textfiles/sex/EROTICA/T/troitrob.txt

	Deanna felt the expectations of her crewmates around the corner 
    of her mind, like a pleading, anxious moan.  The Enterprise was in 
    danger, and it was Deanna they had turned to--it was Deanna whom they 
    expected to save them.
	They were depending on her because the problem was emotion.  For 
    the past several days, powerful emotional outbursts had possessed random 
    members of the crew--up to a dozen, by now--in which buried, repressed 
    desire bubbled up the surface and overflowed like a cup of boiling 
    water.  One crewmember began passionately kissing a woman he had secretly 
    loved for years.  Another woman assaulted an ex-lover and left him 
    severely wounded.  It wasn't coincidence; something out there was causing 
    it.  And because of Deanna's empathic powers, they were all depending on 
    her to find out exactly what.
	Was it coincidence, also, that Deanna's personal life was acting 
    up at the same time as these strange incidents?  At this exact moment, 
    her lover, Worf, was glaring at her with intense, dark eyes, his features 
    furrowed into a frown even more intense than his normal scowl.  He was 
    demanding things of her, accusing her...she tried to put the unresolvable 
    dilemma of the Enterprise out of her mind, so she could focus, just for 
    now, on the quarrel that had strangely errupted between them.
	"You are quite used to having things your way," Worf growled at 
    her.  "When you were Riker's lover, you were always in control.  But if 
    we are going to make this work, things need to change."
	Deanna was really quite struck at the palpable aggression her 
    emphathic powers sensed from him; waves of anger beat against her like 
    drops of rain.  She brushed back a strand of long hair, and her dark, 
    glittering eyes--as gleaming and mysterious as a pair of black 
    stars--studied Worf intently.  Was Worf acting like himself?  Or was this 
    all part of the puzzle, the one that somehow, she had been given the 
    responsibility to solve?
	"I don't understand what you mean, Worf," she said gently, 
    reaching her hand to brush across the slope of his forehead, the texture 
    of his dark skin.  "If there's something you want from me, something that 
    I'm not giving, you have only to ask."
	At this concession, Worf suddenly seized up and let forth a deep 
    snarl.  Deanna moved back startled--she suddenly realized he seemed to be 
    fighting with himself.
	He snapped at her, his voice low and fiery.  "Klingons do not 
    mate the same as humans.  We are violent...brutual.  We enjoy giving and 
    receiving pain as part of the mating ritual."
	Deanna averted her eyes, feeling a slow sense of shame begin to 
    creep over her and envelop her.  She knew this...but she had never 
    broached the subject.
	Worf continued, "I have been restraining myself in my relations 
    with you.  I knew you would not be able to fulfill the role of a Klingon 
    woman, and I have not asked that of you."
	She raised her eyes to him.  "Then what are you asking me now?"
	He gave out a gutteral sound that seemed to rattle in his 
    throat.  "I am asking...for fairness.  I want to mate as Klingon, not a 
    Betazoid.  I want...."
	Deanna perceived his mood change, a move from gray, metallic 
    anger to a bright, multi-colored prism that she understood as sexual 
    arousal.  In his mind, images and pictures were flashing before him, and 
    they were being translated into need.  Almost without thinking, she 
    grabbed his hand.
	"What do you want, Worf?  I am your friend, and your lover.  I 
    will give you want you want.  But you have to tell me."
	He flung her hand away from him.  "The last thing I want is your 
    Betazoid empathy.  I want something real, direct, not your practiced 
    bedside manner."
	This was a slap in the face.  Her gorgeous dark eyes grew wide 
    and uncomprehending: something was definitely wrong here.  She opened her 
    mouth to speak.
	 But then a sharp cry pierced the air, followed by a number of 
    slapping sounds.  It was the sound of flesh being struck, and it was 
    quickly followed by a woman's muffled sobbing.
	Whatever was possessing Worf, he seemed to shake its influence.  
