Subject: STORY: The Talent Show (featuring STTNG crew) Date: 31 Oct 92 15:20:29 GMT @%@%@%

Path: taco!rock!concert!rutgers!usc!cs.utexas.edu!uunet!portal!cup.portal.com!L-Bueno From: L-Bueno@cup.portal.com (Louis Alberto Bueno) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories Subject: STORY: The Talent Show (featuring STTNG crew) Message-ID: <68680@cup.portal.com> Date: 31 Oct 92 15:20:29 GMT Organization: The Portal System (TM) Lines: 1060 @%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@% %@ %@ @% The Talent Show @% %@ %@ @% by Chris Pike @% %@ %@ @%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@% As soon as the turbolift doors opened Picard heard the music. The other crewmen followed him out of the car and were hanging back respectfully until he waved them ahead with a quiet, "Please," whereupon they hurried off down the curving corridor out of sight. Picard strolled after them: simply being free to waste time was a rare luxury to be savored. True, the Federation was currently at peace (merci a Dieu) but the absence of major disasters seemed only to breed minor ones. For almost eight months the Enterprise had been rushing from one planet to another, delivering emergency food to this planet, lending expertise to fend off a plague on that one, showing the flag at yet another potentially obstreperous one, and on and on. Normally the Enterprise was able to follow at least loosely a pattern of orbital stays at planets with extensive maintenance and recreational facilities between periods of active missions, but the constant stream of petty crises had put paid to that. None of the crew had been able to take shoreleave in over a year. In fact, with maintenance having to be done on a catch-as-catch-can basis, many had been drafted to work additional shifts providing extra hands and sweat to substitute for the lacking drydock equipment. His was a good crew, but overwork and boredom was hurting morale. Picard paused at an opening to admire the transformation that ingenuity had wrought. He KNEW this was the entrance to Holodeck Five, but what he SAW was ten-foot marble columns twined with garlands of greenery and flowers flanking the entrance to a amphitheater. Since the programming of the Holodeck restricted its contructs strictly to within its own walls, he knew what he was seeing was real. Someone had fabricated those columns using the heavy duty replicators down in Engineering, and then managed to set them up here. Intra-ship beaming? Or anti-gravs and a careful haul through an empty turboshaft? Either way, a tricky job well done. He stepped through the opening and surveyed the rest of the transformation. A large semi-circular stage, capped by an ornate gilded headpiece and complete with footlights and curtains, was snugged against the far wall where he knew the secondary entrance was located. Between it and the main entrance where he stood were about two dozen concentric arcs of stone benches. Several tiers of steps led down through gaps in the benches to the stage. The Roman-esque flavor of the seating was in wild contrast to the rather Victorian proscenium, but the over all effect was pleasing none the less. Judging by the swelling music, the action was building to a climax. Picard spotted an empty aisle seat a couple of rows down and slipped quietly into it. On stage twenty tap dancers had formed themselves into a line. They were costumed all in gold and the stage lights made them blaze as they began to strut and kick in unison. Even before the last note the audience was applauding as they cheered on their friends' performance. Just as the red curtains swept closed Picard spotted the gold band crossing the face of one of the men, almost unnoticeable amongst all the other gleaming gold. "I didn't know Geordie could dance," he said in surprise, as the house lights came up. "Beverly had been coaching them, sir." The Betazoid accent was unmistakable. He twisted around half-way, and found that seated directly behind him were not only his Ship's Counselor but his First Officer as well. "I know, I saw her," Riker put in. "Once when I went down to Engineering I came in on the entire shift kicking and bumping into each with her perched on a catwalk, beating out the cadence on the railing with a wrench." Riker chuckled at the memory. "I must say, it's a good thing they got in some extra practice." "Will, what is important is that they enjoyed performing," Deanna reproved him. "And the audience enjoyed it, too," said Picard. "This was an excellent idea of yours, Counselor." He glance about at the half-full theater. "A good turn-out, especially since Second Watch isn't over yet." "Nice that the Third Watch can see at least part of the show," Riker concurred. "They get left out of so much." "I didn't miss Data, did I," asked Picard. "No, sir. In fact, he's up next." "Good. He especially wanted my opinion." Just then, as the lights started to dim again, his communicator beeped. "Acting Ensign Crusher to Captain Picard." Picard tapped his badge and whispered into it, "Picard here." "Incoming dispatch from Starfleet Central Comm." "Blast it," Picard muttered. "The Curse of the Captaincy--" "Is never seeing both ends of anything," finished Riker. "Let me take it, sir. I'm sure it's just more official busy work, and it means so much to Data." Picard hesitated, glancing at the slowly opening curtain, then said, "Thank you, Number One. Signal me if it is important." Riker nodded then hurried up the aisle, passing a cluster of newcomers filing in to take seats. * * * * * Riker skimmed the final screenful of text then keyed in his official signature macro. "Wonderful thing, bureaucracy," he murmured. "A 50k report from Starfleet Personnel informing the Enterprise's captain that there have been no personnel changes aboard the Enterprise worth reporting over the last report period." He glanced up in time to spot the grin on Wesley Crusher's face. With mock severity he added, "That doesn't mean you can ignore any regulation, Mr. Crusher. Always remember, they MAY be stupid