Unnamed Porno Fanfic From Shep, Falkenhorst, and Fanboy

[consequences]

*innermost thoughts*

"I want some crack!"


*end innermost thoughts*

Now stop handing us little white flags on patches of green damnit, and get back to writing.

[Ace Pace]

I demand MORE.

[MKSheppard]

Unnamed Porno Fanfic
Chapter 14

OH GOD NO IT'S BACK!

[Sickbay, USS Enterprise-E]

Slowly, Geordi LaForge woke up to pain, more pain; he slowly lifted
the thin hospital sheets to reveal....a shriveled burnt mass where his
penis used to be, and let out a gutteral wail.

"OH GOD NO GOD NO!"

His shouting attracted the attention of Doctor Crusher, who quickly
ran over to his bedside. "Geordi, are you in pain?"

"WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE YOU FUCKIN BITCH?"

"I guess so," replied Crusher.

"Isn't there anything you can do, Doc? The Man needs his dick, baby."

"No, we don't have the technology to grow you a new cock and balls here,
we kept asking for it, but Starfleet HQ kept turning us down, the bastards,"
muttered Crusher, who felt more anger at being denied an unlimited source
of life-like dildos than being able to treat crippling groin injuries like Geordi's.

"What about Cybernetics?" asked Geordi.

"Can't do that; I don't have any of the necessary supplies here to build you
a functioning penis and balls," replied Crusher.

Geordi licked his lips, trying to figure out a way out of this vexing bind. He had
to have his mighty staff back. He had plenty of bitches that needed deep dicking.

Then it came to him, in a clear ephiany of insight. Data.

[Somewhere in Deep Space]

The independent cruiser Turd Burglar cruised through the warp lanes
towards it's rendevous with the Gnomes, to discuss the prospects of splitting
up the gay gnome porno scene to their mutal profit

In the main conference room of the Turd Burglar, the top senior executives
of GALE Productions, Ltd were meeting, to decide what kind of deal they should
offer the Gnomes.

"...do we really want to corner the Gnome/Gerbil Market?" asked Straha

The pounding of a fist was heard as the chief executive of GALE, Ltd, Frank
Hipper slammed his fist onto the table repeatedly. "What have I told you idiots
before?!? A credit is a credit! We don't fuck around with such abstract shit like
"decency" and "animal abuse"!"

"So I guess I better renew our order for a thousand gerbils?" replied Straha.

"Make it ten thousand, we're going to drive the gnomes out of that market completely,"
Hipper thought for a moment before adding; "These actors need to learn to stop
crushing them with their sphincters, however. It's driving costs up, and we can't have that!"

"And it's kind of a turn-off," chimed Kojikun.

"Is there anything else?" added Hipper. When no one replied; "Very well, Meeting adjourned."

Everyone rose and said the customary "HAIL GALE!" except for Kojikun who said
"Hail the Gnomes!" instead, bringing suspicious looks.

"What the fuck?!?! Who the fuck said that? Who's the son of a bitch who said that with
a visible erection?" shouted Hipper.

All faces turned to Kojikun, and without any further word, Hipper pulled out a heavily
weathered Mauser pistol and shot him in the head; spraying Kojikun's brains all over
the rear wall of the conference room.

Holstering his pistol, Hipper motioned for his guards to take away the body. "Dispose
of it, we'll recycle it into our Hipper-Brand Pet Food Syndicate.

[Somewhere in the Ass-end of Space near Sector 202AB]

"Where is the meeting?" asked Zaia in a deadpan tone of voice, as she let the laser pointer
of her disruptor pistol wander over her informant's crotch.

"I swear to God! I don't know a damn thing about any meeting!"

"Wrong answer," replied Zaia, as she pulled the trigger.

The man began to feel a sensation of heat on his groin, which quickly grew
in intensity and pain until he cried out, "On Asteroid 44112!"

"Thank you for your humble help, Citizen of the Spaceways," replied
Zaia, before she shot him through the head. Wouldn't do good to have
him warn his fellows that he'd squealed the secret to her.

[USS Enterprise - Entering Sector 202AB]

Captain William T. Riker groaned as he jacked off using the bottle of Astroglide XXIV
that Crusher had given him. Finally, he came, spraying greenish cum with stringy clots
of blood in it all over the toilet seat. Looking his cum, and it's strange color for several
moments, he finally shook his head.

"Fucking Betazoid skank...goes and gives me this and god knows what else too."

Suddenly, the commpanel on the wall beeped. Fucking hell, why did it always happen
at times like this. Slowly pulling his pants up, he wiped the odd dribbles of cum off his
dress pants with a tissue. Finally, when he was properly freshened up, he opened up
the channel.

"Riker here."

"This is Lieutenant Commander Gray."

"What is it?"

"Sir, you wished to be notified when we entered Sector 202AB."

Fuck, that's right, thought Riker. A niggling thought wormed at
the back of his mind.

"Gray, where the fuck is Commander Data? I thought he was supposed
to be on duty at this hour."

"Sir, we haven't been able to locate him."

"Have you checked the computer core? He loves to go in there and do...
unnatural things with the Main Computer."

"Yes, sir we checked that already."

"Damn." Just like Data to leave me in the lurch like this.

"Prepare the away team. We're going over to the asteroid once we're in shuttle
range," ordered Riker.

"Sir, Why? We can just phaser it into non-existence, Sir."

"Yes, yes, we could do that, but then the Federation council would be all
over our asses, demanding proof that this WAS an illegal pornography
trading post, and why did we vaporize a hundred plus sentinents for no
damn reason at all, Gray."

"I suppose so, sir" replied Gray, not entirely sure of the logic behind this,
if they were just going to kill them all anyway.

"Besides, we gotta follow regulations at some fuckin' point, Gray."

"I guess so, sir."

[The Secret Gnomish Asteroid Base]

Slowly, Falkenhorst and Sheppard moved through the dank tunnels of SEGNOR's secret
asteroid base, ducking from time to time to avoid a low hanging conduit, escorted by
several mean-looking gnomes who would have looked funny anywhere if they weren't
toting disruptor rifles.

