DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters are the property of Paramount Studios, Inc. The story contents are the creation and property of Cheree Cargill and is copyright (c) 2000 by Cheree Cargill. It's just for fun and silliness. Rated PG13.


Cheree Cargill


Christine Chapel was startled when the buzzer to her door sounded. "Who could that be at this hour?" she wondered, rising from her Deltan love seat and wafting toward the door dressed in a lovely light blue peignoir set with matching satin mules with marabou stork feather accents. She had put her hair up into an elaborate Arcturian twist with tendrils curling around her neck and cheeks, her soft silky hair held in place by a single Aldebaran diamond comb. Matching earrings winked from her ear lobes and a solitaire on a golden chain dipped down into the cleavage of her full, pouting breasts. A faint cloud of Rigellian Rapture perfume drifted in her wake, the expensive, sensuous fragrance dabbed in strategic places on her throat and wrists and behind her knees.

She was puzzled by the late night caller. She had merely been lounging in her cabin, sipping Capellan wine and listening to the soft sounds of Vegan tenor Xica d'Ordeeb warbling a classic Spican opera. She hadn't been expecting anyone to come to her door.

As the door slid open, she was surprised to find Spock standing there, clad in a velvet smoking jacket, satin pajama bottoms and slippers, a magnum of Denebian champagne in one hand and a single Antarean rose in the other.

"Ah, Miss Chapel, I hoped you would be in," he said smoothly. "I hope I am not disturbing you."

"Not at all, Mr. Spock," she replied. "I was just relaxing. Please come in."

As soon as the door closed behind him, Spock presented her with the rose and then fell to one knee before her, seizing her free hand. "Christine! I cannot live without you any longer! I have longed for this moment! My blood burns for you, my t'hy'la. I must have you as my wife! I cannot wait a moment longer to bond with you and have you as mine!"

"Oh, Spock, this is so sudden!" she demurred. "I too have dreamed of this time. Let us bond right away and be transported into ecstasy!"

Quickly he rose and placed his fingertips on her temples and she was suffused by his hot radiance. "Parted from me and never parted ... never and always touching and touched..." he murmured.

"Oh, darling! How beautiful!" she sighed. "What does that mean, anyway?"

"I have no idea," he confessed. "It's just something Vulcans are supposed to say at times like these."

"Are we bonded now?"

"Yes, t'hy'la. And we will soon have Jim marry us in a traditional Earth ceremony so that you may walk down the aisle in an elaborate white dress and matching veil, held in place with a diamond tiara just like Princess Diana's."

"And I'll have Uhura as my bride's maid and she'll wear a peach colored watered silk bride's maid dress with hand sewn seed pearls and a little pill box hat and shoes that she has to have especially dyed and which won't ever match anything else she'll ever own for the rest of her life."

"And then, later, we'll go to Vulcan and be wed in a traditional Vulcan ceremony and we'll walk around with our fingers touching," Spock confirmed, pulling her against him.

"Why do Vulcans do that anyway?" Christine asked, growing misty-eyed. "Can't they hold hands in public?"

"Certainly. I just think this fashion was started by someone with a really bad case of dishpan hands. But enough of that, my beloved. Let us now make love. I find myself highly aroused by your nearness and must perform all manner of Terran sexual positions with you."

"Why don't we ever make love in any Vulcan sexual positions?" she asked as he picked her up and carried her the four steps to her bed, where they proceeded to undress each other with haste.

"Because Vulcans are quite dull when it comes to sexual positions," he explained, hotly disrobing for her. "In fact, there's only one, what's known on Earth as the missionary position. It's one of the reasons Vulcans only have sex every seven years. Once pon farr is over, no one is interested in doing it again."

With that, he proceeded to carry her to heaven in a virtual encyclopedic demonstration of his technique and she finally fell asleep in his arms, her eyes sparkling with love for the incredible man who had just transformed her life forever.


Christine Chapel was startled when the buzzer to her cabin sounded. "Who the hell is calling at this hour?" she grumbled, shuffling to the door in her old bathrobe and flipflops. Her hair was twisted up in a messy ponytail and she'd long since removed all her makeup.

She'd been lying on the old Naugahyde couch, reading The Federation Enquirer, drinking a Diet Coke and listening to a remastered disk of Bo Diddly's Greatest Hits, completely worn out from a hard day in sick bay and looking forward to hitting the sack soon.

When the door slid open, she was surprised to find Spock standing there, an anxious expression his face. He had his thighs pressed together and his hands clasped over his groin. Even with that she could tell that he had a considerable hard-on.

"Miss Chapel! It is urgent that I speak to you," he said, hopping a little bit in his discomfort. "May I come in?"

"Yeah, sure," she responded, puzzled by his behavior. "What's the matter? Do you need to use the can and couldn't make it to your own cabin?"

As soon as the door slid shut, his manner changed and he seized her, yanking her against him. "Christine! I am deep in the pon farr! I will die if I don't have sex with you immediately! Let's go to bed!"

She shoved him away. "Oh, yeah? Well, I've heard that line before, buster! You can march right into the bathroom there and take care of your little problem by yourself! And don't use my good towels!"

"You don't understand!" he replied, pursuing her relentlessly. "I really must join with you! I burn for you!"

"You'll burn, all right! Don't make me get the pepper spray!" she warned. "Anyway, aren't you married or something?"

"I never wanted T'Pring. Our parents made us go steady. She was a bitch. It's you I want!"

Christine backed away. "Sorry, Spock. You've brushed me off for five years. What makes you think I'd be willing to do the dirty with you now?"

"Because you told Uhura that you've worn out your copy of I Was a Vulcan Love Slave and because I ran across all those amateur sex stories you've been writing about me and posting on the ship's mail system," he persisted. "You wanna find out what pon farr is really like? I'm ready, willing and able, baby!"

She hesitated. "Really? You're not yanking my chain, are you?"

He was growing even more excited and began removing his clothing in anticipation. "Not at all. Vulcans are renowned for our sexual prowess. And something else ... during pon farr, Vulcan men are hung like in bull sehlats in heat."

With that, he dropped his pants around his knees and Christine gasped and fell backwards onto the bed, stunned at the sight. "You don't think you're putting that thing in me, do you?" she demanded.

"It'll be good, baby," he promised, crawling up on top of her and pressing her back, his pants tangled around his ankles. "Just lie back and relax."

"Are you kidding? It'll never fit!!"

"Trust me," he answered, pushing her robe apart and getting into position. He paused and said, "Hey, I've got an idea. Let's bond and then I'll project all sorts of weird sexual fantasies into your mind and we'll both get off even harder."

"No way! I don't do that chain and whip thing!"

"Bond, not bondage." He pressed his fingers into her temples and intoned, "Parted from me and never parted..."

"I'll say! It's stuck!"

"Shhhh..." he ordered. And suddenly she got a picture in her mind of him clad in fishnet hose, high heels and a black corset.

"What the... You look like transvestite whore!" she exclaimed. "Don't tell me you wanta wear my panties or something!"

"Whoops, sorry. Wrong image." Immediately the mental picture changed to Spock dressed in a black leather jacket, tight low slung jeans and biker boots. "Strap your hands across these engines, baby, and get ready to ride!"

Much, much, much later, Christine managed to get her eyes focused and realized that Spock was lying beside her, asleep. She was certain that she wouldn't be able to walk for the next several days and wondered if he was in the same shape. But then, to her surprise and dismay, she saw the blanket covering his hips begin to rise up to a mountainous height, and Spock suddenly opened his eyes and looked over, smiling at her.

"Well, that was Vulcan sexual position number one," he said happily. "Are you ready for number two?"