regulations, but they are OUR stupid regulations." "Yessir," Wes said, with grin still intact. "Now that that crucial paperwork has been dealt with, I believe I'll catch the rest of the show -- unless you want to change your mind, Wes? It's a shame for you to miss it all." "Yes, sir, I mean, no, sir, I haven't changed my mind," Wesley paused to collect his thoughts. "I am content to continue the watch, sir," he stated formally. Riker smiled understandingly. "You have the con, Mr. Crusher." After a final glance around the bridge he strode to the turbolift and left. Wesley turned slowly and surveyed his domain. All the seats were empty. The main screen showed an undistinguished starfield as motionless as a painting. All the station screens showed near blank, "situation nominal", read-outs except for the secondary life-support one which had been dismounted. The most junior of Chief Engineer LaForge's chiefs was sitting on the deck with the screen in his lap, tinkering with its settings in a bored manner. _Nothing_ at all was going on -- which, of course, was the only reason he was in charge. Still. He WAS in charge. Wesley straightened his tunic in conscious imitation of his captain. If anything happened, he was ready to react in an instant. He walked over to the Center Seat. As the Officer of the Bridge, he had every right to occupy it. For long seconds he stared at it, thrilling to the mere idea, a chance to live out his most persistent fantasy. And then his nerve failed him. With a sigh, he turned and headed for his usual forward station. * * * * * Two Andorian women occupied the stage when Riker re-entered the theater. Their act involved dozens of hoops that they tossed and spun and juggled and exchanged in complex patterns. An occasional hoop would elude their grasp and fly off the stage but the nearest person would simply catch the errant ring and pass it down until a crewmember in the first row could roll it back across the stage to one of the performers. The act finally ended with both women looking flustered but happy as the sympathetic audience applauded loudly. Riker looked around when the lights rose between acts. There had been a good turnout before, but now with both First and Second Watches free the place was jammed. He had planned to rejoin Deanna, but from the number of people standing at the rear it was obvious that his previous seat would have been long since filled. It had been less than a minute but the lights were already dimming again, so with a small shrug he leaned against the back wall. This time the curtain parted to reveal just a shallow stretch of stage before a white inner curtain. Nothing was to be seen except for a single thick cushion close to the left wing. Nothing happened for over a minute and the audience gradually became restless. Finally a figure emerged from the wing. It was clad in layers of colorful floor-length robes and its face was hidden in the shadow cast by a pulled-forward hood. After walking to the center of the stage and bowing deeply to the audience, it seated itself cross-legged upon the cushion. Again nothing seemed to be happening. The silence stretched out until the audience was taut with tension -- and then it spoke. "Gentlebeings. I am sure that all of you have heard of Scheherazade." The voice was female, mellow and low pitched, but carried clearly to the back of the theater. "She was a lowly serving girl at the court of a great Caliph who, in order to be assured of his wife's fidelity, each night married a virgin and the following morning would have her executed. Hundreds of the most beautiful young women in his kingdom had already met this fate when the Caliph's eye chanced to fall upon Scheherazade. "There was no way she could escape the deadly honor of a royal wedding, but Scheherazade was not an empty-headed well-born girl but an orphan who had had to make her way by her wits. Knowing of the Caliph's fondness for stories she conceived a clever plan. That night, after the Caliph had gathered the first fruits of her loins, she begged to be allowed to tell him an amusing tale she had heard. This story she related so well, and at such length, that the cock crowed before the end was told. "The Caliph decided to make a small exception and allow her to live until the next evening so that he could hear how the tale came out. As Scheherazade had planned, though, the end of that tale was simply the beginning of another and so she was allowed to live on to finish it in turn. "And so it continued, for one thousand and one nights. By then she had born the Caliph three fine sons and he had come to love her. He demonstrated his trust in her perfect fidelity by lifting her sentence of death and making her his sole wife for the rest of his life. And that is the end of Scheherazade's tale. "At least as it is usually told. The figure shifted slightly to face the audience more directly, but still all that could be made out beneath the hood was a pool of darkness. "What almost no one knows is that Scheherazade was not just a clever woman, but a lusty one, not to be contented with the perfunctory pleasures granted all too rarely by an elderly husband more interested in hearing a tale than using his. "As the years passed she took dozens of lovers, and sported with them eagerly. Eventually her youth faded though, and her looks with it, until the handsome young men she craved became hard to attract and hold. "To overcome this problem, Scheherazade once again turned to spinning her tales. Many a young man found himself returning to her rooms night after night to hear the end of an intriguing story -- and Scheherazade felt herself amply repaid when the young men would expend between her thighs the lust her racy tales aroused. "This is one of those Lost Tales of the Elderly Scheherazade: "Once upon a time, a great Caliph had two daughters. Both were lovely as the full moon, but while the younger, Mirania, was gentle and quiet, listening submissively to the men around her, keeping to a woman's proper place as the Prophet tells us, the