"They're here, Mighty Leader," muttered one of the Gnomes in front of them upon
rounding a corner. Shep and Falk rounded the corner too, to be greeted by the most
disgusting sight either of them had seen in their lives, and they'd seen a lot.

Falkenhorst looked at the disgusting mass of flesh that was Darth Garden Gnome and
tried to suppress his gag reflex. Suddenly, from Darth's rear end came a disgusting gurgling
noise, and from a opening at the tip of Garden Gnome's tail, a freshly born gnome, still
covered in mucus, slid forth. It opened it's doe-like eyes and upon looking at Falkenhorst,
said "Daddy".

Before either of the two could reply to this sudden change of events, Darth snapped up the
freshly born gnome and ate it in two massive gulps. A loud belch rumbled forth, and Darth
brought his hand up to his mouth. "Excuse me, If I had known you were coming in so early,
I wouldn't have spawned, Shall we do business?"

"Indeed," replied Sheppard. "We want to get the best possible deal from you Gnomes
before those other freeloading scum of the Business arrive."

"Ah yes," chortled Darth. "I do believe the issue of Lord Wong of Ephesius IX, is coming
up at some point during our meeting. Particularly on who will become his sole source
supplier of high quality anal porn. I understand you have some of that involving Archer and
Hoshi in your files?"

"We're not interested in that contract," replied Falkenhorst flatly.

"Ah well, then I assume you won't be in the running?"

"No."

"Good. More chances for me to make money," added Darth in a wicked chortle that
set his entire body shaking.

"Since you're bowing out of that contract opportunity, I can offer you a early bid for
the Lesbian porn contract for the Principality of Zeon."

"We'll take that!" shouted Shep and Falk in unison.

"Good, Good, Good. Consider the deal closed. It shall never come up for debate
during the meeting. I of course, expect a small cut of the profit for this...service to
you, my friends."

"Of course," replied Sheppard and Falkenhorst, while gritting their teeth.

[The Secret Gnomish Asteroid Base - Just Before the Meeting's Start]

Sheppard and Falkenhorst watched as each heavy hitter in the Pornography business
came through the security screen; most of them were the usual well known people
in the business, like the Klingon Targ Syndicate, which concentrated on Klingon Bestality
porn.

Falkenhorst's ears perked up when he heard one of the newcomers state that he was
from the Angelixxx Syndicate. "I've never heard of those fuckers before," he muttered.

Neither had the gnomes who were running the security screen, so they gave the newcomers
a more throrough security screen than the others.

"Sir, if you would put your thumb against this pad, we can confirm your identity." said one
of the Security Gnomes in his sing-song voice.

"Fine, Fine," growled the Nausician who was in charge of this Angelixxx Syndicate.

The Gnomes eyes didn't narrow a whit as the DNA scan came through and showed
a picture of a clean shaven William T. Riker on the screen, which only he could see.

"Ah, Mister Ploteek, good to see you, sir. If you'll follow my associate, we'll have you
set up in the conference room in no time."

Riker and his away team, who were disguised as Nausicans through the magic of
Federation cosmetic surgery followed the Security Gnome into a windowless room,
where behind them, a heavy door slammed down, and the Security Gnome ran into
a little gnomish sized opening in the wall, which promptly was closed off by a thick
door.

From hidden speakers in the room, Darth Garden Gnome's voice boomed forth.
"Greetings, Captain Riker! Surely you did not think that we would fall for your
pathetic disguise! Enjoy your hospitality at our hands, for you shall not enjoy
it for long! BWHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAH!"

"Shit," muttered Riker, as one of his away team members pulled out a tricorder
and analyzed the room they were in. "This room contains high concentrations of
Beryllium Ore, which blocks transporters and communications exceedingly well."

Riker kicked a Klingon skeleton which was lying in the corner of the room, causing
it to collapse in a pile of dust. "Well, fuck."

[The Secret Gnomish Asteroid Base - The Meeting Chamber]

"I demand a cut of the Japanese Bestiality Bondage Midget Porn!" shouted Damien Soresso,
who worked for the Sicilian Mafia in North America.

Suddenly, a pasty-faced man began jumping up and down, shouting obscenities. "No,
this is UNCONSCIABLE! My family has controlled that market ever since the 2000s,
and I'm not going to let it be stolen by a filthy Eyetalian!"

Sheppard and Falkenhorst, who were seated together at one end of the great roundtable,
sighed. Why was it that the weirdoes, like Spanky the VIIth always fought so hard over
the fringe shit?"

It was then that All Hell Broke Loose (TM)

The Skylight over the table shattered in a spray of glass, and a rappelling line dropped down,
followed by a black-clad figure which was dressed in black tactical gear, holding a pair of
submachine guns, who proceeded to hose down everyone around the table.

By some freak chance of fate, Falkenhorst and Sheppard weren't in the new arrival's immediate
line of fire, and survived the initial barriage of gunfire unscathed. It was then that Sheppard saw
that the commando was a woman, from her auburn-colored hair swinging freely in the in the air
as she filled the underworld leaders of pornography with lead.

"I...I think I'm in love, Falk." muttered Sheppard as he ducked under the table, along
with Falkenhorst.

"She handles those guns exactly the way I do, hell, she has the same type of
guns that I do, even the same caliber."

From above the table, a voice pierced the gunfire. "Damn it, you fuckers, when I shoot you, you
stay dead."

"She even talks like me."

"Yeah, yeah, your dream date is TRYING TO FUCKING KILL US RIGHT THIS MOMENT,
SHEP!" shouted Falkenhorst over the gunfire as he slowly drew a .45 from his coat.

[The Secret Gnomish Asteroid Base - A Random Corridor]

The corridor was full of Security Gnomes rushing towards the meeting room,
toting all kinds of weapons, from ball-breakers, to vibroblades, and even in one
case, a shotgun, which looked absurdly out of context on a 4 foot tall gnome.

"Dink, Dink, Dink, Security Alert in the Meeting Room! Protect
the Master! Dink, Dink, Dink!"

Suddenly, a door on one side of the corridor exploded outwards, and from the
smoking hole, stepped a man bedecked in weaponry.

For many of the gnomes, it was the last thing they saw, as the man unslung a
flamethrower from his back and unleashed liquid flame from it.

