Star Trek Tng Fireblood Liqueur

Stardate 43640, Third season of ST Next Generation, between "Yesterday's Enterprise" and "The Offspring"

The stars sailed by. Worf sat at his usual table in Ten-Forward, watching them, as he digested the briefing Guinan gave the Command Crew about the Alternate Time encounter with the Enterprise C. He would have liked to see his old friend Tasha Yar again, and he could understand how the Klingon Empire and the Federation would be locked in Interstellar War. Given the right circumstances, it could still happen. Peace was better for both the Federation and the Klingon Empire. He had never served on a Klingon vessel, but his curiosity occasionally led him to imagine himself in command of other Klingons.

Guinan came over, bringing a glass of prune juice. He smiled and accepted it gratefully, giving her due reverence for bringing him a warrior's drink. She bowed in ritual response to his appreciation. "You drink alone again tonight," she said with a glint in her eye.

"Yes, it is a necessity, as I told you before."

"If you have no objection, I would like to join you."

Worf was taken aback by the request, then indicated the other chair at the table gracefully. "Of course, please join me."

She sat across from him, holding another glass of an amber liquid. They sat in silence for several moments, sipping their drinks: he with glacial solemnity and she with contained excitement. After a few moments, Worf asked: "Are you not needed at the bar?"

"This is my night off. Jason is tending the bar now, and C'rrik takes over in a couple of hours for the rest of the Nightwatch."

"Oh. But it does not make sense you would be here off duty."

Guinan took a tentative sip of her drink. "I was hoping to run into someone."

Nodding, Worf took another sip of the thick fruit juice. Its taste lingered on his tongue, and he regarded her with confusion. "And how soon do you hope this 'someone' will arrive?"

"Oh, he's here, he's here," she smiled, and sipped her drink again.

It took a few moments before realization dawned. "Oh, you were hoping to see me?"

"At last."

The stars continued their journey past the portal, and Worf regarded his companion. She was wearing a green outfit that draped her form from top to mid calf, with a portal that revealed her hairless face. Her dark eyes shone, and her fingers were trembling as she held her drink. Her mouth was pursed in a Mona Lisa smile.

Worf leaned back trying to understand. He was raised on Earth by the Ruschenko family, had attended school with its array of social activities, gone to Starfleet Academy, and accepted a Commission. Humans had always accepted his company, although some of them were uncomfortable with an alien of a recently hostile species. The social events he attended were awkward experiences that he ended as quickly as honor permitted, and the few times a human female approached him, he retreated quickly. He knew from the experience of his friends about dating and romantic encounters between humans, but as a Klingon he was genetically unable to understand them.

Once at the Academy, he viewed a pornographic video of humans and Klingons, but the dishonor the participants submitted to haunted rather than aroused him. He knew the ways of Klingon love, but K'Ehlayr was the only partner, and she refused to complete the ritual of mating. Dishonor haunted his memory, and he had never sought out another while on Shore Leave or on the Holodeck since.

"Penny for your thoughts," Guinan interrupted.

"I was remembering many things," he replied somberly

Another pause. "Good memories?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

"Then we must turn your focus another direction. How's your drink?"

He turned his glass to regard its rich, dark color in the light. "Excellent, as usual. I am indebted to you for introducing me to this warrior's beverage."

"Have you thought of trying a variation?"

Scoffing, he shook his head. "This drink is too perfect to weaken by addition."

"Perhaps you'd like to try what I'm drinking."

The liquid in Guinan's glass seemed to glow with a deep scarlet light. Occasionally, a sparkle would flit from one side of the vessel to the other. As Guinan sipped it, the spark would travel from the glass to her eyes. "What are you drinking?" he asked.

"It's a mixed drink: prune juice and

ngemqul'Iw

."

Worf almost spat out his drink as he set his glass down quickly on the table. "

Ngemqul'Iw

? FireBlood liqueur from the Imperial Forest on Qo'nos? I thought it was forbidden to export

ngemqul'Iw

outside the Empire."

"It is, it is, but I have some. Are you interested?"

"I am amazed. This liqueur is the most famous of all Klingon beverages, used ritually for important state occasions and rarely presented as a gift for services rendered the Empire in extreme circumstances. Did you acquire this honorably?"

