The Whore and the Captain

by

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Science Fiction, .

Desc: Sex Story: A Star Treck NG story

The Whore and the Captain

by Lori Grenci


-- ROME A.D. 2370 --

"Over here, Jean-Luc, I have found an old sign." Professor Vicelius was a distinguished elderly gentleman who wore one of those big-brim hats that archaeologists love. He handed over a broken piece of inscribed stone to Picard, who cleaned off the dirt with a small brush.

"Yes," Picard said, examining the marble, "it does appear to be a marker of some kind. You are the Latin expert, Professor, can you translate the inscription?"

The Professor examined the piece closely, "It says Domus Matrillae, The House of Matrilla. Interesting..."

The enterprise was in orbit around earth while several senior officers attended training sessions run by Starfleet's Recreation Department. Picard, very in character, chose an archaeology seminar held in Rome. It was amazing to him that, after hundreds of years of excavations in this eternal city, there were still artifacts to be found. Professor Vicelius was an old friend as well as an eminent classical archaeologist. Picard had found this trip to be thoroughly relaxing and educational, so far.

"Follow me," Professor Vicelius beckoned, "I want to show you something really unique. We are on the cutting edge of archaeological technology."

Picard and Dr. Vicelius walked over the far side of the dig. Two graduate students were operating a machine that resembled a large phaser canon. Around the periphery of the area mechanical hooks were moving in and out of the generated beam. It appeared that objects were being pulled from nowhere.

"This instrument, Jean-Luc, is the first wormhole generator to be used specifically for retrieving archaeological artifacts. We actually pull objects out of space-time. Of course, this is still experimental, but it is an wonderful feeling to hold an actual pot instead of a potsherd."

Picard was both impressed and confused. "Doctor, how can you just reach in and take things out of time? What if you grab hold of something that shouldn't be displaced?"

Dr. Vicelius shook his head, "Don't worry. We're not changing space-time. We have a method of looking before we leap. See those goggles? Go take a peek, you'll be astounded."

Picard walked over to a viewscope being used by a student. The young man reluctantly gave up his position to the Captain, who after a few seconds exclaimed, "Incredible, I wonder..."

He never finished his sentence. A huge flash occurred by the wormhole generator. The smoke cleared quickly, but Picard had disappeared.


-- ROME A.D. 31 --

"Quis est, Matrilla?"

Who is it, Matrilla?

"Nescio, Miryam. Est vir calvus, inustitate vestitus."

I don't know, Miryam. He's a bald man in

strange clothes.

"Estne mortuus?"

Is he dead?

"Non credo."

I don't think so.

Matrilla and Miryam both poked at Picard with their fingers trying to get a reaction. Matrilla was the older of the two; a corpulent matron with a belly so pendulous that her dirty blue stola was "decincta" unbelted as if she were pregnant. Miryam, in sharp contrast, was a lovely young woman with dark Mediterranean coloring. Her brown eyes gleamed with fire and a wisdom far beyond her years. She also was the most popular whore in Matrilla's brothel.

Miryam bent close to Picard and shook his head, hoping to wake him. She was successful. Picard started coughing and moaning, and his eyes fluttered. Matrilla was relieved that she would not have to explain a strange dead man to the authorities. Any suspicious activity might cause her brothel license to be revoked. She called in one of the eunuchs to help move Picard to a couch.

Picard had regained some consciousness. His vision was blurry and he was extremely weak, but he was aware of being carried from the floor to some kind of bed or couch. He only vaguely remembered where he had been before everything went blank. Faint voices were speaking a language that was unintelligible to him, yet somehow familiar. As more of his vision came back, he saw he was in a small room with several pieces of exotic furniture and walls painted with large friezes. He recognized it as Roman and wondered if this was an archaeologist's dream, or more likely, nightmare.

A lovely young woman bent over him. She looked Middle-Eastern but was speaking a language that he finally recognized to be Latin.

"Tibine est nomen? tuum nomen?" What is your name?