Within seconds, the corridor was filled with napalm and the gnomes trapped
in it were crying out in agony as every last bit of flesh was melted from their
bones by the flamethrower.

The new intruder turned off his flamethrower and watched with a sadistic smile
as the black charred bones of the gnomes collapsed to the ground. He then
spotted a Gnome which had somehow survived the flamethrower by hiding
under the bodies of it's comrades and was now trying to run away. Big Mistake.

The man in one smooth motion, drew a large knife from his belt and threw it
with such force that it burst through the Gnome's front, after severing it's spinal
cord and tearing the heart in half during it's passage through gnomish flesh.

The Gnome fell backwards, it's ribcage spread wide open from the knife, and with
it's last dying breaths, it looked up into the face of it's killer, who proceeded to tear
the Gnome's liver from it's belly and smashed it into the gnome's face, the liver
bursting with a wet squishing sound.

The stranger watched with amusement as the gnome shit itself before dying.
He'd always wondered what the large intestines looked like during a bowel
movement, and now he knew.

[The Asskicker - Orbiting the Gnomish Outpost]

Nog watched as all signs of communication ceased from the base. He tried raising
his bosses over the communications system, but no reply came forth. Obviously,
something had gone wrong. Well, he could help his bosses by making sure no one
else escaped this alive.

With that, he locked the Asskicker's torpedo tubes onto the Turd Burglar, which
was docked at one of the asteroid's docking ports and fired.

[The Turd Burglar - Docked at the Gnomish Outpost]

Straha screamed in agony as a shower of sparks erupted from his consoles, and
wiring bundles fell down from the bridge's ceiling. As he sat up and began to
raise the ship's shields, a flashing red light on his panel grabbed his attention.

The power had gone out for a moment in the Special Projects Section of the
Turd Burglar. Dear God, Not that. Terror gripped his heart as he began
shouting over the commlink to Hipper that The Einhander had escaped.

[The Secret Gnomish Asteroid Base - A Random Corridor]

Frank Hipper crouched behind a trash bin as he listened to the faint transmission
coming in from the Turd Burglar. Most of it he couldn't make out, but one word
stood out clearly enough - Einhander. Dear God!

"Go! We're fuckin' leaving now!" shouted Hipper to his comrades, who were laying
down a suppressive fire down the corridor.

"What about the deal and the latinium we left behind, boss?"

"It won't do us a damn thing if we're all anally violated to death!"

This put the fear of God into them, and they began to fall back. Hipper turned around,
only to slam into a heavily armed man, who was holding a severed Gnome head in his
right hand.

"Uh, do I know you? asked Hipper nervously.

"Call me Fanboy, Darth Fanboy. And I FUCKING HATE GNOMES!"

"Really." replied Hipper, trying to get away from this lunatic as fast as possible. "The
head gnome, a disgusting fucker, is just down that corridor," added Hipper.

"Hey, thanks, man! I'll remember this!" replied Fanboy as he dropped the gnome
head onto the floor, and jogged down the corridor, his booted right foot crushing
the gnome's head like an overripe watermelon, and causing a bloody eyeball
to fly out and hit Hipper in the head.

Wiping the bloody eyeball and it's goo off his face, Hipper slowly turned around
and ran like hell for the Turd Burglar. This meeting was rapidly descending
into total fuckin' chaos.

[The Secret Gnomish Asteroid Base - The Meeting Chamber]

Having dispatched most of the Cartel leaders and their hired goons in the first
few seconds of gunfire, Zaia was now slowly walking around the room, and putting
a bullet into everyone's head, breathing or not. Ducking under the table to check
out two pairs of feet she saw, she came face to face with a cocked .45 automatic,
in Falkenhorst's hands.

"Hello, babe. Fancy meetin' you like this," muttered Falkenhorst.

"Who the fuck are you?" muttered Zaia.

"Who the fuck are you?" muttered Sheppard.

"Hey, I told you she was the right kind of woman for me, Falk, we even
say the same things!" added Sheppard, causing Zaia to give him a
withering glare.

"And why shouldn't I kill both of you boys right now?" replied Zaia.

"We just hit it big, with that porn deal with the Principality, and we don't
fuckin' deserve to die like this!" shouted Falkenhorst.

"The Principality of Zeon?" asked Zaia in shock.

"Yep. Who else would want that much lesbian porn?" added Sheppard.

"I'll let you two boys live...this time." replied Zaia.

With that, she slowly drew up from the floor and emptied her SMG into
the still-twitching corpse of Darth Garden Gnome, causing Fanboy to
cry in despair from the doorway.

"No fucking way, that bastard was mine!" yelled Fanboy upon seeing
the bullets thud into Darth's body.

"What the fuck is this, Armed Asshole night?" shouted Zaia in exasperation.

Before anyone could crack another witty one-liner in response, the head of a
Gnome sailed into the room at a high velocity, propelled by a white mass of
goo.

Everyone turned to see a naked red-haired man with an insane look on his
face standing in the doorway, and the headless body of a gnome impaled
on his massive cock.

"What the FUCK is THAT?" shouted Zaia
as she backed away in total revulsion, along with everyone in the room.

EINHANDER LIKE GNOMES, THEY FEEL GOOD
AROUND HIS COCK shouted the man, to another spurt
of cum from his massive boner.

Everyone slowly began to back away from the insane lunatic, before turning
and running away, screaming at the top of their lungs like little girls.

[The Turd Burglar - Docked at the Gnomish Outpost]

Dink, Dink, Dink, Dink, Dink, Dink, Dink, Dink, Dink, Dink
went the unholy melody of Gnome voices before they were drowned out by
the sound of a light machine gun firing at full auto, as Alryium Denryle cut
through them with his M-60, gnomish blood splattering all over the corridor
walls as he tried to keep the gnomes away from the airlock of the Turd
Burglar as the remnants of Captain Hipper's entouage ran into the
airlock, collapsing inside in the safety of their ship.

Finally, the last man was inside, and Alryum slowly retreated into the airlock,
and sealed the outer door.

"We're clear! GET US OUT OF HERE!" he shouted into
the intercom.

