Star Trek TNG: FireBlood Liqueur

Guinan swooned with delight as he worked his way past her inner vagina lips and clitoris. It had been so long since she last had that sensation, possible only after fifteen inches of penetration. The orgasm of the inner organs was rhapsodized in song by her people since the beginning of their recorded history. As her first grand orgasm built within her, she wondered briefly why she had ever left home before the rush spun her completely away from her reason.

It was close to daywatch when their bodies subsided from their frantic dance. They had done the impalement dance in every position known in the universe, the favorite being with her on all fours as he thrust deeply from behind. Both of them were heavily scratched and leaking redly, Guinan worse than Worf, and she was breathing awkwardly at the end. Worf howled in triumph as the last of four ejaculations poured into her, and she trembled uncontrollably as her last climax wobbled for a seeming eternity. He lay on top, still completely impaling her, until reason returned.

When Worf got up and looked down at Guinan on the floor, he began to worry. She seemed broken, laying on the floor amidst shards of Terran plates and bleeding from many small cuts, her skin already showing bruises. A mirror showed his own body was also torn and bleeding, but that mattered little to a Klingon. A broken flower was resting beside him, ready to wilt.

He knelt down at her side. "Guinan, Guinan."

"Yes, dear Worf."

"You're not well. My medic training tells me you need assistance. Computer, emergency transport. . ."

She put her hand on his forehead with amazing speed. With a voice as frail as a summer breeze. "You will not say anything about this to anyone. You will not call medical help for me, or tell anyone I'm hurt."

Sweat poured from his brow as he resisted her mind control. His teeth bared, snarls escaped his lips, but it was no use. At least, he said, "I will tell no one you are hurt. I will say nothing to anyone."

Kissing his hand, she smiled up at him. "You're a dream come true, Worf," she whispered. "The best lovemaking I've had in my life."

He looked away for a moment. Her body bulged awkwardly in several places. She was near death and denying it. "You have given me something rare and special, too, Guinan," he said at last. "I will sing of your praises when you reach Sto-vo-kor."

As Worf left, Guinan shuddered as she lay on her back. She hated to give him a Compulsion: using that ability was against her agreement with Captain Picard, made when she joined the Enterprise crew. Any time she used it left her vulnerable to detection: if Troi's attention was focused this way, she might have to find a new home. But there was no way she could let Worf summon help for her, even though he thought she was dying.

Guinan's body ached like never before. "This is going to take some time," she said to no-one, and closed her eyes.

Worf entered Ten-Forward the next evening with a heavy heart. Every time during the day he started to tell someone about Guinan, or enter it into a terminal, his voice failed completely and his fingers would not respond. His duty time went uneventfully, and after visiting the Mess, he played poker in Commander Riker's quarters with most of the Command crew. Data was missing: he was keeping to himself off duty and many rumors were flying around the Enterprise about what his new project was. There were no murmurs about Guinan, and Doctor Crusher had acted fairly normal at the card game, although she had given him a few knowing grins across the table that seemed incomprehensible. No word about what happened last night reached his ears from any of the crew.

Looking around, there were few crew members in the bar. It was well into the night shift in the midst of a normal mission cycle: a weekday evening when most of the ship was working the next day. His normal table was empty, and he strode over to it brusquely.

The stars drifted by in solemn procession. The Enterprise must be cruising at Warp 2; no hurry to get to the next destination. They were comforting in a way nothing else was: Worf settled in his chair to watch them and let the burden he carried rise slowly from his heart. He was tempted to turn around, but Guinan's absence would be more than he could bear right now. The Warrior blood would give him the courage to look before long.

Why she would give her life in search of sexual pleasure confounded him. Some beings had no sense of proportion. He had known humans who died doing stupid things, and several races seemed to have no self control in the face of Death. The only way to die honorably was the Warrior's way, in combat: he knew that with all his heart. In her way, she had given herself to him like a warrior.

A dark hand set a glass of dark beverage on the table in front of him, then laid itself gently on the hand resting on the table. "Penny for your thoughts," came the familiar voice.

Worf turned with a start and found himself looked at a beaming Guinan. She wore a dark red tunic that reached down below her knees and extended upward to cover her head. If she had eyebrows, they would have been dancing. Her face and posture displayed full health. "I told you some of us could take more than you could imagine," she said playfully.

"I don't understand," he stammered. "I thought. . ."

"My race is very resilient," she continued calmly with an electric, erotic undertone, "although I haven't been pushed this far in a very long time. You were everything I hoped you would be."

"But, but, but. . ."

"No, I won't marry you, although it would be fun. Like K'Ehlayr, I need to keep my independence for a while. Besides, my last three marriages were all mistakes, and I need to wait another fifty years or so before I try again."

"But, but, but. . ."

Guinan sat down opposite Worf, and laid her hands on the table. Her visible skin was perfect and her hands soft and delicate with long, razor sharp fingernails. "Oh baby, I'm still a little sore. You aren't something I can handle every day, but once a week would be wonderful. You've been alone far too much in your life. How about a date next Wednesday night?"

Worf lifted the glass of prune juice to his lips. He took a long, slow sip from the glass as his eyes regarded her and his blood sang its love song hotly in his veins as a slow smile broke across his face.