elder, Tamsin, was full of pride, thinking her wits were as good as those of any man. As a result, Tamsin had no suitors and looked to be an old maid, while princes of many lands strove and strutted before Mirania, hoping to have her smile favorably on them. "The Caliph was old, and becoming feeble. Since he had no sons he was waiting impatiently for a daughter to wed and bear him a grandson to inherit his throne. But Tamsin continually scared off potential suitors -- for what man would want a woman who matched her wit with his? And Mirania fluttered among her flock, revelling in their attentions while avoiding making a choice by saying, How can I, a mere woman, judge between men? "Finally the Caliph reached the end of his patience. He called his two daughters to him and informed them that it was time for them to pick a husband, retire to the seclusion of his harem, and bear children, as was a woman's highest duty. Tamsin and Mirania at once began to repeat their usual excuses -- but the Caliph had had enough. "He ordered, 'You _will_ be wed by the first day of the new year, if not to the man of your own choice then to the first man who crosses the threshhold of the Grand Mosque on that morning!' "Tamsin pleaded and Mirania wailed, but in vain. The Caliph had set his mind on their marrying and could not be moved. "The two sisters had never been friends, being so different, but this common threat drove them to commiserate together. Finally Tamsin remembered that the Vizier was the wisest man in all the kingdom, and she declared that she would go to seek his advice the next day. Mirania recognized the sense of this, and secretly determined to go to him early the next morning, before Tamsin could arrive. For after all, once the Vizier revealed who was the best man to marry, would not the second sister have to settle for second best? "And so the first light of dawn found Mirania slipping into the Vizier's house. Soon a still-yawning Vizier had been rooted from the comfort of his bed at the Princess's behest. 'How shall I choose which man to marry?' she demanded of him. "'All that you will have in life will come to you through your husband, so pick whomever can give you what you most want,' he said a trifle shortly. "'I want to be young and beautiful forever!' she cried out, then added with a sigh, 'But I know that is impossible.' "The Vizier shook his head. 'It _is_ possible, or nearly so.' When she looked at him with eyes full of wonder and hope, he explained. "'On the isle of Suleika live the immortal Kariths, the daughters of the Djinn, who beckon men to the bliss of their open arms and legs. In the very center of the island lies a fountain flowing with the Milk of Life. No woman can drink from it and live, but if a man quaffs it, he will become invulnerable to any wound.' "Mirania interrupted him. 'All have heard that tale and many have sailed to Suleika, but none have ever returned. And what has it to do with me?' she added petulantly. "The Vizier frowned at her impatience. 'If you think I am a fool to spin pointless stories, why have you sought me out?' "Mirania simply waved her hand, commanding him to continue. "'You are both unmannered and wrong. One man did return from Suleika, the great wizard Norqu'an. And I have the scroll in which he revealed the full secret of the well. The milk does indeed make the man who drinks it invulnerable, but in addition it enters his Globes of Generation and is passed along to the woman who next receives him. Her beauty will be doubled, and she will keep if for a thousand years and twelve months.' In a voice dripping with sarcasm he added, 'That is not quite _forever_, but it may be long enough for you to gain some wisdom.' "With that, he had his servants show her out. Later that day she watched from her window as Tamsin left to visit the Vizier, and smiled triumphantly. What did it matter what advice the Vizier gave her sister? She had already gotten her own answer, and no matter how scornfully the Vizier had spoken of them, her wits were quite ample enough to make use of what she had learned. "At dinner that evening, Mirania rose to speak to the young men who clustered about her. 'My father, the great Caliph, has ordered that I marry. Since I cannot possibly choose between such worthy suitors, I have devised a challenge and will marry whomever, through his own might and the will of Allah, succeeds.' "This announcement was received with cheery boasts and vows to succeed by all the young men. When they had quieted, she continued, 'It is a most difficult task. There are two parts to it: "'First, the man I marry must travel to the island of Suleika and drink of the Milk of Life. "'Second, he must swear that he will not touch his prong, nor allow it to be touched by anyone else, from the moment he starts his quest until our marriage night.' "At this, much muttering was heard, for is it not known that abstinence is not good for a man? "'Do you cavil at such a small demand?,' Mirania cried out. 'I have abstained from the pleasures of joining my entire life, can you not for a short while, a few weeks perhaps, to prove how much you love me?' "At that the men were ashamed, and no further protests were heard, but when the cold light of morning came only three men gathered in the Caliph's hall to swear their oaths of chastity and set forth. "The first two headed separately but directly for Suleika. Each in turn reached the fountain, and drank deeply. But the Kariths are jealous of their font's magic. Each competes with all the others to seduce each man who drinks, so that she will be more lovely than the others, even though each is already so lovely that no man can pass her by. And as we all know, any man who dallies with the daughter of a Djinn cannot cease from his futtering until his heart bursts. "The third man, Prince Caspian, had also heard of the wisdom of the Vizier, and sought him out before leaving on his quest. 