The Promised Land, Book TwoPart FifteenWesley hung up the phone. His pretty face was serious. Traveler was almost preternaturally in tune with Wesley's moods. "And . . .?" he said. Wesley sighed. "Nothing really. That was Dad on the phone. He was telling me about all the stuff he's done." He was deflated. "He met up with Benny Sisko again. Sisko. In Tennessee. It's . . . so weird and complicated." Traveler gazed at him; then he sat down beside him on the sofa. "Why does talking about it always make you sad?" "I was a jailhouse whore. Sisko sold me off to all kinds of different men." "You said he ended up selling you to the warden." "It's so humiliating." Traveler put his arms around the sobbing Wesley. "Wesley, I love you." "I love you, Traveler." Wesley's voice was cloudy, damp. "Wesley, there's something I've been thinking about . . ." "No!" Wesley suddenly threw himself at Traveler, his face wet with tears, his arms frantic and clutching. "Wesley, sweet sweet Wesley, calm down. It's a good thing. I just don't know how to say it." Traveler's voice was soft, kindly. "There's a lot of men who would like to be jailhouse whores. I know I wouldn't have minded it, although I doubt I'd have been very popular. But you're cute. You're really cute. I mean, I bet you're one of the cutest boys in American history. In a way, being a jailhouse sex toy is a kind of a strange tribute to you. It's a real gift. Don't deny it." His hand began to move about Wesley's trim body deliberately. "Stop," Wesley said softly, but his tears were over, and they both knew it. "Let's take off our shirts and talk," Traveler said. He removed his shirt (rayon, brightly printed with jungle scenes) and then pulled Wesley's tight olive tee shirt off. Wesley responded by putting his hands behind his head and stretching. Traveler loved it when Wesley did that. He loved the little licks of hair under Wesley's arms, the little patch of hair at the center of Wesley's chest, all in delightful contrast to his smooth pale body. "Tell me about the card game again," Traveler whispered. "It makes me hot." "Well, it WAS hot." Wes was petulant when he said that, and Traveler felt like exploding. He loved his petulant limber Wesley. The card game had been just another jailhouse poker game. Gowron, Pardek, Kurn, and a man called Korax were playing against Sisko. They were all betting cigarettes, except for Sisko who was putting something far more valuable than cigarettes into the ante. Sisko was holding Wesley on his ample lap and, when he had to bet, he put one of Wesley's garments on the table. Shirt. Tee shirt. Belt. Shoes. Socks. Wesley's cheap plastic wristwatch. A little string necklace another whore had made him. His jeans. And now Wesley, posed on Sisko's thigh, was wearing only his little prison-issue briefs. Sisko kept running his big fingers inside the elastic of the briefs, and the other men couldn't keep their eyes off Wesley. Everyone had folded except for Sisko and the dark and volatile Korax. His eyelashes were black and lush as a girl's. "You are going to fold, aren't you, Korax?" Benny said in his hypnotic voice. "I. Will. Have. Him," Korax hissed. "You're out of cigarettes, my friend," Benny said. "You don't have another pack to put in the kitty, but I still have something to bet." The other men were spellbound. This night would fuel a year's fantasies. Kurn silently handed Korax a pack of cigarettes. "I'll pay you back double," Korax said, not looking at him. "I don't think that quite jibes with poker protocol," Sisko said in his smooth tones. "We. Don't. Care." Korax's eyes were gleaming. "Place your bet, Sisko," Pardek said. "Wesley?" Sisko said, and Wesley stood up and very slowly pulled his briefs down; he still had a boy's undefined body, a long torso, long slender pale legs, and at the very base of his body, his sweet little flowering of flesh, enticing and aroused. The room sighed. "Turn him around," Kurn said. His voice was hoarse. "Wes, lean across my knee," Sisko ordered. "The stakes are high." Wesley was obedient. His ass was round, alluring, high on his legs. Sisko put his hand between Wesley's thighs to get him to spread his legs a little. The other men were breathing heavily; they craned their necks. They wanted to see everything, the outer edges of Wesley's puckered little asshole, the shadow of his cock and balls between his parted thighs. Sisko's hand moved in a mesmerizing rhythm in the furrow of Wesley's buttocks. "I've been here a thousand times," he said softly. "Nothing like it really. This little boy is the purest kind of pussy." "I just want my cock sucked. Is that too much to ask from the world?" Korax whispered. "You know what you have to do," said Sisko; his fingers kept moving up and down Wesley's ass. "I call!" said Korax. Sisko threw his hand down. Three jacks. Korax started laughing; he threw his head back wolfishly and howled. "Two pair. Two's and seven's. I have my blowjob." "For a carton of cigarettes, you can have him for the entire night. You know you won't miss them. Look at how many you won." Sisko was always scheming. "It's a deal," Korax said. Wesley stood up, naked; the rose meat of his mouth gleamed in the dull light of the cell. Korax put out his arm and Wesley walked toward him; when he was beside Korax, they embraced. Korax clutched Wesley; his hands