She nodded. "You do not need to know the story, but I received it as a gift from the High Council. I have several bottles."

"I must know the story."

"Someday I may be able to tell of you. In the meantime, would you be interested in trying some?"

He shook his head again in disbelief. "I am overwhelmed. Of course I would be interested. But surely this is not something kept behind the bar."

"No, I keep this in my quarters."

"But I do not understand: this liqueur is toxic to humans, as is Klingon tea. Is there an antidote to this for humans as well?"

She winked at him and stood, beckoning him to accompany her. "Who said I was human?"

Guinan's heart was pounding as she walked through the corridors with Worf. He towered over her, taking broad strides she could barely keep up. In her long life, she had known many different races and her sexual experience was extensive, but she never had sex with a Klingon before. Her adventures in the Empire a couple of centuries before had brought her into close contact with Klingon culture, and glimpses of Klingon male anatomy made her glands moist, but her invitations were always dismissed immediately. Here was a different Klingon: immeshed in human society, alone and without a mate.

Klingons weren't like Vulcans. Abstinence weakened their resolve for combat over time, and a warrior apart from his mate was not trusted by his comrades. After battle, warriors who lost mates were temporarily paired with

naq latlh

to maintain their status and honor. Guinan had been watching Worf since K'Ehlayr left the Enterprise, and he was clearly fraying around the edges.

She threw a glance to his midsection. Klingon males averaged fifteen inch protuberances below the waist, and if she was lucky, he could give her something she hadn't experienced for three hundred years.

A couple of hours later, they were sitting across from each other in Guinan's quarters, rocking with glee. After a few drinks, Worf loosened up: laughing and joining her in a series of bawdy songs from around the cosmos she taught him, competing with the computer playback for volume and jocularity. Fortunately, residence quarters in Starships were heavily soundproofed, so nothing disturbed her neighbors on either side, above or below.

Guinan's cocktail of prune juice and Klingon liqueur was simplicity in itself. It took a couple of drops to transform the deep purple juice into sparkling scarlet liquid, and she thought a twist of Terran Blood Orange added a something special, although he wasn't as enthusiastic about the addition.

They had just completed a Ferengi drinking song,

Your Mother Wore a Circus Tent the Day You Were Born

, and Guinan decided it was time to act. Worf was swaying slightly after nine drinks, his eyes reeling trying to focus on different items in the room, his fingers were jerking spasmotically. "So, it seems you enjoy drinking with others after all," she began.

He giggled like a human girl. "Y-y-yes, I th-think so. You're unlike any human I've every met."

She landed heavily on his lap, pelvis to pelvis. "Like I said, what makes you think I'm human?"

"All right, y-you're not human." She ground her crotch into his, making the warrior's lance start preparations for battle. He closed his eyes and his head weaved back and forth before stopping abruptly. "Why are you doing this?"

She smiled. "'Cause subtle doesn't work with Klingons."

He shook his head several times and tried to push her away weakly. "You shouldn't do this. Y-y-you're not strong enough f-f-for a Kl-ingon male."

She gripped him fiercely with her legs, successfully resisting his attempt to free himself. "Let me be the judge of that," she purred. "I've fought more dangerous things than you before."

"No, no, no, stop." He sagged and tried to rise again, vainly.

"Don't?" She smirked.

"Don't," he echoed, "stop, stop, stop."

She smiled wickedly. "Don't stop stop stop? All right, I won't." Leaping to her feet, she bounced over her couch and ravished him with her eyes. Running to the replicator, she produced a set of porcelain places and cups. "I think it's time to hear some Klingon love poetry," she yelled, throwing a plate at his head.

Worf ducked awkwardly and rolled off the couch. Another plate shattered on the wall next to him, just missing. Dr. Pulaski must have talked about Klingon mating rituals with everyone on the ship: especially about the tradition of a female throwing things at a suitor while he recited love poetry and ducked. He reeled a little trying to stand. "Won't you knock over the drinks?"

"I have better aim than that," she said, bouncing a cup off his head. "Start reciting."

"The night glows

with the fire of a warrior's heart.