Around him, the Turd Burglar shuddered as it disconnected from the
asteroid base, and slowly began to back away preparing for a high speed
run through the asteroid field, and safety, well away from the lunatic in that
old D7 who was shooting at them.

[The Secret Gnomish Asteroid Base - Another Random Corridor]

"Who the fuck are you?" shouted Falk as he, Shep, and this loon called Fanboy
ran through the corridors.

"Someone who hates gnomes!" came the reply.

"Fuck that shit! Do you have a ship nearby? We came in by shuttle, and the shuttle
bay corridor was blocked by that....thing!" yelled Sheppard.

"Yeah, I got a ship. She's small, but she's got it where it counts!"

"Good! We'll pay you a fuckload in latinium if you'll take us with you!"

"How can I turn down free money?"

[The Asskicker - Orbiting the Gnomish Outpost]

Nog watched with annoyance as the other D7 disappeared into the asteroid field,
damnit, he wanted to blow that piece of shit to hell. His commpanel suddenly began
beeping. Looking at it, he saw that a signal was enamating from a small ship that
was leaving the outpost at high speed and heading towards the Asskicker.

Flipping on the comm switch, he heard his bosses' voices. "Hey, good to hear
from you, bosses. I've kept the ship shipshape while you were gone."

"Good good, get the landing bay ready, we've got a new crew member joining
us."

[Ten-Forward, USS Enterprise-E]

"Ohhh yeah, Stick that big black cock up my ass, baby!" shouted
Guinian as Geordi boned her with his new cybernetic cock.

"Oooh, I heard that you got in an...uuuhnmm...accident...oooh"

"Yeah bitch, I did, I'm all better now." replied Geordi, as he slapped Gunian's meaty ass.

[[Main Shuttle Bay One, USS Enterprise-E]

Slowly, Data came back to life. His external sensors were recording the presence of a
large amount of semi-solid liquids around his skin. Opening his optical sensors, he
recorded the fact that he was swimming in a ocean of shit.

Closing his eyes, he began running internal diagnostics, to try and explain his loss of
several hours, as his internal chronometer and his memory banks did not match up by
several hours.

It was then that his diagnostics detected a part of him missing. Running a deeper level
diagnostic, he discovered that his cock and balls were missing. If an android could feel
rage, it was what Data was feeling now, and the feelings of anger built up in his cold,
efficient positronic brain, until it fused the emotion-inhibition circuit in his head shut.

Sheer blind rage filled Data's mind as he swam towards the entrance to the shuttle bay
and began to manipulate the door panel. But it refused to open. The computer's nauseating
bitch voice came through the shit, slightly muffled.

"All Internal entry doors to Main Shuttle Bay One sealed on orders of Engineering officer
Geordi LaForge."

No. This would not stop him. He would not be stopped.

[Ten-Forward, USS Enterprise-E, 1 hour later]

Geordi wiped the sweat off his brow as he porked Guinian doggy style, having
changed positions twice in the last hour or so. Damn, Data's cock was a dream
come true; he could keep fucking women indefinitely without having to come.
No wonder Data was always so hot on fucking women.

Suddenly, a banging noise reverberated through Ten-Forward.

"What's that noise, baby?" muttered Guinian in between gasps.

"Nothing, Nothing, just shut up, bitch." replied Geordi as he looked
around for the source of the noise.

Out of random curiosity, he looked out the windows of Ten-Forward and
saw it. Data, completely covered in encrusted flash-frozen shit was banging
away furiously on the windows of Ten-Forward. Before his disbelieving eyes,
cracks began to appear on the windows.

"Computer, activicate hull breach containment fields in Ten forward!" shouted Geordi.

"Denied. That command has been disabled under Commander Data's authority,"
replied the cheery voice of the computer.

"The fuck... I didn't mean it Data!" shouted Geordi in the split second before the
window Data was pounding on imploded.

Guinian was torn away from his cock by the hurricane force of the explosive decompression,
shrieking as she hit the frame of the window with a dull crack before being sucked
out the window, Data making no movement to save her.

As Geordi braced himself against one of the hull support struts in Ten Forward, he watched
Data climb through the shattered window, a look of sheer malevolence on his robotic
face.

"I...Believe...you...have...something...of...mine...Geordi."

[Engine Room, USS Enterprise-E, 15 minutes later]

"Data, I didn't mean it! It was just a practical joke! Honest!" shouted Geordi
as Data held him before the open maw of the matter/antimatter mixture
chamber.

"I believe you, Geordi." replied Data just before he rammed him through
the tiny opening, in a spray of blood and splintering bone.

Whistling Pop Goes the Weasel, Data quickly reattached his cybernetic cock
and balls, and told the ship's computer to begin core start up sequence in 15
minutes, quickly bypassing all of the safety interlocks that prevented this due to
the open door and foreign matter being in the mixture chamber in seconds.

As he put the final sequence into the computer, a squad of Security guards
burst into the Engine room.

"Give up, Data! It's all over!"

Data merely continued to whistle Pop Goes the Weasel as he walked towards
the guards.

[Shuttle Bay Two, USS Enterprise-E, 10 minutes later]

Data, by now throroughly covered in blood, splinters of bone, brain matter,
and still whistling Pop Goes the Weasel, grinned as he entered the
warp-capable shuttle. It had been...refreshing taking out those years of
pent up frustrations out on the puny humans who had held him back for
so long.

[Captain's Quarters, USS Enterprise-E, 3 minutes later]

Deanna Troi slowly stood up from the glass table in the center of Will's quarters,
the smudge of cocaine still on her nose. What was that about a warp core incident
being imminent?

Smashed as she was, she still recognized that a core incident Was A Very Bad
Thing, and so she made her way quite unsteadily, to the Captain's Top Secret
Personal Escape Pod, and strapped into it. Once the door closed, the pod
automatically jettisoned itself from the doomed ship.

[Engine Room, USS Enterprise-E, 2 minutes later]

Geordi LaForge was incredibly, still alive at this point, despite having his skull fractured
quite savagely and having half the bones in his body broken. And so he was aware
of the matter/antimatter injectors warming up directly above and below his head, and
had just enough time to scream before his body was reduced to it's component atoms.

