Filthy Letters - Worf Meets His Match Ending
As they circled, the battle-fever rose up in Worf like a heady drug
boiling in his blood. Each was assessing the other, the stance, the
movement, the minute shifts of weight which were the feints of
truly excellent fighters. Suddenly they rushed together, an
inevitable, elemental contact. Gharghtajmey rang on yoDtajmey, yin
into yang, as woman and Klingon strove, then parted, all so
suddenly than an observer would have been hard-pressed to swear
that contact had been made, were it not for the ringing of the
blades still sounding in his ears. Worf felt his heart racing,
blood pounding with an excitement that he had not felt in years,
one that was far out of proportion to the stimulus of the battle.
Again they met, blades sliding together, and both leapt back with
identical cuts parting the armor across their chests. Neither was
injured.
Still they circled, like fluid predators, gauging, and now their
hands moved, weaving glittering nets of scattered light as their
blades dipped in and out, until waiting was at an end, and again
they rushed together, so evenly matched that they might have been
a work of art, a study in contrasts, the dark Klingon male and the
ice-pale human woman. Each had caught the other’s gharghtaj in the
fork of his yoDtaj, and they strained, their arms slowly spreading
to the sides, trying to free the cutting blade while keeping the
opponent’s trapped. Finally they stood chest to heaving chest,
neither able to force the other’s hand an inch, and Worf could hear
his own animal-like snarling growling loudly in his ears. He wanted
to howl to the moon, drink hot steaming blood, wrest this woman
down to the floor beneath them and ravish her for a thousand years!
By all the gods of his people! he wanted this woman, this human
woman, as he had not wanted another female before. And incredibly,
rising up to his nostrils like incense from an altar came the
unmistakable scent of a Klingon woman who was equally ready! His
mind reeled in confusion for only a second, but that was all that
was necessary. The woman struck like an adder, catching his lower
lip in her teeth and biting it through, drawing blood and thus
ending the contest.
But it was not over! With a final, convulsive heave he tore the
weapons from her hands, flinging them and his own beyond the
confines of the duelling floor, then seized her and brought both
of them crashing to the ground. “I claim the victory!” she cried,
his blood staining her chin, “First blood is mine!”
“Last is mine, woman! The victory is mine! And you are mine! Deny
it with your body, if you can!” She struggled furiously against his
grasp, her muscles which had been developed, born and bred in a
higher gravity than his native homeworld’s making the fight almost
perfectly even. But not for nothing was he the chief of Security
on the flagship of the Federation. His combat skill, coupled with
his still-increasing sexual arousal, enabled him to finally subdue
her, pinned motionless, face-down on the decking, her arms pinioned
behind her, his knee in the small of her back. If she could have
twisted her head to look up at him, she would have seen his eyes
almost totally black, pupils dilated to their utmost extent with
the fury and passion the battle had engendered. His nostrils
flared, sucking in great draughts of air, bringing the maddening
perfume that spoke to his hindbrain of animal lust to fog his
thinking. “Surrender!” he demanded. Then she did the one thing that
he would never have expected, even given the fact that he knew that
her training made her a specialist not only in engineering, but in
Klingon culture as well. In Old High Klingonaase, she sang to him,
chanting the words of the woman’s surrender to her mate, the only
surrender a noble-born Klingon woman would ever make. It was too
much. Normally, he was somewhat frightened of human women, such
fragile, breakable creatures they seemed… but now, the battle,
his arousal, the taste of blood in his mouth, all these combined
to make him throw caution to the wind. The female had surrendered,
he would claim his spoils! And he began to tear off her armor, a
process which she eagerly assisted, and together they freed them
both of the constraints of clothing.
If the Helsinkinen woman was surprised at the texture of his skin,
armored with flexible keratin plates almost like scale, she did not
show it. Instead she knelt naked, spread knees revealing the pale
pink of her inner folds, and extended her hands to him, palms up.
Worf seized her hands and brought his lips to her palms, dropping
searing kisses into her hands. The scent of Klingon pheromones rose
again into his nostrils, and he realized that this woman must have
applied it as perfume before the fight, simulating the response of
an aroused Klingon woman. He needed simulate nothing, as she could
tell from his raging hard erection. His kisses burned along her
wrists, up the insides of her arms, and he could feel her tremble
against him in her need. His own need surged again, hot within him,
and his kisses became first nips, then trailing lovebites along her
throat and neck, as he shifted his body so that he knelt behind
her. His hands circled her body and sought out her breasts, not
in a caress but in a sudden violent grasp, his fingers seizing her
nipples, jerking her forward, bringing her ass up hard against his
cock. The woman beneath him moaned as his engorged penis seemed to
writhe like a serpent, twisting into her wet and open pussy. He
used his cock like a weapon, striking home deep within this
opponent, his head thrown back as a Klingon warcry burst forth from
his lips. He was tugging and pulling and teasing her nipples,
guiding her body back against him, and she cried out in rhythm to
his savage thrusts. Unlike a human male, his testicles were
armored, and with his penetration of her, the firm jutting scrotum
fitted firmly against her clitoris, the ridged surface stroking her
like fingers, forcing her orgasm almost immediately from the
stimulation of her clit. She could feel his cock inside her growing
harder and larger with every thrust, his Klingon physiology much
like that of a cat, locking his penis into her as they mated, and
she continued to come as he pounded into her. Their coupling was
like an elemental force, and the deckplates seemed to tremble
beneath them as they swept together, unstoppable as the tides.
Finally he slammed his cock home a final time, shifting his grip
to hold her hips tightly against his as he came, pouring floods of
hot come deep inside her. The powerful rippling of her tight
muscles round his cock forced every drop out of him, as she
continued to come.
Worf didn’t pull out of her right away, leaving his cock lodged
deep inside her as he reached around and began to stroke her
clitoris, forcing her orgasm to build to ever-higher peaks. Now
that he had ridden through the first thundering wave of lust, he
could marvel at the wetness of this human’s cunt, the softness of
her skin, and at the powerful grip of her vagina, pulsing around
his still-hard cock as she continued to come in helpless submission
to his skillful fingers. What stamina she had! Finally, long after
a Klingon woman would have admitted defeat, she reached back
between her legs and grasped his hand, wordlessly telling him that
she had at last had enough. Worf wrapped his arms around her then,
hugging her fiercely, and pulled her upright again against his
chest.