The BLTS Archive - Massage
by R.Schultz (cousindream@aol.com)

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Disclaimer: All things Trek belong to Paramount and ViaBorgCom. I am
borrowing some of their abandoned children and letting them have a
smiley day. They will be returned sated and spent. This story is mine
under common-law copyright. November, 2001, 3650 words long.

Warning: This is TrekSmut, and no underage American may enter here.
Neither may those whose locale or country forbids you entry to
anything smut. Your masters know best what you may be allowed to read.

WARNING!!!!: This story contains an explicit Sadism/Masochism
encounter. Avoid if you can't handle a pleasure-through-pain scenario.

Posted to the FFF (late, unfortunately) for Round IV. Sorry its late.
This fic is ineligible for the Silver Labia Award.

Will be archived at the FFF TrekSmut site, and later to the ASCEM. May
be achieved elsewhere, but please notify.

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It was a quiet area, pairs of women having a contemplative moment
together with their girlfriend, dog, or cat. Enjoying life together.

Actually the neighborhood didn't look that bad. The Capetown I grew up
in had a lot of areas that looked like a war zone three centuries
later. It should, it was an old war zone.

This was simply a tad used. Tired, and that's only talking about the
places where people still lived. This place was just for the people
who, for whatever reason, lacked confidence, hope and energy. Like my
Mother, they looked like they were just waiting to die.

Losers. I never had any patience for losers, I never had much use for
my Mother. Usually I avoided losers. They were depressing and useless.
Me, now I had gotten out of the War Zone.

Correction.... The people here in San Francisco liked to pretend their
little lives mattered. They don't, but the little triumphs of their
lives are enough for them.

Somewhere in the haze up there are the Utopia shipyards, and they are
working to refit something powerful and clean into something more
powerful and cleaner.

Right there -- see that star? That's the Utopia shipyards of Terra.
That tiny star next to it is the ENTERPRISE. For a while its been my
dream. I can relate to things powerful. It makes me hot to sit in a
seat of power. Captain Pike may be Captain, but its me that
constantly caresses the powers of ENTERPRISE.

Power is the only reason I've stayed with Pike's vessel.

Did you know he has a talisman buried underneath his left collar bone?
Just a fragment of wood, a speck of a sailing ship, the original
ENTERPRISE. Bubbled in plas, surgically placed there once he knew the
command of the Starship ENTERPRISE was his. His own ju-ju, his warding
off of devils, his grasping of the raw open terminals of power.

The stars are pretty here, in this almost un-lit corner of San
Francisco. Not harsh and airless and streaked with StarBow light
stretching. More friendly. Less pitiless.

One could lie down to death's coming with a little balance and peace
here. I doubt that its for me.

Maybe I won't be trying to Captain one of the big ones, down here,
but I'll have to find something to stretch for, something to strive
for.

Another pair of slightly pudgy girls go by, they barely notice me
sitting on a line of ancient concrete finally learning to crumble. Or
the light from the mild stim stick in my mouth. The Holier Than Though
Captain Pike frowns on stim sticks while he's striding around on his
daily testosterone charge walk-about. "Do this. Don't do that. I want
a tight ship here".

The sonofabitch. I've come a long way from where I tried to live his
fucking impossible perfect ship's officer. I gave him everything he
wanted. I kept his damned bed warm, I gave him all the bloody loyalty
he demanded as his God-given right, I saved his ass a dozen times. And
then he'd alter what he wanted, and it was me, or someone else who was
compromising his perfect ship. Mister perfectionist with the
ever-changing standards.

And the fucking sonofabitch said I was "quite exemplary for a woman".
What was worse was Pike recommending that his Second should get
command of the ship if he died in service. A Vulcan Croppie who could
barely fill the role of Acting Second.

Starfleet will never hand a major ship command to a woman, so why do I
bust my back to satisfy Pike and the rest of the males HE sucks up to?

The night was peaceful in San Francisco. No more clangings in the
middle of the night for his damned practice alarms and drills.

I could enjoy living in this city of women. So why should I give
myself a short shore leave, and then go back to pulling some male's
chestnuts out of the fire?

The answer is you don't. The Academy will be glad to get me. They
might give me a Commander's pip's in two or five years. They'll
promote me as fast as Pike will. The Fleet and that devious Pike and
his oh-so-unconsciously malicious "exemplary for a woman" status report
can go shove it.

The Academy will use me and drag their heels on a raise in rank, just
like Fleet Ship Command. Big deal. But at least I won't have to risk
my life ten times a month and then get a "exemplary for a woman"
competency report.

Get me a nice teaching job, or a desk position .... that sounds nice.
Put in my time while I buy a house in one of the lesbian suburbs, me
and my nice girlie who'll fix me Chicken Soup, and fist me in the
early mornings of a weekend. She can fix the flitter, too. Retire when
I can. See something of Terra besides Capetown or San Francisco.