[MKSheppard]

Some commentary, this cleaned out a lot of stuff I had on my backburner as ideas for UPF, in one fell swoop. Which means that a lot of my writers' block is gone now.

[darthdavid]

AWSOME!!!

[Ace Pace]

Holy Cool Shit, I think I ROFLed a few times.

Too Bad Einy just missed it, but hey,

[frigidmagi]

I'll never look at Pop goes the Weasel the same again...

[Zaia]

Bwahahahahahaha....

[Kuja]

I laughed, I cried, I...laughed again....

[MKSheppard]

I'll never look at Pop goes the Weasel the same again...

Well, that's an idea I've had for a while. See, Soong taught Data to
whistle Pop goes the Weasel while rubbing his belly. I had the idea
of Data slaughtering the E-E's crew while whistling that ditty, and it's
been implemented

[Stormbringer]

Awesome, though shouldn't Zaia be in skin tight black leather?

[The Yosemite Bear]

skin tight?

you should read my "Deathdancer" a sethetically grown beast hide transported onto the person's body, with stragically placed holes....

[MKSheppard]

Awesome, though shouldn't Zaia be in skin tight black leather?

Now now, I do not want any more memories of the Matrix, you sonofabitch

[The Yosemite Bear]

bad matrix memories ruining the wonder that is the catsuit.

remember the good ones: Batman the original TV series, The original Avenger TV series, Jay and Silent Bob strike back.....

[Frank Hipper]

Coooool. I've got a Mauser and a D-7.

And a way of escaping death.

[Singular Quartet]

*cackles with sadistic glee*

Most excellent!

[Crazedwraith]

I think the title sums up my feelings at the moment.

OH GOD NO IT'S BACK!

Everyone run and hide!

[Admiral Bravo]

Well look what came back from the grave. As always an excellent job on the chapter.

[Stormbringer]

Awesome, though shouldn't Zaia be in skin tight black leather?

Now now, I do not want any more memories of the Matrix, you sonofabitch

Bah, chicks in skin-tight leather and toting guns was the best part of that movie.

[MKSheppard]

Unnamed Porno Fanfic
Chapter 15:
The Violation of Miles O'Brien

By Darth Fanboy and MKSheppard, with input from Duchess of Zeon

Deep Space Nine

"Fuck, what a day...another 12 hour shift finished and another 40 ounces drained."

Chief Miles O'Brien tossed the empty bottle over the railing, hitting a pedestrian in the back of the head in the
process. He then rounded the corner to his own domicile. Back when Miles O'Brien served on the front lines
of the Federation-Cardassian "conflict" he had seen everything he thought he could possibly see. Friends
hideously disfigured by Cardassian energy fire, comrades flung into space during hull breaches, enemy
and allied corpses rotting beneath the sun covered in festering maggots.

(Of course this was all classified to help keep up the Starfleet image of "sterile warfare").

Like his father and his father before him and his father before him...etc...etc, there was nothing that could
faze the Chief so long as he had a bottle of scotch and a good woman to let out the excess anger on.
He told Keiko all about the horrible atrocities he committed, including the time he and his squad found a lone
Cardie scout on a routine patrol and exacted a little revenge for a few buddies that died the previous day.
In fact, Miles skill kept his "trophy rib" in a small chest under his bed.

His reason for telling her? So that she could look in the mirror after being disciplined just to realize how
good she had it. Black eyes, bruises, even the occasional busted lip, those were nothing compared to the
horrors of war. And as he began opening the door to his quarters he figured that he would remind her again
of how good she had it. Maybe it was his drunken stupor, or maybe it was the fatigue after a long day of work.
But as soon as Miles walked through the door, he felt a dull pain in the top of his head, and then suddenly
the world was black.

Keiko stood over her tormentor, for their entire marriage she had been bullied, victimized, and treated like
dirt. Miles always spoke about how his daddy kept "his old buzzard" in line. Well it was finally time to break
the cycle. It was in her garden that she had begun growing the oddly shaped plants. At first she just wanted
to see how selecting traits could give her various shapes, and then as her research progressed she had
discovered how to make the plants mold as she saw fit. In time she had perfected a perfect replica of the
Human penis with cucumber, carrot, and potato variations.

She knew the idea would make her impossibly rich, and she was even able to use the cucumber to compensate
for Miles' pathetic manhood. Keiko had long been unhappy with her sex life, on the Enterprise she had managed
to get enhancing supplements and instruments from that pervert Dr. Crusher but on Deep Space Nine, she had no
such luck. When she confronted Miles about her idea for a biological sex toy business with no need for mechanical
industry and no waste, she was met with yet another beating.

"No wife is going to use such things," he roared, "and if I catch you working on them, I'll crack some bloody
sense into your skull! You stay out of that lab, woman."

That had been the last straw for Keiko. Working in the lab, with all of its various plants and phallic potential
was her entire life. She knew Miles had access to the replicators and he would know if she touched them
to make something to defend herself. But she wouldn't need them, because she had the perfect plan.

She snuck off to the lab while Miles was on shift and perfected the ultimate weapon.

A meter long cucumber dildo which she crafted specifically to take out her husband, and he'd
have no way of tracking it.

Miles had said that he had to "realign the quantum regulator in the coaxial shutter tubes" today. Which was
his way of saying that once he got all of the work orders out of the way, he was going to sit in an access hatch,
shut off his communicator and get hammered until his shift ended or someone came to find him. This gave her
the opportunity she needed to take him out.

As soon as she brained him, she dragged his body into the center of the room. She quickly covered his body in
a special pheromone, and sprayed a second pheromone on herself before unsealing a small case in her closet.
The vines sprang out of the case and immediately wrapped all of the way around Miles' body, entering his orifices
and binding him completely.

Keiko had discovered this vine while working on one of her various sex related projects and was nearly killed
until she finally managed to neutralize it with a special serum (which is a naturally occuring serum in the human
female's "special place").

Since the vine had targeted her scent, she managed to synthesize two types of pheromones.

The first was that of a Japanese females', while the second was something that masked her own scent.

Keiko was now protected while Miles was a ripe target.

With that part of her master plan complete, Keiko now moved on to the next part of her plan, Escape.

