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Warning: This story contains descriptions of sex, nudity, and sexual
situations. If you are offended by such things, or are under the legal age
for viewing such things in your area, please stop reading now. And go to
another newsgroup. If you object to, or are easily offended by, popular TV
characters being depicted in such situations, stop reading now. If you
choose to ignore these warnings, you are about average.

The characters depicted herein are copyrighted by Paramount Studios. Any
commercial use of these characters without written permission is illegal.
This story is distributed royalty free, and may not be distributed in any
commercial manner whatsoever.



Star Trek - The Next Generation: The Siege Of Troi Part 3
by The Bear ([email protected]) (ff,bd,tickling,ncon)

Deanna was ready to pass out, unable to draw a breath except when the ladies
traded positions. Her sides ached, her lungs burned, and her throat was raw.
But worse than that, she was feeling a growing fire in her loins. Her nipples
were hard beneath the gauzy fabric, and her nether lips were growing moist.

The man in red stood to one side, taking in her torment. During a change off,
he stepped forward, pulling the gag from her mouth. "Well, harlot, will you
answer my questions now?" he demanded sternly.

"Computer, end prohohohohoho hee hee..." Deanna gasped out, her attempt at
freedom interrupted by a renewed assault on her sensitive skin. She was ready
to scream in frustration as the gag was replaced. She needed release, one way
or the other.

"None of your blasphemous prayers, harlot," the red robed man snarled at
the helpless woman. Turning his head towards the shadows, he issued a new
command. "Teach her humility!"

A fifth woman stepped out of the shadows, holding another brush in her slim
fingers. This brush, however, was different. It's shining black bristles were
pressed flat at the base of the handle, forcing them to spread into a broad,
flat fan.

Deanna watched the dark-haired beauty who knelt beside her. Fear mixed with
her laughter as she felt the robe being lifted off of her legs, and piled
onto her shaking stomach. In spite of her twisting, she felt the new torment
begin.

And torment it was. The broad fan-shaped brush was being applied to her Mound
of Venus, the tip sliding edgewise the length of her already hot vagina. The
woman used it expertly, drawing it across her love-nub over and over until
she was ready to climax. Then, just as release was imminent, the brush would
draw back, and begin to trace her pelvic triangle. As soon as her passions
had subsided, the torment would begin again.

The slender women at her feet changed tactics, with devastating effect.
They would seize her big-toes, immobilizing her wriggling feet, then work
their soft brushes between her toes. Deanna screamed into her gag, trying
desperately to mouth a command to the computer, but even if the gag hadn't
muffled her voice, the mad laughter bubbling from her lips made anything
she said completely unintelligible. The only thing she could do was lay
there and endure. And laugh.

Time seemed to fade. Deanna's world narrowed to the tactile assault she
was enduring. Her laughter came in ragged gasps now, punctuated by moans of
insane desire when she could draw a breath. If this were real, she would
have said anything, agreed to anything, confessed to anything to make it
end. But it wasn't real. The dark-haired women worked tirelessly, as only
holograms could, having endurance and patience of infinite scope.

Her own endurance was near it's end. Her vision began to narrow, a sure sign
of exhaustion and oxygen starvation.

In her fading consciousness, she heard the sounds of metal striking metal,
and raised voices. Then, with a shout, three men entered the room, dressed
in ornate bronze breastplates, and bearing short swords.

The man in red fell in a single blow, the pommel of a blade slamming into his
head. And the tickle torture stopped.

Deanna gasped much needed air, her aching midsection able to relax at last.
Trails of residual laughter still burbled from her lips, and her loins ached
with need, but she was able to control herself.

One of the men, apparently the leader, looked suddenly confused. Reaching
the half-naked Betaziod in a single stride, he pulled the rag from her
drooling mouth. "What is going on here?" he demanded. "This isn't the scene
I programmed."

Deanna worked her strained jaws for a moment before speaking. "Computer,"
she gasped. "End program."

Instantly the scene faded. The torture table she was on lowered her gently
to the floor, which took on the characteristic grid of the Holo-deck. Her
rescuer's costume faded, leaving him in a standard star-fleet uniform. Her
own robes faded as well, leaving her naked on the floor. Looking around,
she spotted her uniform nearby, and pulled it over herself.

"Ensign Braddock, I presume?" she asked with all the dignity she could
muster.

"Counsellor? What are you doing here? This was supposed to be..."

Deanna stopped the young officer's panicked blathering with a single gesture.
"Would you mind turning around, while I get dressed?" she asked politely. "I
am certain you have a good explanation for having a senior officer kidnapped,
tormented, and sexually assaulted. You can include it in your report."

* * *

"... so it turns out that the Ensign is part Cerronian, and a low grade
projective empath," Deanna explained to Dr. Crusher. "He developed a crush
on me at the reception where we first met, and was trying to work out his
feelings for me with some sort of heroic fantasy."

"But why was he avoiding you?" queried Dr. Crusher, as she wrapped up her
examination.

"When he heard that I was a Betazoid empath, he got scared," Deanna explained
as she pulled her uniform back into place. "He knew that his emotional
broadcast would be hard to control normally, and with me being both an empath
and the object of his fixation, he knew he wouldn't be able to control
himself. He was embarrassed."

"So that's why half the crew was having erotic dreams," Bev said, the light
dawning on her. "But he never worked the transporter. How was it that you
kept 'accidentally' losing your clothes?"

"He was affecting the crew subconsciously. They didn't even realize that they
were misadjusting the biofilter to hold back non-living material."

"How did he come up with that particular holo-fantasy?"

"Well, he was supposed to rescue me 'in the nick of time'. But I didn't know
this, so where the holo-Deanna was fleeing the area, I walked right in, and
got caught much sooner than he expected. So his 'nick of time' wasn't in time
at all."

"So what do we do to keep his libido under control? Sedate him?"

"No," Deanna laughed. "He was so shocked and frightened by what happened, his
fixation on me is gone. All he feels now is nervous terror. Somehow he got
the idea that I plan to get even with him."

Beverly looked at her friend quizzically. Deanna merely smiled her dark,
mischievous smile.

End

    

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