Stardate, stardate? Oh, hell! What is the
fucking date, anyway? Computer? 23053.0. All right then, 2nd Lt. Charlotte
Richmond, activate and retrieve on my voice only; password "cocksucker."
Like I'll ever get to do that again, huh.
Personal journal entry 6. Camodius 12 of the Camodius Cluster system. Let's
see, my last entry was last month at this time. Or as the quaint Camodians
like to say, "mooncycle." Like everything on this godforsaken planet is
female-oriented : mooncycles, the Labia Dome, the Vulva cafe. Shit! If I
ever get my hands on whoever had me transferred here...okay, Charlotte, calm
down. Take a deep breath and start over. Six months on this all-female hell-hole
of a planet and the only way I get my rocks off is with dreams. I am losing
my mind, computer. And you notice the only "friend" who'll listen is this
computer. Shit! As I was saying: Personal journal transcription entry 6:
Dear Diary, I've had that dream again. Same dream
as last month. Right before my "moontime." Damnit, they've got me using this
archaic language, "moontime" indeed. My fucking period! Deep breaths, Charlotte,
deep breaths. My hormones must be on overtime. Due, no doubt, to the lack
of male companionship. I swear I have never gone this long without a fuck
in my entire life. Male or female. Well, okay, slight exaggeration. Since
I was 16. So, as I was saying, I've had that dream again. I'm back on the
Maverick. I am on the holodeck in a holosuite, not in a program of my design,
almost like I'm in someone else's dream. It's very beautiful there, tropical
forest setting, like on Gamia 12, only no bugs. There is the loveliest waterfall
spilling onto a small pond. The grass surrounding the area is verdant green,
pastoral, the scene is downright bucolic, oooh, Charlotte, you poet, and
the moon is full and bright. There I am watching the scene from a few yards
away, quite hidden by underbrush, thick vines and dense jungle. And who steps
out from underneath the waterfall, running his fingers through his long hair,
naked as a Rivulianraptor, but that Vulcan, Vin Tanner. A body to die for.
The smoothest-looking, blemish-free skin stretched tautly over a firmly muscled
torso. Slim hips, hell, almost no hips at all. Nice, rounded, firm butt.
Long, finely shaped legs. And his cock. Gorgeous, a dream come true. Long,
tapered, perfectly formed, smooth, slick, bevel-headed. And at the base,
honey-colored downy hair and a heavy sac with balls ripe as plums.
Computer, pause.
+ + + + + + +
Resume.
Where was I? Vin Tanner's cock. And the man is
standing there, water dripping off him. Water beaded up on his dark-tan,
oval-shaped nipples, slowly running down the length of his body. Why the
two of us never made it is beyond me. "Cunt-teaser" I'm thinking. But that's
history, back to the dream.
The Vulcan is standing there, almost as if he is looking for someone to join
him. And damnit it's not me. Like I said I am only an observer in my own
fucking dream, powerless to move an inch. He steps out of the pond onto the
thick grass.
Out from the edge of the jungle walks the Captain of the Maverick, Chris
Larabee. In all his glory. I knew that man was hung! Now, me and him, there
would have been fireworks, bet your ass. But in this dream Capt. Larabee
is not looking for me or at me. He, now get this, walks over to the Vulcan!
Larabee has a few inches on the Vulcan and I ain't just talkin' height.
Charlotte, you devil. Seriously now, Larabee is a fine speciman of a man,
all golden and firm, rock-solid. A man any 2nd Lt. would be proud to take
home to Mom and Dad, if they still let her in the house, which they won't,
bastards, but that's another journal entry.
Larabee saunters up to the Vulcan. His green eyes match the color of the
pond. Funny thing about his eyes, they change color depending on his mood.
For some reason whenever he dealt with me on the Maverick they were gray
and dead, like a shark's. But in my dream, with him searching out Tanner,
they are green-blue, hypnotic. Tanner looks mesmerized by them. Not that
the Vulcan's deep-blue eyes are not strikingly piercing in their own right.
