Wesley on Star Trek plays with the holodeck and pays with his manhood.
A - H I - P Q - Z Newest Files
Normal Disclaimers Here: Must be at least 21 to read, if not move on. I am just referencing characters of a show I like so my readers can visualize the situations better. No copyright or trademark or other legal term is being done. All resemblance to people past, present or future is totally coincidence and you should slap yourself for thinking I actually know everyone in the world. If I spell names wrong or they are not portrayed in the best light, deal with it, it is a fan-fic. Warning: it starts slow, but ends well. Wesley Crusher sat in his throne room. It had been a difficult day on the bridge; the Enterprise had barely escaped another threat of annihilation by another random alien species. This time it was the "Borg". A few had found their way onboard and it had been a frustrating battle for survival. He sat on the red cushions of his golden throne, pondering how to relieve the stress. The castle throne room was dark. He had designed it to be a place of retrospection and escape. The room was the exact opposite of the ship. He liked it that way. As soon as he walked into the holo-deck, he wanted to forget everything outside and just relax. The shadows and dark passageways were difficult to design, but a few old records of medieval times on Earth eased the creation process. Everything from a moat to guards to a custom torture room. Over time he had built a city surrounding the castle. All of its citizens were of course taken from the computer's logs. It took some programming and some serious code breaking, but he had surrounded himself with all the crewmembers of the Enterprise. The most difficult part of the creation of his city was the addition of a torture chamber. Weeks of programming and research went into the simple construction of the rooms, but it took him an entire month to program the proper authorization to torture even simulated crewmembers. The best part of his little world was that he was the king. All the citizens, being taken from the ship's logs, had to be told this and had to know why they were living in a medieval society. A fake memory implant of being marooned on a planet without any salvageable material and threat of war with the local alien race, quickly motivated everyone into a state of medieval livelihood. Of course the fact that he was king and all actions done by the king are the actions and words of 'god', took a serious subconscious memory implant. No one questioned his authority. If they did, he would scream "Computer, freeze program" and simply reprogram the person on the spot. He listened to the torches at the far away walls burn and crackle. He could hear the indigenous life forms in the courtyards chirping and clicking away. He sat in the dim stone room, unable to stop seeing the Borg soldiers taking phaser hits and still moving. He decided to have a little celebration and created a mock victory over the people's enemies. He called in his Jester to announce a victory celebration with dancing girls, drink, and a banquet for him and his key generals. Jester Piccard ran quickly away after hearing his lord's decree. He rushed to the kitchen and down through the streets screaming the words of the king. Within the hour, Wesley was eating a freshly cooked boar and drinking wine with the generals of his army. Riker, Worf, Data, and Jordi surrounded him in the U-shaped table brought before his throne. Although one could not actually digest a hologram, it was delicious. The minstrels sang of his righteous rule and the victories of the army. Mostly of his superb leadership, but a few key battle songs kept the conversation going with the generals. It started to lag after a few hours, so Wesley called in the dancing girls. Girls picked at random from the city to dance for their king. He did not recognize any of the crew women dancing before him. They were wearing their skin-tight uniforms, well at least the bottom half. Wesley had decreed early in his rule that all women must never hide their chest from view. Some had tried. Instead of reprogramming them, he decided to use the facilities that had taken him the longest to procure in the castle. The torture chamber was an entire floor in the castle. Only he could enter and only one guard was placed at the door. The dancing excited him and the thought of punishing those that broke his laws gave him some ideas. Early in the creation of the perfect world, Tasha Yarr had been a thorn in his side. She had apparently came from a society much like the one he created and had hated every minute of it. From what he could steal from Diana Troi's psychological reports and from her computer files he deduced that Tasha hated any male dominated society and that she hated not having control or power. She would try organizing the people with talk of democratic ideals and starting movements to topple his tower of dictatorship. He could not remember how many times he had tried to reprogram her. When he finally finished, she could barely walk and really couldn't talk. The modern approach had failed him, so he looked to his research in medieval society. Torture seemed to be the answer to everything from a common cold to a traitor. So, he erased the walking robot that had become Tasha, and started from the pre-reprogrammed hologram. A few days trying each piece of equipment, she had become his loyal torture chamber assistant. It took him a month of trying to crack her, but she had been well worth it. Whether she gave in because she wanted power or because she couldn't take any more abuse, he would never know. He had provided her with holo-books about the devices and a few choice selections from his own sordid collection on pleasure and pain. She liked the role of head mistress of the chamber and he had often caught her torturing a poor villager to orgasm. He had found her to be very creative and often more abusive than he ever could have. Every time he passed her in the corridor or was next to her in the turbolift, he couldn't stop thinking of her wearing those black leather panties and boots. The first week of Tasha's torture was a bit awkward for him. He had never really hurt anyone, at least intentionally, and she often