'Oh, Great Vizier,' he said, 'if you can tell me how I can gain the Princess Mirania as my bride, I will make you second only to myself in power and grant you one-third of all the riches and land I will inherit as the Caliph's heir.' "And so the Vizier told of the trap posed by the beauty of the Kariths, and Prince Caspian groaned in despair. 'Then Mirania has set us an impossible task!' "'Not so, noble prince. Beauty is powerful, but it cannot seduce a man who cannot see it.' "Prince Caspian looked at him appalled. '_Blind_ myself?' "'Just temporarily,' the Vizier assured him. 'Have your eyelids sewn shut, as those of a falcon are sealed for taming. Once you are off the island a few snips, and all is as before.' "'But how then will I be able to find the fountain?' "'Hire a eunuch to guide your steps.' "And thus it was that in a few weeks Prince Caspian presented himself at the Caliph's palace and announced he had come to claim his bride. Mirania's other suitors, those who had been too craven to accept the challenge but hovered about like carrion eaters hoping to claim the prize by default, refused to believe that he was telling the truth. "Prince Caspian was incensed by this slur upon his honor and challenged them all to fight. Now, Prince Caspian was a powerful swordsman, but with a dozen swords against him he soon suffered myriads of cuts and slashes -- all of which healed in seconds. Nonetheless the others continued the fight until one of them, with a mighty swing, cut his head off completely. At that the others stopped, and watched in amazement while Prince Caspian's body groped about, found his head, and reseated it on his shoulders. No sooner did it touch than the two grew back together so that none could tell they had ever been separated. "After that, none could doubt that Prince Caspian had in fact drunk the Milk of Life. The Caliph, who had witnessed this, said 'Prince Caspian, you have indeed won my daughter Mirania's hand. Your wedding will be tomorrow.' "The vizier then spoke up, 'Victorious prince, allow me the honor of giving a feast for you and all your friends at my house tonight, in honor of your marriage.'" As the woman continued speaking lights gradually came up behind the inner curtain, and through its sheerness the audience could begin to see a large, ornate hall with a group of musicians playing in a rear corner. Many richly dressed men were sprawled at their ease across low divans while being served by women from silver trays piled high with delicacies. "On and on into the night, Prince Caspian and his friends feasted while wine flowed and made the souls of men light and merry." The inner curtain split and drew back. One man caught a maid by the wrist and pulled her down into his lap. Elsewhere other maids were being kissed and stroked by boisterous guests. As the Guest of Honor Prince Caspian occupied a divan set apart from the others atop a low platform. He was clad, as his tribe interpreted the words of the Prophet as demanding, all in black including a black leather hood with an attached half-mask that ended just above his mouth. He stood out from the throng not only for this sober attire but because he sat alone and quiet on his divan -- and one of the other guests seems to take umbrage at this. "What, Caspian, are these lovely maids not worthy of your attentions?" "Have pity on poor Caspian, for he is sworn! Because he has gained one flower, he must never taste other honey again," chimed in another, in mock sympathy. The prince shook his head with a smile. "Ah, Salim, do not mock me! My oath tries me sorely but lasts only until my wedding night." He paused to take a long swig from his cup. "Please, all of you, enjoy yourselves to the fullest, sip each drop of nectar that you can tonight. I shall throw another party for us two nights hence -- and we shall see who is left without a blossom to plunder then!" This was greeted with applause and cheers, and many a maid squealed as hands sought out tender flesh hidden by loose blouses. A crash of cymbals pealed across the stage, briefly freezing all action and drawing all eyes to the band in the corner. The musicians changed to a wailing, thrilling melody as five women entered through a doorway that had been hidden by the brocaded wall hangings. Four wore belts heavy with tinkling gold coins above short tunics and flowing skirts of vivid green. The fifth was hidden entirely beneath a floor-length black veil. She seated herself in the center of an open area while the other four proceeded to wind between the couches, swaying and turning, gyrating close to a man then darting away, to much applause and laughter. After a few minutes of this, the four approached the woman in black, who stood and began to sway in place with exquisite grace while still hidden within her veil. One of the green dancers caught a corner of the black shroud and pulled it away to reveal a woman. Her long, midnight black hair streamed straight and silky and free over her shoulders, but a mask of gold inlaid with black enamel covered her eyes. Long feathery antennae sprouted from the sides of the mask, and sparkling sapphires ringed the eyeholes. She was a butterfly! Her torso was hidden by a panel of scarlet silk attached to the gold rings that circled her arms, and more crimson silk draped her hips, pleated and as full as if a thousand gossamer yards of it were swathed there. As if glad to be freed from her cocoon she began to dance. When she turned the audience could see that her long smooth back was bare down to the scarlet folds of her skirt. She waved her arms, making the upper panel of scarlet into silken wings fluttering in flight while enticing shapes swayed gently beneath the nearly transparent silk. Whenever her arms were stretched to their widest the silk pulled tight across the globes of her bosom, and her nipples could plainly be seen straining against it. She seemed to pause, with her hands crossed to clutch her shoulders. Her women approached her again, and danced about her, then grasped the scarlet silk. As they spun away it tore free, and the audience gasped. Now her body was a stem of white, rising from the bud of scarlet still clasping