It had been a week since several crew members of the Enterprise arrived here on shore leave. I won't even try to describe my initial reaction to the captain, Jean-Luc Picard. When we were introduced and shook hands, I felt my entire body tingle. I stared into his eyes intensely, but his smile froze and he closed up as soon as he recognized my immediate attraction to him. Great -- one of *that* type. Just my luck. So today I had a friend of mine mention that we were running short on mock attackers in our children's self-defense class. I figured if I were lucky -- and I tend to be when I want something badly enough -- the captain would be one of those willing to help. Unfortunately, I learned later that the captain has a somewhat bizarre reaction to children -- they frighten him. My heart sank as this news reached my ears, but then, Renda explained that she told him that attackers were mostly needed to attack adults, who would then demonstrate technique to the children. An attractive redhead -- the doctor Renda says -- convinced the captain to assist. It seems, via the grapevine, that this woman and the captain are involved, or were involved, or are trying to figure out whether they're involved. Either way, I'll bet she had no idea what the captain would wind up doing after class. Everything was rather uneventful as self-defense classes go. I made my usual pep talks; we went over de-escalation strategies, etc. Then it was demonstration time. Only Riker, the first officer and the captain had decided to attend. We had hoped their Klingon security officer would come, but he apparently decided the children would be too frightened to practice with him -- he doesn't know much about our children, this Klingon. At any rate, we were quite disappointed -- he was a martial arts instructor in his own right, after all. Renda and Riker did a few demonstrations and then Riker suited up and "attacked" sever kids, most of whom did a damned good job, and if he weren't wearing that protective gear, he would have been seriously injured at most and finely stunned at least. "Captain Picard, please take over; just follow Christine's instructions." I told him what type of attacks I wanted, and in what order. First, he was to come up behind me and press his arm about my throat; second, he was to come at me with a knife -- a rubber knife in this demonstration -- while I "slept" and pretend he wanted to kidnap me; third, he was supposed to be attacking a teenage girl with the intent to rape her. For the first attack, he came up behind me and slid his arm forcefully around my neck; I felt the constriction as his arm hit my throat. I came down hard and fast on his foot with my heel -- just a shocker, not a stopper, of course, and followed immediately with a rear kick to the kneecap. Were he not wearing gear, his kneecap would have been broken. We did the attack again, this time with me sending one elbow and then the other into his ribs, then following swiftly by raising my elbows and swinging each in quick succession against either side of his helmeted head, which sent his head jerking from one side to the other -- again, I'm sure he was thankful for the gear. Then I ran like hell. For the second attack, I lay on the mat and pretended to sleep. I awoke to a knife at my throat and a stern command to get up and come with my attacker. I pretended hysteria, pleading that he not hurt me as I slowly moved my head so that the point of the knife was not as much of an immediate hazard. He leaned in close and grabbed one of my hands; and my other hand, which I had slowly moved up next to my face, shot out and slammed a palm-heel against his nose, inward and upward. Almost simultaneously, my other hand broke free from his startled grip and clumped down on his wrist so that he couldn't move it -- I bore down and twisted, and removed the knife from his hand, then showed various slicing options to the audience. Third was the attempted rape. I was walking nonchalantly down the mat and he rushed me, wrestling me to the ground. He used his legs to open mine and get between them. He was in the perfect position to enter me were I unclothed. I raised my legs up around his ribs, crossed them in a scissor and squeezed with all my might. When the grip was held fast, I used my hip muscles to roll him over so that I was on top and slammed several nasty palm-heels into his face and throat, followed by several demonstrations of how one -- even a child -- could break bones with relative ease -- and I ended with a speech about practicing so that reaction became reflexive, etc. etc. But my concentration was totally off. When his hands had been on me, when he had wrestled me to the ground, when he lay between my legs and I could feel him beneath his uniform -- I felt an overwhelming urge to drag him from the mat and go somewhere private and show him just what I had wanted to do to him since I had first met him. By the end of class, my uniform was wet for more than one reason and I was aching and hot for his body to be against mine, skin to skin, alone, away