======== Newsgroups: alt.fan.q,alt.startrek.creative.erotica Subject: NEW: Pet's Day Out (TNG, P/Q, m/m, parody) From: thegiff@ix.netcom.com(Ruth Gifford) Date: 6 Apr 1996 05:32:29 GMT Ah, my revenge was twenty-five years in the making, but at last the younger sister has revenge-sign the likes of which even God has never seen. So, are y'all sick of GiffStein(tm) and their... interesting take on the Picard/Q relationship? Didja ever notice how practical matters get shunted to the side in favor of oral sex, tender feelings, and endless discussions of the "are we mad to even attempt a relationship" nature? Me too, so I've decided to something about it. Remember, GiffStein are what passes for my family, so I can make fun of them but you can't. Ha, ha. Remember, too, that I'm a US citizen, so in spite of the Telecommunications Decency Act, I'm gonna post whatever the hell I want. Ha, ha. Of course, Paramount actually does have legal grounds for being offended by this, but they are mighty and I am small, so let's hope they don't do anything about little old me. Love and Kisses, Emily (Sister of Ruth) Gifford PET'S DAY OUT Jean-Luc Picard had seldom been so glad to see his bed as he was after his adventure with Dathon and Jilad at Tanagra. He sank blissfully into sleep, unaware that yet another fabulous adventure awaited him, all alone in the night. A rustling of bedlocthes disturbed him. He felt knowing lips and oh-so-soft fingers trailing their way up his shins, past his knees, along his manfully musceled thighs... "Oh, Beverly," he sighed as the weight of a body covered him and a questing tongue thrust itself into his mouth. "Bevvvvvv...." Something unexpected made him sit up, opening his eyes. "You!" he exclaimed. "But I've never..." "Yes," drawled Q in a sultry manner. "But isn't it... nice?" "Unbelievable," sighed Picard hours - or perhaps days- later. "I'll say," agreed Q from the head as he rinsed and spat. Q returned to the bedroom to find Picard lounging on his belly, erotically gleaming head propped in his disproportionately large hands. "You know," said Q looking around Pircard's quarters critically, making a frame with his hands, "Your quarters are so... drab." "I know," Picard sighed, disconsolate. "But you wouldn't believe the pittance Starfleet (tm) calls a decorating budget. Talk about being paid in especially shiny pebbles they found down by the riverbed..." Q placed an omnipotent hand on an omniscient hip. "You can do so much with this space, even on a budget," he chided the captain. "And I know just where to start..." Picard was now in the groove of Q's thoughts. "IKEA," they said as one. Shuttlecraft 6, the "Glinda," was standard Starfleet (tm) issue - with a difference. "What the ..." Q breathed as he took in its candy-apple red paint job with aubergine racing stripe, the personalized "2STUDS" license plate, the white shag carpet, and mirrored panels. "Geordi tricked it up, so to speak, for Worf and Riker's honeymoon trip. I decided to keep it fabulous after they got back from Niagra and Broadway." "Why did it have to be white?" moaned Q as they settled in the "Glinda's" comfy bucket seats and Madame Butterfly flitted forth from the speakers. "It's just not... slimming." "I'm soooo embarassed," Picard said as he sprawled out on a sample mattress in the bedroom department. "You look it," drawled Q, surveying Picard's artfully draped, cut-for-an-old-guy manly physique. "Now get hard for Daddy." "Uh, what color ticking do you want?" "Ticking?" Q demanded, turning on the pimply-faced IKEA help. "You know," said the young man, stammering and blushing. "The ticking..." "Scarlet fleurs-de-lis, of course," said Q, his tone implying that nothing could be more obvious. The young man made much of writing this down on the order form as Q turned back to Picard. Q made slight kissing faces at his lover, and repeated his command. "Get hard for Daddy." The clerk looked up from his clipboard to ask his final question. "Didja want fries with that?" "Bathrooms," said Q musingly. "They're sooo difficult and yet freeing. The only rule is 'no flourescent lighting." "How about a sort of black and gold Deco theme?" Picard proposed. Q turned to Picard. "Not a bad idea," he said thoughtfully. Picard preened at his own contribution. "If you're going to be watching 'Jerry Springer' and eathing Ding- Dongs (tm) in the bath. Now drop and give me fifty." Picard sighed and hit the linoleum. Three passing women, all with nice lovely hair, began to applaud his push-ups. Picard blushed to the roots of his eyebrows. "White and green," proclaimed Q, smirking. "With a pine sectioned mirror, ferns, and marble." "Quelle eighties," muttered Picard as the Mary-Sues