The Principality of Zeon would pay her millions for her vegetable-based sex toys. The non-polluting, all-natural
instrument for manless gratification fit in perfect with the ultrafeminist utopia. But that was not the only reason
she wanted to go there.

According to Zeon law, any woman abused by a man could seek legal aid in having him executed. This
applied largely to the many refugees of domestic abuse which flooded in from the galaxy each year, as
an added incentive to increase the population of the Principality.

Miles had grown fat in his years on Deep Space Nine, and Keiko attributed that to the rest of his body catching
up with his big fat Irish head. Fortunately, the O'Briens had invested in some large luggage before their move to
Bajor, unfortunately it was never used again despite promises of a "quick stay in the asshole of the alpha quadrant."

Keiko managed to summon the strength of eight generations of ancestors and when that wasn't enough,
she sprayed some more of the Japanese girl pheromone in the largest trunk and the vine monster encasing
her husband quickly crawled in carrying its prize with it.

She had secretly arranged for some assistance from a pair of Miles' assistants who were tired of covering
for their supervisor's drinking habits. And it wasn't hard for her to figure out that Paddy Orange and Billy Ulster
weren't entirely fond of Miles' adherency to the Pope.

Paddy and Billy helped haul the luggage to a waiting Runabout while Keiko made the final preparations
for the escape.

Twenty minutes later, she came out of the restroom and discarded the box of the Zeonic brand pregnancy test.
Of course it wasn't an actual pregnancy test, but a communications device that could only be decoded by estrogen.

Keiko activated the test and produced a small transmitter from within the wand. All she would have to do was turn
on the transmitter when she got close to Zeonic space so that they would come to her aid instead of destroying her.

About One Day Later

Commander Thomas Paris woke up in his quarters, yawned, and walked over to his replicator and entered in the
codes for his forged medical clearance. God, the only way he'd managed to handle seven years' of insanity from
Janeway was through the lovely cocktail of pills he was replicating now for a breakfast picker-upper. He'd need
another cocktail by lunchtime, and finally one at dinner, such was the state of his mind after seven years on
Voyager.

Before even the first 50mg of Valium had been replicated, the infernal machine began to smoke and sizzle,
finally shutting down in a cloud of sparks. Cursing, Paris slapped the commpanel on the wall.

"Commander Paris to O'Brien, I've got a replicator that needs fixing, could you send someone up?"

No response.

"O'Brien, if you're going to sleep off another bender, then do it after you fix my fucking replicator."

Even an Irishman could be lured out of an alcoholic coma if you threatened his job...at least that's
what his daddy had told him.

Still no response.

"The fuck is this? Computer, locate Chief Miles O'Brien." shouted Paris in frustration, already
feeling the shakes taking ahold, and his gut beginning to gurgle. God damn Neelix and his
food. The little bastard's food had given him Parmellian dysentry four years ago, and every day
since that fateful day his gut always began to act up, requiring 400 mg of antibiotics to keep
it down for the day, so he wouldn't embarass himself while on duty.

"Chief Miles O'Brien is not on this station," came the cheery reply of the computer several seconds
later, causing Paris to curse in disbelief.

"Oh come on now, the fat bastard couldn't have disappeared entirely. Scan engineering for
traces of rotgut and fresh vomit. Widen the search to fit the rest of the station if engineering
comes up negative."

Several more agonizing seconds passed, Paris could feel the gurgle in his gut becoming louder,
and he glanced towards the bathroom anxiously, and then the computer finally replied.

"There are no traces of illegal liquor or human regurgitant anywhere on this station."

"Well, fuck me dead," replied Paris as he came to realize that O'Brien really was gone.

"Computer, state the last known location of Miles O'Brien, and tell me what the fuck is up his
ass while you're at it."

Mercifully, this did not take the computer that long.

"Miles O'Brien exited the station from Docking Bay Six in an unconscious state with a significant amount
of plant matter wedged tightly in his bowels."

Paris had intended the remark as a joke, but now the mystery had deepened. Even an alcoholic wife
beating scumbag like Miles O'Brien wasn't prone to shoving things up his ass.

Hmm, Wife beating, wasn't his wife a botanist? And didn't she also have access to plant materials
that could concievably be used for rectal violations?

"This is Commander Paris to Lieutenant Grissom, you're needed at Chief O'Brien's quarters immediately."

He'd be getting to the bottom of this, but first, he needed a quick trip to the refresher first...

2 Days Later - On the Edge of Zeonic Space

"This is Principate Border Patrol Squadron 48 to unidentified Federation vessel...respond immediately or prepare
for boarding."

The officer in charge of Patrol Squadron 48, who was known only by the pseudonym "Innerbrat", sat in the
immaculately decorated lounge chair that was her command seat. What her D7 lacked in modern exterior
charm was offset by the elegant interior she had been able to design, taking cues from Victorian era detailing.

After all, how could a woman lead without applying her own special touch? Of course, that had led to her
customizing a new set of uniforms for the women under her command, skin tight leather outfits which looked
as sexy as they did dangerous. The official motive was for all of the women to train hard and stay strong so that
they could fit into their special suits, but the reality of it was that even Senior Officers needed something pleasing
to look at now and then, and the Border Patrol was considered the most gorgeous division of the fleet and
recieved extra commendations from the Duchess herself.

"Principate Border patrol, this is Keiko O'Brien on Runabout Red River, activating transmitter now."

Keiko's transmitter began broadcasting the refugee signal to the bridge of the D7, dubbed Emasculator, where
Innerbrat's bridge crew immediately picked up on the special frequency.

"Ma'am, refugee signal confirmed, It seems that the lady wishes to defect."

"O'Brien, I am the woman in charge of this sector of the Principate's borders. On behalf of all your sisters, I welcome
you to the Principality of Zeon. Do you require any assistance?"

"I am in good health right now, but I do have a male in custody who I am prepared to press charges against. However,
he is a Federation Officer, in charge of operations on Deep Space Nine. So it's likely they already notice he's missing.
I'm also carrying valuable biological cargo that could end the Principate's dependence on Federation sex toys for good."

Innerbrat supressed a whistle. The trade deficit caused by high end Federation clit ticklers alone was enough to make
Zeonic economists cringe. To finish the dependence entirely would be a big economic boost and leave more funds
available for war materials and infrastructure improvement.