Maybe join one of the archaeological teams working on sunken ships. I
can do that, I like underwater sports. Cleopatra's Alexandria, Claudius
Ostia, Jamaicas Port Royal, the aircraft carrier YORKTOWN, the YAMATO
off Kyushu, the EXPRESS in the Barents.

That concept appealed to me. Clad in a DeepSuit, working in the rotted
secrets of a pirate ship off Barbados. I've never been to Barbados. I
understand its gorgeous now that they've rid it of lingering
radiation, and a tiny site exists on the south side of the island.
Spend LOTS of time on a white uncrowded beach. My own little Risa.

Well, my stimstick was down to the butt by now, and it was time to get
my personal show on the road. I knew that in the day light this
massage parlor was like any other house on the other side of the bay.
A few meandering rose bushes in front and a small discreet sign
plastered to the side by the front door. Five parking spaces where two
small house's were before the '17 quake. Or the nuke strikes.

Two air strikes and a suitcase bomb in Alameda and we had a chaos
century where women were consumer items on Terra. Except at San
Francisco. Don't ever let them lie to you and say the World Government
saved San Francisco when they moved here. The Central California
Republic had already absorbed Phoenix, Stockton and Elko when the
WorldGov moved in. Women kept civilization going in San Francisco, and
that's why Starfleet and WorldGov came here. Happenstance had Zero
Percent in the decision.

Stop delaying, I chide myself, its time now to get my ashes hauled.
Pike always said I was too deliberate and methodical in my foreplay.
This coming from the man who thought two minutes of nipple sucking
followed by three minutes of cunnilingus was sufficient obligatory
sexual arousal for me for a standard heterosexual screw.

And he never even noticed that I kept changing the color of the
ceiling tint in both our cabins.

The door of the massage parlor opened with a musical chirp, and the
air inside smelled clean and crisp, invigorating, rather than perfumed
or cloying. Inside, an aged black woman sat behind a small counter,
waiting for her customers. A corridor ran back into the unknown.

You could barely sense the presence of a Wall. It was more for the
woman than anything else. A robber could rage all night and never get
out of the mesh she had to protect her and her place. He'd still be
there when the morning police sweep came to collect the trash.

She carefully looked me over, smiling at the subtle Crocodile image I
worked so hard to convey. Umpteen centuries later it was still about
being butch or femme.

She liked my masculine persona, not to mention my exquisite suede
jacket.

She might have wondered why I wasn't down at the "Twin Peaks" or the
"Swafoxx". Picking up some young stylish slink, there in the Haight,
instead of here, buying it. She knew better.

"Twenty-five Cred," she began. "All you pay for when you enter thru
the doors, is a massage, and nothing but a massage."

"I want the black woman," I put in. "I hear she's very good at what
she's good at." The fat black woman smiled and nodded.

I stood loose as she read the rest of the litany, nodding, pretending
to be interested. In the end, she said, anything I worked out with the
masseur was my business, including tips and bonuses for the girl. She
could arrange a male masseur, give her ten minutes, no change in
price. I fed her an orange twenty-five Cred filche and she banked it
into her account. The piece of now-white plastic was chewed up by the
machine.

I moved past the woman, allowing her to caress my jacket leather. "Two
hundred and fifty?" she asked. I replied; "Four". The fat woman
pointed to the back and said "Last on your right," she said.

My clothes went on hooks, my issue half-boots underneath. I spared a
moment to examine myself in the mirror. I was too lean, but my
musculature looked good. I flexed in a few poses, smiling, then flowed
onto the massage table.

Immediately I heard the masseur enter. I looked up, admiring the firm
very young body on the black woman who entered. Her whole body
glistened and glimmered with the oil she had put on herself. Her
breasts were large and upright as befitted her age. No babies, unless
she had had the expensive surgery.

Her naked breasts were lovely, her nipples were dark ovals drawing my
thoughts. What drew my eyes was the minimal yellow bikini bottom she
wore. Automatically my mind set to work stripping her of that small
bit of cloth. Then I thought of how JUICY she could be. I thought of
my fingers dripping with her liquids, the rank musk scent she could
fill the room with.

I thought of her generous hips bucking her sex into my sopping face,
her grunting and cursing me, adoring me, worshipping me. Crying loudly
every time she came on my tongue and face.

I could make her adore me, given time. I could make her my lifelong
femme, dancing with me in the cruise bars, showing herself off, her
hanging on my arm telling everyone whose girl she was. Mine.

Smiling, she did a pirouette, letting me enjoy the sight of her supple
back and generous backside.

"If you just want the standard massage, please put your face back in
the hole and relax. I'm a great masseur, I have the muscles and the
experience. Anything else we have to negotiate.