    He barked a gruff "Come on" to Deanna, before he was down the corridor in 
    search of the origin of the sounds.  His speed belied his bulk; he was 
    not only strong, but could move amazingly fast.  Deanna had to hurry to 
    keep up with him.
	They rounded a corridor, and stopped short at an astounding 
    sight.  A young male ensign, with sandy-brown hair and dark blue eyes, 
    was sitting on the floor with his back to the wall.  Across his lap was 
    another ensign--a lovely young woman with tumbling red hair--her 
    starfleet uniform in tatters on the floor, her young backside upturned 
    into the air.  It was rosy red; the sound had been that of a spanking.  
    The woman was crying softly.
	So was the young man.  His face wore an anguished expression, and 
    he turned to Worf and Deanna pleadingly.  "I...I'm sorry," he managed.  
    "I don't--I don't know what came over me.  Arissa and I were going off 
    duty, and we were going to have a drink at 10-Forward, when I had this 
    desire to...to..."  He suddenly realized that Arissa was still placed 
    across his lap, for he suddenly looked at her and tried to help her to 
    her feet.
	Deanna turned to look at Worf.  "It's that thing again.  And it's 
    getting worse."
	Worf nodded, his eyes dark, intense pinpoints of black light.  He 
    tapped his combadge and snapped, "I need a security team to the fourth 
    level, section 7-G."  Addressing the ensigns, he said, "You will be 
    escorted to sickbay.  You will both be given a full psychiatric and 
    physical examination by Dr. Crusher."
	The young man nodded, still shaking.  "Y-yes sir."  The young 
    woman, clutching the remains of her outfit around her, also managed to nod.
	Deanna and Worf remained until the security team arrived, then 
    they slowly made their way back to Worf's quarters.  Deanna's mind was a 
    furious blur of activity.  There was something about this particular 
    incident that seemed to make the pieces fit together...she had picked up 
    on the young man's sexual arousal; clearly, he had, on some level, 
    enjoyed administering the spanking.  The young woman had also enjoyed it; 
    she, too, had radiated sexual arousal so powerful that Deanna had to 
    block it in order to maintain her concentration.   But she sensed that 
    the woman's arousal was largely negated by surprise and shock at the 
    unexpected punishment.
	Could the entity be experimenting with various forms of 
    deep-seated emotion, and its effect on those who possessed it?  Or was 
    there more to this than simply an experiment?
	Her reverie was interupted by Worf.  She hadn't even realized 
    that they were back inside his quarters.  Worf turned to her and grabbed 
    her shoulder.
	"What we witnessed was a human form of giving pain," he snarled 
    at her.  "And you are too frail to even withstand that.  You are no mate 
    for a Klingon."
	"Worf!" she returned. "This is no time for discussing our 
    personal problems.  We have to--"
	"Falling back on duty again," Worf interupted.  "That is very 
    important to you, Deanna. Perhaps more so than even me."
	"Worf, you are being absurd."
	"And you are being willful and stubborn."
	It only vaguely occurred to Deanna that she was quite possibly in 
    trouble.  She had no doubt now that Worf was partially under the control 
    of the entity--he was saying and doing things that he may only have 
    thought on a subconscious level--and there was no reason to believe he 
    would not act on his feelings, just as the other victims had.
	At that moment, something seemed to alter inside her.  Like a 
    kaleidoscope, her desires shifted from one color to another.  Instead of 
    the smoothly professional, calm starfleet counselor, Deanna was now 
    something else.  She sensed Worf's intentions, and was possessed by a 
    desire to goad him, to encourage him.
	"Yes, I am willful and stubborn," she told him playfully. "And 
    you, like all Klingons, are nothing but talk."
	"What?" he demanded, his face turning from rage to surprise.
	"You heard me.  You Klingons growl a good fight, but you're more 
    like a bunch of nattering old Ferengi.  No wonder you were forced to sign 
    a peace treaty with the Federation--you found you couldn't just talk your 
    enemies to death."