just laughed at his meager attempts at pain-infliction. She had been whipped and burned and skewered, but she just laughed it off. After the second week, he had decided that all conventional torture would not work on an officer of the ship, let alone on the head security officer. He researched outside and inside the holo-deck. He would talk to the real Tasha at 10-forward and try to make pleasant conversation. He always failed to discus anything but current events. She would brush him off and go back to her work or walk out of the bar altogether. From her medical and psychological files, he found out that she feared being raped. In fact, digging in her personal tracking records in the main computer he discovered that no one but Data had entered her personal quarters and that she had never been closer than 3 inches from any other crewmember. This fear of intimacy and hate of sex explained why she seemed so mean and self-reliant. He had always thought it was because she was a security officer, but it was starting to become clearer as he probed deeper into her the puzzle that was Tasha's past. His first attempt at "radical" torture was simple. He took off all her clothes. During previous torture sessions he had made her wear only a pair of tight shorts and shackles to keep her on the device being used at the time. He had altered her program slightly to reduce her limb strength to half his own. Although she could not physically restrain him, she could still restrain most women in the crew and with his help, a large quantity of men on the ship's roster. Being naked in front of a teenage boy was not exactly a good way to start the day for Tasha. Wesley soon found this out when he cut the shorts off her and she started screaming. The obscenities that spewed from that pretty face would make a Feringy cringe in dishonor. He placed her on the rack and started stretching her. Previous attempts at this torture had failed miserably, even when a shoulder or hip became dislocated. Simply spreading her legs and removing her ability to slightly sit-up, caused her extreme mental anguish. He stretched her to the near breaking point and just started talking about her body. She shook and quivered; her body taut and glistening with the sweat from the strain on her muscles. He complemented her on her legs, her hair, her face, and even her breasts. He like bigger breasts, but hers were a good average size. He played with her nipples and she gave him a stare that could freeze Satan himself. He stroked her body and caressed her, nothing that was really "torture" to anyone. When he moved his attention to her lower abdomen and legs, she screamed and cursed his birth. Fueled by the torrent of vulgar comments coming from the head of the inclined table, Wesley positioned himself between her legs and just stared at her shaking legs. She could not move her body to see him and she did not know what he was going to do. Fear sparked more screams and flames flew from her tongue. He caressed and massaged her feet, then the slowly moved up to her calves. By the time he had moved past her knees, she was covered in more sweat than she had shed in the past two weeks. When his hands started moving up her thighs and circling her sex, two distinct snaps echoed in the chamber followed by screams. She had dislocated both shoulders straining to see or prevent what she feared he was going to do. A quick reprogram to the current state of the hologram, and she was back on the rack without busted arms. She was still unconscious and she was still sore from the quasi-healing. He froze the program and moved her to the hanging shackles in the corner. He spread her legs and tied her legs to the ground. He shackled her hands above her head and started the program. Bringing a hot poker over, he pressed it to the inside of her thighs. She gasped and choked a scream out. Still groggy from the past humiliation, she just mumbled a curse as she stared blankly at the ground. He pressed the poker to the other thigh. Low wail. He pressed the poker to the inside of her thigh. Scream. He pressed the poker to the inside of her other thigh. Scream that echoed off the stone walls. He slid the cool side of the poker up and down both thighs crossing her sex in an upside down U-form. Every time he rubbed the burns on her inner thighs she would curse and every time he would rub her sex she would scream. Wesley placed the cool poker rod between her lips and slowly slid it to the hot barb. Up and down. The motion of the rod and the writhing female body had him standing tall and uncomfortable. He had to adjust himself, but decided to just de-robe instead. She screamed at the sight of an engorged penis so near her sex and began crying. The attention to her pussy with the rod had not been in vain; she came on the rod and the sizzle made him extremely horny. He replaced the rod with his own and slid up and down. He felt like the luckiest hot-dog in the ship. She moaned as she sobbed. He rubbed her clit with his fingers and massaged her lips around his engorged member. She came again and her body relaxed in the restraints. After a few minutes of "torture", he placed his head in her pussy. A quick thrust and scream, and she was soon gyrating towards him. The torture continued, but with less cursing and more moaning. Over the next week, he repeated the "torture" on all the machines in one way or another. It was a great stress reliever at the time and he still enjoyed just strapping her to a table. Some of the machines he never really figured out, but it was still fun to strap her to one and give her a thousand lashes with a dildo. Motorized dildos didn't fit in with the medieval theme, so he got a great deal of exercise. At first, she was against the use of "foreign objects" in their little match of wills, but she now wears a dildo in her ass and in her pussy. Each held in place by her leather panties. She had complained at first when he padlocked the panties on with the dildos in, but after a week of running jumping and biking, she only takes them out when ordered. All the thought about torture and the women dancing for the victory compelled him to take his celebration in private. He called to clear the court and moved to the lower chambers of the castle.