That's what attracted me to the kid in the first place. Computer, strike
the word "kid." I'm certainly not older than he, afterall. But let's face
it, I'm no "kid." Sooo, as I was saying, Larabee walks toward the young Vulcan.
Their eyes lock. They smile at one another. They embrace. They kiss. Not
just a polite peck on the cheek or lips, nooooo, this is one
suck-your-brains-out, tongue so far down your throat it might meet your ass,
kiss. A kiss I only watched from afar but it set my gut on fire. Not that
it doesn't take much to do that, but lately, on this planet, well, let's
say I haven't had that feeling since Lt. James on the Maverick. Truth be
told, he was only average. But I digress.
Larabee is kissing Tanner. Their arms are tightly holding one another. They
are crushing each other and I notice they are grinding their cocks into one
another. My dream is getting good. I can see even from where I am that they
are both now erect and they are rubbing up against each other in a sensuous
kind of dance, only they aren't moving their feet and there ain't no music.
They come up for air every once in a while. You can tell the Vulcan is better
at holding his breath than the Captain because Larabee is usually panting
when they break.
This goes on in my dream for maybe ten minutes or so. Not that I'm complaining,
mind you. It's just. Well, it would be nice if they got horizontal. And,
this being my dream, they do. Not that I have any control over this dream,
as I think I have made clear. I am an innocent bystander. Okay, bystander.
So, finally, Larabee gently pushes Tanner to the grass. They are laying side
by side and Larabee is leaning over the Vulcan running his fingers through
his long, silky hair, tucking it behind the Vulcan's ears.
When I first came on the Maverick I didn't know Tanner was a Vulcan. He's
that good-looking. But he can't help who his parents were. I was so looking
forward to a Vulcan fuck, but things didn't work out. It certainly wasn't
my fault. He wasn't man enough, or maybe I was too much woman for him, as
if I could help that. Or maybe he really can only get hard if he is with
a man. Maybe that's what my dream means. Nah, a man like Larabee wasting
it on that Vulcan? Oh, my, Charlotte, whatever have you been drinking? No,
I believe it is all the estrogen in the air on this planet causing my hormones
to go haywire which is making me dream these quite bizaare fantasies. How
does that compute, computer? No, don't answer, that was a rhetorical question.
So there is the Captain toying with Tanner's hair and tracing kisses down
his forehead, nose, cheeks, finally reaching his lips again. Tanner wraps
his arms around Larabee pulling him over so he is buried beneath Larabee.
They are smiling at one another. It's a toss-up as to whose teeth are whiter.
The two of them are locked into one another, so connected that a phaser blast
wouldn't even separate them. Larabee starts to move down the Vulcan's body,
alternating kisses with licks and flicks of his tongue. Tanner is writhing
and moaning and has reached for the Captain's cock and is stroking it. As
the Captain moves lower on Tanner's body, the Vulcan loses his grip on Larabee's
cock. Larabee kisses Tanner's shoulders, his neck, a potent mixture of tongue,
teeth and lips. I am quite out of breath just watching the two men. Larabee
reaches his destination and takes the Vulcan in his mouth and starts working
him. Tanner is bucking his hips uncontrollably as the Captain slides his
mouth up and down along his shaft. I could tell Larabee was swirling his
tongue around that gorgeous, perfectly-formed head, flicking the dew of pre-cum
from the tip. Then he takes the Vulcan's balls in his mouth and purses his
moist, full lips around them. Tanner moans louder now, "Chris, Chris." The
Captain moves back to his throbbing cock, deep-throating him, tasting him,
swallowing, sucking him dry. And I thought I gave good head! Larabee is teaching
me a thing or two about breath control and throat contractions. And it's
my dream, go figure.
Lt. Vin Tanner is coming in Capt. Chris Larabee's mouth and Larabee is swallowing
every drop. Talk about shooting your load. Vulcans must have quite a sperm
bank because Larabee is gulping for all he's worth and trying not to gag
on all the spewing ribbons of white froth shooting down his throat. Tanner
screams out the Captain's name again. Huh, so much for Vulcan control. Finally,
Tanner lays still, a glazed look in those baby blues, a dazed smile on his
lips. Larabee lifts his head and tracks kisses, slowly and sensuously, back
up Tanner's torso pausing to nip at the Vulcan's pert, erect nipples. I can
just imagine how those hardened nubbins of his felt under the massaging tongueing
of the Captain's.
