USS Cousteau: The Medea III Incident
ADULT CONTENT - FOR PEOPLE OVER 18 YEARS OF AGE
Season 1x01 - The Medea III Incident.
Year 2267.
United Star Ship (NCC-6901-B) Cousteau.
Beta Quadrant.
Captain James T. Kock has just generously ejaculated onto the blue tits and part of the face of the young Landorian Ensign Duvall, shouting "Long live the first directive!" when the intercom on his jacket demands his attention on the bridge. He is informed that they are approaching their mission destination, the jungle planet Medea III.
He pulls up his trousers and, with his deflated glans clearly shrinking, finally releases the albino bun from the officer, but not before ordering her to clean the last traces of his cum with her tongue. A starship captain cannot go about his duties looking like a mess!
"You have performed your enormous task diligently, but you refused to swallow my milkshake," says the superior, "and for that reason alone, I am demoting you to first mate, Miss Nyota!
"But I'm already an ensign, Captain!" protests the Landorian.
"Yes, I know, but trust me, it's better this way. The duties of command are gruelling, very demanding, but if you continue in this vein, I will soon promote you to ensign again. Even sooner if you agree to let me stick my balls in that galactic smurf's blue arse. I'm open to both options. Let it not be said that a captain of the Galactic Federation lacks flexibility.
"Yes, Captain, of course," replies Nyota, blinded by the cumshot and certainly a little annoyed that James had been grabbing her hair as if he were picking fruit during the whole wank between her tits. "Will you visit me again later?"
Kock shakes her head like an offended queen. She argues that an officer like him has many, many duties and that he owes it to his ship. In reality, his goal was to take down the security lieutenant and tactical chief, the Vulcan T'Poya, under the pretext of improving the ship's security protocols. If there's one thing James T. Kock knows, it's how to penetrate defence systems.
Command bridge of the USS Cousteau.
On the bridge, more colourful than a village fair, the aforementioned T'Poya, head of security and responsible for the logical and tactical analysis of missions; the first Earth officer Wilhelmina Stryker; and the synthetic android Byte, an expert in linguistics and alien races, wait with their arms folded behind their backs.
On the central screen of the command bridge, before their eyes, the cosmic corpse of the scientific vessel Balthazar Putain floats silently above the orbit of the planet Medea III. The main deck, typical of Galactic Federation ships and where the command bridge is located, spins capriciously like a spinning top illuminated by one of the three nearby suns. The sections that once housed laboratories and corridors lie twisted and crumpled like the notes of a talentless writer.
"Captain, our sensors indicate that two escape pods may have been launched before the surprising and unexpected explosion of the light ship. We assume that the crew and the entire scientific personnel —eight people— were able to abandon the ship before its destruction," reports Stryker, typing on an electronic tablet with her perfect manicure. Her firm breasts rise like corks in the sea every time she breathes. This data matches Captain Prike's last message. Despite the captain's warnings that no one should go to the rescue of the crew so as not to violate the Prime Directive, the planet Medea III does not appear hostile, there are few settlements of bipedal beings, and it meets the conditions for class M. An intelligent rescue should not compromise any directives.
"Lieutenant T'Poya! Is there any planet in this quadrant that is not class M?
"A planet with atmospheric conditions suitable for humans and similar life forms, with gravity comparable to Earth's, moderate temperatures, the presence of water, and an abundant ecosystem? No," replies the pointy-eared lieutenant, her expression impassive and her hair styled in a Beatle-esque blonde quiff. It looks like she's eaten a broomstick again.
"If she doesn't wise up, she'll have to suck the captain's dick one of these days as punishment," thinks Kock, and nods.
He already knew the answer, but he likes to make sure his crew knows who's in charge here, and he spends the day (if that measure of time makes sense in space) keeping his team constantly on alert and bringing him coffees he doesn't drink.
"Fuck them," he thinks, "they should have studied like him at the prestigious terrestrial university of New Salamanca."
"Byte, what is your initial assessment?" asks the captain wearily, obliged by protocol to ask the question. He knows the answer will be utter nonsense and of no interest whatsoever. Since the android underwent an update last month, its answers have been more insipid than sucking on a nail.
"The scant data sent from the USS Putain before the incident indicates that Medean society is matriarchal. I have been able to confirm this by analyzing the settlements. For evolutionary reasons, the males of the planet—the domositas—seem to be much less adapted to the conditions of this planet and live apart in a remote settlement to the south," recites the android without a hint of emotion as he continues to examine the images coming in on his blue-screen tablet.