wandered off for an "X-files" fantasy in Kitchenware. "What was that," barked Q, placing a booted foot on Picard's back. Heavily. "Nothing," Picard said through gritted teeth. The foot suddenly doubled its weight and grew a spiked heel. "Sir," added Picard, respectfully. Everywhere they looked, their eyes were assaulted by primary colors. Picard sighed, and rubbed his temples in the manner of a cranky, headachy sidekick. "I L-O-V-E looove it," excalimed Q. "Bold geometric shapes.," the inspired immortal enthused, pointing to a Sandsbro 3-seater in "Bas" black leather. "A softer Jennyhill armchair and footstool in "Ladeby" beige to tone it down a bit. And, natch, a Skye lounger for the sheer, extravagant comfort of it all!" "I'm hungry," said Picard as Q whipped out his credit card (Mastercard, of course). "Say no more," he said to the whiny Picard. "To... the Snackbar!" "Oh, if only you had a solarium," bitched Q as he flipped through a catalog. They were in the snackbar, attracting more than a few curious looks from other dining shoppers. And no surprise that; after all, they were two very attractive men, and one of them was sitting under the table being fed Swedish meatballs one at a time by the other. "Now open your mouth and close your eyes," Q instructed the kneeling Picard. "And you shall receive a *big* surprise. Picard squeezed his eyes closed and dropped his mouth open like the good little sub he was. The captain choked as Q used a Strateg teaspoon to dose Picard with NyQuil(tm). "That should take care of that nasty choking habit of yours." "Everyone's looking at me," whined Picard. "Oh, get over it," snapped Q. "I did feed you, after all." Picard sighed, knowing that further protest would not only be useless, but also severly punished. Let them look, he thought defiantly as he rolled up his trousers and kneeled on a Stokdal dhurrie rug. After he had hobbled around on his knees for a few minutes, Picard presented his legs for Q's inspection. Q examined Picard's reddened knees. "This is a fairly mild rugburn," he observed thoughtfully. Picard begged to differ, but only mentally. Q continued. "I think it definitely falls under the category of acceptable risk." "Everyone's looking at me," Picard muttered again. "Oh, do be quiet," said Q. "They're all looking at you because they know you're going to be getting it up the ass when I get you home. And anyway," he added to the blushing Picard, "you know you love it! "Damn!" Q exclaimed suddenly. "We forgot the cocktail table!" Back they were in the Living section, Picard kneeling on the floor, bent at the waist, his rapid breath fogging the glass- topped black Bergdala cocktail table. Q was whacking Picard's ass with a slotted Struva kitchen tool. Picard's entire body was feeling the blows, his cock straining against the cool glass. Q suddenly brushed a pastry brush up and down Picard's crack, rapidly. Picard shuddered and came like he'd never come before. "You may stand," Q ordered as the spasms passed. "Hmmm," said Q, handing Picard a paper towel and a bottle of Windex (tm). "Glass *is* so easy to clean and practical. I'll take it," he added decisvely. "Me, too," gushed the bottom clerk. Exhausted yet happy, the two fictional characters lounged as the Pet Shop Boys throbbed on the "Glinda's" bass-to-the-ace sound system. The "Glinda" was on her way back to the Enterprise (tm), the wine was Chablis, the canapes were delicious, and all was right with the universe. Even the throbbing of Picard's ass was delightful, the captain thought as he knelt at Q's feet. 'Thank God for cruise control,' thought Picard as Q played with the craft's controls. 'He can push my buttons, but he couldn't pilot a shuttlecraft out of a paper bag with a compass and a map.' "I caught that," said Q menacingly from above. Picard winced. "Oh, don't worry; I'm done being mean. For now." Picard relaxed. "Of course," said Q, pushing a button which then lit up with the message 'Please do not press this button again.' "There is the not-inconsiderable matter of your off- duty wardrobe to be attended to...." 'Oh, no, here we go again,' thought Picard as Q ordered him to turn the shuttlecraft on course to the Westside Pavillion. The End? *************************************************************** "Say, have you seen the Carioca? It's not a foxtrot or a polka It has a meter that is tricky With lots of wicky-wacky-wicky..." "Carioca" from "Flying Down to Rio" "Memories....da, da, da, da dum Hum, hum, hum, hum, hum Memories Of the way We were..." "The Way We Were," La Streisand -- ****************** Ruth Gifford "I can laugh or I can turn away Well I've seen sex and I think it's okay" "Creatures of Love" Talking Heads