Computer, pause.
+ + + + + + +
Resume. That's better.
Tanner reaches again for Larabee's cock. He strokes
his fingers down under Larabee's balls, and then brings them up the length
of his now hard shaft. He begins stroking, his delicate but strong fingers
find the perfect rhythm. The Captain's breathing is hard. He is kneeling
over the Vulcan, being brought to the edge. He signals Tanner to roll over
and now the Vulcan is pressed down on the soft green grass, his legs spread
wide. The Captain begins rocking into Tanner. His muscular arms are planted
push-up style on the ground on either side of the Vulcan, and he begins to
plow his ass for real. Long, hard, slamming strokes push the Vulcan forward
with each body-shaking pound of his cock into the Vulcan's ass.
What a man!
The Captain isn't finished. He growls out, "Vin," in a hoarse whisper through
clenched teeth and he lightly slaps Tanner's left asscheek. The Captain then
drops to his knees between Tanner's legs, grabs the sides of his asscheeks,
and begins to slam into him again. He lifts Tanner slightly, and his hands
slowly slip around under his stomach to lock and hold him tightly. Tanner's
hard dick bounces up and down against his Captain's fingers and begins to
ooze pre-cum again as the Captain slams into him.
Unlacing his hands, Larabee strokes Tanner up and down the length of his
slim body, as he eases himself forward over Tanner's back. The Captain begins
pinching and teasing Tanner's nipples. The Captain's engorged balls, slick
with sweat that is trickling down both their bodies, slaps noisily against
Tanner's quivering asscheeks. Suddenly Larabee lifts himself up onto one
knee to get a better hold, and begins to fuck the Vulcan with a slight angle.
He throws his left leg up over Tanner's left side and slams Tanner back down
onto the grass with a fast, hard twist. Looks to me like these boys like
it rough.
The Captain eases Tanner over onto his back, pushes his legs up high and
throws them over his shoulders so they are resting on them. Now Larabee is
kneeling over Tanner his hands gripping the younger man's hips and he plunges
his thick, hard cock into Tanner's slick, pulling hole. Their eyes meet.
The Captain screams, "Coming, Vin, coming," his voice echoing above the noise
of the waterfall. Tanner is writhing in the grass, climaxing along with his
Captain. Gives a whole new meaning to 'Captain, my Captain,' I'm thinking.
They both come together and after a while the Captain slowly eases out of
the Vulcan. They lay on their backs on the grass, side by side, holding hands
tightly. Tanner reaches over with his other hand and gently strokes a finger
down the center of the Captain's chest, marking a trail in the sweat. "I
really love you," he whispers to Larabee, and leans over to nuzzle his face
down against the Captain's.
My mouth is hanging open at this point and my knees are weak as I watch this
display of galaxy-class fucking. And just like last month as the two men
begin to regain their breath and turn to speak the scene dissolves much like
a transporter shimmer.
Hell, if I don't get off this fucking female planet soon...mis-spoke....the
females of this planet don't fuck. God knows I've tried. Bunch of tight-assed,
celibate Camodians. It's just a matter of time before I'm transferred off
this rock. I didn't blow half the senior Starfleet staff because I like the
taste. Oh, no. Someone owes me big.
The transmissions I have sent out these past six months will be reaching
Starfleet soon. Shit, what better place to send them from than here—this
being a communications post, afterall. One of those letters will provoke
the right response from one of my high-ranking men of influence, one of the
married ones no doubt, of this I'm sure. And when I'm gone from here someone
will pay. Probably more than just 'one' someone. They haven't heard the last
from Charlotte Richmond. I'm smiling now as I think, 'payback is a bitch'.
Until that time, a girl can dream can't she?
Computer end journal entry. |