from everyone. The locker room was unisex and I quickly stepped into the shower and lathered up, rinsed off and stepped out. He was in the next stall; I saw him briefly as he closed the curtain and turned on the water -- oh, sweet pain! I glanced about the room -- Riker, already showered, was leaving, calling his intended destination out to the captain before his departure. The children were dawdling and for the first time in eight months of teaching this class, it bothered me to no end. "Children, let's go!" I barked. "Out!" Amazingly, with a little more prodding, they were gone, and without stopping to think, I hurried to lock the door. As I reentered the stall room, the captain pulled aside the curtain and stepped out, wrapping a towel about his waist. "Captain, you did a fine job this afternoon," I said, my heart racing. The flimsy robe I had on barely hid my erect nipples -- the room was steamy; there was no mistaking why they were standing at attention. "Thank you --" "Christine," I said, somewhat disappointed. "Captain!" He was preparing to dress in one of the curtained stalls just outside the shower room. "Yes?" "When is your ship leaving us?" "Tonight." "Well, then, I certainly don't have much choice, then -- do I?" "Choice? I'm afraid I don't understand." "I can't let you leave without throwing pride and dignity out the nearest airlock and proclaiming in no uncertain terms that I want you. Now, here -- all afternoon." His look was the oddest I had ever seen on a man's face who had been given such an offer from an attractive woman. It wasn't pleasure; it wasn't disgust; it was -- shock -- no, maybe it was simply surprise? How could he be surprised? He must have noticed my reactions to him. "Well, -- I -- I'm very flattered, but I'm afraid I can't oblige you, Christine." Oh, shit -- the gentlemanly letdown. I would have preferred it if he had gotten angry or outraged, but no . . . that steady, unperturbed look was back in place. "You are wasting your time with him, my dear." Startled, we both looked toward the voice. A rather alluring man in a Starfleet Admiral's uniform stood slightly behind the captain and to his left. "Who are you? How did you get in here?" I snapped. "Q," the captain muttered angrily, "Get out of here! Right now! -- Please!" "Oh, you are desperate to be rid of me, aren't you, Picard? *Please?* This will be fun to remember for all eternity." "Is this guy nuts? Who is he?" "This is Q," Captain Picard said wearily. "He is an omnipotent being who has at times been of great help to the Enterprise and even to me personally, but who rather unfortunately appears to delight in tormenting me much more." "Oh, *mon capitan* -- if I had feelings, they would be sorely hurt. Torment you? Well, you could have chosen death; then you would have been rid of me -- oh, that's right -- no, you wouldn't. I forget myself." "This is an omnipotent being? I would think he would have something better to do," I said, somewhat uncertainly. Part of me expected to be vaporized, only to spend eternity floating about in conscious bits, utterly lost and alone. Another part of me wondered just exactly what it would feel like to have an omnipotent body like this one all over me -- my hormones were in an uproar, screaming neglect. Oh, why had I turned down that feisty Klingon woman last month? "Oh, my sweet! You have the gall to question my activities when the foremost thing on your savage, puny little mind is exploring Picard's most intimate areas -- as well as mine, it would seem?" "What does one do to get rid of this jerk?" I said, embarrassed that my mind was being read and so crassly denuded. "Usually, -- do what he wants. Go along with the game." "Splendid. What do you want -- what's your name, -- Q? What's the game? Insult the Mortal? Eternal Banter? Slumming with Savages?" "Oh, she's so uppity, Picard -- reminds me of Vash. Now that very fact should pique your more prurient interests." "Who's Vash? Was that a compliment or an insult?" "Ah, Picard, you are so unwilling to give women what they want from you. They have to try so hard -- but then you're the same way from me -- one has to toil and toil before one gets anywhere with you. Trust me, my dear -- he's not worth it. Besides, how interesting can it be to experience carnal explorations with mortal after boring mortal? I'll admit I understand the need for such indulgences; your lives are so empty otherwise -- but --" "What would you suggest, Almighty One?" I said, never one to stand for being goaded so strenuously. "Is this your way of propositioning me? I can handle it!" "Christine!" Captain Picard's voice was strained and somewhat frightened; he was warning me that I was getting in over my head. I knew it; I felt it. I didn't care. I was pissed. This omnipotent pain in the ass was ruining my potential afternoon tryst -- sure, it hadn't been going anywhere, but now he had really thrown Picard for a loop, and Picard's good, though stoic mood was clearly gone. "oh, what's the worst he can do? Kill me?" "Oh, don't be silly, little