"As for the whereabouts of the crew of the scientific vessel USS Putain, we have located the vital signs of Prike along with two other members in the northern settlement ruled by Queen Lucrecia. We assume that the rest of the crew must have perished after the impact. Returning to the matriarchal society, it is striking that...
Before he can continue, Kock turns his back on him and tells him that his analysis is very interesting but that he doesn't give a flying fuck about it right now.
"We'll go down and take a look. Prepare a team of five redcoats, and make sure they're women. You'll accompany me too, T'Poya," Kock orders, putting his hand on his crotch and adjusting his jockstrap. "You're still very green on these issues, and it's time you learned what field research is like."
"The bridge is yours, Stryker. And I remind you again that your skirt does not meet the standards of this ship. Please trim it by at least four fingers. The palm of my hand should fit at least twice above the knee," Kock spreads his fingers over his first officer's smooth thigh and, without any intention of removing them, continues indoctrinating. We're not going to get picky now, are we? Later, I'll inspect you and seven random members. Damn, I must be on top of everything.
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Planet Medea III.
Unable to power up near the capsule impact zone due to unexplained signal interference, the expedition teleports to a nearby beach and decides to follow the trail of charred trees and destroyed vegetation left behind by the emergency pods.
The jungle air is permeated with the smell of wet earth mixed with the bittersweet taste of death. The dim light filtering through the enormous leaves, the twisted, ankle-breaking roots, and the appalling sticky heat deeply displease Kock. If he had known, he would never have come down to this bloody planet.
After a while, they reach the first escape pod. It is empty.
Twenty minutes later, a valley opens at the foot of a mountain with a magnificent, refreshing lake between columns of mist. The view would have been bucolic if the remains of the remaining capsule from the USS Putain weren't floating half-submerged like a giant blackened coffin.
Kock orders two redcoats—curiously, the bustiest ones—to strip naked and swim over to the wreckage. When asked why they have to get naked, Kock glares at them and threatens them with a severe court martial for insubordination, then drops one of his famous Kockian gems:
"That way there's no risk of them getting tangled up with God knows what's under these waters. Anyone who doesn't follow the beat is listening to another drum. Do you understand me, cadets?"
Resigned to their fate, without understanding anything their captain meant and at a disadvantage for never having read the manual of their military rights and obligations, Cadets Dufourquet and Schlampova wade into the cold waters, which immediately make their nipples as hard as the fingers of a gorilla.
Kork takes advantage of the fact that no one is looking to vaporise their clothes behind a tree and returns to the lake.
"Captain, since we stepped onto the shore of the lake, we have been watched by a dozen natives hidden among the foliage," T'Poya informs the captain with a discreet tap on the shoulder.
"My team has already taken the necessary measures to contain the danger in case we are attacked. The danger should be minimal since the native observers are half-naked, their weapons are rudimentary—arrows, spears, blowguns, and slingshots—and they themselves are as noisy as a herd of tribbles in heat.
"Excellent work, officer. I was just waiting for you to realise that too," replies Kork, who hadn't noticed between destroying the clothes, staring at the naked bathers and wanking himself through a hole in his trouser pocket.
"Do you want us to disarm the natives and interrogate them?" asks the Vulcan woman, putting her hand to her neck in surprise.
"Don't be such a bloody worrywart! What danger can a bunch of wild women pose to a whole team of well-trained Galactic Fleet officers?" replies Kock before falling unconscious from a tranquilliser dart to the back of his neck.
Queen Lucrecia's Palace.
Two hours later.
The first thing Kock sees when he wakes up is Christopher Prike's sad, angular arse.
Then, as he looks up, his field of vision sharpens and he ends up getting a more accurate picture of what is in front of him.
He is in Queen Lucrecia's palace. There is no sign of T'Poya, Byte or the rest of his team.
Seated on her throne made of skulls and bones, the regent stares curiously as the chained captain of the USS Putain vehemently licks her bush like a St. Bernard drinking water from a metal bucket. When the speed of licking is not to the queen's liking, she pulls the chain and hits him on the head with a mallet to indicate that he should put more vigour into it.
By terrestrial standards, the regent is a true exotic beauty, almost two metres tall, muscular, with exuberant breasts and long, tousled hair. Her shapely legs could crack a coconut in seconds.
Next to Regent Lucrecia, two other savages with voluptuous figures brandish axes and growl in unison. Both the queen and her guards are barely dressed in four rags that leave much to the eye and little to the imagination. Their hypnotic nakedness is beginning to give Kock a hell of a problem.
