From varoneeka@aol.com Mon May 04 20:02:46 1998 Path: news10.ispnews.com!news11.ispnews.com!news1.ispnews.com!nntp.abs.net!feed2.news.erols.com!erols!newsfeed1.earthlink.net!nntp.earthlink.net!usenet From: varoneeka@aol.com (Varoneeka) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated Subject: Treksmut Illustrated Moment P/Q -- Lab Coats Date: Tue, 05 May 1998 03:02:46 GMT Organization: Better Living Thru TrekSmut Lines: 177 Sender: ascem@earthlink.net (ASCEM) Approved: ascem@earthlink.net Message-ID: <354e6ec7.10402565@news.earthlink.net> Reply-To: varoneeka@aol.com NNTP-Posting-Host: 209.178.4.96 X-Newsreader: Forte Free Agent 1.11/32.235 Xref: news10.ispnews.com alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated:7583 To: Date: 05 May 1998 00:24:46 GMT From: varoneeka@aol.com (Varoneeka) Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com Subject: Treksmut Illustrated Moment P/Q -- Lab Coats Treksmut Illustrated Moment Picard and Q in Lab Coats Dr. Q. Pottent wanted to get the work completed before his associate came back from his late dinner. Their work on the revolutionary diet drug was progressing at an extremely satisfying rate in part because of the somewhat competitive atmosphere in which he and Dr. Picard had indulged. It began the day that Dr. Pottent had discovered that human appetite was directly influenced by recognizable neural stimulation by the drug, XFD123D-1936DE, or "Xed," as they'd taken to calling it, only five hours before Dr. Picard had determined a means of blocking its effects. They'd worked together closely in the two years which had followed, and now shared PorComp Pharmaceuticals' largest lab, overseeing a staff of twenty-four and nearing the day when they would begin their human trials. Though Dr. Pottent had enjoyed some hopes at the beginning, the two of them had never become friends. Indeed, it had been months before Dr. Picard even bothered to tell him his first name, and he had yet to ask what the "Q" stood for on Dr. Pottent's name tag. However, they did seem to enjoy their competitive camaraderie, and Dr. Picard had definitely been the last one to score a "point." The hour was late, and Dr. Pottent had been working without proper rest or nourishment for some time. When he retrieved the sample of "Xed" with which he then coated five petri dishes of various solutions of human and animal neural tissue, he was not quite careful enough in sealing the container, and almost a cc of vaporous neural stimulation was released into the air of the lab. Dr. Pottent set up the petri dishes under artificial lights and had begun taking the first readings by the time Dr. Picard returned. "I see you've made excellent progress, as usual," Dr. Picard noted, looking the dishes over as Pottent fished for the pen he'd tucked into the large pocket of his white lab coat. He found it a moment later, tucked inside the plastic pocket protector of his shirt pocket. Picard frowned. "You've decided to use a high dose of UV there." Dr. Pottent smiled and stood a little closer to Dr. Picard. He thought he must be wearing a new aftershave. "I've discovered that the neural stimulation's rapidity would seem to rely in some part on the UV influx." "What?" Picard's eyes were satisfactorily wide as Dr. Pottent smiled and led him to the microscope. Picard bent over the instrument, and Pottent stood closely beside him, absently resting a hand on his back. "You see the infusion spread with a great deal of rapidity on these two samples," he murmured. His hand slid down towards Picard's waist, then very gently went further to cup his perfectly rounded backside, feeling the warm, rough polyester of his Sansabelts under the white coat. "Yes. This is impressive work," Picard applauded, straightening. Pottent's hand slid up to rest on his hip. "After we get the results on your preliminary test samples there, we should instigate a complete-spectrum analysis." Picard's hands went to Pottent's white shirt and began unfastening the buttons. He scowled at the white undershirt. "Agreed." Pottent nodded, and his hands pushed Picard's lab coat off his shoulders and onto the floor, disturbing Picard's work with his buttons. In retaliation, Picard shoved Pottent's undershirt up and reached under to find the taller man's nipples. Pottent groaned and shuddered. "We need to be certain we're not missing a step," Picard said, then leaned forward to kiss the gray-pink nub under his left hand's fingertips. As he traveled over the warm skin to the nub his right hand was caressing, he murmured, "We might have to request a delay on our report to the board." "We've earned a delay or two without trouble," Pottent said with satisfaction, then grasped Picard's head to turn it up for a fierce, deeply penetrating kiss. As Picard moaned into his mouth, he pushed his hands down the front of the shorter man's pants, unzipped them and then explored the sturdy white cotton briefs. "In fact, I was thinking it might be time to present our current findings at the South-Central Conference in August." With his lips around Pottent's right nipple, Picard slid his hands around the man's broad back and then down under his pants and briefs in one motion, ending up with his hands pressing hard into the firm cheeks of Pottent's rear, pressing the man's erection against his own erection and Pottent's hands as they finally reached their objective and grasped the rather impressive display of Picard's desire. Picard groaned, sagging against Pottent. "Yes, I think we could be ready for a presentation in August, especially if we get Reynolds to head up the same team he had last time." Pottent took advantage of Picard's near-swoon to turn the man and fold his body over the low counter, sweeping aside the clipboards of notations neat to the inter-office telephone. Picard's knees banged against the cupboards' formica doors before he got himself centered, legs outspread, pants stretched out between his ankles. "Reynolds told us he would need another clerical worker from the pool," Pottent said, looking around almost desperately. On the other side of the microscope, just before he was about to resort to spit, he found a bottle of liquid glucose. Picard groaned through his words as cool fingers entered him, gently stretching virgin tissue. He locked his trembling knees, soaking in the cold press of the counter against his chest and hips, and gasped out, "We can always get a temporary. We may be the only project the company is funding properly, but we don't need another full-time typist." "I don't know. If she knows her way around the computer at all, Wharton could use her too." Pottent gingerly pulled his three fingers out of Picard's rectum and grasped his own erection almost roughly, slathering it with the glucose. Then, with one hand on Picard's hip and his other hand helping to guide him into that tight heat, he slid forward and gently, firmly, deliciously inside. "Oh, that feels good," Picard groaned. "The last one who supposedly knew about computers dropped that vial in the...oh, God...lobby. Harder." "I don't want to hurt you. You're so tight. It's like heaven to fuck you." "Really? Heaven? You won't hurt me. I've wanted you to do this since I saw you." "God, Picard, do you mean it? You and your perfect body, this perfect ass of yours...I've thought about it every day since you walked in here." "I jerked off in the shower this morning thinking about having your cock in my mouth." Pottent shuddered and thrust harder, trying to be gentle, wanting desperately to push them both through the counter with his cock. "Oh, baby. Oh, you're so beautiful, baby. You're letting me fuck you, baby." Momentarily losing the rhythm of his thrusts, he pushed Picard' shirt up and then off him. Pens spattered to the white linoleum. Then he leaned down and kissed his back and neck. Picard groaned, sobbed, and shoved back. "Fuck me! Hurry!" Not stopping the tender kisses, Pottent resumed that rhythm, hard and driving, on and on, as the pleasure built beyond bearing for either of them, and Pottent came with a scream inside Picard's body, and Picard shot out over the counter upon which they both sagged, exhausted and sated and burning in the aftershock of bliss. And then the drug wore off. The End Varoneeka http://members.tripod.com/~Varoneeka/index.htm Varoneeka: What do you think Q would make of Sterling? Homespon: His mistress. __________________________________________________________________________ Posting to ASCEM is easy--just send your messages to ascem@earthlink.net To subscribe or unsubscribe to the mirror list--and for all other list-related inquiries, write to asceml@aol.com