crawled up and down Wesley's back. "Did you suck him off? How big was his cock?" Traveler said. They were both jerking off. "I sucked him off all night long," Wesley buried his head in Traveler's neck. "His cock was average, but nice-looking. The main thing he was hard for the whole eight hours we were together." Traveler held Wesley's head against him with his free hand -- his cock was almost there; he looked at Wesley's erection through his nearly closed eyes. Wesley looked good beating off; he looked right beating off. He looked good helpless in the thrall of his own ecstasy. Suddenly, Traveler was on his knees in front of Wesley, and his wet mouth was around Wesley's cock. He loved his little Wesley with the nice thick hard cock, and he loved taking it all into his mouth and he loved the vivid human taste of Wesley‘s cock, especially when Wesley began to helplessly come in his mouth. Traveler swallowed it all, and stood up so Wesley could see his cock and then Wesley returned the favor, because he loved Traveler's dick as much as Traveler loved his. "I've broken in too many damn women for the Sisko family." "Oh, Jean-Luc." "Benny Sisko will be at the goddamn wedding, won't he?" "He's Jake's best man." So it was decided. Worf and Data would stay with Jean-Luc. "We can have some fun," Worf said to Jean-Luc tonelessly. Jean-Luc puffed with exasperation. Q was helping the bride's side of the family pay for the wedding, Geordi was helping with the music, and Will was going to be the baby-sitter. Then Etienne would join his daddy on tour while his momma honeymooned back in Haiti. "And after that they come back to Tennessee with half the island in tow," Jean-Luc could barely contain his fury. "Like Moses entering the Promised Land." Very-Very, Quark, and Melinda met them at the Nashville airport. "I'd forgotten how much I love you other Boys!" Melinda squealed. Very-Very was perturbed. "It's going to be very very rainy all day tomorrow! All those outdoor arrangements I put together will be simply ruined!" "Happy is the bride the rain falls on, my momma always said," Q smiled and hugged all of them. Father Boothby was going to perform the ceremony. He, Q, Very-Very, and Geordi had a number of quick intense conferences that night during the rehearsal dinner. Joe was going to give away the bride. He was beaming with pride. And Jake's mother was there. (Q smiled and shook her hand. What had Benny been thinking of? What power would make him quit this woman and commit crimes and get in jail and even now resist her? It was sure easy to see where Jake got his slender sweet looks from. Jennifer was tall and dignified, just like Jake. Q would never understand men if he lived to be five million years old.) Martine was glad Q and Geordi were there. And Q had to admit it: Martine was looking pretty good. Her mother-of-the-bride drag was not nearly as overdone as Very-Very had implied. (Very-Very and Martine did not get along, to put it mildly.) "Melinda," Q said over a glasses of a good California cabernet, "where are you off to next?" "Quark and I are producing a documentary Kira wants to make about her . . . religious group. Then I'm going to do ‘Cat on a Hot Tin Roof' on Broadway with Tommy Lee Jones as Brick! It's going to be an HBO special! Then I'm going to Thailand to do some animal rights work!" "Ooooooh!" Q was almost envious again, but mainly he was surprised at how similar he and Melinda were. "But first the Golden Globes," Quark interjected. Geordi had programmed his synthesizer so it sounded just like a good church organ, and now he was playing "Here Comes the Bride" (only in partial irony). Will was holding Etienne who was round-eyed, old enough and smart enough to be a little shy and apprehensive. But Uncle Will was very comforting. "Hush, little man," he crooned. Q thought he would join Martine in crying her eyes out. And Melinda, since she was technically unmarried, was the maid of honor. Ben stood at the altar with his son. He looked calm and dignified: Captain Sisko. And Joe brought the bride down the aisle. Because of the circumstances, she had eschewed a completely white wedding dress -- her dress (a gift from Melinda) was a Ransom Amazoki creation; a pale white crinoline was topped by a deep cream bustier. She also wore a halo of flowers, little black boots, and white lace gloves. She was the most beautiful bride any of them had ever seen. At the reception, Geordi played his synthesizer as everyone danced with everyone else. After the first break, Ben joined him on stage. "Ladies and gentlemen, someone very special is joining the Geordi laForge experience tonight," Geordi announced in a deep voice. "Let's give it up for . . . Benny Sisko!" Everyone clapped in a good-natured way as Sisko approached the mike. Geordi wasn't playing any music. He seemed to be waiting for a cue from Benny. Who started out almost whispering and then, in a measured tone, he half-sang, half-spoke: "And you are nobody til someobdy loves youThen the song kicked in, with Geordi on a looping soulful synthesizer line, but the real miracle was in Benny's singing. "You know, the world still is the same,(a little ripple of applause from Ben's co-workers) just as sure as the stars shine above!"