But if the Federation was onto her already...

"All ships in this squadron are to go on Red Alert immediately. Prepare for the arrival of Federation ships!"

Almost immediately after she'd given the order, Innerbrat's fear came true as a flotilla of Federation ships led
by the infamous Defiant emerged behind the runabout ready to overtake it.

"Principate ships, this is Commander Tom Paris of Starfleet. We are retaking our runabout into Starfleet custody
along with its cargo. You have fifteen minutes to comply."

Innerbrat scowled at this, and carefully composed a reply as diplomatically as possible.

"Negative, the runabout is within the area of space delineated as under Principality control by the Treaty of
Westphalia. All violations of this space will be construed as a violation of the Treaty, and subject to severe
reprisals."

"And we all know how the Principate stands with regards to 'violations' right?" snarled Paris as he shifted
in his seat. Damn impudent bitch...

"For your sake Commander, I will overlook that comment so this can end without diplomatic nightmares on
both sides."

Paris was in a bad mood, and wasn't in the mood for anymore diplomatic crap, and let loose with all the fury
he had pent up against women ever since serving under Kathryn Janeway.

"Oh come on you fuckin' bitch, lighten up! Do you think I really give a shit? You're in a fuckin' D7, for chrissake.
Now run along back to NOW planet or wherever the fuck it is you're from, and go buy some nice shoes, okay?
This is man business."

Innerbrat's eyes burned with fury as she gave the orders to attack.

The Battle

Innerbrat scanned over her opponents. All she had was three D7 cruisers that the Principality had brought
from third-hand scrap dealers and carefully, lovingly reworked into modern patrol vessels, with the latest
engines and sensors, not to mention the latest weapons, although their firepower was limited by the fact
that only one torpedo bay could actually be fitted to something of the D7's size.

Hmm. The Defiant, an Intrepid, and a modernized Excelsior of a Mark she didn't recognize.
Tricky, but doable.

"Target the Defiant, and fire all weapons on it, Attack Pattern Omega," ordered Innerbrat as she
tightened her seatbelt.

The trio of D7s ripped through the Federation formation in a tight, precise formation that allowed them
to protect each other with their shields and allow their secondary weapons free fire arcs. From their
bow torpedo tubes, dozens of torpedoes spewed forth; since only one torpedo tube could be installed,
the Principality had opted for smaller, but much faster firing tubes.

All in all, over a hundred torpedoes detonated around the Defiant, hammering it's shields down in an
instant, and burning off the ablative armor in a paroxym of atomic initations.

On the bridge of the Defiant, things weren't much better, as consoles exploded, decapicating unlucky
ensigns who seemed placed there for the very purpose of stopping said consoles before they reached
the real stars of the show, the high-grade officers.

"DAMAGE REPORT!" screamed Paris as he pushed the headless body of an ensign off his chest.

"Main Engineering reports that the reactor is offline, and all weapons are destroyed! We're a fucking
sitting duck!" came the scream from the damage control officer before he was burned to death by
a ruptured plasma conduit in an instant.

From the intercom panel on Paris' command chair, a high pitched voice broke through the din of
battle. "Sir, the liquor cabinet has completely spilled out, six bottles of bourbon, two of scotch, and
one of Tequila are broken!"

Fuck.

On Emasculator's bridge, Innerbrat watched the Defiant spin lazily in space, as her lights went off
one by one. They wouldn't be a threat for quite some time, now on to the next target.

The two remaining Starfleet ships attempted to fire on the three D7s, but the cruiser's angular velocity
was simply too high, they had executed that run at maximum impulse with a minimum of corrections,
and had simply blew through too fast for Starfleet weapons to track accurately.

Slowly, the trio of D7s began looping around in a shallow bank, which would require a much longer
turn radii to bring them to bear on the Starfleet ships, but didn't bleed off as much energy as a
short, sharp turn did.

Within moments, it was the Intrepid's turn to die, exploiting the unique vunerability of her
variable angle warp nacelles to completely shatter her engine drivetrain. Moments after the
first attack, precious plasma was roaring out of the shattered ship's drivetrain, and the lights
on the ship began to dim as less and less energized plasma reached the ship's subsystems.

Seeing it's two much more advanced compatriots utterly destroyed by obsolete D7s, the Excelsior
class ship turned around and fled into warp before Innerbrat could bring her squadron around for the
final strafing run.

"Secure from Battlestations. Remain on Yellow Alert until we have retrieved the runabout and left this
sector." ordered Innerbrat as she told her assistant to get her a cup of tea.

2 hours later

After the runabout had been brought aboard Emasculator, Keiko had been debriefed, and it had
been decided to grant her provisional citizenship. As a citizen of Zeon, she was completely within her
rights now to extract justice from the man who had tormented her for so long.

Four of Innerbrat's security officers hauled the trunk containing Miles O'Brien into a holding cell in the center
of the ship. Dubbed, "The Place Where Screams Go to Die", it was the private chamber used by
Innerbrat to extend the reach of Zeon's justice further than what the courts could do.

Of course, rarely did she ever loan out its use to those less experienced in the prolonged and sustained agony
of male criminals. But Keiko's application of botany had impressed her, it was proof that an educated human
female was as dangerous as any other creature in the universe. So Innerbrat decided that, under proper
supervision, it would be fine to allow Keiko to continue the vengeance she had started on Deep Space Nine.

The security officers had removed the still unconscious O'Brien from the trunk and were about to cut him free
of the vine, which was still gingerly fucking him to try and get the nourishment it wanted (but couldn't get from a male).

"Don't cut him free just yet," Keiko said.

"Just use a stimulant to wake him up, let's see how he reacts to having a plant monster fucking him in the ass."

And so they woke him, using a hypostim on Miles' neck before leaving the room.

As Miles' eyes opened, he could feel the ends of the vine inside of him, one end pluinging deep into his throat,
probing his stomach contents and keeping him from vomiting, and the other end slowly but surely creeping up
his asshole, through his intestines.

That end was having trouble navigating the lengthy tract of the human small intestine, but it was only a matter of
time before the two ends met and who knows what would happen then.

