Disclaimers, ratings and warnings are in Part 1.
THE BADLANDERS
PART FOUR
Chakotay stared dispassionately at the heap on the floor. The woman had collapsed the second after she spoke his name. She seemed to know him, but that was nothing new to him. Every damned Federationist seemed to know him or wanted a piece of him. Mainly, he thought with an audible snort, they wanted a piece of him, and mostly likely all of him. Presented to the Federation as a corpse or his head dressed with an apple in his mouth handed to them on a platter.
He knew they wanted him dead. Not alive. Dead. Any proof of his demise was the physical evidence of a body. Janeway was like all of them. She had come to put his head on a platter. What the hell was he supposed to remember?
Remember that he had once been a Federationist himself? Remember that she was sent to lure him out and kill him? She had, like every vessel Starfleet sent in, badly underestimated him and the Badlands and now she was the captive. Like every female who was brought on the Liberty, she was going to come through his hands too. His hands and his mouth and his belt and his cock that already, even as he looked at the injured, prone figure on the floor, was hurrying into an arousal. He felt the itch; it started somewhere near his navel, crawled down towards his crotch, just above his cock, exciting his hairs into a cilia-like motion until his cock started to throb with need.
But the woman was unconscious and severely injured. They had no doctor in the Maquis, just poorly trained field medics with little or no experience. Most of the injured died of their wounds and it infuriated him since they were revenue for the Maquis. He noticed a Vulcan amongst the prisoners. Seska could work him over. Seska liked Vulcans.
"You," he hissed as he pointed to the officer who had been supporting the captain, "who are you? Do you have medical training?"
The man looked Ketarchan, and dressed in Starfleet teal. Science or medicine. He hoped it was the latter. Before the officer could reply, Chakotay's eyes went again to one of the women, narrowing as he took in her blonde appearance. She looked... His eyebrow lifted. She was a clone of Megan Delaney who begged him to fuck him after only a day in his bed. That woman had been a virginal revelation. This one looked the same. Cocky. He turned to Ayala and Torres.
"Have her brought to my cabin now," he barked at them. Then he gripped Ayala's arm in a vice, "Touch her before I get there and you're dead." The girl gave a cry as Torres and Ayala moved swiftly forward and removed her from the group, dragging her out of the cargo bay. He grinned inwardly. Before he was going to work on Kathryn Janeway, the Delaney clone was going to give him pleasure. His erection bulged unceremoniously, arrogantly, for the moment turning its allegiance from Janeway to the blonde clone.
"Now, you," he said as he turned to the Ketarchan, "do you have medical training? Get up when I talk to you," he hissed. He kicked the Ketarchan in the mid-section when the man bent down to tend to his injured captain. The Ketarchan groaned from the impact of his boot, the unexpected force of the blow robbing him of breath. He paled, the ridges on his nose and forehead turning dark green, the green eyes filling with anger. He had to give it to the Ketarchan. The man thought better than to retaliate. Janeway must have had a loyal crew. This man was loyal to Janeway.
"I am Krell," he said heavily. "I am - was...Voyager's chief medical officer. Please, the captain needs medical attention. Some of the others too..."
Chakotay looked Krell up and down. He looked to the cargo bay doors. Where the hell was Paris when he needed him?
Just at that moment they heard hurried footsteps approaching down the corridor. Seconds later Paris appeared, looking slightly dishevelled, the hair mussed. He tugged at his shirt, pulled himself into some order. What the hell? The man - handsome as hell but the angriest damn pilot he ever saw - looked like he had just emerged from prodding his prick up someone's ass.
"Paris!"
"Yes, Boss!" Paris replied, not looking at the heap on the floor. Chakotay thought Paris might have recognised Voyager's captain. It wasn't unlikely. She might have known the pilot's father. One day, he swore, if Paris didn't kill Owen Paris first, he would laugh driving and twisting his d'k tagh in Owen Paris's chest and drink his spurting blood. He knew why Tom hated his father. But that wasn't why he, Chakotay, desired to kill Owen Paris in his sleep.
Tom stood on attention, not moving until he was given the signal again. By that time, Tom's eyes fixed on one of the other prisoners. A young man in Starfleet gold. Hair straight and black as a raven's, a pair of black eyes in slanted sockets. Oriental...
"Hold that dick in of yours, Paris. You can have your meal later. First, escort the injured to the medical bay. This here," and then he pointed to Krell, "is the new doctor of the Liberty. He'll tend to the injured. First thing, get this woman seen to..." Chakotay looked down at Kathryn Janeway, used his booted toe to nudge her on her side. Keep her there until I send for her..."
Tom Paris gave Janeway one look, then snorted disgustingly. "She's all yours, Boss," he sneered, his lips curling in derision.
"Then I guess you know her."
"No, I don't know her," he stated flatly. Chakotay knew it was a bald-faced lie, but he let it go. Now was not the time to knock Paris to the ground.
"Can I mark my meal first?" Paris asked.
Chakotay relented a little. His eyes gleamed suddenly. Paris was the Badlands Bad Boy, but far from competing with him. Tom Paris was going to get competition from another source soon by the looks of the injured officer lying on the floor who until now no one seemed to notice and who bore a remarkable resemblance to Paris. Maybe the bloodied face and hands left little to recognise but he had seen the resemblance as if the man had lain there clean-faced and all.
He nodded, wanting to see Paris at play and at the same time allowing Krell to lift Janeway into his arms. He saw how Krell turned his gaze away from Paris who walked up to the Oriental who looked scared enough to piss in his pants. The poor kid's eyes darted wildly as Paris grabbed his cheeks, pulled his face closer and then bore his lips down on the prisoner in a punishing kiss.