human; killing comes too easily; it's rather boring and unchallenging." "Well then? Where's the challenge in me at all? You're so mighty and we're so weak and savage and loathsome. Where's the fun? What's the point in your being here at all?" "Well, frankly," he whispered in my mind -- I know Picard didn't hear, "I like to make Picard feel trapped and inadequate, because he intrigues me when he rises to meet my challenges. He doesn't always succeed, but it's great fun watching him try." "How is this encounter making him feel inadequate?" I thought. "Oh, you'll see -- or should I say, you'll *understand* -- in a most -- intimate way." I felt a hand on my breast and drew in a breath. There wasn't anything there. Q's physical form was where it had been the whole time; I touched my breast quickly, -- my hand brushed nothing, but my breast was still enveloped in a soft grasp, and fingers were seemingly tracing my nipple, tugging at it, pinching it. Between my legs, another hand was groping, fingers plunging inside me. This was horrible -- I had no control over this; I couldn't feel the entity behind the hands, just the hands. They were not really there, and yet, they were everywhere. "Stop it -- I want you to --" I met his eyes. They were mocking but so . . . so . . . oh, no, I had to stop thinking like this. Was he controlling my mind, too? "Oh, no, my dear; your thoughts are all your own." I gasped as I was engulfed in an invisible embrace, then suddenly Q was there before me, and my eyes met Picard's briefly as Q picked me up. They were shocked and staring -- the kind of look I would never expect to see on a face like Captain Picard's. "Q, stop it! Are you going to rape her? What are you doing?" "Oh, Picard, your knight in shining armor routine is not required here. The little minx wants me -- oh yes, she wants me in the most disgusting manner -- not quite as much as she wants you -- not yet, at least. Let's see who she wants to spend the afternoon with in a few moments, shall we?" All of this came to me in a haze as I lay in Q's arms. His hands weren't moving over me, yet hands were everywhere, gripping me savagely, touching me lovingly, searing me with heat at the same time a cold trickle of fear washed over me. "Oh, I won't hurt you -- at least I don't think I will," he smiled down at me, then pressed his lips roughly against me. I wanted to fight him -- I wanted to so much; my mind screamed against my body, fighting for control -- but oh, shit -- his mouth was so marvelous and his breath so sweet; I grasped the back of his head and pushed myself against him hungrily at the same instant, wanting to drown inside the kiss. I was gasping for air and moaning deep in my throat -- my stomach, my groin, my hands -- they were burning -- so hot -- so *hot*. And my skin -- it was -- it was -- my robe was gone. I let out a moaning growl as my naked body touched Q's. His skin seemed to be covered with energy which poured into every pore of my being. I clung to him, digging my nails into his neck, his chest. I heard an hysterical voice screaming for him to please stop -- please -- I'm going to die -- please stop -- and with a jot, realize it was my voice pleading for mercy. And yet, my body was trying to meet his entirely, I kept thinking that if he would just surround me with his body, so that absolutely every inch of me was covered with him -- life would be complete, the epitome of desire reached. "I'll do that if you ask me to spend the afternoon with you," he crooned in my ear. "And if you tell Picard to leave. Go ahead. Tell him to leave. I've unlocked the door." Everything stopped. My body was covered with sweat; my heart banging ferociously against my ribs. My head hummed; my ears rang. My clit throbbed, unfulfilled, against Q's stomach as he stared into my eyes. I saw hunger there, and knew he was reflecting what was in my eyes. I saw desperation, pleading, -- holy fucking shit, what had just happened? "Oh, don't tell me you've forgotten already," he teased, flicking his tongue against my throat. "Tell him to leave, Christine. Or I'll leave. You have two minute." Q!" I actually think he was as startled as I. "What is it, *mon capitan*? Would you like me to spend this evening with you, perhaps, after Christine and I are through? I promise, I won't be tired." "you are despicable! I didn't think you would sink to such -- such -- vulgarity simply to harass me. Using another person in your never-ending quest, Q? You dare to judge my decision, my motives?" "Oh, stop prattling, Picard. Our hot young friend here is cooling off; we don't want that, do we? I don't think she does." "It's not a real contest unless you allow me to try to convince her to have *you* leave, Q." "Oh, picard, please! Surely you don't expect to be able to compete with me? I admit you have had more experience in your puny short lifetime, but I assure you, you simply can't compare to what I can do to this hungry, waiting woman." Oh, yuck, I couldn't believe this twit's tongue had been probing my mouth -- or had it been my soul -- only