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.Carnival Mirrors	By : keithcompany Category: Star Trek > Star Trek Views: 3189 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Spock placed the cage in the precise center of the table in his cabin. He opened the door and turned away.

The little woman stepped carefully out and onto the table. She watched as he worked some controls on the bulkhead by the table.

When he was finished, he sat down at the table. His eyes were on a level with her own. She twisted her feet a little bit as he stared at her.

"You have questions?" he asked. He tented his fingers together and looked her over.

"How did you shrink us?!" she shouted. Then she waved her hands to reject the question. "Never mind, I wouldn't understand. Why, though? Why did you shrink us?"

"You were not shrunk," he explained. "You are as we found you. You will find that most of the sentient life forms in this part of space are of a size. My size, to be exact." He reached out and tugged at her shipboard jumpsuit. She yanked her arm and sleeve out of his grip and stepped back.

"Resistance, you will find, is illogical. Your ship's weapons did not penetrate our navigational screens." He snatched out his hand and pinched her leg. "What personal weapons came through the transport beam did no more than frighten our personnel.

"One of your men emptied a weapon into Chief Kyle. He's received more harm in hand to hand combat training." He dragged her over to the edge of the table. She hopped on one leg to keep up.

"And you people lack the physical prowess to form any sort of resistance to us." He turned her about a time or two, then released her. She turned to face him.

"How are you speaking our language?"

"I am not. The universal translator is performing its function."

"What's going to happen to us?" she asked quietly.

"What was your profession?"

"I was a nutritionist."

"Really?" He pinched her thigh between two fingers. "Are you bred for greater nutrient density or do you take calorie supplements?"

She stared for a second, trying to understand his comment. "I'm not NUTRITIOUS!" she shouted. "I'm a nutritionIST! I study food! How to get the best diet out of the algae and fish stocks. What kind of an idiot thinks-" Her anger dissipated in an instant. "You're going to eat me?" He stared, stroking his beard.

A beeping sound came from the wall panel. She flinched in terror but he merely stood to open it. He took out a meal. She scooted back as he placed the platter and beverage down in front of the cage.

A large joint of unidentifiable meat steamed before her. A few vegetables around it seemed more for decoration than nourishment.

She couldn't identify the beverage except that it seemed to have a quantity of alcohol in it. She licked her lips. She could use a shot of... well, anything, right now.

"As you can see, I have no need to eat you. The ship's supplies more than take care of my requirements." He looked over the plate then to her. "Did they feed you, little food scholar? Have you eaten since being brought aboard?"

"Uh, no."

He gestured magnanimously towards his repast. "Then help yourself."

She moved quickly to the meat and teased off a piece. It was the merest sliver to him, but it was bigger than her forearm. "Thanks! This is more real meat than I've had since we launched," she said between mouthfuls.

He watched her devour the food, a small smile on his lips. A few moments after she stopped chewing he asked a question. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," she said. "I mean, terrified of enslavement, horrified at our treatment, but I'm physically okay."

"Good. I have been needing to get a new food taster. With your minimal mass, you should react much more quickly than I would."

"A new taster?" she asked. "What happened to your old one?"

He stared for a second. "You inquire about the fate of the person who had the task of using their body to determine if I was being poisoned?" He shook his head at the look of shock on her face. "I can see that you are about as logical as most humans."

Spock turned to his dinner and began eating. He took the dagger from his belt and sliced off a strip from the meat.

His captive gasped at the ease with which the blade swept through the flesh. "What?" he asked.

"Oh, uh, I thought it was, uh, ceremonial."

"Ceremonial," he laughed. "The only ceremonial weapons in the Empire are ones the executioners carry." He twirled the knife in his hands for a moment as he at the slice. Then he beckoned her close to the edge.

"What is your name, food scholar?"

"Massira," she said. He pushed the knife gently into the fabric of her shipsuit.

"Tell me about yourself, Massira." The knife slid up along the seam of her zipper. Material that she'd probably considered tough and durable parted even easier than the meat had. He kept the blade near her skin and watched her shiver. She had to be expecting a cut but he diligently made sure she only felt a gentle tug at her clothes.

"I'm, uh, twenty. And, uh..." The tip of the blade poked up out of her suit and stopped just below her chin. Light glinted off of the edge as he held it absolutely steady before her.

She closed her eyes and concentrated on reciting her biography. He used the knife to take another slice of food.

After a few moments he noticed her trying to keep her uniform on her shoulders. He placed a fingertip gently but firmly against the material and pushed it aside. She let it fall to drape around her hips.

There was a bandeau of some sort remaining across her breasts. He lay the blade flat against her chest and pushed the point up under the band. Then he twisted.