(A series of rapid little breaths)- "And you're nobody til somebody loves you(Ramrod posture, a serious face, but Ben still seemed so happy. Then he smiled). "At the half way mark now," he sang, "The world still is the same("same" and "world" and "change" took forever to sing) "Just as sure as the stars shine above!"("Above" was also paced slowly) "You are nobody until somebody loves you, yeah!"(He began to snap his fingers) "So find yourself somebodyThe last note hung in the air like twilight in summer. Then the audience collapsed in applause. Q couldn't believe it. Like everyone else, he was on his feet clapping. And then he saw a familiar face. "I never got to thank you for all you did." "I need a smoke, mate. I guess we better go outside." "I can't believe you've turned up here. It must be God's hand." Miles O'Brien crossed himself. "Benny and I made up our differences a while back. When that new program started hiring, he contacted me. Took the hiring test and ended up with a nice position in engineering." "You mean at the Saturn auto plant?" Miles nodded. The eye-patch was actually rather flattering. "Did ye see my two youngest? They were the altar boys tonight." "You know I helped set it up," Q said shyly. "What's that?" "I invested a lot of money in Saturn. And I helped them set up a program where they'd recruit ex-cons, test them, and place them where they would be of the most use. Who knew Ben Sisko had so many administrative skills?" "Oh, I did, boyo, I did." The honeymooners left amidst a flurry of rice and bird seed. "Guess we'll be shoving off," Q said to Martine. She was crying. "We'll bring Etienne back on the third, okay." She kept crying, and Joe patted her and winked at Q. "That sounds good." Q turned to Ben. "Good-bye. It was great seeing you again." "I hope there are no hard feelings," Ben said sincerely. "Oh, none. Now that I think about it, I learned a lot from you. I've learned a lot from every person I've ever met, actually." "You going back to that worthless motherfucker Picard?" Q stopped stone still for a moment. "Well, it's complicated." He looked around. "It's so nice here. And I've got a lot invested." Sisko looked carefully at Q. "Bad as I was, I wasn't as bad as Picard." He gave Q a sober dark look. "After all, I never hit you. Picard hit you. I never hit you." Suddenly a voice broke in. "Ben Sisko, leave nice Mister Q alone. Remember what you told me you'd do. Well, no time like the present. Get to work." Martine was obviously over her tears. Jean-Luc had been much moved to see that Etienne seemed to know him now and cawed like a crow when he saw his daddy. "He still looks odd," he whispered to Q. So Etienne wouldn't hear. "He's normal. What you want is perfect. Well, that may not happen." Jean-Luc shrugged. Of course, Q was right. Not that Jean-Luc would permit Giant Tit Q and Giant Tit Will to be better at this than he was. He might ask them for advice, but that would about it. While Jean-Luc was walking around with Etienne, showing him the tour buses and the sky, Q had lunch with Will and Worf. "Wasn't Tennessee pretty?" "Yes," said Will warmly. Worf studied Q. "How pretty was it?" Q sipped his juice. "This tour has been a bit of a disappointment to me." Will and Worf nodded. "I'm not sure I want to tour anymore for a long time. Worf, I was jealous of Ben Sisko. Of all people. He's in one spot -- he's settled. I'd love to be that settled." Everyone looked out at the hotel verandah. Jean-Luc seemed to be enjoying himself with Etienne. Q sighed. "I'm tired of being always on the road." "You don't have to take everything he dishes out," Worf said and Will nodded in agreement. "I don't know what to do." "Just do it," Worf said. Etienne was napping. Jean-Luc came into their hotel suite. "This baby stuff sure enough cuts into my pussy time." Q gave a thin smile. "Did I tell you the best part?" Jean-Luc lifted his chin. "Martine's ordering Benny Sisko around like there's no tomorrow." Jean-Luc's eyes darkened. "Is he taking it?" Q nodded. "Like a bitch." Jean-Luc laughed. "I win again." Then the phone rang. "Trouble in the henhouse," Jean-Luc said when he got off the phone. "Hmm?" said Q. "Aloe and Guinan are quarreling. Guinan thinks Aloe's videos are taking us in the wrong direction, and Aloe thinks the same about Guinan. Aloe wants Will and Worf to run off together to Scotland so she can film castles, and Guinan wants Worf to kill me in a dream sequence so she can do another prison storyline. Basically, Aloe wants a happy ending and Guinan doesn't." "Well, it really doesn't matter, does it? I mean some story will get told one way or another." He sighed. "Although I never thought that would happen. They seemed to be on the right track." "Really, Q. I'm not in the least bit surprised." Jean-Luc shook his head. "Women." Q ducked his head and dimpled: "Women," he said beaming. "Still, gives us a free five days. Let's blow the camera crew and grab the baby and go somewhere fun. Just the three of us." Q rented them a villa on a Caribbean island. At first Jean-Luc moped. "I hate islands," he said. "A man feels so trapped." But Etienne loved the water and loved the sand and the overweight maid who sang soft little songs to him every afternoon while his father took Q for a walk, so Jean-Luc cheered up a little. On the island, Q wore a sarong and Jean-Luc wore his trademark tiny black briefs. "You look so cute," Q said. The sand was hot against