a moment before. And yet, the memories -- oh, help! "How can you possibly do in fifteen little seconds what I accomplished in that time?" *FIFTEEN SECONDS*!? That was all it had been? "Ah, you see, my sweet -- just imagine what I could make you experience in a few hours -- I believe I'll ruin all future encounters for you." "If you're so sure of yourself," I forced my mouth to work -- something I rarely had to concentrate on, "Let Captain Picard try to compete." He immediately complied, letting me go. I instantly felt empty and dejected; the flushed feeling left my whole body, and all desire vanished. Then I glanced at Q -- and I came so hard I nearly fell onto my ass. "You're not -- playing fair," I gasped, shaking, clutching the back of a chair. "Oh, my dear, mortal life isn't fair. You know that by now." Captain Picard was beside me, taking my hand. It was warm, strong, reassuring. It was very nice, comforting, inviting. "I know you want him," he said to me quietly. "I can only imagine what he is capable of making you feel." "You don't have to imagine it, Picard. I would be happy to show you." Ignoring him, the captain continued. "But I suspect your interest -- your initial interest in me was not only based on physical desire and an attraction to me, but also the desire for a mutually satisfactory experience. Certainly, to be pleasured by a highly skillful lover is a fantastic experience, not to have to satisfy that lover at all, to simply accept everything as it happens, feel it and be overwhelmed by it. But is there any please in this for Q, except the insipid joy he apparently receives from goading me? I thought his games had more significance than this -- they have in the past, but maybe I'm just missing something. Either way, nothing he does to you, and nothing you might want to do to him, will affect him the way it would an over-indulgent lover. Nothing you do will excite him or surprise him; he'll forget you immediately as a little game he played during a tiny, tiny part of his existence. His only joy in this experience will be conquering me, not you. You are a means to an end. And I am positive he can make you feel more than you've ever felt, and you will no doubt yearn for it to happen again and again. Will he grant that to you? Probably not. He just might ruin physical intimacy for you if you do this, Christine. And you will be left with a desire for something he will never give you again; nothing and no one will be able to compare, and you will be unfulfilled, no matter how special a person you might meet some day -- he will ruin a very special part of life for you. He doesn't want you; don't give him what he does want." "You don't want me, either, Captain," I countered. "I -- I do find you very attractive, and I certainly am not -- put off by the idea -- by the possibility -- of -- an intimate afternoon with you. I didn't turn you down for that reason; I turned you down because I am not used to casual encounters and I am -- in a fashion anyway -- involved with someone." "I'll never see you again, most likely. And I'm sure you sometimes make exceptions to your rule of passing up casual encounters?" "Yes," he said, clearing his throat and looking warily at Q -- I suspect expecting him to make another comment about the aforementioned Vash. "Well then, Captain?" Captain Picard took me into his arms gently -- oh so gently -- and kissed me. The kiss began slowly, lazily, and I closed my eyes and felt myself sink comfortably into the jangle of feelings which began to creep throughout me. He began to build the pressure in his lips and tongue, and his embrace became more insistent. I nuzzled against him, fighting his tongue back into his mouth and exploring it hungrily. One of his hands pressed against my upper thigh, and I felt the pulsebeat in my groin quicken and the suffusion of heat enclose my clitoris. Just when the kiss was becoming almost too much to take, he withdrew and dropped his head to my breasts, nuzzling each and alternating between my nipples with his tongue and his fingers. His other hand crept up with maddening slowness, and he brushed my clit teasingly with two fingertips. I shuddered and gasped. He lifted my chin and kissed my throat, nipping me slightly. I wound my arms around him and lifted my feet from the floor, wrapping my legs around him and pushing insistently against his cock, the tip already slick with pre-ejaculate. He tried to pull back, wanting to delay the moment, but I was hungry, my body had had quite enough of teasing and foreplay. I slid around him -- he was rather large -- and it felt so wonderful I cried out before we had even started to move together. We somehow managed to slide to the floor and we rolled around entwined, thrusting away and gripping one another. He kissed me passionately and slowly, and my body was enjoying intensely the mad rush each new touch, each new position. Suddenly, I remembered Q, thinking that Picard would probably prefer it if Q weren't there. I broke our kiss to tell Q to get lost -- but I didn't see him anywhere.