"Wake Up Miles..." Keiko said softly into the microphone.

Innerbrat's chamber had strategically placed speakers designed to taunt victims.

Miles couldn't yell back at him, but the pain of his hangover and the pain of his overly stretched asshole
caused him to struggle against his restraints, which coiled around him tighter as he resisted.

"Doesn't this remind you of our honeymoon Miles? How you spent most of our travel fare on booze and I
had to take two cocks from a pair of hotel staff to get our room comped? Oh Miles, I can't believe you've
forgotten that. Well I'll be reminding you of a great many more things in the hours to come, actually the
DAYS to come if I do it right..."

One Week Later - Commanding Officers Office, Deep Space Nine

Paris ran his fingers over where the bloody gash in his head had been. The medics had fixed him up
during the long wait for the deep-space tugs to arrive and tow them back to Deep Space Nine. The
word from the Starfleet engineers who had examined the Defiant had told him that it would take
almost four months to repair all the damage that had been inflicted on her with primitive atomics.

But that was the least of his worries, for Federation Sexports to the Principality of Zeon had almost
completely ceased mere days after the battle. The long term loss to the Federation was incalculable,
trillions upon trillions of credits gone, which was kind of funny, because the Federation officially did
not allow the use of money by it's citizens, but retained significant monetary reserves for it's secret
trading programs that kept the economy from tanking. This of course, was kept secret from the
Federation's own citizens.

To make matters even worse, Paris now had to explain this complete fuck-up to none other than
newly-promoted Rear Admiral (Upper Half) Kathryn Janeway, the King Bitch herself.

Muttering to himself, Paris wondered who Janeway had fucked to get that promotion. Certainly wasn't
a human, that's for sure. As the UPF logo appeared on his commpanel, Paris forced a fake smile
onto his face.

Kathryn Janeway's scowling visage appeared on the screen in moments, and before Paris could
mutter false platitudes, Janeway began screaming.

"Goddamnit, Paris! First Riker and the Enterprise go AWOL while looking for the Gnomes, and
now you completely fuck things up beyond belief with the Principality of Zeon. Do you have a talent
for fucking up, Mister? Do you realize how much this fucking mess is costing me personally?"

"Yes, of course I do, sir." replied Paris. Everyone knew how Janeway had quite large shares in
the stocks of sex toys, they'd heard her talk about it incessantly at staff meetings on Voyager
for no fuckin' reason at all.

"I didn't fucking fly across half of the fucking Galaxy for seven fucking years just to..."

Paris tuned out Janeway's rantings, while looking interested in what she was saying. It was a
talent he'd perfected quite well on the interminable staff meetings on Voyager. Since her
return, Janeway always, ALWAYS brought up Voyager, even if it had fucking nothing to do
with the task at hand. Paris knew that half of the shit that Janeway talked about was utterly full
of shit, made up by her, so that she seemed like she knew what the fuck to do on the bridge
of a starship, rather than a drooling incompetent.

Meanwhile, in the opposite room, Ensign Stravo furiously masturbated to the image of his fantasy
girl on the screen. He had hacked in to Paris' terminal, so that whenever the goddess Janeway
called, he could see what they were talking about.

Originally, it had been so that he could kill Paris if he suspected a romantic connection with
Janeway, but lately it'd become his latest vice, masturbating to archive footage of Janeway's
mouth moving.

It always brought him to a swift and exhiliarating climax, even if the resulting cleanup was a sad
and lonely affair. One day, one day, by God, he'd get the recognition he needed to get noticed
by her and hopefully he'd end up on her personal staff.

Oh what a dream come true that would be...

Admiral Janeway's Office - Starfleet HQ

Janeway looked at the split image on her screen and smiled.

Ensign Stravo was a sloppy hacker at best, but his intentions were far more interesting. During all
of that time on lonely Voyager, no man had once ever even tried to stalk her or steal her panties.
Chakotay had been so timid, so boring, and any good that had come out of him had been erased
when she found out about the Maquis' infamous $50 bet.

She watched Stravo's face turn beet red on the monitor as he neared his finish, and resisted the
urge to clutch at her own breast, which was sagging discreetly under the table. Finally, Stravo turned
off his end of the connection, which was her cue to end this pointless chat with Paris.

"Mr. Paris, Starfleet Command would appreciate it if you would return to Earth and personally brief them
on the incident with the Principality. Plan on staying for a while. By the way, don't you have an assistant?
A Mr. Stravo I presume?"

"Yes ma'am but he's an incompetent little..."

"If you want to salvage your career, you'll bring him along."

Paris didn't know what that meant, but he wasn't about to go back to prison. He was an officer now,
and he knew what happened to officers in prison.

*******************

Authors Note
This was all written by Darth Fanboy, in response to the Duchess story capsule idea for UPF:

The Principality of Zeon not only offers political asylum to all battered women, but if they
succeed in bringing their batterer across the border with them, have a legal right to torture them to
death. The Federation refuses to do anything about it because it is "respecting Zeon's cultural traditions".
Since one of your earlier chapters mentioned O'Brien musing that "Keiko's black eye had healed",
I thought you could do a sideline with her fleeing for Zeon with O'Brien tied up in the Runabout.
Paris chases them in the Defiant and gets bitchslapped on the border with Zeon by a squadron of
old D7s (because they have competent tactics unlike the Feddies) on border patrol who have
crews of exclusively British-descended women with black leather jumpsuits for uniforms, and
InnerBrat in command of the squadron. After taking about Keiko and Miles, she loans Keiko her
shipboard torture chamber for use on the trip back to Zeon.

After getting the raw story from Fanboy, I looked it over, formatted it and polished it. The part about
Paris having dysentry from Neelix' cooking is mine, which is an expansion of Paris eating pill cocktails.
I expanded it so that he's addicted to them from the stress caused by 7 years on Voyager.

[Ace Pace]

Nice Nice, we want more.

[darthdavid]

Muy Delicioso!!!

[Mopeyennuui]

Sick, it too me two days ot do. And yes, Countesxs ius definatly odd in ehr concepts. I like it!

[Singular Quartet]

Very nice. Now we want more.

[Zaia]

Very nice. Now we want more.

Ayup.