her hips. She stood motionless as all eyes drank in the sight of her long bare torso, her breasts hidden by arms which were circled by dozens of golden rings. After a few seconds she began again to sway, long sinuous ripples passing from shoulders down to hips and then rising to shoulders again. The motions became stronger and faster and continued as her hands slipped from her shoulders and draw across and down until they cupped her breasts. She danced more vigorously. Now that her arms were no longer pressed tightly against her body the golden rings, freed of their burden of silk, slid on her arms, chiming against each other. The sound seemed to excite her for she began to dance even more wildly, turning and dipping and swaying her body with abandon as she circled before the princes. The inner audience applauded, and as their shock and startlement passed, so did the larger one of crew. The sound spurred the dancer on and her hands kneaded then fluttered free, baring her breasts to the gaze of all, within and without the curtain. Her breasts were beautiful: large and firm, their perfect hemispheres broken only by the thrusting cones of her richly colored nipples. Her dance began to weave among the divans. The princes reached up to try to stroke her, but she deftly swiveled away from all hands until she neared the divan where Prince Caspian sat upright. When his hands reached out she swayed into them, and seemed to shiver with pleasure at his touch. Her hips continued to sway as he stroked her breasts, then she arched forward to bring her chest close to his face. As the other princes laughed and clapped Prince Caspian kissed each of her breasts, then started to suck on one of her erect nipples. The swaying of her hips changed to a rapid swivel. "Watch out, Caspian!" called one of the others, "Remember your vow!" The prince allowed her breast to slip free and laughed ruefully. The Butterfly swayed back to the center of the floor, and once again her maids approached her. This time one grasped a fold of the silk at the Butterfly's waist and danced away pulling the silk taut between them. As she continued to spiral away the stretch of free silk became longer and longer, and a second dancer took hold of the silk and joined the first in circling about their leader. The third and fourth in turn joined in, till the butterfly was entirely circled and hidden by a cage formed from the silk of her skirt. The drumbeat pounded wildly then stopped as the maids let the silk drop. Now the butterfly was clad only in her own perfect skin. She posed there for long seconds while eyes swept from the straight black silk of her hair, past the golden mask and down, drawn by the chain of golden bracelets to where her hands covered the joining of her bare white legs to her equally nude torso. Again, the shocked silence gave way to applause at the leading of the inner audience. The dancer smiled, and began to sway anew. Again her hands rubbed then fluttered away, to reveal the bare white skin of her hairless mount. The swaying of her hips grew into actual motion of her legs and once again she turned and swayed and circled among the divans, displaying every inch of her sweet body for all to see. The men were more persistent this time, impossible to evade entirely, so she made her way to Prince Caspian through a thicket of hands, with this man's fingers trailing up her thigh and that one's hand gliding over her smooth ass. Prince Caspian was stiff and tense on his divan, and kept his hands clenched into fists beside his hips when she at last swayed before him. His resistance seemed to excite her more, and her swaying turned into hard shudders that made her breasts jar and bounce wildly, wringing a groan from between his clenched teeth. The Butterfly spoke for the first time. "Great Prince, may all the afrits and fiends of hell take me for their own if I do aught to taint your honor." She turned to face the other princes and spoke again. "It is a hard thing that Princess Mirania required of this most noble prince. A hard thing, a torment, to deny him that which is the right of the most lowly worker in his hut made of mud. "But he swore. And you all witnessed his vow. "He swore. And he must keep his oath, and we should not tempt him to break it." She paused, and smiled. "But neither is he bound to do more than the oath required." She beckoned her retinue to draw near. "Prince Caspian has sworn not to touch his prong, nor to allow anyone else to do so, and I charge all of you to witness that he is keeping his oath." Murmurs of agreement came from the assembled princes. "But that does not mean it must be bound uncomfortably tight. Indeed, that would be too cruel." She turned back to Prince Caspian, "Noble Prince, I beg you to allow my ladies to make you comfortable. They will not trespass upon your vow: I pledge it with my life." The masked prince slowly nodded. At once the green clad dancers closed in, and gentle hands urged him to his feet. When they reached toward his hood he shook their hands off, but allowed the nimble fingers to undo the clasps of his robe and draw it off his shoulders. The prince's bare chest was revealed, thickly set with muscles, gleaming slightly with a sheen of sweat. His hips and legs were clad in the baggy black trousers of men of his country but not even their folds could disguise the erection straining to be free. The maid's hands now worked the ties of his trousers, most carefully not touching the flesh which jutted free the second the constriction was released and the cloth slid down his legs to form a black pool on the floor. Prince Caspian stood there nude, every inch of his massive body as stiffly and proudly erect as the nine inch column jutting from his groin. Uncertain rustling and murmuring could be heard from the assembled crew at the sight but the moment to halt this act had passed, if it ever existed. This time the applause was lead by the maids and joined, quickly by the other princes, more slowly by the audience. As it died down, the Butterfly dropped to her knees