	Deanna thought: THIS ISN'T ME TALKING.  IT'S THE ENTITY--I'M 
    UNDER IT'S CONTROL.  But that realization was no consolation.  She began 
    to say something else, but then she looked at Worf, and sucked in her breath.
	He was furious.  Rage seemed to radiate around his brown head 
    like fumes.  With a single fluid motion, his hand shot forward and 
    grasped her arm.  At almost the same instant, his other hand reached 
    behind her to undo the catch of her uniform, a light-blue turquoise 
    jumpsuit that he proceeded to peel away from her skin.  She soon dangled 
    naked in his grasp: her dark-tipped nipples, which had grown 
    unaccountably stiff, and that dark patch of hair between her legs.
	She stared at him, unabashed in her nudity; after all, they had 
    been naked together many times.  She tried to remain calm, but she felt 
    that presence in her head, drawing on a part of her personality she had 
    never dared to express.  "I take back everything I said," Deanna 
    returned.  "You know how to take off my clothes; that definitely proves 
    your worth as a warrior."
	With a cry of frustration and rage, Worf lifted her in the 
    air--and then he sat down on the plush couch and flopped her over his 
    lap.  For a moment, Deanna was too shocked to speak--he couldn't possibly 
    be thinking of imitating that barbaric human ritual they had witnessed 
    earlier in the corridor.  The sudden flush of humiliation resulting from 
    the position--that of dangling over her lover's lap, totally naked, 
    bottom thrust in the air--allowed her to momentarily regain control of 
    her own tongue.  She shrieked, "Worf, put me down this instant!  This is 
    no time for foolishness!"
	"That would not be a good idea," Worf snapped.  "You are too 
    frail to withstand a Klingon punishment, so let us see how you handle a 
    human one."  With that, he brought his heavy hand down hard upon her 
    backside.  
	CRACK!  Worf was, of course, quite strong, and it didn't feel 
    like he had checked the momentum of his blow at all.  Deanna felt a 
    moment of shock, as the intense pain spread through her bottom, and then 
    she gave a short cry.
	"I thought as much," Worf scolded.  "Very frail."  He spanked her 
    again, the blow landing only slightly to the right of the first.  Deanna 
    kicked and bucked, instinctively trying to squirm out of his grasp, but 
    she realized that he was holding her fast; she was absolutely unable to 
    escape.
	A third painful spank landed hard on the very curve of her 
    buttocks.  "OWW!!" she cried, unable to keep quiet.  "Worf, I'm sorry!  
    I...I don't know what..."
	"Silence!" he ordered, and began a series of sharp, blistering 
    spanks, that rained down on her left and her right buttocks alike.  
    SMACK!  SMACK! SMAACK!!  "Ohhhh!  Worf, please, can't we--OWW!!!  Talk 
    about this--OH!!  Stop this at once!!!"
	It was unbearable; her bottom couldn't take one more spank, and 
    yet they continued harder and faster with each new impact.  She squirmed 
    to the side, trying to avoid the blows, but this only provoked Worf to 
    spank her more vigorously, so that her bottom stung with a fierce, 
    lancing pain.
	She also began to be aware of her sex.   It had grown quite wet, 
    almost hungry--and although the primary thought in her mind was how much 
    she hurt, how much she wanted the awful, painful spanking to be over, she 
    was also aware of how much she wanted Worf inside her--maybe more than 
    she ever had.
	After he had spanked her several dozen times, her threshold was 
    nearly crossed, and she began to cry.  This was, perhaps, the final 
    humiliation---the professional counselor of emotions unable to control 
    even her own.  At this, Worf stopped the spanking, his hand raised high 
    in the air.
	"You seem to have learned your lesson," he observed.
	"I...I have, Worf. Please let me go...please!"
