Aspects of Troi
PART ONE
Author's Note: This is an updated, hopefully better version of my story from 2021. I am 3/4 finished a sequel with the working title "RIPPLES" which I hope to post soon.
In her book, Star Trek The Empty Chair, authoress Dianne Duane attributes the following to Spock: "It is said that a masterpiece requires at least two entities. One to create it and the second to hit the first over the head with a hammer because the first one can rarely see it's long past time to stop."
I love (most) of her work and I've been trying to live by that adage...
1
Seven dimensions obliquely above ours…as Q'ute would count them
The Terran Empire, ISS Enterprise, Stardate: 27435.90
"Ya-t-il quelque chose que la Sûreté puisse faire pour Monsieur Bond?" Her eyes met his playfully. "You must be, mmm, tre's faim; I mean, very hungry after finally destroying SPECTRE." Deanna Troi's lips parted suggestively; and she let him breathe in her scent.
Mentally Lieutenant Reg Barclay checked the time. Asshole LaForge was off in some kind of briefing; Reg shouldn't be noticed as being missing for another twenty minutes. Or so. He debated with himself a second longer, but the Troi hologram addition was just too enticing. As usual. "Mais oui, I did m-miss dinner, Katrin, but le déserte sonne tre's délicieuse." Barclay hung up his Walther PPK, shed his shirt and reached for her. "Let's both of us celebrate la finis de Ernst Stavros Blofeld."
The French agent skipped back coquettishly so he went after her. "I have a very special surprise for you, James." Her eyes danced.
Barclay calculated the angles for a rolling dive to his gun and scanned the room for danger. He was playing the 007 part to the limit and was expecting a large white Persian cat and not his worst nightmare. 'There's usually an ending twist to these programs…..'
'You're so right, my dear,' The Betazoid agreed mentally. She stopped backing while continuing aloud: "And your "ending twist" is that I am neither a hologram nor your goddamn plaything." Deanna smiled wickedly into his stunned eyes and expertly clamped her agonizer down on his shoulder. "You've been caught screwing around once too often. I think I'll remember you as Break-the-Regs-Reg." She raised her voice over his screaming. "Computer, end program."
It was late in the evening; Barclay was stewing in his quarters and the two Betazoids were just finishing their own stew. Deanna burped discreetly. "That hits the spot."
"You know it," Lwaxana looked around Ten-Forward. "I still keep expecting to see Guinan."
"She disappeared a long time ago, no traces, and I never thought anyone would have been to get at her." It was only true; Guinan's abilities to defend herself had been legendary. The elder Troi frowned. She thought slowly: 'Little One, I don't think anyone has…...' Deanna just watched her and kept her face and thoughts a mask.
The venerable diplomat straightened herself abruptly. "It's catch-up time, Deanna; I'll start. Goodness, it's been months!"
Seven dimensions obliquely below
USS Enterprise, Stardate: 27435.90
The door hissed open and Lieutenant Reginald Barclay backed into corridor 8 mumbling something under his breath. He had dragged out the session an extra couple of minutes and now, shift change completed, the corridor was mercifully empty. Reg was relieved. He didn't think he could stand the bustle of normal crew people going past him, doing and feeling normal things. His relief evaporated as he heard a door hiss open. He knew without looking it was her door.
Barclay tried to move faster. "Reg? I didn't quite hear that….." Her rich and melodious voice was hypnotic. It could make one shiver.
The tone demanded a response, and Barclay found he was only walking away from her in his mind. "DenIbya' Qatlh, I said!", her cool professionalism suddenly triggering a hot, irritated center he never knew he had. He glared down the empty corridor.
There was a cold, cold silence. It forced him to swing around, irritation gone. "I-I'm s-sorry Counsellor. It's j-just-" Deanna Troi's gaze stopped his words. He was mortified. She was, after all, the gorgeous woman he had been caught idolizing on the holodeck.
'He's calling me a Denebian Slime Devil? After what I've put into the last 2 hours for him? Muzzle it!' "SoH matlh!" Deanna snapped. "Reg! And I really thought we had made progress today."
Her sudden hard demeanor coupled with being told in Klingonasse he was filthy, and disgusting held Barclay motionless. It was so at odds with the warm caring counsellor he had poured his feelings to a short time earlier. Unbidden and unwanted, a scantily clad Greek Goddess Troi flashed into his mind. Only one minute out of his therapy and here he was, craving his holo-fantasies again.
Deanna's face was set; her mesmerizing eyes narrowed. "Why, Lieutenant. It doesn't take a Betazoid to know what's going on in your mind." Barclay reddened as his manhood did things all by itself. It was hopeless to try and hide it. "So, you still think you must have me in your fantasies." Seductive. "Perhaps-" Lovely hands clasped. "-we've gone about this all the wrong way." She slapped her com-badge. "Troi to Riker."