his feet, his shoulders, against his glossy black hair. "I like your bug spray," Jean-Luc said. Q smiled; Jean-Luc was talking about his cologne. "Whenever I pick up Etienne, I can tell when you've been holding him; I can smell you on him." "I just want to stay fresh." "Oh ho," Jean-Luc said. "Three more weeks to tour and then there's the break," Q said as they strolled along. They walked a little further. "We have strong genes, don't we, Q? With all those sons." "The strongest, Daddy." "What's under that skirt, girl?" "Something pretty." "Nobody's around. Take it off and let me see something pretty." And Q did, untying the sarong and pulling it away from his strong tall body and Jean-Luc couldn't tear his eyes away from the lush vision that was Q. So pink, so rosy. "Q, are you well enough?" he whispered. "I'm sure I am." And Q spread his sarong carefully in the sand and lay down on top of it with his legs slightly spread so Jean-Luc could stand above him and see everything and Jean-Luc was taking his time, gazing at Q as if he had never seen anything like him, and he was very aroused. "Anything you want me to do?" Jean-Luc took off his trunks; then he knelt between Q's legs. "I bet you have a tight little cunt. I bet Julian operated you back to a cherry." Then he leaned over and began to kiss Q everywhere between his legs. And Q writhed and stretched and Jean-Luc could see every inch of him, including Q's sweet dark little puckered asshole which looked tight and healthy, pretty as a girl's really, "I haven't seen your pussy in so long I forgot how sweet it is." "Do you want me to kiss your big thing, Daddy?" "Only if you want to." And Q got on his hands and knees and knelt in front of Jean-Luc who was still kneeling before him and opened his mouth and took the barest tip in, a hesitant but ultra-willing bit of puss trying to please her big daddy with his big thing coming off his lean hard body and Daddy's mouth was open and breathing heavy and he pushed himself hard two or three times against the back of Q's silky throat and then he pulled out and said: "I want to fuck you. It's about time. You don't need that cherry one second longer." And he pushed Q back and Q wrapped his strong thighs around Jean-Luc's waist and Jean-Luc was on the edge; in his mind's eye he could see Q's asshole pulled open and waiting and shaping itself hot against his dick and even the air was superheated, hot as Q's skin and his own skin, and then Jean-Luc felt that he was the same temperature as the wet hot island air and he pushed his hips forward a little and he was inside Q and with every shove he was a little more inside him, and inside Q seemed the right place to be and he began to move and the water was moving against the white sand just the same way and the water was as hot as Jean-Luc and the air and the world was not distinguishable from them as they moved together on its edge. ************************ The band met the honeymooners in Houston so they could take Etienne back home to Tennessee. The newlyweds were radiantly happy – Sebastiana really was beautiful. "Too bad that little boy doesn't look like his mother," Jean-Luc said to her. "I'm glad he doesn't. He's more beautiful this way." Motherly love. Jean-Luc said "goodbye" in a clouded voice and left the room. Q leaned in. "When we break, we're going back to LA. I'll call you." "Yes," Sebastiana said. She was under some stress; Etienne was crying as if his heart would break. "He wants his daddy," Jake said. Quark was manning his short-wave radio like a member of the French Resistance. Then the news came in. He whooped so loudly everybody on the exclusive beach heard him. And they knew what he was exclaiming about. They began to applaud in that strange measured European way. "Brava Melinda Madigan! Et maintenant Monseiur Oscar!" they cried. ************************* The last concert of that leg of the tour was just supernatural. At the end, they had all gathered together and sang Hank Williams' "I Saw the Light." Jean-Luc was never an ironic performer (that's why so many loved him) but spirituals always brought out his true gravity. Then the Boys all linked arms and raised them high and then bowed low. "Thank you," they had all called to the rapturous mob. There was a big party afterwards where the documentarians were going to show a rough cut of the road movie. In Las Vegas, the Boys had rented the main room of the Universal, one of the older casinos. It dated back to the forties, funky, seedy. And ineffably sexy. It was also close enough to L.A. for all the studio types to fly in. The party was noisy, crowded, glittering. And everyone on earth was there; the Boys sprang for a free bar -- hell, they had the money. Jean-Luc wound his way through the crowd. He hadn't wanted to watch much of the movie, just enough to make sure he had gotten his fair share of screen time. Mainly he wanted to continue his catting around. He loved free young pussy. He looked around. Will and Worf had disappeared early on, but Geordi and Data were deep in some sort of serious chatter with some quiet-looking technicians. And Q was standing back with the help, counting cups and smiling and greeting people. And Jean-Luc was on that worthless cocksucker Q like a duck on a junebug. Because Q was talking to . . . Casey Spevin. Where did that faggot get