Your teeth at like batlef blades

tear my flesh

in sweet agony. . ."

He ducked as a plate passed directly over his head to shatter on the wall. "Not good enough," she shouted, "not good enough. I've heard more romantic Klingon poetry in Ferengi porn videos."

Chasing him around the room, she drove him toward the viewportal. A nebula was framed in the view, a wonderful sight that almost distracted her purpose. The colors of red, blue and gold lured her to contemplate their wonder, but her glands were savoring the anticipation of a Klingon invasion. Three plates crashed against the pane: windows built to withstand meteors were untouched by fragile crockery. Worf's eyes took on a hunted look as he tried again.

"Dark warrior wife of Qo'nos,

sheath the warrior's sword

before the night of battle.

My blade of expectation

longs to death-thrust

your tonsils. . ."

Another plate hit his head, knocking him backward to slump down. He recovered just in time to dodge another. "That was even worse, Worf," she cried, "you can do better than that."

He scrambled to his feet to run behind the bar. Yes, it was dishonorable to use an obstacle in combat, but he didn't expect this attack when he came to Guinan's apartment. Peeking up, he ducked down just in time to avoid another projectile that just missed his brow. It seemed she would never stop chasing him.

His blood was singing in his veins, fired by the Klingon liqueur, and his mind raced for a poem. The strain below his waist was growing tighter, and he was tempted to loosen his trousers, then he stopped. He could hurt her badly; he had to fight the lust rising within him. She was pushing his buttons relentlessly.

She came around the side of the bar, and smashed a plate straight down on his head. He fell back, looking up at her confused and dazed, before he began:

"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

I love thee to the level of everyday's

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

I love thee with a passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death."

Her eyes took on a dreamy look. A plate was held in front of her and she rotated it for a moment as she savored the verses. "Wow, that's amazing. Elizabeth Barrett Browning was the last person I expected to hear. Where did you learn that?"

He sat up on his elbows, breathing heavily. "At school, back on Earth. I loved English poetry: Shakespeare, Milton, Poe."

"Poe wasn't English, but that's beside the point," she said, "Elizabeth was a friend of mine. It took me forever to persuade her to run away with Robert. Best thing she ever did."

"You knew Elizabeth Barrett Browning?"

Stopping suddenly, she looked aside for a moment. "You don't need to hear more about that. And I don't need to hear more. It's time." She dove on top of him and started tearing his uniform off.

Worf didn't need to think as Guinan landed on top of him, tearing at his clothes. Instinct took over.He responded to her attack by ripping her tunic off, leaving it in shreds. Her body was voluptuous and curvy like a Klingon woman's, with long, heavy breasts and rounded hips. Her body was entirely hairless, with a complex of diagonal tattoos all over her scalp. Her feet had six webbed toes each. Her long fingers were surprisingly strong, and her long fingernails grazed his skin.

After their clothes disintegrated, she fell full length on top of him, her right knee between his legs, and her teeth clenching his right earlobe. He pushed her back, digging into her sides until she sat up for him to clasp her breasts. Her aurolaes were large and deep purple against her chocolate skin, the nubs hard and thick. Grasping her breasts and squeezing, he lifted her up as his nails dug in.

Her face was tense and her eyes closed as she submitted momentarily to his touch. His erection climbed her leg: he was twenty one inches fully aroused, and Guinan smiled as the head of the monster pulsed toward her moist slit. Then she put her arms inside his and pushed his hands off her breasts as she fell on him again, kissing him fiercely and invading his mouth with her tongue.

Worf's head was spinning a different direction than before, lost in pheremones as he grappled the wildcat on top of him. He stayed in control as a small voice inside him commanded: "Careful, careful." To aid his compassionate side, he flipped them over, landing heavily on top of her, holding her arms over her head as he kissed her neck down toward her breasts.

Sighs and moans escaped her mouth as he moved down toward her chest and out to her right nipple. Her resistance stopped as suddenly as his mouth found its goal, chewing gently on the hard distended flesh. "Harder, harder," she groaned, and his control started to slip again. Her knee ground into his groin: she discovered like most Klingons he had three orbs the size of ancient pool balls in his nutsack slightly harder than human testicles. His member twitched against her leg as she worked her kneecap against his balls.

