Unnamed Porno Fanfic
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
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?"
"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
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
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
"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
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.
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!"
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
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
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.
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.