Chakotay knew the drill. He had seen Paris at work. His lips would bite into his lover's lips until they bled, then he'd proceed to lick away at the bloody mouth softly, gently, lovingly, roaming his tongue all over the bruised lips until they softened before they parted of their own accord and Paris plunged deep into his mouth. By that time his hands had left the prisoner's cheeks and had already begun to press the man's butt against his crotch just to show him how ready he was. He watched Paris knead the ensign's butt cheeks in a deliberately sensual way, stroking and stroking until he was satisfied with the result. And the poor ensign looked surprised when his lips opened for Paris to take the plunge. Chakotay noted the deep flush as the young one blushed.
It worked every time.
When Paris was finished, he gleamed at the raven haired ensign, proclaiming in dangerously whispered tone of voice, "You'll be good to me...Ensign..."
He didn't want to laugh as Paris released the bemused ensign whose erection strained against his pants, showing that Paris had done his work.
Paris returned to the three of them, "Come, to the medical bay we go..."
Chakotay watched as they carried the injured out, stopping Krell first to take a last look at Janeway whose face appeared ashen, her lips dry. They hadn't eaten or had water the last twenty four hours and the cargo bay carried only a toilet. He resisted the urge to touch her. Her words seemed like a ghostly song from the distant past, as if it approached him from behind a hazy veil that curved and flapped lazily in a breeze.
He frowned again. He never saw her before yet she seemed to know him. Paris definitely knew her as he surmised she knew Paris too.
When he nodded to Krell to move on, he remained in the cargo bay, standing hands on his hips and pondering on why his cock had started itching again.
Minutes later he was in his cabin where the Megan Clone stood, stripped naked, with B'Elanna fondling her pussy.
"Her name's Jenny Delaney, Chakotay. Megan's twin sister..."
"I thought she had to be something. Now, let's see how good she is in bed," he murmured as he cupped her full breasts, squeezed them hard until Jenny cried out. He released one breast, moved his hand down to her vulva, parted her folds and slipped his forefinger up her cunny. The whiff of sex that emanated from her caught his nostrils; they flared. He was hard. The girl looked cocky, like her clone.
"Torres..."
Torres grabbed Jenny by her hair and pulled the screaming girl to the bunk which was moved away from the bulkhead leaving space between the bed and wall. Ayala stood watching as Torres pulled Jenny on to the bunk, flat on her back. Torres growled, moved between Jenny's legs and pressed her mouth against her cunt, sucking and prodding with her tongue. Jenny gasped and cried in outrage, struggled, but Ayala held her down. Then Torres stood up and sidled up to him.
"She's wet, Chakotay. This one's a swinger..."
"No matter. If she's wet, she wants it. Ayala..."
Ayala pulled Jenny so that she lay across the bed, her head dangling over the side. He pulled down his pants, his rock hard cock springing from its restraints.
"No...please..." Jenny cried as Ayala pulled her head further back right between his legs, Torres smacked her cheek hard so that her mouth opened as she cried out. At the moment Ayala slipped the tip of his great cock into Jenny's mouth, shutting her up. Beads of perspiration grew on her face, her neck, her forehead as she struggled. Torres leaned over and slapped her tits with Chakotay's belt until they were red, welts forming and criss-crossing. Jenny couldn't cry out. Instead, the urge to cry gave Ayala the opportunity to slip in until the back of her throat halted further entry. And there he remained lodged.
"Now," ordered Chakotay.
On his cue, Ayala pulled Jenny's legs up so that her knees almost touched her tips. Her cunt, pink and flushed and swollen already from the way B'Elanna had fucked away at it, looked inviting. Ayala, his cock lodged deeply into Jenny's mouth, pressed her knees wide apart. This time her pink ass came up, the little rose displayed prominently for Chakotay.
Chakotay moved between the bed and bulkhead, his pants already stripped down, his cock throbbing angrily it seemed to him. Gripping her butt cheek and pressing them wider than they already were, he pressed his cock tip against her rosy hole. He sucked in his breath as he felt her flesh move. Then he pressed until it gave and popped around his tip like it was sucking him in.
"Now, sweet clone, I'll show you cocky..." he hissed, then suddenly and very swiftly, drove his cock up her tight, tight ass. Chakotay groaned with pleasure as he forced his way in, pulling out to his tip before banging in again. It felt good the way her ass moved with the force of his fucking, the way the rose seemed to swallow him, giving him unlimited access. Spirits, it was good! The woman's body had stopped struggling and now she was assisting him, it seemed. So he pounded harder, grinning diabolically as he noticed traces of blood where she started tearing. That should teach her. She was going to get it there every time. It incited him, his body going up in flames as he allowed the waves of pleasure to curl in his body. He closed his eyes, enjoyed the way his cock moved rhythmically, yet strongly in her, bringing him to the point where he was swelling up and about to burst.
Meanwhile, it was Ayala's signal to start pounding into the upside down presentation of Jenny Delaney's mouth. Torres knelt by Jenny's pussy and rubbed the little clit until she could feel her wetness again the moment she pressed three fingers into the hapless girl's cunt. Together they rode the girl, long and hard.
"She's cumming!"
"God, she's something..." he murmured as he shot his cum up Jenny's ass, her face rocking at the same time as Ayala spilled into her mouth.
When he finally pulled his cock out, he wondered idly why it was Janeway's face that appeared the moment he climaxed.
That had never happened before.
*****
END PART FOUR