the jam? "I thought I warned you, cocksucker," he said to Casey. Both Q and Casey gasped. Gratifyingly. Then: "I thought you were busy, Jean-Luc," Q said timidly. "I can talk to the boy, can't I, Mary?" said Casey casually. "What part of ‘all mine' don't you understand?" "Damn," said Casey, his mouth a quaint orifice clasping that syllable. "You both are still in jail, aren't you?" "Remember me, Jean-Luc?" said a thin little voice. Q looked horrified. That little bastard what's-his-name. "You were so wonderful!" Then the little bastard paused. "You don't remember me? Timmy Trent?" What the . . . "Timmy's just back . . . from Europe. He was working on . . . his latest project." "Timmy, you imp, long time no see," Casey drawled. "Hi," Timmy whispered and ducked his head. "Enough of this horseshit. I want you out of here, Spevin." "Q?" Casey pursed his lips. "What do you want?" Q bit his soft lower lip, imploring and silent. "Q, tell Jean-Luc the truth now," Casey looked at Q with some mischief. There was complete silence. "All right then, I'll tell him. Q called me. He wanted me to come here." Jean-Luc turned pale. "Q, why?" he whispered. "Casey's a movie star. And soon we'll . . . be . . . movie stars." Q had never changed, not one lick. Stars. Big stupid stars in his big stupid eyes. "What's this I'm hearing?" Casey continued in his silken drawl. "You mean Miss Q hasn't told Miss Johnny the whole truth? Well, I swan." "What truth?" "T. H. E. truth, girl. I fisted the boy the first time out -- no hand was up his honeypot on the first date but this hand right here." He waved it tauntingly. "Can you imagine the neural explosions I set off in our neck of the woods when I shared that fact? Do you know what a dreamfuck he is? But I wouldn't have done it if I didn't love him. I love him. That's actually . . . the truth." Casey had gotten increasingly serious as he spoke; by the end of his little speech, his gravity was surprising even himself. "I love him." Jean-Luc felt as if his head would explode. "My sorry bad asslicking luck," he shook his head. Then he turned on Q. "You cunt. I can't trust you to check the mail without giving it up for the mailman and the mailman's dog. I could fucking kill you." Q ducked his head. "My life would be so much easier without you, Q." And it would. If Jean-Luc were ever free of the nelly spread-out constant cow of a tramp that was Q, he'd . . . be free. Q stood up straight. "My life would be so much easier without you, Jean-Luc," he said quietly. A life without Q. All the pussy in the universe at his feet. No one and nothing to worry about. He gave a savage laugh. "I guess that settles that. She's yours, Spevin." Casey lifted his brows. "Oh, yeah, Miss Casey, you have you some fun with your new whore." And with that Jean-Luc turned to leave. "Thanks, Johnny, we'll look good giving Melinda her Oscar for *The Cause.*" Casey called. "Say, where should I send the fifteen cartons of cigarettes?" And Jean-Luc spun around and connected perfectly, his fist slicing into Casey's pink dimpled cheek. Casey was beyond shocked; he fell to the ground with Q and Timmy falling right beside him. Then Jean-Luc straightened his shirt and looked at the the crowd, his mouth in a serious scowl. No one said anything but he could hear Q and Timmy patting Casey's wrists. He stalked away, towards the back entrance. "Ice," Q called, and a dozen people were there with ice in handkerchiefs and cups and glasses and Q and Timmy placed one icy handkerchief against Casey's bruised face. Casey was panting; his eyes were closed. "Are you okay, Casey!" Timmy cried. Casey opened his eyes. "I feel so . . . butch," he gasped. "I've never felt this butch in my whole life!" "You were so brave!" Timmy said softly, his eyes glowing with admiration. "Ouch," Casey said. "Try not to smile quite so broadly, Casey," Q said with some irony. "I got a lotta of what I wanted," Casey said. And smiled again. "Ouch!!!!" "Is there a doctor in the house?" Timmy said timidly, looking around. Then he beamed. "Casey, you're my hero! A real man!" "Why, thank you, Timmy." Then Casey turned to Q. "I love you." "I love you," Q said and kissed him lightly on the lips. And then he turned to Timmy. "Timmy, can you nurse Casey til I get back?" Timmy nodded; he was holding Casey's head in his lap. "I love you too, Timmy," Q added, and then he gave Timmy a kiss. "Let me get a wet towel." He stood up and headed for the door. Jean-Luc felt as if he were electrified. He was free. Then he saw someone. "I know you," he said. "I know you," came the soft slow luscious reply. Tranh! The willing beguiling Tranh with that firm little ass. Wait. "You're our competition," but Jean-Luc tried to say it tenderly. "I don't think so." "What's this album of yours?" "Three albums, Jean-Luc. But the last one was techno." Techno? "What's with your asshole manager?" "He wants to meet you. He says you two were never properly introduced." And Tranh turned. Yeah, there was that asshole Fajo, drinking his, Jean-Luc's, liquor, sitting comfortably in a nice alcove at his, Jean-Luc's, party. Waving. "Let me go stare down that cocksucker," Jean-Luc said and walked over to Fajo. Fajo was sitting comfortably at a nice table, rather far away from the center of the party. And he had his arm around a . . . woman? "Well, good buddy, I've