"Bridge; Riker here."
"Commander, I'd like to request Lieutenant Barclay be excused from duty today. I'd really like to take this opportunity to delve deeper."
Riker sat up as if stung. "A moment, please, Counsellor." He turned to LaForge who was trying suddenly to look busy at the Engineering station.
LaForge shrugged. "He doesn't do a full day's work anyway, Commander. Holodeck addict."
Deanna waited, amused. She'd picked up on their emotions and suspected the bridge had suddenly gotten hotter. Riker came back. "He's all yours, Counsellor." His voice was so carefully neutral that she made sure he heard her little laugh. 'Thank you, Will.' Deanna sent the fervent thought to her Imzadi.
Her amusement vanished. "A moment while I get changed, Reg. We have ourselves a date in Holodeck 2."
Reg flinched. 'Wh-t the fuck–' He knew it was the wrong thing to be thinking the moment he thought it.
And they both now knew the morning session was a total wash-out, shot all to hell.
The turbo lift down was silent. Reg did not need Betazoid abilities to sense her deepening chilly mood. "Counsellor? Please talk to me." He made another effort to garner her forgiveness as the lift shifted directions. "L-let m-me explain…"
The counsellor seemed to not even hear as she effortlessly stared him down. His anxiety rose as they neared her destination; she had to nudge the increasingly recalcitrant engineer along the corridor. He watched the beautiful counsellor as she stopped at the holodeck console. The Betazoid had to be aware of his frequent glances, but khest it, he was at least trying to control his infatuation.
Deanna gripped his ear, pulled his face to her. "I have just spent the last two hours listening to the insides of your filthy little mind. Trying to find ways to help..." Her other hand continued entering data, refining her program. The computer obliged her with the formula for lye soap. She keyed it in, specifying replicated and not holographic. "To HELP YOU." Deanna continued. Her anger boiled over. "I 'heard' you again just now, undressing me for about the third time in five minutes, and I've about had it!" She propelled him away from her. "Computer! Run program Barclay 9."
Walls flickered into place, lighting was subtly altered, and Reg stumbled into an odd-shaped alien commode. He swung around quickly, knocking something to the floor. He bent to pick it up then stared. Now he knew whose butts the commode had been designed for. The `oy'naQ, a high-end Klingon painstick, made painful contact as a hard shove sent him to the floor. He writhed and yelled. An elegant hand with long sharp nails gracefully deactivated the pain and rolled him onto his back. Muscles cramping, he stared up and his breath caught. Even with forehead ridges and heavy brows Deanna Troi was still the most alluring woman he'd ever seen.
Deanna Troi looked around critically. Her gaze took in the plentiful accouterments and she frowned. "Computer. Remove cleanser dispensers. Replicate three soap bars; rounded corners; weight: 130g each." Multiple mirrors reflected her new and formidable Klingon appearance as she stared down at her charge. "Filthy language and nasty thoughts are the same no matter the languages that they're thought in." Her voice was stern, unforgiving. "We'll just have to take care of your behaviour human-style, with a few Klingon variants." She showed her jagged teeth and swung the enema bag into his view. Out of his sight, her other hand enabled the transporter.
Barclay levitated off the floor. His gaze went from the counsellor as she lathered her hands to the enema bag of soapy water. The transporter effect made it bubble nicely. His eyes opened wide. "C-Counsellor-" A frothy spittle came out as he spoke, and a strange desperate look came. He lunged.
The Betazoid adroitly sidestepped as Barclay hunched over the commode, spewing out a steady stream of acrid sudsy water. An attempt to breathe through his nose misfired and he gulped down a mouthful and retched helplessly. Barclay wheezed and gripped both sides of the commode as she yanked down his pants. Deanna delivered five stinging slaps to his buttocks with her soapy hand. He bucked and tried to holler. Soapy water sprayed everywhere. She spanked the reddened target harder. The sour sudsy water trailed off to a trickle and a jolt from the painstick sent him onto his back. Reg moaned, clutched at his cramping soap-filled stomach, rolled over and tried to crawl away.
Deanna followed, a stalking Klingon lioness. "Now, Reg, what are you?" She asked. Her voice was that of a mother forced to discipline against her wishes. "Ah, yes. You're my little potty-mouth." She slid the pain setting higher. "Aren't you?"
"P-pl-please-" Reg whispered. He gulped for air. "D-D-Deanna, please!" Red hot pain scored his entire body in agonizing waves as she slowly moved the `oy'naQ down his body to his groin. Barclay screamed again and again.