"Like what you see? Want it oozing all over you? We can manage that
also," she said.

"You're not North American," I said. "African?"

She nodded a yes, then began slopping an aromatic oil on my back and
buttcheeks. "Bastuo, or Bast if you prefer. We ruled then and still do
a corner of what used to be South Africa, in the pre-Gene Wars
troubles."

"I know," I said, touching her arm briefly. "I'm Afrikaan, Capetown,
myself. If they still ruled, I'd be too much a mongrel for the Cape
GeneMasters I'm sure. And besides, the Gene Masters preferred straight
men and women for their breeding pens." There, that settled any
questions she might have.

She waited for me to make the suggestions, issue initial prices for
her services, begin the negotiations.

Oddly, this was my favorite part.

My black princess carefully and obviously turned on the room privacy
screen. From now on everything we say should be limited only to the
two of us hearing it.

"I like it rough, sometimes really shitty pain, can you make me beg?"
Before the girl could respond I went on. "Hurting, pain, helplessness,
raw hard sex, paddling, mild whipping, anal sex .... be inventive.
Make me feel it, make me cry, moan, sob, you figure something out."

"Base rate $300 Cred an hour for my best and bloodiest rough trade
program," she said. "You leave here limping and satisfied, or you pay
nothing."

"You sound sure of yourself," I teased. "Make it a hundred and you
have a deal."

So it went for a few minutes until we settled on Cred 175 and she'd be
inventive. No blood or scarring, no restraints, but I'd be submissive
and wouldn't need it.

"Tipping comes in if I really feel you're into the program," I added.
"Inventiveness alone gets you a tip. Make me beg. Make me hurt."

"Safety word?." she inquired.

"Make it Nyota," I said.

She gave me a look. "I'm a star sailor," I explained. "I have a girl
in one of my ports, and that's her name."

"Does she .... Is she rough on you?", she asked.

"We're two minds on the same course," I returned. "She's my baby, when
we meet. We give each other what is needed. Maybe Starfleet wouldn't
approve of how we get our pleasures, but maybe Starfleet should go
fuck itself sometimes." She smiled at my little jibe. Everyone in San
Francisco had something to say about WorldGov or Starfleet.

"Turn around," the black girl said. "Lean against the table." I did
what she said.

She caressed my buttcheeks a little, making fire trails start weaving
in my groin. There were noises, I wondered ....

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! I almost jumped across the table, the
sudden blossoms of pain made my ass feel like it had been amputated
from the rest of my body. I howled in reaction to the sudden agony. I
twisted enough so that I saw she had a large flexible paddle, and she
was drawing back her arm to really make each delivery something she
could put her back into!

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! Forehand, back hand, I felt my entire
backside turn molten lava hot, and spreading. "Oh gawd, do you have to
....", I began.

"SHUT UP, BITCH, DID I GIVE YOU PERMISSION TO SPEAK?" she wailed in my
ear. Three fingers suddenly had me good, their bulk suddenly
connecting my pain with my horniness. My ass felt so abused and hot.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! Suddenly the fingers were back in me, and
I had to moan to feel their size, and working me, and I was so wet,
and she had four fingers inside me.

"How the hell did a skinny gal like you get such a big sloppy fat
ass?," my punisher said. I partially turned to speak and she rounded
on my butt with that paddle again. "Shut the hell up, you fat-assed
bitch!"

Forehand, backhand, she kept turning my ass red hot. It should glow in
the dark, I managed to think. Then suddenly those wonderful fingers
were in me, her hand was soothing to my thighs when they touched me.
Those fingers slid in so easy, my lips must have been puffy and red,
and those fingers kept working inside me. It felt so good, she kept
fucking me, I was building up on her lovely sexy fingers, they kept
working in me. I began to groan and move my hips in response.

Then she stopped. She was around the table ....

"You're trying to come, aren't you!" She grabbed my hair hard,
twisting her hand in it, forcing me down, forcing me to scream.

"Did I say you could come, you fat-assed freak?" she said. "No, I
didn't, did I? So what the hell were you getting excited for? I was
fucking you for my own pleasure! Not helping you enjoy yourself!" She
forced my head down hard a dozen times, two dozen times while she
screamed at me.

I was grunting. Every time I screamed in pain she slapped me
open-handed with a command to stop screaming. I couldn't see from my
tears.

My nipples were so hard, and they hurt from being dragged back and
forth on the sweaty sticky surface of this goddamned leather
table-top. And I couldn't reach under me to roll them into a come, or
ANY kind of a damned distraction, or relief, or anything.


My hands were deliberately placed in my previous widespread position.
She leaned into my ear to tell me; "Keep those hands right there.
Don't scream. I don't like screaming. I have delicate ears. They don't
like loud noises, understand?

"If you don't do what I say I'll crack your teeth."

