobody else on the bridge noticed the wink she turned to give him 
as she reached the turbolift.

He breathed out a long sigh, performed the Picard Maneuver on his 
ill-fitting jacket, and wondered why everybody else was staring at him 
expectantly. Merde!

He turned to the viewscreen, where Tomalak was frustratedly tapping the
glass at his end, making an `anyone at home?' face. The Captain stood
before the image of the irritated Romulan and planted himself there in a
very authoratitive pose, as taught on the Academy's `Advanced
Assertiveness for Command Ranks' course.

"Now listen, Commander Tomalak, I don't know what you think you're
doing but you'd better explain very quickly. You've crossed over the
Neutral Zone and are now in Federation territory, and as such are
committing an Act of War, so..."

Tomalak was cupping one hand behind his pointed Romulan ear, and using the
other to gesticulate towards his mouth, which he kept opening and closing
theatrically.

"What on earth's up with him?" asked Picard to Riker.

"Er, the sound's not on..." he explained uncomfortably.

Picard glared at Worf. "Sound on, Mr Worf," he said quietly, clenching his
fists.

"...Starfleet imbeciles!" came Tomalak's voice, which stopped when the
sound came on again. He stopped and drew breath, calm and composed again.
"You were saying something, Captain Picard...?"

"Er, yes," mumbled Picard, acutely embarrassed and unable to regain his
posture in time. "Something wrong?"

"Captain Picard," began the Romulan, in oily tones, "we've got a little
surprise for you..."

The camera at the Romulan end began to pan out and turn to the left,
theatrically revealing a prisoner standing between two guards, her hands
and feet manacled together.

The bridge gasped audibly at the prisoner's face, familiar despite the
pointed ears. It was Lieutenant Yar's supposed daughter, Sela!

"See! I *told* you he was hiding something!" came the indignant voice of the 
Counselor, from the turbolift.

++++++

"Normally, of course," continued Commander Tomalak, "we'd have shot her out
of hand for her incompetence. But we thought of our friends in the
Federation and wondered whether you might like her instead."

Picard stood and made the neck-chopping motion at Worf. "Well, opinions?" he 
asked.

"It's a trap," replied Worf, rather predictably. "Shall I power up the 
Photon Torpedoes?"

"I agree. It's definitely a trap. Let's nuke 'em!" responded Riker, 
enthusiastically, gathering many nods and murmers of agreement from the 
other ranks on the bridge.

"He's hiding something. And it's a biggie..." warned Counselor Troi.

"Since when have we trusted Romulans, Jean Luc?" cautioned Doctor Crusher.

"Captain, I've channelled the phasers through the warp engines for maximum 
firepower. Let's zap them!" Chipped in La Forge, Visor glinting with 
enthusiasm.

"Statistically speaking, and using prior occasions as examples, it seems 
that the Romulan Commander is likely to be attempting to deceive us in some 
way, Captain," said Data, turning around at Ops to face the Captain. 
"Therefore I conclude that our best course of action under these 
circumstances, is, to use the vernacular, to `blow them away'. Sir."

The Captain sat and thought for a moment as the crew hung in their chairs, 
fingers poised over big red buttons, itching to unleash bad vibes at the 
Warbird.

"Open channel, Mr Worf", he said, standing. "Commander Tomalak. Prepare to 
beam Sela aboard..."

The rest of his sentence was drowned out by the gasps of amazement from his 
crew and the thuds where they fell off their chairs in disbelief. All the 
racket drowned out the sniggers from the bridge of the Warbird.

Picard turned and glared at the pleading officers, missing the wink Tomalak 
gave Sela, and the movement she made as she patted her stomach and the flask 
of antimatter she had swallowed, her stomach acid already eating away at its 
container.

++++++

Worf and his twelve security officers stood in transporter room one, waiting 
for the arrival of Commander Sela from the Warbird. He had stressed that 
their phasers should be set to `stun', but everybody had secretly reset them 
to `fry', including Worf himself, who also had a d'k tahg knife tucked into 
his belt just to be on the safe side.

Once Picard had left the bridge Riker had scurried to the vacated weapons 
panel, aimed all weapons at the Romulan ship, and now stood by with his hand 
over the extra-big, red `fire' button.

On his way to the transporter room, Captain Picard had noticed that the crew 
were hanging about suspiciously close to the lifeboat stations, and he was 
beginning to wonder whether he was making the right decision after all.

Picard, Crusher, Troi and Data entered the transporter room. "Energise," 
snapped Picard, but O'Brien hesitated. Picard glared. "I said *energise*, Mr 
O'Brien!"