Amused by the power she wields over Kock's crotch, Lucrecia laughs ostentatiously, grabs Captain Prike by the neck, buries him between her legs and thus between her thick intimate lips.
The poor man has been eating corn silk since early this morning. Not to mention the four times he was forced to have sex with Lucrecia and her two guards, Minga and Gayolla, after eating four raw, poorly ripened berries for breakfast. The other two survivors of his team are not much better off and lie unconscious, exhausted from having sex day and night, in the palace dungeons.
Shortly afterwards, with an exaggerated scream, the queen cums on the face of the captain of the USS Putain and covers his face with female ejaculate as if someone had thrown a bucket of water over him.
Kock, dazzled, stands up, kicks Prike aside and takes out his cock. Why? Even he doesn't know yet, but in the absence of words, actions speak louder than words.
The queen sits up curiously and motions for him to come closer. She grabs the captain's member, orders her bodyguards to spit two good mouthfuls of saliva on Kock's cock, and begins to massage the erect member with her rough, calloused warrior's hand, all the while screaming like a crane.
"You've never seen a cock like this in your fucking life, have you?" says the officer, arms akimbo, ejaculating unexpectedly into Lucrecia's hand. "Wow, I swear, this only happens to me with you!"
The fact that the regent doesn't understand a single word seems to matter little to Captain Kock.
T'Poya's clearing of his throat undoes the captain's subtle attempt at seduction.
"Captain, I'm sorry to interrupt your negotiations with the queen, but Byte has deciphered the basic patterns of the Medean language, and after clearing up certain misunderstandings with the queen's chamberlain, we have a clear idea of how we can rescue the stranded crew, leave the planet, and avoid breaking the first directive.
"Where the hell have you been all this time?
The Vulcan replies that she was just a few metres away from him, next to the android—he didn't see her because the lighting in the room is truly awful—and the rest of the exploration team. Everyone saw him pull out his dick and his subsequent pitiful ejaculation.
T'Poya replies that they were never in danger and were only drugged to safeguard the secret location of the palace.
"This was totally unnecessary, since the Cousteau's sensors already knew that," T'Poya declares. "Unjustified fears of savage and primitive beings."
Byte interrupts the officers' briefing to ask the Queen for permission to continue with the Regent's conditions.
"Queen Lucrecia will agree to let the three survivors of the USS Putain leave unharmed in exchange for a champion—chosen by you as the highest-ranking officer present—to participate in her sacred annual ritual tomorrow," Byte recites monotonously, his eyes fixed on Kock. It is a mating liturgy lasting an entire lunar cycle (about six Medean hours) where the chosen one must lie uninterrupted with three of...
"I get it, Byte," Kock interrupts haughtily. "Three? For six hours? Easy as pie. Like taking candy from a one-armed Luklani child. I accept."
"But, Captain, it is my duty to try to dissuade you from such recklessness," Byte recited impassively. "I could take on that task. As you know, my organism is perfectly equipped and capable of satisfying any female and/or being in this quadrant without...
"Bullshit! A captain is bound to his ship and his mission!" Kock interrupts angrily, banging his fist on the palm of his hand. He would have preferred to hit the android, but that would have been ugly and out of place. "Confirm to Queen Lucrecia that I will attend the ritual tomorrow and that she will also receive an extra ration of mipalo juice on her face as a sign of goodwill."
"Understood," Byte nods and delivers the message from his sacrificial captain, while Kock nods, repeatedly squeezing the package and licking his lips at the mere thought of getting laid with three exuberant savages. He won't wear a condom, and if he gets them pregnant, they can all go to hell for being uncivilised and libidinous.
Queen Lucrecia whispers a few words to her lieutenants, continuing to make exaggerated gestures, before giving her approval to the choice of champion from the USS Cousteau. She also confirms that after the ritual she will release Prike—she has grown tired of him—and the rest of the crew of the USS Putain.
"Perfect," Kock confirms and bids farewell to the queen. Immediately after leaving the palace, which, incidentally, was not well hidden, he orders the bridge via his communicator to transport his team back to the ship.
He frowns when he sees that Cadets Dufourquet and Schlampova are no longer naked and have been given four poorly mended rags made of animal skins.
As soon as he is energised, the captain of the USS Cousteau notes with satisfaction that his chief engineer, Montgomery Full Monty Smutty, has strictly followed the orders and stripped all the members of the exploration team - except himself - of their clothes, leaving them stark naked.
