Disclaimers, ratings and warnings are in Part 1.
THE BADLANDERS
PART TWO
He had trouble sleeping. He had trouble keeping awake. He had trouble with trouble. Everything was too much and too little. His mind was a haze of sexual depravity and of maintaining that appetite. Of dealing with Torres and Seska that they don't fight again. Of ship's engines about the give in: a decrepit bucket of spare parts, Federation signals that had to be masked with new Maquis codes, of medicines, supplies. Contending with in-fighting, out-fighting, cock-fighting, crew control, damage control, pussy control, pathetic prisoner control - all kept him occupied and pre-occupied so that his own descent into a bile-producing morass of decadence where he no longer thought of himself as himself but a version of himself was infinitely more sought after than having a conscience.
Prisoners. Females. He fucked and then left them for the rest of the crew.
That's the way he operated. The last prisoner was a pretty young ensign, cocky at first until he struck her across the cheek as the first signal of her submission. The next had been to strip her in full view of Ayala, Paris, Torres, Seska, and Bendera. When she protested her outrage he walloped her pretty pink ass using his leather belt until she lost consciousness. She collapsed on the floor, then he had chased out the audience, with only Torres remaining. He had lifted the girl on his bunk, spread her legs wide while she was still unconscious, then primed himself at her pussy entrance, nudging her folds away with his knob of his cock distended and ready. The girl was young, looked very untrained, but her sweet cunt lured him, its light dusting of curls on her mound just enough to incite him into a temporary blind state where he tried to close his mind to shut out old images. He smelled her cunt, let the muskiness, the sex draw into every nerve cell in his brain. It worked every time. He had been rock hard when he had walloped her and he was itching to fuck. He had given Torres a nod. She took the hypospray and with the ensign's face turned upwards to him, injected the girl. The moment the girl's eyes sprang open, the shocked gasp that escaped her was one of pain as he rammed his cock straight up her dry little pussy. She screamed and almost fainted again but Torres was ready with the spray in case it happened. He held her down, hands cupping the very heavy and full, creamy breasts, his cock filling her narrow passage, straining and throbbing against her. He watched the girl's eyes in which shame flitted and danced a sweet fandango.
"So, you want to be cocky with me? Here, feel my cock up your virgin pussy, sweetheart."
He ignored her tears and screams as he moved first with hard strokes, his balls smacking against her until he could feel her pussy walls softening, lubricating him. He gave a little cry of triumph, saw the girl close her eyes and turn her head away. Then he pounded her as hard as he could, finally gripping her leather belt-stained buttocks and pulling her off the surface of the bed, grunting as he moved into her.
"Look at me, bitch," he ordered, his body covered in a fine film of perspiration, his tanned skin glistening against her lily white skin. Torres turned the girl's head and held it so that she had to look into his face. He almost laughed the way her face changed from red anger, to shock, then shamed wonder and finally a surprised scream as she climaxed.
That was a week ago. When he shot his cum into her, grunting heavily, he had lain on top of her, breathing, breathing until he calmed again. The girl lay still, his cock still embedded into her tightness.
"Let me go now...please..."
Then he repeatedly fucked her, once flipping her over on her stomach, with Torres pressing her lower back to arch downward and her pussy was glaringly displayed for him. He grabbed her blonde hair with one hand, with the other keeping her thigh lifted and in a single swift entry, made her buck for almost half an hour until he was spent.
"Now, what is your name, little one?" he whispered against her ear as he lifted her hair away from her ravaged face.
"Megan," she whimpered. "Megan Delaney..."
Only then he called in Ayala and Dalby to take her away.
"Don't touch her. She's mine for this week," he ordered.
Last night he decided Torres would be good in bed after all. She wanted him and so far he had only given her enough to frustrate her into begging for more. But Torres was something else. He didn't really want to fuck her but the woman was a bitch in heat. The Klingon hybrid almost jumped out of her skin with delight. She was actually happy. He thought no one should be happy and that included whomever he chose to fuck at night or any other time during the day. He slept alone. Torres and the rest of his crew knew that. His rules. His orders. After a heavy session in which he had the girl screaming with pain or pleasure, he kicked her out of bed and chased her off where, caught either by Paris or Dalby or Ayala, she would spend the night in one of their beds.
He had no time for niceties. Once upon a time he had been nice - a good, clean, happy and innocent nice man. Once upon a time he believed, mistakenly, that the world rewarded you for being good and trusting. Once upon a time he believed that compassion meant feeling the same, not sorry, but what engendered a feeling of forgiveness. Once upon a time he was a goddam fool for believing in the world.
But no more. Here in the Badlands he lived by his own rules; the code he wrote himself. Everyone who joined his cell or other cells in the Maquis and decided to make the Badlands their home, lived by his code. If they didn't like it, he beat them into submission or banned them from his group. A good trade-off. He kept them safe from the Federationists and Cardassians and they toed the line, however distorted his line was.
His rules. Follow orders or ship out.
The Starfleet people they caught were integrated into his cell or sold off to homeworlds. He had no time for sentiment. They were in a place they'd never get out unless the Maquis brought them out; they were in a place from which they could never be rescued and those who tried to rescue the Federationists or Cardassians were killed in the attempt and their vessels destroyed.
Chakotay gave a weary sigh. Last night for the first time he fucked Torres up her ass, her mouth, her pussy, every goddam orifice including those she created squeezing her tits together, he prodded, sunk deep into her. The woman was voracious, he had to give her that. Her ridges incited him as he licked or scored them with his teeth. She too, didn't bother with too much decorum. Was there ever decorum in fucking? He thought not. Torres gave as much as he gave, yet he sensed how she held back, afraid to temper him, anxious not to go soft on him and turn fucking into something pretty.
"Fuck me now," she invited as she knelt before him, gripping his engorged cock and sinking her mouth into him. He had closed his eyes and simply let her suck him hard. He could feel the movement of her throat, pressed deeper into her, enjoying the way her teeth grazed his skin. Then suddenly, he grabbed her head and started pounding. Thinking she would pull away, he crowed when she gave him measure for measure. He could feel the build-up in her warm, moist depths where, almost, he felt like pissing.
Groaning, he shagged until her shot his load down her throat.
Torres rose slowly to her feet, stood against him so that her tits pressed into his chest. Her eyes looked wild, like a predatory cat. Some of his cum was dripping from the side of her mouth and she didn't bother to wipe it away. Instead, her lips closed shut and only then she swallowed, the sound like a gulp of water going down.
"Spirits, Torres!" he exclaimed.
It was the longest he had let any woman lie in his bed. In the early hours of the morning, drunk and heavy with sleep, but awake and aware, he kicked her out.
"Go and fuck Dickson."
Now, Voyager.
He had ten prisoners. Some were injured. He ordered they be left alone until he arrived. It was now a day later.
One of the prisoners was Voyager's captain.
"Maybe I should fuck Torres again tonight," he muttered under his breath as he opened the doors to the cargo bay of the Liberty.
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END PART TWO