He moved from one nipple to the other slickly, and she groaned loudly as he attacked her other hard bud. His left hand began to knead her right breast and she responded by rotating her hips and twisting her knee into his groin. In a minute, her breathing grew hard and raspy, accelerating until she howled like a

targ

for three minutes. Her body quivered and shook beneath him, and when she pushed away he submitted and lay back on his back as she recovered from her orgasm.

After she caught her breath, she raised up on her elbow and looked down on him. Her body was oozing red in several places, but she felt vibrant. "Worf, you are full of surprises."

He looked at her beaming face. "Guinan, I should say I am surprised as well. I never imagined any human woman could make love like that."

She rolled up and dug her elbow in his solar plexus. "As I keep telling you, I'm not human."

"All right, all right. I'm glad I could please you."

Shaking her head, she grasped his impossibly long space serpent. "This is not over yet, Worf. I have some business here that's going to take quite a while. I hope you live up to your race's reputation for stamina."

The taste of Klingon precum tasted like Antarean

gwik

fruit or Terran hummus to her tongue, but after ten minutes of oral persuasion, Guinan was puzzled. He was clearly enjoying how her mouth moved on his corona, and she was able to get twelve inches of it down her throat, but it seemed like she wasn't making progress toward making him ejaculate in the foreseeable future. She knew Klingons weren't like the males of Gothmar who could take hours of stimulation before ejaculating. Glancing at his face, his eyes were closed and his breathing heavy, but he was floating in the shallows rather than rushing toward the waterfall.

Pulling off, she jerked him several times wondering what she was forgetting. The spongy head was twice as large as a human's, and shone greenly as she explored the crevasses with her nails. An accidental scrape brought an unexpected response, and she slapped his balls experimentally. With this information, she took him in her mouth again, leaving her teeth uncovered, and slapped his orbs with her hand. Worf responded to this treatment eagerly, and Guinan squeezed his right lower nipple hard with her nails as her left hand smacked his testicles and chewed his cock. Turning, she sat on his face and was rewarded by a frantic mouth that worried her snatch like a starving Mendellian bullhound. Too soon he sent ropes of steaming nectar into her mouth that overflowed down her chin, her breasts and onto his stomach.

She squeezed his balls with all her strength to get every bit of fluid out of them. He continued to maul her clitorises until she spun into the orgasm dimension once again. When the shaking stopped, she gentled licked every bit of ambrosia from his hot skin as he repaid the favor.

The universe spun back into focus for Worf. Guinan was resting just inside his arm against him, her eyes closed and her breathing soft and regular. Her hand was still on his penis, stroking it as it stayed erect. His brow furrowed; there was no way she could match a Klingon's woman stamina and he would have to find some way to complete his satisfaction. Perhaps a holodeck program would be amenable: he knew some of the crew had brothels programmed in the data banks. All he'd have to do is disable the safeties.

"Thinking of going somewhere, big boy?" purred a silken voice in his ear.

"Guinan. I thought you were asleep."

"No, just thinking about the next–exercise."

"But surely you're tired by now. Truly, what you've accomplished this evening is beyond what I could have hoped for. . ."

"Worf, I've lived among Klingons and I know about your reproductive biology. Human men and women usually have to rest thirty to forty minutes after orgasm, especially males, unless they're Wesley Crusher's age."

"But, but, but. . ."

"As the humans say, 'but me no buts'. I keep telling you, I'm not human. You're ready to continue and so am I."

"But, but, but. . ."

"Climb aboard me just like you would any Klingon woman." She reached up and bit his ear hard.

He turned over and started to force his way in. She resisted him, clawing at his face and digging her fingernails into his shoulder, trying to keep her legs together against his intrusion. His blood began to sing in his ears as he inserted himself. Her lower anatomy was different than Klingon: two clitorises were on either end of her slit and her vagina pulled him in eagerly. She kept struggling against him, raking with her nails and nipping at any flesh close to her face. He expected to find the limit half way in, but soon another entrance welcomed his intrusion. Soon, he was all the way in, and milked as never before.