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"Captain Picard, there are some men to see you," replied Data,
who tried to hide his disgust at being forced into Picard's
gay porn holos in order to retain his rank and position on the
Enterprise.
"Send them in," replied Picard as he put away the whips and
told Wesley to get the fuck into the closet.
Life was good, ever since Wesley had returned from being
with that Traveller asshole. He was now Picard's bitch,
and Beverly was none the wiser.
Picard cracked an evil smile at that. He truly was
master of his domain.
The doorbell chimed, and a moment later, in stepped
two rather brutish and hulking gentlemen, their
well-tailored coats trying valiantly, but failing to
hide the fact that the men were obviously bodybuilders.
"Captain Picard, we presume?" asked the taller of
the two, whose hair was completely jet black,
and had a wicked-looking white scar running across
his forehead.
"None other. Whom do I have the pleasure of talking to?"
replied Picard.
"I'm Frankie, and this is my colleague, Seppo." said the
tall man.
The short, thickly built Seppo looked at Picard with a
dangerous, hungry stare.
"We are here because our employer is worried about you,"
said Seppo in his thick New York accent.
"Well, I appreciate his concern, but I'm rather sure
I'm in no danger." replied Picard, beginning to wonder
where this was going.
"He's worried you might get hurt unless you can cough
up 50,000 bars of Gold Pressed Latinum, Picard. Nobody
cuts in on our bosses' business without paying his dues."
said Frankie, shifting his stance.
"I don't know what you're talking about!" stammered Picard.
"And besides, 50,000 is an outrageous sum, even for me!"
Picard began ranting about how Gold Pressed Latinum was
illegal and how the Federation was a moneyless society.
It was nothing new to him, and he was in fact lying through
his yellow french teeth. He had learned to bullshit his way
through these kind of arguments, and he was using his skills
to full effect, or so he thought.
His self-righteous tirade was cut off as Seppo pulled out a
holodisc from his pocket and thumbed it on, throwing it on
Picard's ready-room table.
Immediately a title flashed in the air: ANDROID HOMO FUCK
MACHINE # 5
The scene began showing Data and Wesley stripping down,
then they began fornicating in full technicolor 3D action
with surround sound.
Picards voice trailed off to nothingness.
"Where did you get that piece of gutter trash?" he finally
replied after several long seconds of silence.
"You should know that, frenchie, since you're the one behind
it." replied Seppo.
"Our bosses don't like this kind of shit, and besides, you're
cutting into their bidness. So pay up."
Picard began to stammer out excuses. "I ah....uh....don't
have that kind of money on me. Hell, my business doesn't
even make that kind of...."
"Our prices are negotiatable." replied Seppo with a sharp
tone of voice.
Picard thought this over for a few minutes, with Seppo and
Frankie looking on intently. Suddenly, the door chimed
and in stepped Data.
Picard smiled.
"Wonderful invention, hidden alarm buttons."
His face then hardened.
"Mister Data, these gentlemen have discovered our secret.
Dispose of them, will you?"
"I am afraid not, Captain." replied Data suddenly.
This time, it was Picard's turn to stare in openmouthed
shock for the second time in as many minutes.
"I have had enough of your perverted desires, Captain. And
besides, these men are paying me more for this one job than
you ever paid me in total for my forty appearances in your films."
A deathly silence then filled the room as everyone stared at
each other. It was suddenly broken by a loud banging noise
from one of the closets in the Captain's ready room.
"Frankie, open that door, see what the fuck's in there."
ordered Seppo.
Opening the door, Seppo barely avoided being knocked over by
a sobbing Wesley Crusher bound and gagged in a leather outfit
complete with ball gag in his mouth and a anal plug in his
ass.
"That does it. Fuck the bosses' orders."
muttered Seppo.
[The Next Morning - _La Italy Bistro_ , Sussex, England]
Falkenhorst and Sheppard sat in the corner booth of the
Italian dinery sited on the outskirts of Sussex, a few
minutes away from the Estate of Malcolm Reed, now wholly
owned and operated by them.
Unfortunately, they still hadn't hired any servants to
cook their food, and they didn't trust the replicated
crap, so every morning and at night, they would make the
half an hour trip to the town of Sussex to eat in a trusted
Dinery that was known to use wholly organic ingredients.
Sheppard was reading the local rag, and Falkenhorst couldn't
help but notice the lurid headlines splashed across the front
page.
"Guess old Frankie and Seppo did the job, even if they did
exceed orders," commented Falk.
"Can't say I can blame them," replie Shep as he flipped over
to another page in the paper. "Seeing what they saw would
drive me to a murderous rage too."
Falkenhorst took another sip from his Coca-Cola as he scanned
the headlines on the papers that other guests of the diner
were reading as they ate that morning.
"HERO OF STARFLEET DIES IN GAY SEX SCANDAL!" screamed
one of the major British tabloids. Underneath that in
smaller type were the words - "Saved Earth from both
Borg invasions".
"SECURITY TAPES SHOW NOTHING!" shouted another tabloid.
"PICARD INVOLVED IN TRYST WITH SON OF DOCTOR!" yelled
the Guardian, which was still publishing after several
centuries of lies and slandery.
"YOUNG CRUSHER FOUND DISEMBOWELED" proclaimed yet another
tabloid, and upon seeing that, Falk chortled.
"My, my, our friend Mister Data is quite the amateur
proctologist, isn't he?"
"Speaking of proctology," added Sheppard, "I find it amusing
that the dear Captain was found with Mister Crusher's
head stuck up his ass."
"That's physically impossible!" countered Falk.
"I know," replied Sheppard with an evil grin.
All trace of humor suddenly left Sheppard's face
as he spoke to Falk in a low tone of voice. "Are
you sure that the restraining chip you fitted
to Mister Data works?"
"Sure as rain, Shep. Besides, if that doesn't work,
we always have these," and with that, Falk patted
the compact form of the Dympel Electromagnetic
Pulse Gun strapped to his thigh.
"I hope so for your sake and for Humanity's sake," replied
Sheppard.
"Data could become a dangerous sexual predator...the
most heinous rapist of all time!" Sheppard finished
with a shudder.
"We'll deal with that if it comes up, Shep. Now let's just
sit back and let the money roll in from our business."
replied Falkenhorst as he sat back in his seat.
"If scientists and inventors who develop disease cures and useful technologies don't get lifetime royalties, I'd like to know what fucking rationale you have for some guy getting lifetime royalties for writing an episode of Full House." - Mike Wong
"The present air situation in the Pacific is entirely the result of fighting a fifth rate air power." - U.S. Navy Memo - 24 July 1944
Last edited by MKSheppard on 2002-11-29 08:14am, edited 1 time in total.
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