Massira hissed as the edge scraped across her skin but she didn't flinch. A moment later her breasts were freed as the clothing parted. He left the knife in place, the edge gently resting against soft skin.

He picked up one of the Devonian peppers and chewed as he regarded the bosom.

The little woman was positively hyperventilating, sharp little breaths that shook her breasts. He leaned closer to watch the pattern of the nipple precession.

Grease from the meat spread gently over the little rib cage as he moved the knife every so slowly across it.

A small memory in his mind alerted him to the time. The blade never wavered as he turned to his intercom. "Kitchen."

"Kitchen here, XO!"

"Mr. Kllak! I am apprehensive of the possibility that the novelty of our guests may have distracted their caregivers. Please have your assistants Dubois and Hinoki ensure that every Lilliputian that hasn't been... selected by a department receives sufficient fodder."

"Yes, sir," the chief Cook replied. Then he paused and adopted an apologetic tone. "Uh, it'll have to be Hinoki and Goodwife. Dubois has been missing for an hour. The computer can't locate him."

"I see. Well, carry on." Massira was staring up at him as he turned back to her. He smiled and stroked his beard. "Safe for another day," he said with a wink. She nodded as if that made sense to her.
The intercom whistled. Captain Kirk's yeoman announced, "Department Heads are invited to a victory dinner in the Captain's Mess."

He stabbed the RSVP button automatically, wiped his blade and stood. "Into the cage," he said. "I have to go to dinner."

She complied, glancing from him to the plate. "But you just ate."

"The only two acceptable reasons to turn down a Captain's invitation is that you are conspiring against him, or you are committing a ritual suicide." He shrugged slightly. "I suppose it would be more accurate to say that there is only one reason..."
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Kirk had obviously secured substantial benefits from the latest power struggle. His mood was expansive and his table was expensive.

Spock selected a plateful of the delicacies available and sat quietly at his captain's right hand. Kirk described the dealing and wheeling that created a new Admiral in charge of their quadrant. Everyone was careful to show how wrapped up they were in his boasting.

Halfway down the table, Uhura had one of her pets on a leash, the brunette. With small gestures and quick tugs she was directing the little woman to bring back specific selections from the spread.

The captive was naked except for the spiked metal collar and the thigh-high boots. Spock hadn't been aware that the clother could be dialed down that small.

Spock hoped the officer wasn't terribly attached to the toy. Once it came to Kirk's attention, it was likely to remain in Kirk's grasp.

Chekov kept trying to borrow the leash. He apparently had brought no toy of his own.
"What's this?" Kirk asked suddenly. He pointed at the tiny creature scampering across his table. There was a small 'eep' of surprise and it ran back to its owner.

Imagine that, Spock thought to himself. Seeing the ship's communicator as a protection against the commanding officer. He was almost moved to pity the thing.

Uhura gathered up the leash as her pet crouched against her bosom. She stroked it and smiled up the table. "Well, sir, if you mean who is this, I call her 'Survivor.' Because the other one didn't. If you're asking what she is, we're calling them Lilliputians."

Kirk beckoned. The ever-loyal communicator shoved Survivor across the table and pointed to her captain.

When the Lilliputian didn't move, she speared a lovingly maintained fingernail into one ass cheek. Then it moved.

The woman approached Kirk. He set down his goblet and moved his plate aside. "Let's get a good look at you. What are you?"

Spock filled the man in while he examined the new toy. It flinched at every touch. That wasn't terribly surprising, even Klingon prisoners have referred to Captain Kirk as 'rough trade.'

He pinched the butt and boobs, tugged at the hair and finally lay her down and spread the boots wide. Survivor glanced fearfully around the room as she waited for his final attentions.

A bit of wine was poured from Kirk's goblet onto the tiny crotch. Then he licked his little finger and speared it into the pussy. Survivor screamed. Spock glanced around the table.

The expressions of the others contained no surprises. Chekov winced at her treatment, Sulu shrugged, Uhura licked her lips. Scott hardly looked up from his own drink. McCoy was watching Uhura and licking his own lips.

By the time he looked back, Kirk was lifting the captive on his finger, wiggling it. "She's tight," he muttered. Her legs flexed as she tried to take her weight off of the invasive digit. "Very tight."

He shook her off, dumping her on the table then licking wine and blood from his finger. "I don't need her that tight for foreplay, though. Not if there's not enough room for five play..."

The table duly laughed at his witticism, once they were sure it was wit. They laughed louder at the sight of Survivor limping along as Uhura pulled the leash in.
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.Carnival Mirrors