Star Trek Broken Bodice Ch. 01

A parody by Mick T Budarrap

Disclaimer: Star Trek, its characters, locations and plots are not my creations and are used without permission. No profit has been or will be made by their use in this story.

"Broken Bodice" is not intended for consumption by minors. If you are below the adult age in your country, state or county then read no further and delete this file from your computer. By reading this disclaimer you agree to take full responsibility for continuing.

The author does not encourage or condone the enormously disrespectful and frequently criminal things that are done to women in this story. The activities performed in this fictional work should never be inflicted on people in the real world.

This is a work of fiction that features rampant exploitation of women in parody of the depictions of species and societies in Star Trek. Where the TV shows and films only suggest for cheap titillation value, "Broken Bodice" takes it to its sleazy conclusions. The story focuses on the perils and misadventures of Deanna Troi (Star Trek: The Next Generation), T'Pol (Star Trek: Enterprise) and B'Elanna Torres (Star Trek: Voyager).

EPISODE 01: WHAT ARE LITTLE GIRLS MADE OF?

There was a warren of chambers and corridors beneath the stadium, all cramped, poorly lit and occupied by too many caged women to easily count. Confined within their cells were females of species from across the Quadrant: Humans, Bajorans, Cardassians, Deltans, some that might be Vulcan or might be Romulan. This waiting area was lit only by the occasional slice of light coming down through slits in the ceiling, but it was enough to see the shameful condition of the captives.

Most were young in their twenties, with only a few rare captives over thirty. They varied from pretty to beautiful, from the slim to the curvaceous, but they would all fetch good prices. Ankles were shackled, wrists bound and necks collared. What little clothing the women were allowed was usually revealing: silks that were transparent, shirts that were tight enough to show nipples, skirts that were short enough to flash bottoms and vests that couldn't entirely close around the breasts of the women wearing them.

There was bare flesh everywhere, thighs and asses and cleavage as well as worried faces, tear-filled eyes and trembling lips. Many of the girls sported tanlines, their breasts and bottoms far paler than their sun-bronzed arms and legs, showing that while many of these women had flaunted their bodies in the sun they rarely exposed themselves as fully as this. Now, of course, they had no choice.

A sudden roar from above made the captive females duck, women and girls flinching from the sound of approval produced by the enormous crowd. They couldn't guess how many spectators were present in the stadium above but they knew why they were here.

Some of these women had been captured by slavers, taken in raids on colonies and shipping lanes, with the youngest and most beautiful females ending up here. Some had been captured in simpler snares, like a ship responding to a distress signal finding itself suddenly in distress, the females of its crew beamed swiftly into captivity, wives and daughters snatched away. Some had already tasted slavery and were being sold to new masters.

But there were three women present who had taken a far less conventional route to come here. This trio would be drawing far more attention than some mere colonist's daughter.

The three heroines stood back to back within their cage, watching their surroundings with beautiful dark eyes. They held themselves were more poise and self-confidence than the other captives but still their own trepidation was clear. When the crowd above rumbled they lifted their eyes, knowing that their turn would come soon.

The small cage the trio shared was suddenly washed with jets of cold white gas that shot up through small holes in the floor. Squealing and flinching from the chilling flows the three women sought escape: just then the door of their cage swung open.

The first captive that staggered out had skin as pale as snow and long dark hair. She was only five foot three but had a figure rich with curving hips, a round ass and a lovely pair of soft, plump breasts. The gorgeous young woman was humiliatingly naked, wearing nothing but the bindings that held her wrists behind her back, making it impossible for her to cover her voluptuous alabaster figure. She was here to be displayed and she knew it. Her imperiously beautiful face was flushed with shame at her nakedness and her black eyes were wide with fear.

Counselor Deanna Troi of the USS Enterprise drew in a breast-lifting breath, her nipples erect on the tips of her tits from the cold gas that had forced the naked twenty-nine year old into the open. It was almost unthinkable that she could be here in the slave market: she was the daughter of the Betazoid ambassador and a valued officer aboard the Federation flagship. And yet here she was, naked except for the shackles that pulled her wrists back and thrust her breasts forward, the large pink circles of her nipples trembling as her melons shook with her trepidation.