His first instinct was to reach for the tricorder but he stopped himself. A special version of the universal translator that contained all known earth languages, past and present, had been downloaded into it. This was often used by archaeologists during excavations. He was reluctant to activate it while this woman was present but the question being asked was clear, especially to a native speaker of a romance language. Given the situation, "Picard" seemed a quite adequate response.

"Peeecaaaduh," the young woman repeated, imitating what to her was a very odd sounding name.

Picard passed out again and the two women decided it would be best to remove his unusual clothing. He was also carrying some unique objects that they could not identify. Since they were professional prostitutes, not thieves, they gently undressed him and placed his belongings on another couch.

Matrilla gestured to Miryam that they should quietly leave the room. The man needed to recover in peace.

Outside the room Matrilla instructed Miryam, "Until I decide what to do with this stranger, Miryam, I am making it your job to take good care of him. And don't annoy him with questions. He is obviously someone of wealth and nobility. Did you notice his hands, his skin, his teeth..."

"His big cock," Miryam interjected, grinning mischievously and holding up two hands to mark the length.

"Miryam, you really are a wanton she-wolf."

"Of course, Matrilla," Miryam answered back saucily, "why else would I be here in this she-wolf den? But I love my work, and it will be my pleasure to take care of Picard. hahahahaha." Miryam laughed even louder at the old woman's feigned outrage.

Matrilla sometimes thought that Miryam enjoyed her work too much. If she didn't know that Miryam was a former Judean slave, Matrilla would have suspected her of being one of those rich Patrician women who worked the brothels in disguise to make up for a impotent husband. She wondered how a pretty young woman like Miryam could get such tremendous pleasure from fucking strange men. "But," she thought to herself, "it keeps the clientele coming back."


Picard woke up with an agonizing headache and feeling of nausea. He slowly recalled what had happened, but hoped it would turn out to be a huge holodeck joke that some member of his crew had orchestrated.

"Computer, end program."

Nothing happened. Picard wondered if they had rigged the computer not to respond to his voice. He was not appreciating the joke.

"Computer, this is Captain Jean-Luc Picard. End holodeck program immediately."

Still nothing changed. Picard tried to stand up but waves of dizziness caused him to sit down again. The realization was settling in that the holodeck was not responsible for his predicament.

As he slowly regained his stability, he noticed that he was completely naked. This panicked him, not so much from modesty, but because his comm badge and tricorder were now gone along with his pants and shirt. He tried to calm down, reasoning with himself that the clothes were probably somewhere within the chamber. He turned and saw his clothes and equipment neatly placed on another couch in the corner of the room. As he walked over to retrieve them he heard a voice from behind him.

"Picard, valesne maius?" are you feeling better?

He turned and saw the same young woman that had leaned over him when he first woke up. She was standing in the doorway staring at him and babbling away in Latin. He grabbed the comm badge with his left hand and initialized the translator, leaving the tricorder on the couch since he had no pockets or belt.

"Picard, didn't you hear me? Are you feeling better?"

She spoke to this naked man with a casualness that only a whore could have. Naked men were an everyday occurrence for Miryam, although this one was much better looking than most she had seen. She hoped he would not make her wait long; she was already wet and throbbing for him.

"Yes, thank you, I am much improved," he said in a voice that betrayed his discomfort. He was awkwardly trying to get dressed as fast as possible, a task made more difficult by the need to keep hold of his comm badge.

Miryam walked over and interrupted his dressing, grabbing his shirt out of his hands in a very matter-of-fact way.

"The britches and undergarments are all right. They only make you look like a foreigner. But this small tunic will have to be replaced. It is too unusual. You will draw unnecessary attention to yourself. I have brought you something more suitable."

She threw his shirt in the corner and replaced it with a white tunic and sash. Without being asked, she helped him slip it on, letting her hands fondle and caress him in the process. Picard saw the wisdom in this maneuver and made no attempt to argue with her. He was a little surprised at the way she touched him, but she had given him good advice and he attributed her actions to cultural differences. He still did not know where he was or who this woman was, but he decided to be cautious and wait a bit before interrogating anyone.

.... There is more of this story ...

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Science Fiction /