seen the derivative little albums you're producing. Good thing this is America, or I'd sue your balls off. Motherfucker." It was very important to Jean-Luc to keep Fajo in his place. "Umm," said Fajo. "Jean-Luc Picard. We meet again. Have you met my wife?" Where did that asshole get a wife? Politely, both Fajo and the bride stood up. Jean-Luc lifted his chin. He had to check her out. Tall, but not as tall as Melinda. But a little like her in a way. With a queen's posture, a queen's elegant head sitting on a queen's elegant neck and shoulders. She had short cropped dark hair and an obliging open mouth. "Hullo," she said. Her accent was vaguely European, mybe British. "I like you. I've always liked you." She had a sleepy insinuating voice. Jean-Luc didn't want to, but he felt her attraction. Fajo was a rich motherfucker and he could buy whatever he wanted. Q had said that over and over. Now he had bought himself this. "Darling, may I present Jean-Luc Picard? Jean-Luc is, of course, the leader of the Boys. And, Jean-Luc, let me present Tatiana. My wife. Tatiana, it will please you to know, is royalty. Seventeenth in line to the British throne. And if all the dominoes fall into place, she'll be queen. Isn't that right, dearest?" "Oui." Jean-Luc couldn't take his eyes from her. That pissant Fajo was eclipsed completely. Even Tranh was secondary to her. "I met Fajo's dear friend Q earlier. You are lucky - he is so charming." A vein pulsed in Jean-Luc's temple. "Please sit with us. This is a very good wine." "Of course, it is. Q ordered it," Jean-Luc said. "I taught Q all he knows about wine," Fajo leaned in to say. His beady little eyes were gleaming. Tatiana patted the seat beside her. Jean-Luc was furious. He looked at her condescending hand. Hmmm. Her little black leather skirt had ridden up. She was gazing at him with her hypnotic royal eyes. Well. He looked back down. She must have been one of those girls who liked to shave it. Not a single lick of mammal hair down there. He glanced back up at her face. She knew what he liked. "You like my sloppy seconds, don't you, Jean-Luc?" "No, cocksucker, you like mine." "Knock it off, Fajo," Tatiana said. "Jean-Luc, let's have a good time. Fajo's rented the ninth floor of the Universal. We could have some fun if we go there. Drink a bottle of wine. Become better acquainted." She had a beautiful voice, breathy, alluring. On the elevator to the ninth floor, Jean-Luc asked something he had been wondering. "How full of shit is Fajo?" ‘ "Wait a minute," said Fajo. "About what?" breathed Tatiana. "Are you really royalty? A princess? " "Oh, yeah. Gotta lotta Battenberg in me. But really I'm a Grand Duchess. A Romanov." "Romanov?" "Romanov? Remember the tsar who was shot? I had a fuck session in the Impatiev house the day before Yeltsin tore it down." "That was some time ago, Duchess," Fajo piped up. "1976," she shrugged. "I started young." Jean-Luc was thinking about that little shorn pussy. She had shaved her eyebrows too. European, he guessed. They walked down a long hotel corridor -- Tranh followed Jean-Luc who followed Fajo and his queen. "Home sweet home," Fajo said and opened a door. A swanky suite. Jean-Luc could care less. He wanted her, he wanted that little clean cooch clasped to him. That she belonged to Fajo only sweetened the deal. "Fajo, leave us alone," she said. His face was carefully blank. "Very well," he said and left. Then she opened a door. A huge bedroom, a round bed, black satin sheets. "I like it rough," she said. "Quel coincidence. So do I!" "Chain me to the bed, Jean-Luc. I want to be taken." Chains? Tranh appeared out of nowhere; he was apparently in charge of chains. Jean-Luc was comfortable enough to size Tranh up more closely. Tranh was wearing jeans and a tight little tee shirt. Nicely packaged, especially next to Tatiana who was now bare naked. Except for a choker around her neck and a bracelet on each wrist. Her pale bare skin had an unearthly glow. "Chain me up, Tranh." "Oui," he said with some irony. He rolled his pretty dark eyes at Jean-Luc. And Jean-Luc sat back and watched the show. She liked it on her knees apparently since that was the position she assumed. And Tranh brought out chains (they appeared already attached; maybe that was a standard ninth-floor feature) and connected them to her choker and her bracelets. And there she was, butt out, enticing, round and soft and perfect and smooth. And then she said, "put it in my ass, Jean-Luc." He needed no second invitation. He stripped down quickly and positioned himself. Suddenly, Tranh was there again in his enticing little tight shirt and jeans offering Jean-Luc a selection of rubbers. "Oh, yes," Jean-Luc said, selecting one. And rolling it on, he was positioned at her very center. "Are you ready, Duchess?" "Oh, God, Jean-Luc, don't make me wait." And he began to move into her, oh, she was slick and ready and she writhed around, spreading her knees, thrusting her pale ass back, trying to get as much of him as she could, and then they found their rhythm, back and forth and back and forth, and he was beating himself against her round ass and she was forcing herself, those soft round buttocks, against him, and they went on and went on and Jean-Luc found himself wondering just how long this could last, looking at her slender waist, her short short