The second captive that hurried out of the cage was an even less likely sight. Her figure was athletic with long slim legs, a firm and flawless peach ass and a trim athletic waist. With mid-length brown hair and sensual dark eyes she was a strikingly attractive woman despite the small crests on her forehead revealing her Klingon ancestry. Her breasts added to her appeal, soft, high and full enough to fill a man's hands, two treats tipped with big brown nipples.

This woman definitely should not have been there among these slaves-to-be. She should have been on the other side of the galaxy, stranded in the Delta Quadrant. But instead B'Elanna Torres, a former Maquis criminal and chief engineer of the USS Voyager, found herself here in the Alpha Quadrant completely naked and with her wrists bound behind her back, her beautiful body bared from breasts to bald pussy and everything else her delicious figure had to offer.

But if Troi and Torres were unlikely captives, the third and final woman that staggered naked out of the cage with tit-bouncing steps was an impossible sight. The plump fullness of her generous breasts contrasted her long slender legs, slim arms and narrow waist. Her brown hair was cut boyishly short and her face was haughtily beautiful with angular eyes and full pouting lips.

Both B'Elanna Torres and Deanna Troi had learned this woman's name in school: she was T'Pol, the science officer and second-in-command aboard the old NX class Enterprise. She had been described by many as "The First Modern Vulcan" and even as "The Mother of the Federation". That had been more than two hundred years in the past and yet here she was, looking not a day older.

Her fame had not saved her. Like her companions T'Pol had been stripped naked and bound with her hands behind her back. Her generous melons quivered on her chest, her Vulcan poise and demeanor sorely tested by her humiliating ordeal.

The sound of a voice made her brown eyes move quickly to its source. "Lot numbers 47, 48 and 49."

Deanna Troi, B'Elanna Torres and T'Pol stood nude and shaking before their captors, their teats erect and stinging from the cold gas that had forced them from their cage. Flashlights ran up and down the bare curves of the three Starfleet officers' bodies before lingering on their generous tits.

The flashlights revealed one last humiliation. B'Elanna, T'Pol and Deanna each carried the words "FOR SALE" written in thick black ink on their bare breasts!

They knew the name of the Ferengi leading these men. Golga's smile revealed sharp teeth as he grinned at the sight of the three naked and shamed Starfleet officers. "Time for you to use those moneymelons," he sneered, eyeing the trio of gorgeous brunettes before him.

Golga was flanked by three huge goons: a green-skinned Orion, a reptilian Gorn and a mandible-faced Nausican, all taller and stronger than any of the three heroines. The nude officers were grabbed by the upper arms and manhandled onwards, towards a distant lift that would take them to the stadium above. "Unhand me!" T'Pol ordered uselessly, her bare breasts bouncing and jiggling invitingly.

"How dare you!" Troi objected as she was pushed on her way, her long pale legs awkward beneath her as she staggered forward naked and bound, the counselor's tits swaying.

A hand closed around the round softness of B'Elanna's left breast, squeezing firmly, her titflesh threatening to spill out between large brutish fingers. "You bastard!" The fiery lieutenant tried to pull away but her captor, a seven-foot tall Nausican, easily pulled her close with a boob-jiggling yank. His big fingers closed around her left nipple, catching Torres' erect teat between thumb and forefinger and stretching her titflesh by that tender point. As the Klingon bit her lip in distress the other guards took advantage of their own captives. A slap on Troi's pale buttocks made the counselor jump, her breasts performing a quick leap-and-bounce that left her pink teats quivering, while T'Pol's pouting lips parted in a groan of distress as large Orion fingers diddled her snatch, one green digit parting the folds of her pussy to invade her most secret of places. She rose to the tips of her toes, her udders shimmying from side to side.

"Hands off the merchandise," Golga snapped, "We can't have bruises on them now."

Their turn had come. They had fallen as far as it was possible for Starfleet officers to fall. B'Elanna Torres, T'Pol and Deanna Troi were about to be sold as slaves on the auction blocks of Ferenginar, in full view of the enormous crowd and each of them naked except for the words "FOR SALE" printed on their bare breasts.