before the prince. "Oh most great and marvelous prince, Princess Mirania will be fortunate above all other women!" She reached out slowly and touched his shins. "Let this humble dancer give you what pleasure she can," she begged. She waved a hand toward the other princes. "They will all bear witness that your oath is not broken." The pause before Prince Caspian nodded was longer this time, but his proudly standing cock belied any true reluctance. The Butterfly began to caress the Prince, sliding her hands over and around his lower legs, stroking and kneading the flesh of his calves. Slowly she proceeded up the muscled columns of his legs to his knees, where she allowed her fingers to linger and flutter on the soft skin behind them. Caspian's hands were again clenched into fists as he strove to keep still. Still her hands trailed up, over the long swelling muscles of his thighs. As her hands rose she began to rub her cheeks against him, and kissed and gently bit at the muscles which clenched and shifted as the Prince tried to remain regally aloof. Her movements became ever slower and more tantalizing as she approached the top of his legs. The prince's cock, always hard, had seemed to swell and stiffen even more as she worked her way up, until now it almost pressed against the hard muscles of his belly. The Butterfly breathed, "My prince, what a man you are!" Her fingers slid the last inch and stroked the heavy balls within his sack. He shuddered and swayed, then planted his feet further apart, though whether to steady himself or allow her freer access, who could swear? Her hands continued to play with his balls, sliding the skin gently over them, cupping them warmly in her palms, dancing her finger tips all over them with butterfly light touches. Then she moved her mouth closer to her toy and, sticking her tongue out as far as she could, slowly drew the very tip of it along the seam of his sack, from bottom to top and back again. Prince Caspian gasped but then crossed his arms resolutely across his chest. The Butterfly opened her mouth and sucked one of his massive balls entirely into her mouth. Prince Caspian moaned. She allowed it to pop out only to suck in the other. A drop of clear fluid could be seen gleaming on the head of his cock. She repeated her action several times, then attempted to draw the entire sack into her mouth. By now Prince Caspian's hips were working involuntarily, thrusting his straining cock forward as if to fuck the very air. With a helpless groan he started to reach towards his cock, but the quick hands of one of the other dancers prevented the touch. "Lady, let us make him more comfortable," she said. The Butterfly drew her head slowly away from his body while still sucking as hard as she could on one of his balls, so that it strained between them until it popped free, wrenching another moan from the Prince and causing his knees to nearly buckle. She rose from her knees and watched impatiently as her maids silently urged him down to lie on the divan, and pulled his trousers free of his feet. They arranged him with limbs spread-eagled, eagerly stroking his arms and legs and chest and belly as they did so. The Prince cooperated silently. The Butterfly spoke to her maids, "I charge you with preserving the Prince's oath. Each of you will hold one of his limbs, thus preventing both you and him from accidentally touching his cock." At once the maids shifted to kneel and hold a limb. She stood there looking at him for a long moment, as if to admire the sight or to allow the watchers that pleasure. The two main figures were a beautiful, matched sight indeed: spread upon the divan was the massive body of a strong, perfectly formed male with his cock rampant as if demanding worship. Before him posed the perfect curves of a voluptuous woman. Each was masked, he with his leather half-hood, she with her golden butterfly wings. Each was nude, with every inch proudly displayed. His arousal was clear. Hers became so when her fingers slipped to, then within, her hairless crack. For almost a minute she openly caressed herself while Prince Caspian, lifting his head, watched. "Forgive me, Lord," she entreated. "I ache for the pleasure you have reserved for your bride." She walked to the head of the divan, then knelt atop it, straddling her knees wide across his head. From the distance of less than a foot he stared directly up into her slit as she stroked it. He strained his head up but the maids holding his shoulders to the divan prevented him from reaching her. She dragged her hand from her cunt and drew a shuddering breath. "Forgive me, Lord," she repeated. "You excite me so much I forget that I am to pleasure you, not my unworthy self." She got off the divan and walked to its foot. She knelt between his spread legs and began to stroke him again. Her hands were bolder now, and slid swiftly all along his legs and over his belly up to his chest then back, avoiding only the tautly erect organ that silently pleaded for her attention. All that could be heard were hoarse moans as the Prince writhed beneath her hands, twisting and turning, his swollen cock striving for some, any, release. She firmly placed her palms flat on his belly, one on each side of his cock, surrounding its base but not touching it. She began to rub her hands back and forth rapidly, causing his cock to twist and jiggle wildly. Not even the four maids could hold him still under this stimulation and he thrust his hips up repeatedly, arching his body off the divan from shoulders to heels. Drops of clear fluid appeared at the eye of his cock and were shaken free by his gyrations, leaving glistening trails as they slid down his cock. The Butterfly lifted her hands from his body and he groaned more loudly then collapsed back onto the divan in frustration. She lifted her head and spoke to all assembled. "I charge you all to watch and witness that his oath remains unbroken." Once again she bent over his body, this time spreading just her left hand near the base of the prince's cock while the right hand