hair, the pretty forms of her back, and feeling the subtle muscles of her tight ass, and every now and then they would stop to catch their breath and then it was back to ass-fucking and her tiny metallic squeals and his pneumatic sighs and over and over again he was inside her and grabbing the flesh that wasn't quite flesh and he could see no chance of coming in his future, that he might fuck her and fuck her like the Grand Duchess she was and she was stretching herself back to him; she was almost inhuman in what she could take and Jean-Luc closed his eyes and opened his eyes and out of the corner of his eye he could see Tranh biting his lips and puffing and he could even hear things, maybe something recording this with whirrs and buzzes, and she was gasping and gasping and he said, can't you come, little queenie, shake that pussy for Jean-Luc, and she backed against him like a strong jolt to the heart and he could feel her soft wetness clamp and clamp against him, and he shut his eyes and saw a bare sweet girl's puss and he began to come and come too, and it was over. He hardly knew who he was she was that intoxicating. He backed up and took the rubber off. He was trembling. "Bravo," said Fajo from somewhere. The worthless tiny motherfucker had returned from somewhere. He heard Tranh laughing. "Told you he was the best ever. She never comes like that for Fajo." Jean-Luc stood up. "Tell me something I don't already know." Fajo was red-faced; he interjected: "My friends will love my film of this," and cut his angry eyes at Tranh. Jean-Luc shrugged and put his hand on her ass. What was it Worf always said. Nice pussy? "Nice pussy," he said. "Do you want Tranh next?" Fajo offered. (Trahn seemed very eager.) "He's not much but he's here." Jean-Luc started getting dressed, zipping up. "I'm going back to the party," he said and turned his back on Fajo mid-sentence. Tatiana was looking at him. He looked at her. She seemed to be staring at him with something like love. Or at least true appreciation. And Jean-Luc gave one last glance to Fajo's blithering face and walked out. As he left, he could hear Fajo screaming at Tranh and Tranh screaming back. ************************** Geordi and Data had gone upstairs early. It seemed Geordi had spent too much time at the party talking to Nancy Tyler. "How big a whore can a man be?" Data said. He had heard Jean-Luc say that once and had been quite struck by the image. "Hmmm?" said Geordi. "You are leading Miss Tyler on." "Oh, for God's sake, Data, Nancy is an employee." "It's Nancy, is it now?" "She's just a kid." Actually, she was just a kid and that was how she had been treated. When Gowron had started hanging around her, Jean-Luc had threatened to saw his dick off. After that, the roadies had been attentive but distant. "You don't love me," Data said mournfully. "Data, of course I do." "Can you prove it?" "I suppose I'll have to. Undress me." And Data did. "I'm undressed too, now." "Data, get on your stomach." "Will you stick it in me?" "I'll stick something in you." "Oooh." And Geordi felt Data's back, his hands moving down to the cleft in Data's ass. He ran his satiny fingers up and down and up and down til he felt the hard little button of Data's anus. Data spread his legs a bit and pressed himself against Geordi's finger. "Get some lube," Geordi whispered. And Data moved away from a moment and then handed Geordi a tube of something cool and clean-smelling. Then he slicked up his fingers and went back to Data's ass. One finger. Data was slick inside, and he could feel the place where Data liked to be rubbed. Two fingers. It was amazing how opposite they were, Data's thin lips versus Geordi's beautiful expanse of mouth, Data's pale ash color versus Geordi's darkness, Data's narrow well-formed ass and Geordi's expansive broadbeamed body. Dicking Data's little ass had always been very nice, very stimulating. Actually, no other body really interested Geordi. It was amusing that Data didn't see that. Three fingers. He twisted and twisted his hand until Data groaned. Four fingers. Data had an ingrained mildness that made him a safe, sweet lover; even when he was at his most abandoned, there was a softness that was very attractive. And he sure loved getting it up the ass, Data sure gave it up easy, gave it up like a bitch. Data was cooing now, and Geordi could tell just by the way it felt that Data was ready. He drew his hand back. "No, " Data screamed. Softly. Mildly. "Here it comes, Data. Tell me if it feels the way you thought it would." And he added more lubrication to his hand and forced it into a wedge. "Geordi, you might injure me." "It's about time." And Data backed up against the wedge of Geordi's fist and moved back and forth against it. "I'm in, sweet jesus, I'm in," Geordi said. "Harder," Data whispered, "I want to feel it all the way up to my tits." "Will you suck my dick after?" "Yes, Geordi, I certainly want to suck your cock." Geordi moved his fist again, listening very carefully to Data's breathing to hear the level of arousal. "You getting ready to come, Data?" "Yes, yes," Data murmured gasping. "Remember the first time we did it? It was so hot and I was lying on top of my sleeping bag and we were off from the others and do you remember?" "Yes, yes." "You said do you think it would be all right if I sat on your dick? I