With that she went behind me again. I quivered to think of my red red
red buttcheeks being paddled some more.

The first blow made me scream, which my Mistress ignored. Which was
good because there was no way in Hell that I could have kept quiet for
that first one, or the next two dozen or more that were laid on, on my
already tender ass.

She was using something else, and the black woman leaned over my back
to caress my sweating back and ass. "It's an English Riding Crop," she
told me.

She hit my head back onto the table, then she gave me another dozen
blows around my thighs and ass. The magical fingers were suddenly in
me again, cooling my pain, sliding in on my juice as I spasmed in pain
and anticipation.

Ooooh gawd! The greatest thing in the world must be to get filled and
stretched like that. They .... felt so good pushing inside my
tight-loose pussy like that. I wriggled my red fat lips back and
forth, relishing the fullness those four or so fingers gave me. I
existed only as a filled pussy and a red hot hurting ass.

If she kept doing that, making me forget my raw burning ass, I was
going to come no matter what she says to me.

Suddenly I went rigid. Her whole hand was forcing its way in on the
grease of my wet crotch juices. I must have been producing snail
trails right down the insides of my thighs.

The thumb forced itself through my ring of vagina muscles, it hurt, it
resisted her hand entering me, but it worked.

I shuddered and squeaked as I opened up for my masseur. Now she was
massaging the soft moist giving muscular sensitive stretched insides
of me.

She was in. I could hear my panting, our panting, sucking noises
emanating from my groin as she began to fuck her fist centimeters up
and down the inside length of my pussy.

When she started twisting it as she fist fucked me, my knees almost
buckled and I screamed as it got too good, too goddamned good as she
was twisting and cork-screwing and fucking up and down when she rubbed
her other thumb against my clit

and it was like

some had opened a valve in me as I came and

came and I don't know whether I started having orgasm

after come or I was having one continuous pulsing hard hard come

didn't matter

it was so good and so complete and lasted

forever.

I fell to my knees and her fist came out of me with a loud heavenly
obscene foot-in-mud Pop!

I couldn't get enough breath for some minutes, but eventually my eyes
functioned again, and I could fill my lungs. I was helped to my feet,
and allowed to sprawl over the massage table. A soft peach-colored
towel was applied to my brow, face, neck and shoulders. I pushed my
hand through my nasty wet sex and down my thighs. There was no blood
on my hands, despite my agonized ass and thighs. Just wet female
stuff.

Delightful.

Eventually I was led to a dumper ensuite to clean up, aided by the
lovely black gal. I was in horrid shape. All in all it had already
been a memorable night.

----

The stars were a tad more crisp and sure by now, but they were still
friendly. I was leaning against Nyota's flitter, careful not to bring
my raw sore ass against the side. Just drawing in on my stimstick.
Loving the happy you can get from really light stim use.

Eventually my black beauty came to me in the night, her hands filling
with me as much as she could achieve. Her lips were filled with my
mouth, her neck was warm with the caring only my hands could give to
her. I enjoyed the veldt scents her hair and skin carried. The
promises her eyes carried when she gazed into mine.

"I really do love you, Nyota, babe," I managed between kisses. "We
could make a beautiful couple ...."

She interrupted me with a finger to my lips. "We've been all through
that before. It's not a possible thing for us two.

You'll go wandering from star to star. Maybe dying this time. We
couldn't make it work, you know that, my Afrikaner lover. And I'm
about to go into my pre-entry year, up at Stockton." She leaned into
me, nuzzling at the base of my throat, nibbling ears.

"I'll be a StarFleetCadet soon, then an Ensign," she explained again.
"The next time you come by San Francisco I'm liable to be assigned to
some, any, Starship out there, second star to the right come morning.
What can we do then, na? Give it up, doll. Let it be." She slowly
nibbled on my chin before switching to an ear.

"Besides I enjoy coming on down here once every two years or so and
having our little charade." She paused; "Did you know MaMa Cocoli gave
me my money back this time? She said it pleased her to say we're
welcome to return anytime to play our little play-games. She says she
envies me, I have a strong woman.

"She also apologizes for her dermal regenerator not working tonight. I
have one at home .... can you wait that long?"

"I can wait that long," I said. "But do you mind if I ride home on my
knees facing backwards? I don't want to discover whether or not I can
sit down."

Before I carefully crawled into her flitter, I looked above again.

"And honey, I think I've got some good news for you." Nyota Uhura
looked at me with a planetoid of forbearance in her heart.

I looked upward at the friendly stars and the glint of the ENTERPRISE
in orbit, up there by the Utopia shipyards.

"Fuck you, Captain Pike," I murmured under my breath. "And your
goddamned "exemplary for a woman" report. From now on you can run that
bloody damned ship without me. I've got better things to do with my
life."

---

The End