From netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!howland.reston.ans.net!newsjunkie.ans.net!newstf01.news.aol.com!newsbf02.news.aol.com!not-for-mail Tue Apr 25 06:33:50 1995 Xref: netcom.com alt.sex.fetish.startrek:7631 Path: netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!howland.reston.ans.net!newsjunkie.ans.net!newstf01.news.aol.com!newsbf02.news.aol.com!not-for-mail From: ataras@aol.com (AtaraS) Newsgroups: alt.sex.fetish.startrek Subject: Re: Sick of food Date: 25 Apr 1995 00:33:02 -0400 Organization: America Online, Inc. (1-800-827-6364) Lines: 96 Sender: root@newsbf02.news.aol.com Message-ID: <3nhu1u$1ps@newsbf02.news.aol.com> References: <3nefjv$l78@news.cc.ucf.edu> Reply-To: ataras@aol.com (AtaraS) NNTP-Posting-Host: newsbf02.mail.aol.com Alara asked if anyone else had any backrub fantasies they'd like to share--OK, I'll take the bait. Since I'm too inhibited to insert myself here, I'll include my favorite ST couple, and you can guess which one I'm Mary Sueing (undoubtedly both). ;-) This is NOT part of a story--it's going to have to stand on its own merits, but if similar scenarios appear in the very *slowly* progressing sequel to "She Moves in Mysterious Ways" or sound somewhat similar to the original story, don't be surprised (I'm a firm believer in self-plagiarism). :-) The characters are Paramount's, but they need to be liberated from the guardians of morality once in a while. Oh, and I've borrowed the last line from "Q Who"--hope Mr. Hurley doesn't mind me quoting him out of context! With no more further ado, herewith follows: A PICARD/Q BACKRUB FANTASY Jean-Luc Picard staggered into his quarters, exhausted and tense from a long day at the office (I don't know *why* he's so exhausted and tense; hey, this isn't a story--it's just a vignette--so we're going to be a little short on plot here! Don't expect a whole lot in the way of character motivation either!). He collapsed on his bed, face down and fully dressed, too exhausted and wound up to do anything else. Suddenly his clothes seemed to melt off his body, while he simultaneously felt hot streams of water pour over him. The sensation was like that of a hot shower with the water pressure cranked up high, but there wasn't an actual drop of water on him. Feeling simultaneously refreshed and surprised at these developments, he began to sit up and look around. There was no one there, but a firm hand pushed him back into the bed. A single finger traced a line up and down his spine from neck to to tail bone, with a maddeningly light touch. Looking around for the owner of the finger, Picard quickly ascertained that said owner was invisible. Alarmed, he again began to rise from the bed and found himself pushed down more firmly and gently immobilized. "I must be dreaming," he thought to himself, as the finger continued to run up and down his spine before proceeding to trace swirling patterns over the entire surface of his back. "I certainly *hope* I'm dreaming," Picard mused, "and if it *is* a dream, I might as well enjoy it." The fingertip tracing patterns on his back was eventually replaced by two strong thumbs circling firmly at the base of his skull. The thumbs, joined by equally strong fingers, began to knead his shoulders and work their way down his spine. What was odd about this massage, Picard realized, was that as he felt the sensation move down his body, he could still feel it on his neck as well. It was as if multiple hands, with hundreds of fingers between them, were massaging, kneading, and probing every inch of his neck, shoulders, arms, and back, while all along his spine, multiple sets of thumbs stroked outward in tight upward curves. From each fingertip seemed to emanate a pulsing beam of heat that penetrated his skin and flowed over each individual muscle with a soothing caress. While continuing to minister to his back, the massaging hands began to travel down his body, digging into his buttocks and thighs, kneading his cramped calves, and rubbing the soles of his feet. Picard had never felt anything like the total relaxation that traversed his body. He felt his knotted muscles seemingly dissolve under the combination of heat and pressure, and he imagined himself utterly melting into his mattress, unable to lift a finger. He was involuntarily sighing and moaning in unselfconscious ecstasy. Then the sensations began to change. Instead of massaging fingers, he felt hundreds of fingernails lightly graze his body in sweeping curves, swirls, and figure eights. Despite his total relaxation, one part of his body was not as languidly limp as the rest and began to stir. The light scratches on his back, thighs, and buttocks were highly arousing, but not nearly as arousing as what happened next. The fingernails vanished to be replaced by tongues, tongues licking their way up his sides, tongues tickling the insides of his knees and elbows, tongues sweeping over his back, tongues tracing circles on his buttocks, and tongues drawing lines along the curve of his inner thighs. He felt himself rolled over, and the tongues continued their work, criss-crossing his chest until they seemed to center on his nipples, twirling them in tight circles. He was now fully aroused and beginning to groan in frustration as no relief for his tension appeared to be in sight. He was still immobilized and could do nothing to rectify the situation himself. "Whoever you are," he murmured, "don't stop here." As if in response, an invisible mouth began to minister to his quivering member, taking it all the way in and sucking vigorously while managing to lick it all around at the same time. Picard could not stand many moments of this and soon howled and thrashed in an explosive climax. After a few moments of blissful relaxation and recuperation, he opened his eyes, then nearly jumped out of his skin, having seen his now-visible masseur for the first time. "Tell me this is a dream!" he exclaimed aloud. "Au contraire, mon Capitaine," replied his companion, "this is as real as your so-called reality gets." The End *********************************************************** Atara Stein "The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom." --William Blake