"No," cried out Deanna as she was pulled along, a giant Gorn hand cupping one of her milky melons, "No! This isn't fair!" It seemed only yesterday she held the rank of Commander aboard the Federation flagship. Now she was here, stark naked, hands bound, tits marked with "FOR SALE" and about to be sold as a sex slave. Nude, defeated and helpless, Counselor Troi lifted her face and opened her mouth in a wail.

"HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?"

SEVEN DAYS EARLIER

Deanna Troi's dark eyelashes fluttered as she struggled to wake.

The Enterprise's counselor was a beautiful woman and knew it. Her silky smooth skin was as pale as snow, contrasting with her black hair and dark Betazoid eyes. Her face had an imperious cast and her figure was voluptuously lush with wide hips, a round bottom and generous breasts tipped with large pink nipples. All of this was on good display at the moment.

The realization that she was naked shocked Deanna fully into the waking world, her dark eyes going wide. "Mmmmpphh!" she said, her words muffled by the mask over her mouth. She wiggled, turning her head left and right, her dark hair shifting around her pale shoulders as she took in her situation.

The twenty-nine year old found herself standing inside a narrow tube made of thick transparent plastic. She was also completely nude. The narrowness of the cylinder meant that her pale bottom pressed against the back wall while the orbs of her breasts were flattened against the front. The transparent tubing was chillingly cold, making her pink teats go painfully hard as they pressed against the freezing surface.

"A cryogenic stasis pod?" she wondered, wriggling inside the tube. Her struggles only served to make her boobs shift against the plastic, her nipples producing a faint squeaking noise. She halted her sexy struggle, her dark eyes rolling as she tried to look around and make sense of where she was.

There was a mask strapped over the lower half of her face. "Has this been keeping me drugged?" she wondered, tilting her head with her dark hair falling across her bare shoulders. "How long have I been in this pod?" A tube fed from the mask up into the ceiling of the pod. Deanna reached around, feeling out the naked curves of her hips. Because of the narrowness of the pod that forced her breasts to press against the plastic, Troi could only reach her hips and her dark muff.

The counselor heard a sound come from outside her cylinder, made very faint by the thick layer of plastic. It was a woman's voice. "Final scans completed. Patterned reconstitution one hundred percent successful."

Through the transparent walls of the tube the brunette beauty saw that she was inside a small chamber, its walls mounted with display panels and control systems, all dark or growing dimmer as she watched. Troi also saw that she was not alone. There were two other tubes beside hers, each containing a trapped and naked occupant.

On her left was a slim yet surprisingly full-chested woman with short dark hair and pointed Vulcan ears. Her tanned limbs were long and lean, her waist trim and taut, contrasting the two generous melons on her chest. Troi could see the Vulcan's breasts very well as they were pressed firmly against the inside of the woman's tube. The nude Vulcan was also masked, her head rolling left and right as she struggled to regain consciousness.

The third occupant was a tanned athletic young woman, trapped, naked and masked just as the Betazoid and the Vulcan were. The brunette appeared to be at least half-Klingon but was still a strikingly attractive woman. Probably in her early twenties she had only small ridges on her forehead and a hairline that was almost human. Her dark hair was cut to just above shoulder length, short and practical but not tomboyish. She had a taut stomach, trim thighs, a firm ass and high proud breasts, all of which Deanna had a magnificent view of right now.

Troi could see that the young Klingon woman inside was awake. The brunette was looking at the counselor with dark eyes showing a mixture of trepidation and frustration, her toned body jerking against her transparent cell, her bare knees kicking, making her tits and ass press even harder against the see-through walls of her prison. It was clear that the thick plastic was not going to break easily.

"How did I get in here?" wondered Troi, sinking slightly in her tube, causing her breasts to lift one delicious inch as they clung against the cold transparent plastic. Hoping to find an escape route Deanna craned her neck and examined the inside of her cryo-tube but couldn't find any weaknesses.

Suddenly the mask unclasped from her face and hissed upwards as fast as a viper, leaving Deanna's mouth free. A second later the masks on her Klingon and Vulcan neighbors also retracted, leaving the nude trio gasping with relief. The Vulcan seemed to gather herself, her lean heavy-breasted figure straightening in her tube. The short-haired woman shouted but Deanna couldn't make sense of her words through the two thick layers of plastic between the two captives.