burrowed between his legs and out of sight. The Prince jerked once, then the Butterfly lowered her head and once more sucked his balls into her mouth. Prince Caspian was tossing his head from side to side, then threw it back as far as possible and roared as his overstimulated body finally achieved release. Spurt after spurt of cream shot from his cock, falling in white dollops onto his belly and chest. Every ear, of cast and crew, was filled with his roar and each eye, on both sides of the curtain, watched raptly as that jutting cock spasmed forth its lava. This time the applause had no obvious start as all the onlookers clapped and shouted their approval with one mind. The waves of noise rolled over the stage as the light began to dim and the white curtains slowly drew together. In the deepening gloom the audience could just barely make out that the Butterfly had moved to the prince's side and was starting to lick his body clean. "And the next day the wedding of Prince Caspian and Princess Mirania was celebrated with much feasting and joy, and the Prince took the Princess to her wedding bed with his vow unbroken." The audience was startled to hear the quiet voice of the narrator again, having been so caught up when the story she'd been telling came to life that they'd forgotten her existence. "The Prince kept his promise to the Vizier and made him wealthy, and gave him the Princess Tamsin as wife, to cement the bond. "The Princess Mirania, though, cursed the Vizier for being a liar, since she grew aged and wrinkled at the same rate all women do." The woman rose to her feet. "Or as most women do. For, though none know for certain what goes on in another man's harem, it was rumored that the Princess Tamsin remained radiantly young and beautiful, and greatly pleased the Vizier through her love of dancing." The narrator paused, then added, "But that's a story for another day." Then she made obeisance, and walked off into the wings. There was a minute of silence, then the applause started again, though a perceptive person might notice the audience tended to avoid looking at each other. Riker was clapping as loudly as the rest when he noticed the captain making his way up an aisle. As Riker hurried after him the curtain rose again, to reveal a trio of singers. He caught up before the turbolift left. "Ah, Number One, uh." Picard cleared his throat and started again. "A surprising variety of acts in this show of yours." "Yessir," grinned Riker. "Do you think that last, er, tale was entirely appropriate?" Riker laughed. "They didn't clear it with me, sir. Anyone who wanted to perform checked in with the computer and it assigned them a slot." "Hrmmph." The doors whooshed open and they walked out onto the bridge. "It seemed to go over well with the audience," pointed out Riker. "Yes, well, it's done now." Picard paused, then added "Have Counselor Troi feel out the crew, see if there are any, er, undesireable reactions." "Yes, sir." * * * * * The next day, Troi reported to Picard in his ready room. "You wanted to see me, Captain." "Ah, yes. Did Riker tell you . . ." "Yes, sir. You wanted to know how the audience felt about Scheherazade's tale." She smiled, "The short answer is, they loved it. I think even non-empaths could tell that." "Well, yes," admitted Picard. "But after the immediate, ah, pruriant appreciation wore off, how do they feel about having, ah, ..." "Watched a sex-show?" Troi filled in helpfully. "The crew has mixed feelings today, but none of it is negative, sir. Those who weren't there are envious, and those who were are mainly curious. According to the computer, that slot was assigned to "Ensign Secret and the Unknown Players" -- and of course there isn't anyone by that name aboard. There are debates going on all over the ship, over which of the characters were real and which holodeck constructs." "Which were constructs--," Picard stared at her. "I assumed they all were, except the narrator! Surely no crewmember would--" "That's one main school of thought," Troi agreed. "The other holds that the two lead characters MUST have been real people, otherwise why would they have been masked? The first school counters, misdirection, so we WOULD wonder." Troi smiled. "Even those who agree on WHICH characters are real can't agree on who played them. The debates are doing more to take the crews' minds off their missed shore leave than anything else ever could." Picard stared at her for a few moments, then said, "So it is your professional opinion as Ship's Counselor that the show was a successful effort in raising ship's morale." "Yes, sir." "Very well, the matter is closed." As Troi turned to leave, Picard added, "Surely you know. I mean, an empath can tell the difference between people and constructs?" "Of course, sir. But I would never tell." Picard looked at her curiously. "If the truth were known, the interest raised by the uncertainty would be gone." She hesitated, "Unless you are ordering me to tell you?" "No, no." Picard waved her away. "That will be all, Counselor." "Thank you, sir." * * * * * A nude man lay sprawled across a rumpled bed, watching as a nude woman twisted before the three-way mirror in her cabin admiring her body. "Was it all you expected?" She turned to him with a radiant smile. "Yes. Oh, yes! All those eyes upon me, I mean us, sharing, enjoying our bodies, our pleasures!" She cupped her hands under her breasts and started to rub her thumbs across her nipples. "The hardest thing was to stop stroking myself on stage, I wanted them to see me come, to have an orgasm with all their eyes burning into me ... " "They why --" "But I wanted the other even more! I've told you, as far back as I can remember, I've always fantasized about sucking a man off in front of an audience!" She smiled. "And you let me make my fantasy come true." "My pleasure," said the man with heavy irony. "No, don't belittle your cooperation! I know exhibitionism isn't your turn-on, but you performed with me anyway. Do you know how rare that is? Most men would never consider it." She