Amused thoroughly checks all the members to confirm that his suspicions about the feline Michurri were correct; she has a string of Klingon pearls lodged in her hairy vulva for her personal enjoyment. Well, she'd better be careful with those little balls and with wiggling her tail so lasciviously in front of him! One of these days, he's going to lift up that perky, furry tail and thrust another tail into her, one that's less hairy but more sinewy!
As if Kock's indignation weren't enough, another event enrages him even more.
"Cover yourself up, you fucking pig," he shouts indignantly at Byte when he sees the size of the android's synthetic dick. "Have you no shame?"
In a vain attempt to divert the attention of the rest of the bewildered female team in their underwear, he makes no mention of Byte's enormous weapon.
"Why the hell does that dude need so much dick?" Kock mutters angrily on his way to his cabin with a copy of the recording from the teleportation platform on his tablet.
The next day.
Mating room of Queen Lucrecia's palace.
Captain James Tiberius Kock is on cloud nine.
Nothing turns him on more than being watched while he fornicates, and if that fat-dicked idiot Byte has to be present for translation purposes, so much the better. This is 100% natural, baby!
He hadn't had this much fun since his last getaway with his fellow adventurer Benjamin Lafayette Cisco to the resort planet Risotada, the star dedicated exclusively to pleasure in the Bazaar sector. Four unforgettable days that almost got him suspended from school, but where he fucked his brains out at the expense of spending huge amounts of latinium stolen from his father.
Freshly bathed, two naked priestesses led him to a dimly lit room with four poorly placed torches, where the bustier of the two had been licking his balls and sharpening his pencil for almost an hour, always stopping just before the captain ejaculated. Meanwhile, the other priestess has not stopped licking his arsehole and sticking two fingers inside the captain as if her life depended on it.
"Byte, ask that cock-sucking priestess to cut the bullshit and come over and blow my dick with her friend! I'm about to cum, for fuck's sake. And ask her when the queen is going to deign to come here. My tricorder is at full power!"
"Regarding that detail, Captain. The two priestesses are not preparing you for the queen but for her three cousins: Demetrius, Salustianus and Rogelius.
"What the fuck are you talking about, you fucking android?" replies Kork with the same angry expression as a cat on a rainy day.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Captain. Queen Lucrecia never promised you that you would have sex with her or any other woman. You insisted on volunteering. Remember? What's more, the name of the domositas settlement is a variation of sodomites, did you know that?" reports the android, oblivious to the growing lividity of his captain, who is closer to the colour of a refrigerator than anything else. "Look, here they come. The size of their clubs is certainly spectacular. Oh no, those aren't clubs they're carrying. They're fat, long reproductive organs like shirt sleeves. Fascinating!
"Get me out of here, for God's sake! They're going to beat me to death with their cocks!
"I regret to inform you that yesterday you vehemently ordered First Officer Stryker—Byte emphasises and intones the word 'repeatedly'—not to be disturbed under any circumstances until after twelve hours of the ritual.
"Did you know that the Queen's cousins reserve the entire year for this festival? They usually fulfil their obligations to reproduce the species reluctantly - they prefer to do it for the little one - and they were very happy when they heard that a man as hairless and masculine as you had volunteered so that they could let off steam.
"Stop them, for fuck's sake!" Kock exclaims angrily, his eyes bloodshot. "That's an order!"
"You know I can't do that, Captain. You gave your word, and therefore you must fulfil your part as expected of an officer of the Galactic Fleet. If we don't keep our word, we're nothing more than a bunch of wild beasts.
"Furthermore, breaking the deal would be a serious insult to the Medeans and would put Prike and his crew's physical integrity at risk. Isn't it ironic that the word Medea is so similar to Menea? Your cousins are going to give you a good shake, Captain.
What I can do is give you some privacy, Captain. I'll close the door when I leave. Enjoy yourself and relax, thinking about your lovely hometown of Riverside, Iowa. I, your crew, and the Galactic Fleet couldn't be prouder of you.
USS Cousteau bridge.
Six hours and a bit later.
Unable to sit in his command chair—he won't be able to for weeks—Captain James Tiberius Kock, looking very grim, orders the ship to leave the quadrant at full speed and hands over command of the bridge to his first officer, Stryker.
When asked by the first officer if he would like to make any notes in the logbook about the ritual he participated in for hours for later evaluation and study, Kock responds with a curt NO and heads, hunched and unsteady, to the turbo lift.
Space: the final frontier. These are the voyages of the Starship Cousteau. Its five-year mission: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilisations, and to boldly go where no one has gone before.
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