And then the plastic moved. Each cylinder retracted towards the ceiling, sliding up into concealment while leaving their captives behind on the deck. Thanks to the tight fit of the tubes around the three curvy women, their tits were forced to press against the plastic as it rose.

The three captives' bare breasts produced squeaking noises as their nipples rubbed against the chilled plastic tubing. All three women squealed as their sensitive teats were stimulated by the contact, their generous tits rising as the friction with the retracting plastic dragged them upwards. They rose onto the tips of their toes as the sensation in their nips grew even more intense. Their hands clenched and unclenched uselessly as pleasure and discomfort sparked in their erect teats. Troi and her fellow captives shut their eyes and thrashed their heads as their bare nipples were tormented by the cold sliding plastic.

The three women's voices lifted an octave as, for one incredible second, all three off them were lifted from their tip-toes by the plastic dragging upwards on their tits And then the tubes were up and away from them and they were free.

Three sets of delicious breasts dropped and bounced, no longer confined within the narrowness of the cylinders. The three brunettes shuddered and fell to the deck, landing on all fours with their asses in the air and their breasts dangling beneath them.

"Ohhhhh," groaned the voluptuous Deanna, her dark hair hanging over her aching melons.

"Mmmmmm," moaned the Vulcan, her hands cupping and massaging her tender boobs.

"Someone's gonna pay for this," complained the athletic Klingon, rolling onto her back and covering the fullness of her tits with her hands.

The Vulcan rose to her feet, one arm wrapped around her generous bosom and making it rise into a mouthwatering cleavage. "Where are we? And how did we come to be here?"

"This ship is a Starfleet design," the Klingon noted as she cast her dark eyes over the walls and ceiling, "At least cosmetically."

"This is no Starfleet interior I have ever seen," disagreed the short-haired Vulcan.

"Wait a minute." Deanna brushed her raven hair back from her dark eyes as she stared hard at the Vulcan woman before her. Her action also pushed her dark locks back over her shoulders away from the milky moons of her breasts, denying her chest treats the tiny shred of modesty that had been provided by her hair. Now that the Vulcan was no longer wearing her life-support mask her face was clear to see. Troi recognized her regal features, her generously pouting lips and the angles of her eyes. "You're T'Pol!"

The Vulcan looked over at the Betazoid. Despite the degrading state in which she had awoken the short-haired beauty was already assuming a typically Vulcan posture of elegance and calm, perfectly upright with her head lifted, although one hand remained protectively in front of her jugs. "Have we met?"

"She can't be T'Pol," the Klingon dismissed with a wave, the gesture making her bare breasts jiggle deliciously. "She'd be like three hundred years old and even Vulcans don't stay young that long."

T'Pol directed a regal look into the Klingon's direction. "I am sixty seven," she declared, which for a Vulcan was comparable a human's late twenties. Her composure shifted slightly, a small look of concern marring her elegant façade. "What year is this?"

"2369," Deanna offered.

"2371," countered the Klingon. Her dark eyes widened slightly and she wrapped her arms around her bare body uncomfortably, pushing her boobs together in the process. "But we could both be wrong. If you've been in here for two hundred years then who knows how long we've really been in here."

T'Pol looked over her two companions, one a milk-skinned brunette with lush curves and the other a tanned, toned athletic figure with Klingon features. "Who are you?"

"Commander Deanna Troi, USS Enterprise," the voluptuous Betazoid said, then added, "Enterprise D, Galaxy class. There have been several Enterprises since the 22^nd century." She noticed T'Pol's eyes grower slightly wider with surprise.

"Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres, chief engineer USS Voyager." Torres was looking over a nearby console, her arms folded to cover her boobs. Her fingers found her nipples still stiff and uncomfortable after her confinement in the freezer-tube. "There isn't any power to the controls," she said with a shake of her head, short dark hair flicking around her attractive features. "Not anymore, anyway. But this doesn't look like a cryo system. It looks more like a transporter display..."

Heading for the door, Deanna self-consciously stepped around T'Pol, aware of how close her voluptuous naked figure was to the long-limbed, heavy-breasted Vulcan. She cupped and covered her boobs in her hands as she looked towards the exit. "Well, we should probably try to get out of here."