slid one hand down to her hairless crotch and began to stroke it as she continued, "I started to tell my fantasy to Will once and he was so threatened I had to turn it into a joke and change the subject. That show will always be my most thrilling memory. When I'm two hundred years old, and confined to bed, and no one is interested in touching me, I'll roll the details over in my mind as I roll my clit between my fingers." She turned back to the mirror and watched her fingers passing over her crotch. "I can't get over how different it feels. I'll have to stay very healthy until my hair grows back." The man grunted. "Would it be so awful if they knew?" "Oh, not really, though it would weaken my image as the cool, controlled counselor if they knew that they'd watched me perform, no, LOVE performing fellatio in front of them." She turned to smile at him again. "Even though THEY loved watching it. Did you know that Captain Picard asked me how the crew reacted? I was tempted to tell him, 'They were so turned on some of them came as they watched.' "Late at night, after the show, I walked through the ship and I could feel the waves of lust. I'd swear half the men on this ship were having their balls sucked and thinking of the 'Butterfly'!" "Not just thinking," the man said as he rolled onto his side. "What do you mean?" "Riker came to me a few hours before the show and told me to record the whole thing so nobody would have to miss any of it." Deanna stared at him. "Then today he suggested that I 'edit' the record. His suggestion came a little late, though. According to the computer, forty three crew had downloaded copies of our act to their private files. "All over the ship people are watching little 3-D copies of you sucking little 3-D copies of me." Deanna flushed and rubbed her crotch harder. "Oh! oh!" She was leaning back against the mirror with her legs bent and widely spread as she rubbed frantically. "It's too much, I can't stand it!" The man watched her with an impassive face, though his cock was standing stiffly. "You really love it, don't you? The thought of people watching you, over and over, doing enlargements, bringing your image up to full-size, close enough to touch." Deanna moaned and slid down along the mirror to sit with her ass on her heels and her knees spread as wide as possible. "Who? Which of them?" She had three fingers of one hand working in her vagina while the other hand continued to rub her clit. The man rose and tangled his fingers in her hair, forcing her face up to look at him. "I set up over a dozen lenses at all angles, to allow the best possible recording. Do you realize that right at this instant you may be straddling the faces of twenty men, masturbating inches from their noses as they whack themselves off?" he demanded harshly. Deanna could only moan. He put his face close to hers and said, "Who? Riker has a copy. So does LaForge. So does Wesley." He whispered in her ear, "And so does the captain." With a cry like a strangled cat Deanna climaxed over and over, to finally collapse, spent, on the floor. "Get up," he ordered, and watched without helping as she scrambled up. "Kneel on the bed. With your legs apart." Deanna quickly obeyed. He put his hand on her back and pushed her down til her chest touched the bed while holding her ass up. Roughly he rubbed his palm over her cunt then thrust his fingers up her vagina. Deanna gasped, "Gently, plea--" He slapped the other hand across her ass with the sound of a whip crack. "Be still, bitch!" He pulled the fingers from her vagina and began to rub them against her asshole, working first one, then two, then three deep into her anus. Deanna was clenching her muscles, trying to prevent his entry, "Please, you need more lubrication!" The man chuckled, "You've already made more than enough." He rubbed his cock between the gaping lips of her slit until his cock glistened with her juices, then drew back to lodge the head against her anus. She gasped as he forced the knob within her. "Do you love it, bitch? You know you do. Just imagine that half the ship is watching!" With a growl he lunged forward, sheathing himself until his balls slapped against her cunt, then froze. Deanna sobbed out, but calmed as he stayed still. "Remember your promise." Her voice was muffled from being pressed against the mattress, but it was clear enough. "Yes, I remember. I promise. I will let you act out your fantasy on me when you find another Klingon." Worf slapped her ass again. "Not fantasy, bitch. The joining rite!" He drew partway from her ass then thrust in again, "When two Klingon warriors share a woman." He stroked in her steadily for several minutes, with gradually increasing rhythm. "When each thrusts within her body at the same time," he was slamming in and out of her ass now, his voice hoarse, "and feels the other's cock pushing back at him!" Then he could no longer form words and simply shouted as he forced his cock as deeply as possible into her asshole, and shouted and shouted as he came within her. For several minutes neither moved or said anything, then Worf slowly drew his softening cock from her ass. "Are you all right?" Deanna stood up and turned to face him. "Yes," she assured him. "Betazoid women are not as fragile as humans." She took his hand to lead him to the bathroom. For a second he held back. "You will enjoy the rite, I know, even though the woman is not considered a person but just a vessel to demonstrate the new warrior's acceptance into the band." He stroked her cheek gently with his free hand. "It is traditional for all the other members of the band to witness the ceremony." He looked down into her widening eyes and smiled. "Then each of the others probes the woman's ass and cunt to check for himself that the warriors indeed shed their sperm together." She was flushing rosily. "Yes, Deanna, every male on the ship, as many as fifty on a Bird of Prey, rubbing their fingers up you fore and aft." She shivered. "Something new for you to dream about," he murmured, then started kissing her deeply. The end.