Deanna didn't relent. "And what did you call me? Say it!" Then Barclay began turning blue, in the early stages of hypoxia. She tossed her `oy'naQ aside. 'We can't be having that...'
Reg sobbed and fought to think. 'Maybe I really was too rude ... Don't think so...she really worked my brain over in her ...God, my body hurts -' Aloud he said: "I c-called you a Denebian Slime Devil." He tried to be contrite in tone: "Counsellor Troi, I was out of line. I'm sorry -" The way she kept watching him. Barclay still couldn't help himself. His traitorous penis was doing it to him again. 'And if that Wicked Bitch of Betazed notices-' Her lips thinned, and he panicked. "- Please! I'm apologizing! I apologize!"
He squirmed as her eyes continued considering his erection. "Reggie, Reggie," she said, her voice now a silky purr. "Reginald. That's just not good enough. You really do deserve my `oy'naQ's attention, you know." She smiled. Her teeth were very sharp. "And I can see how much you love it."
Reg gulped. He was now truly anxious to placate her. He thought HARD: 'Apologize!'
Deanna made the squirming man wait. "Why don't you sit on that toilet." She acted as if she'd just come up with a brilliant idea. Barclay complied hurriedly. Klingon commodes were most unforgiving to the human anatomy. His spanking made it unbearable. The Klingon woman took her time, slowly bringing the acrid cake of soap up to his face. Copious suds flowed over her hands and across her bare arms.
Reg squirmed, locking his mouth shut, and trying to outstare her. Deanna Troi met his look calmly and simply waited for him to come to terms with the inevitable. Barclay squirmed some more, and finally admitted failure to himself. He opened his mouth wide, and then, given her expression, even wider yet.
The yellow soap dove deep into his mouth and Deanna's eyes sparkled. It lathered beautifully, and the old-fashioned lye stung bitterly. She used the full weight of her body to pin him to the commode while she scrubbed. Reg twisted helplessly in her embrace. Each movement made on the wretched Klingon toilet sent searing stabs of pain through his buttocks. She pulled out the soap and used the jetter to flood his mouth with water. Hot suds cascaded down his chin and over his uniform shirt. His com-badge shorted out with a pop. Deanna soaped his face and mouth and then just paused, holding the bar in against his tongue. She gently tilted his head back. Suds only flow downhill, and downhill was now straight down Reg's sore throat. Blinding tears coursed down his face. His hand touched hers beseechingly. In response, Deanna ran a soapy finger gently along the inside of his ear. Reg shuddered. "Don't drop the soap." she breathed sensuously.
The counsellor stepped back and surveyed the results of her gentle ministrations. She took her time. An errant trickle of suds went down to his groin and Deanna had to resist an urge to wipe it away. Barclay coughed and squirmed but left the soap bar in. His lips were rapidly swelling, and his eyes streamed. The rich lather caked his face, neck, and shirt. His eyes were locked on hers. "Have we learned our manners yet?" Barclay nodded quickly.
"MajQa'!" Deanna stepped in closer and grinned mischievously as he recoiled from her in fear. "Are you asking for more?" She picked up the unused soaps and laughed as he choked back an oath.
"Take these with you," the counsellor instructed. "Wash with them when you shower to remind you of your lesson." She held his eyes until he nodded again.
The lift belonged to her. Override in place, Deanna explored her tangled sensations and allowed herself a self-satisfied purr. Any knowledgeable observer would have called the purr Terra-feline. The long, languorous wriggle-stretch that followed appeared anatomically impossible and wasn't even remotely Human. Or Betazoid.
Her empathic explorations reached outward through the ship. Far to one side, and a little below, Lieutenant Barclay was gingerly maneuvering himself out of Holodeck 2. She homed in on his emanations of anguish, critically assessing them until she was satisfied they didn't signify any lasting trauma.
"MajQa'." She laughed a little at her continued use of Klingonasse. 'Still in role, I see…..' She enabled the lift again. "choQ wa'maH!"
"Destination-?" the air queried hesitantly.
Deanna Troi snarled softly.
The lift belonged to her. Override in place, Deanna stretched and explored the tangled sensations arising from her recent session. They were pleasing, for the most part. She homed in on the nearby emanations of anguish, soaking them in and critically assessing until she was satisfied they didn't signify any lasting trauma. That was good; this had been purely recreational.
"Sien c'vaKor amu!" The young Security Commander laughed at her continued use of Bajoran short-talk. 'Still in role, I see..….'
Far to one side, and a little below, Ensign Ro Laren gingerly maneuvered herself out of holodeck 2. "Wow.…"