"Yes, Sir," sighed the chief, nodding his apologies to the rest of the crew 
and gritting his teeth as he operated the sliders.

Over on the Romulan Warbird, Sela felt the first tingle of the Federation 
transporter beam, and gave Commander Tomalak a conspirational nod and grin 
as she disappeared.

The self-satisfied smile Tomalak gave her back was literally wiped off his 
face as he and his ship vaporized in a cataclysmic explosion.

Sela arrived on the Enterprise transporter pad, feeling lighter.

"Captain!" came Commander Riker's excited voice, "the Romulan ship has just 
exploded!"

Picard said nothing, stunned.

"Sensors show it was an antimatter explosion, centered on their bridge!"

They all looked at Sela, who was clutching her stomach. The Universal 
Translator interpreted her next word as `Fuck!'.

"Sir! The transporter log shows the detection of a significant amount of 
antimatter on Commander Sela's person before she beamed over. It got 
rejected and left behind," reported O'Brien.

"My Tricorder shows Sela has an empty polymer flask in her stomach," added 
Doctor Crusher, medical tricorder humming.

"It appears that Commander Sela was attempting to use herself as a `human 
time bomb', or, more accurately, a half human, half Romulan time bomb. It 
seems that this opportunity to acquire a Romulan officer was nothing more 
than a suicide mission, or perhaps it could be likened to the fable of the 
Trojan Horse..." babbled Data.

Picard let him ramble on, as the Captain's mind was filled with blind panic. 
How could he have been so stupid! `Never trust the Romulans', Sarek had 
reminded him once. Perhaps he should have paid more attention during their 
mind-meld. What the hell was he going to do now? He was going to look a 
complete idiot in front of the crew and probably get thrown out of Starfleet 
for incompetence. Having Admiral Nechayev waiting in his cabin must have 
been preying on his mind...

"Captain," came Riker's voice. Picard looked up, as its tone was 
congratulatory. "that was brilliant! You guessed their plan, didn't you, 
Sir?"

"Ah," mumbled Picard.

"You played along, but you weren't fooled for a moment! We've ended up with 
Sela and blown away that slimeball Tomalak into the bargain! You had us all 
going that time, Jean Luc. We thought you'd gone senile! But you were one 
step ahead of all of us! Congratulations, Sir!"

The whole transporter room, Sela included, turned in awe to the Captain.

"Ah, It was nothing," he said modestly, realizing his hide just might have 
been saved. The solution to another problem suddenly appeared. "Admiral 
Nechayev, this is Captain Picard. Please come to transporter room one. Our 
guest has arrived." He looked at his officers, who were gaping. "The Admiral 
secretly beamed aboard for this mission," he explained, hoping he could 
intercept her and let her in on things before she arrived.

++++++

Jean Luc Picard sat in his quarters relaxing. The Enterprise had just 
dropped off Commander Sela, the soon-to-be Fleet Admiral Nechayev and 
Ambassador Troi at Starbase 127, and things were getting back to normal on 
the ship again.

His quarters seemed empty without Alynna now, and were tidy again now that 
he had replaced all the broken furniture and torn sheets. He smiled and 
rubbed his wrists, still red from their bindings, in fond memory.

The door chimed, and it was Beverly Crusher.

"Tired of Deanna already?" grinned Jean Luc, as she swept in.

"I fancied a bit of variety," she smiled seductively, throwing herself on 
his newly-upholstered sofa, doctor's coat falling away to reveal how little 
she wore underneath. "Anyway, Dee says she's got some business to finish. 
So, I thought to myself, have Jean Luc and I..." She pointed a leg to the 
ceiling and followed its contours with her fingertips. "You're not busy, are 
you?" she wondered, innocently.

"Captain to bridge," said Picard, rising.

"Riker here."

"I'm not to be disturbed, unless it's something very important."

"*How* important, Sir?"

"Warp Core Breach important!"

"Understood, Sir," grinned Riker.

++++++

Wesley Crusher sat on his bed dejectedly. Lwaxana Troi had left without 
their completing the Betazoid Rite of Sexual Awakening, and is genitals 
ached with disappointment as he resigned himself to another night of wrist 
action.

The door chimed, and he flushed red to find it was Counselor Troi.

She smiled her calming smile. "Wesley, I've come to apologise on behalf of 
my mother," she explained, sitting beside him on the bed. "She regrets being 
called away before she could finish what she started."

Wesley blushed furiously, not knowing what to say, trying not to stare at 
the Counselor's ample cleavage.

"So, she asked me to take over. You don't mind making do with me, do you?" 
asked Deanna, tugging at her zip.

The End