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The horse whinnied again.  With sheer force of will, Picard quelled his
erection and mounted the horse.  Ztlaf knew she could make him hard with her
mind, but she didn’t want it that way.  She had watched him now for weeks —
listened to his voice, seen him commanding his ship.  He was respected and
loved.  He was the most noble of the creatures she had yet to encounter.  She
knew it was the Q in her that wanted to possess him, to take away his
control, to confront him with the fantasies he pushed away and refused to
acknowledge even on the holo-deck.  This time, she didn’t fight it; she
didn’t care.  She wanted him, and she would be there for him every night,
when he slept.

Picard was amazed at the silkiness of the horse’s body; when he had
looked at her, she had seemed to be looking right back, not the way a horse
would, but . . .  The idea Massage in Barcelona F1 Prix of shore leave presented itself again; he was
having an awfully bizarre dream.  Maybe he should stop eating the Klingon
delicacies Worf treated him to once a week.  He began with a slow trot, but
the feel of it was wrong — the horse’s back seemed to be swallowing him into
it, moving back and forth, rather than up and down.  It was so strange,
peculiar — erotic.  Yes; this dream horse was moving to arouse him.
Clearly, that was its purpose.  The moment he realized this, he moved to jump
off, and suddenly found himself flat on his back in his bunk.  He was naked;
he could feel the mattress underneath him.  There was weight on top; he
started.  He was being clutched in the arms of a young woman.  He felt her
breasts digging into his chest; he was inside her, and she was sitting there,
working her vaginal muscles around his penis.  He tried desperately to wake
up.  He couldn’t.  he tried to reach for his dream comm badge, thinking he
could extricate himself by calling in a dream security officer.  But no, his
comm badge was not there.

“Why do you resist the erotic, the primitive, the animal side of
yourself, Jean-Luc?”  He tried to push the woman off of him, but his fingers,
his hands seemed to have no force at all.  He rolled onto his stomach, and —
now she was below him, he inside her.  He realized suddenly he was breathing
heavily, sweating slightly.  His penis ached for her; he could not stop
moving within her.  Her arms wrapped around him like a vice, she took his
right ear in her mouth, nibbling playfully around it, flicking her tongue
inside and out.  He was feeling a part of himself he hadn’t acknowledged
since his early days at the Academy.  He was burning for this woman; even
though already inside her, he wanted to go deeper, faster.  He wanted more,
and more, and . . .

Suddenly, at the point where he knew he could not last another second,
she tightened around him, her breath heaving and hot on his neck.  Her
fingernails dug painfully and wonderfully into his back.  He had never felt
a woman so hungry, so . . .

Suddenly, he felt himself come, his body shaking with every spurt.  He
became alarmed when he realized he was awake, and Commander Data stood beside
his bunk.

“Sir?  Captain, are you ill?”

Picard realized suddenly that his orgasm had not only been intense and
earth-moving, but vocal as well.

“Sir?  You’re face and neck — they are quite red.  Are you ill, sir?
You were making . . . the oddest noises.  You sounded rather similar to Tasha
when . . . ”

“That is quite enough, Commander; I’m fine,” Picard shouted.  His blush
had already vanished; he was shaking, however.  “I’m sorry, Mr. Data,” Picard
said quietly.  “It’s been — a rough night.”
OH, CAPTAIN, MY CAPTAIN!  (Part II)
— Copyright 1994 by Christine Faltz, [email protected]

Picard was strangely quiet.  He had barely touched breakfast.
“Data tells me you had a rough night.” Dr. Crusher said tentatively.
“You’re awfully quiet, Jean-Luc.  Are you all right?”

“Fine, fine,” Picard muttered.  He could not look at her.  His hands
were shaking slightly.  Massage in Barcelona F1 Prix He had the feeling that at any moment, an erection
might present itself, unbidden, as they so often did when he was younger.  He
had been careful to sit so that she wouldn’t notice it that happened.  He was
very disturbed with his dream of the night before.

“Captain?” Picard started.  “Jean-Luc, you look . . . ”

“What?  How do I look, Doctor?” Picard barked.  Crusher’s head snapped
up, surprised.  “Sorry, Beverly,” he whispered.  “I am feeling, perhaps, a
little tired.”

Dr. Crusher produced her tricorder. “No!” Picard got up.  “I am not ill!
I’m just tired!”

“All right, Captain,” Crusher said quietly.  “I’ll leave you then, and
allow you to get some obviously much-needed rest.”  She turned and left
abruptly.

Picard stared after her, feeling ashamed.  Perhaps he was sick; maybe he
should have had her check.  But he was strangely embarrassed, something he
had never felt with her before.  Well, maybe, a few times.  What could that
damn tricorder tell her about sexual arousal?

***            ***       ***

“Captain, Dr. Crusher Massage in Barcelona F1 Prix  asked me to look in on you,” Troi said, standing
in front of him.  “She says you were a bit moody this morning, quite out of
character.”

Troi was absolutely the last person he wanted to see.  He felt a nagging
suspicion.

“Counselor, you just lied to me,” he said.  “You are here because you
felt it necessary to talk to me.”

Troi sat down.  “All right, Captain.  Yes, I’m a bit concerned.”

For the second time in less than twelve hours, Picard blushed.

“Captain, the feelings you’re experiencing are not unusual, shameful or
anything to be concerned over,” Troi stated directly.  “You are being too
hard on yourself.”

“Indeed,” Picard said, smiling beside himself.  Troi smiled.

“Captain, permission to speak frankly?”

“Go ahead, Counselor.” He looked away.

“You have always been — rather restrained — when it came to such
feelings.  You continually deny yourself the luxury of indulging them, even
sometimes.”

“I indulged them Massage in Barcelona F1 Prix enough, Counselor, a long, irreverent time ago,” Picard
stated.  Troi noticed he was fidgeting.

“Captain, I’m not trying to embarrass you.  I just think you should
recognize that you are no more or less human than the rest of us  In fact,”
she added, “even the nonhuman among us take the liberty of experiencing . .
. ”

“Enough, Counselor,” Picard interrupted.  “I  am in no state of mind to
discuss this with you, especially you.”

“Perhaps you might confide in Commander Riker, then?” She got up to
leave.