almost shot my wad right then." "I was so lucky," Data whispered and backed again against him. "The perfect man, the big fat perfect cock in me." And Geordi gently moved his hand again and again against Data's slick flesh and he could feel Data jerking off and he felt a tightening in Data and now Data's breathing was in tiny grunts and there was a sudden explosion of convulsions in Data and Geordi realized that Data was coming and coming and that his fist had made it happen, and Data collapsed with Geordi's hand still fully inside him. "Do you like the way this feels?" "Oh, yes, I'm going to feel empty when you leave." "Now will I hear no more about Nancy Tyler?" "You must admit that quarreling like that certainly spices up our fucking," Data said mildly. He loved how Geordi's fist filled him. He loved it big, he had to admit. "Do tell," Geordi drawled. ***************************** Worf and Will had a little game they liked to play: Worf and Worf and Will. Worf was Worf, and Will was Worf, and always some lucky young man got to play Will. Look at this time's designated Will! (The pleasures of fame and fortune never failed to make Will beam and glow.) Julian Bashir, the famous and wealthy neurosurgeon, a star in his own right, had turned up at their party. Just to see him. Will. And now they were all upstairs in their swanky Las Vegas hotel room together. "Why don't we dress the boy up?" Will suggested to Worf. "You do it. I'll watch," Worf said. Julian was standing there, radiating happiness. "Get the special box," Worf directed. Will brought a small trunk over and took out a pair of nipple clamps and a leather cock ring. "Take off every bit of clothes, boy." Julian was almost instantly naked. He was still slender as a boy, his skin just as smooth and coppery. "Get your tits ready, boy," Will taunted. When Julian's nipples were completely hard, Will put the nipple clamps on him; then he slipped the ring around Julian's cock and balls. Julian shivered. "Now handcuff him," Worf directed. Will did and pushed Julian to his knees. Worf stood up and took off his clothes slowly, watching Julian's face shadow itself with desire. "On your knees, Bashir." And Julian got on his knees and began to suck Worf's cock, and, while he was doing that, Will undressed and lubricated himself and began to fuck Julian. Worf could feel the acceleration of sensation on his cock when Julian realized what was going on. And Worf loved seeing Will fuck Julian. Will was never so radiant, so Olympian as when he was up the ass of somebody pretty. "Who's your Daddy? Who's your Daddy?" Will demanded through clenched teeth. Julian was still sucking Worf's dick, and Worf felt Julian ripple against him, as someone speaking under water. "Who's your Daddy?" And Worf grabbed the back of Julian's head, not enough to be painful, merely enough to gain attention, and said, "Tell the man: Who's your Daddy?" "You are. You are," Julian gasped. "Good. Now give it all up." And all three were sucked and fucked into contentment. Afterwards they all three lay on the satin-scented sheets of the Universal's nicest suite. "How's your partner?" Will asked. "McCoy's doing quite well. It was he who told me I needed to come out here and see you." "Really?" "I think he was just trying to get rid of me for a little while. Two of his oldest friends popped up out of nowhere, and they wanted to have some sort of old-fashioned fun." "Who's minding the store?" "Oh, we've turned our clinic over to another pair of doctors. McCoy's retired really, and frankly I'm more interested in research these days. I'll be moving my practice to Virginia. Actually, Q's helping us make the change. In return, he's arranged for his ex-wife Beverly to finish her degree work and become the chief nurse-practitioner at the Cumberland Clinic. You two have met Beverly, right?" Worf was very still. "She is . . . partners with my former wife." "That's right. I had forgotten. Did you know that De-Anne went back to school with Beverly? Her degree will be in psychology. That little clinic is going to be in great hands. Everybody's in college. Everybody's a success story." "I am pleased to hear that," Worf said. Julian burrowed deeper between Worf and Will. "What is it that singer says? *Ain't that America, baby*?" That was easy enough, Jean-Luc thought to himself. He didn't really know what else to do with his freedom so he went out to the Enterprise. Maybe he'd do some driving. He climbed in the driver's seat. Surprise, surprise. Q was already in the seat behind him. In his white hat and his long hair and his earrings. Jean-Luc spoke first. "I'm tired of every bitch in America laying her big rat head on my shoulder and saying, *oh Jean-Luc, help me help me help me.* Screw them. I could have been a brilliant solo artist." Q kept watching him. "Q, I like fucking. Everybody likes fucking." "I see," Q said. He sounded amused. Jean-Luc adjusted the rearview. His voice was suddenly ragged. "Q, if you want me to say I need you, I need you." Q didn't smile. He leaned up against Jean-Luc's ear and whispered, "Then do what you always do. Do what you've always done. Drive until tomorrow and take me with you." Jean-Luc twisted his head and met Q's eyes. Then he reached over and turned the key and the Enterprise eased once more into the darkness. "Sometimes it's hard |