	"I will," he said softly.  "AFTER another six blows." With that, 
    he delievered six final blistering spanks, each one bringing a fresh 
    burst of tears out of Deanna's eyes, and a new plea for leniency.  
    Finally, at the end, she lay sobbing over his lap, unable even to get to 
    her feet.  Her bottom was a deep, dark red and scored by dozens of tiny 
    welts; Worf's hard, heavy hand had had abraded her skin to some degree.
	Finally, Worf helped her to her feet.  She finished crying--as 
    much from the humilation as the pain--and she her hand held behind her, 
    as though the gentle pressure of her own fingers could cool the burning 
    pain in her backside.  Then they stared at each other.
	She suddenly noticed how hard Worf was; his erection bulged out 
    his uniform.  She took a cautious step towards him, but suddenly they 
    were entangled together; his hands pinching her breasts, his hard cock 
    almost puncturing his unform as it pushed against her leg, their mouths 
    fusing together hotly.
	But before Worf could remove his uniform, they heard a familiar 
    electronic chirping.  It was Deanna's combadge, still on her uniform, 
    which lay in a clump on the floor.  Captain Picard's familiar voice, 
    tinged with an edge of urgency, followed: "Counselor, we need you on the 
    bridge immediately."
	Deanna and Worf allowed themselves a moment to share a look--a 
    promise, of sorts--before she darted to retrieve her uniform.  "On my 
    way, Captain," she said huskily.
	Getting on her uniform was bad enough, but walking to the bridge 
    was definitely difficult, considering the spanking she had gotten.  Each 
    step produced a new twinge of pain; did Worf have to be so thorough?  Not 
    to mention that she had to fight down her own sexual arousal, which 
    seemed to flare through her--and at a moment when she needed to be 
    professional and detached.
	Entering the bridge was worse.  First she wiped the final tears 
    out of her eyes and sniffled, hoping she didn't look as if she had been 
    crying.  Then she left the turbolift.  All eyes greeted her arrival; it 
    was as though they could all read her expression.  *Your counselor Troi 
    was just taken over her lover's knee and spanked, and they would have had 
    sex if duty hadn't called.*
	But Picard merely looked at her curiously and said, "It seems a 
    friend has dropped in to pay you a visit."
	Troi didn't understand what he meant, until she looked at the 
    viewscreen--and realized that the Enterprise wasn't alone. A soft, 
    pulsating mass of light floated in space with them.  Troi also realized 
    that there was a telepathic presence filling the bridge, that was 
    communicating to every person there.  It was saying her name.
	She opened her thoughts. <I'm here.  I'm Troi.>
	The entity opened a channel to receive her thouhts and return its 
    own responses.  No one else could hear them; they communicated privately.
	<I have needed a new way to love.  My mate has not responded to 
    traditional means.  I probed your crewmates, encouraging them to act upon 
    their desires, in order to learn from them, so I may reproduce.  E was 
    interested in...> It fumbled to express the concept.  <...being happy yet 
    not happy at the same time.  I did not think it would work...until you 
    and your mate have shown me that it *can* be done, in a way which 
    is...satisfying.>
	Troi grew beet-red, to her own total and abject humilation.
	<I have what I needed.  Thank you.>
	The entity abruptly dissipated and vanished from view.  Picard 
    swiveled around in his chair to stare at Deanna.  Riker spoke up, 
    sounding annoyed: "Do you mind telling us what *that* was all about?"
	All she wanted was to return to Worf, to satiate the desire 
    threatening to soak through the thick fabric of her uniform.  But she 
    forced herself to look calm and composed; she answered Riker measuredly: 
    "You can read my report, Commander.  As for now, I'm afraid I 
    have...business to attend to."
	If it were possible to make a smooth, dignified exit into the 
    turbolift with a sore, stinging backside, Deanna managed to do it...and 
    although she and Worf were back in their right minds, she suspected that 
    the scene they had been compelled to enact might have many repeat 
    performances in the future....