Newsgroups: alt.slack

Subject: Star Sex: Adventures of the Starship "Doorprize"

From: (Nolan Voyde)

Date: Thu, 20 Nov 1997 17:06:06 GMT


Spaced out to the final frontier: These are the voyeurisms of the

starship "Doorprize". It's strange mission; to seek out and conquer

or kill new life-forms and new civilizations. To boldly blow up what

no man has blown up before.



Episode One: Captives of Fagotron



Aboard the Doorprize


"Captain!" shouted Lt. Swahili, "Our signals are being jammed

on all frequencies!"

Captain Nolan Voyde stubbed out a cigaret on the arm of his

command chair. A dynamic, physically fit individual, Voyde found life

aboard a starship confining and stressful, so he had developed a

vicious chain-smoking habit, which in turn made life aboard a starship

more confining and stressful for his crew. "Shit", he said, "I was

just going to leave for lunch."

"There is a tractor beam locked onto us from that nearby pink planet's

surface, Captain," said the Nulcan executive officer, Mr. Bock, from

his post at the tractor-beam detector.

"Do we have enough power to pull the Doorprize loose?" asked


"Negatory, Skipper," Bock answered, "it is apparently going to

pull us into the source of the beam."

"Yeah, great, Bock. A child could have told me the same thing."

The captain had begun to sweat profusely. He lit another cigaret, his

hands visibly shaking. His voice cracked as he screeched, "How much

time until we hit the planet, goddammit?" He sucked deeply on the

orally reassuring tube of tobacco.

"About one day, sir, give or take about 12 hours, depending on whether

or not the new catalytic converter drains as much power as predicted,


"Yeah, yeah, right. I got the picture," said Voyde as he rapidly

regained his composure. "Good, we got a little time, then," he sighed

with relief. "In that case, Mr. Bock, organize a landing party to

beam down to this strange planet and we'll see why they've taken this

action against us. And most of all, I wanna personally shoot the

asshole responsible." He reached over to his left and massaged Lt.

Swahili's breasts. "You wanna get some kicks blowing up the natives

with us, baby?"

"I think I'll take a rain check," Swahili giggled, her thoughts

centered on Yeoman Piker in Engineering. Wow, he was hung! "While

Voyde's away, the mice will play!" she thought to herself as she

smiled at Captain Voyde. "Maybe I could take a little nap and freshen

up a bit while I wait," she breathed as she winked broadly.

"I won't be long, so why don't you take off from duty now and

get, uh, warmed up for my return, you dig?" said Voyde, leering at

her cleavage as Bock rolled his eyes.

"Aye, aye, Captain," said Swahili, jiggling her way out the bridge


Captain Voyde smiled and smacked his lips loudly. "She's some

piece, eh, Bock?"

"Indeed, Captain," Bock replied disinterestedly, "her physical

parameters are well within the limits generally considered worthy of

mating with by Earthling males."

"You're such a wet blanket, Bock," said the captain, distracted by the

smoke rings he was blowing.

"Affirmatory, sir," Bock replied disinterestedly.

Voyde stubbed out the cigaret after one last, satisfying drag from

just above the filter and activated the intercom. "Lt. Solo, Dr.

McGoy, meet Mr. Bock and I in the ...the... dammit! The

beam-down-thing, you know what I mean!"

"Admirable performance, sir," said Bock with a smirk. "It's the


"What is?" asked Voyde as he tried out the "stun" setting of his

phaser on a junior crewman checking some navigation instruments.

"Um, nothing, sir. I suggest we start for the beam-down-thing.

We don't really know how long we have until before the tractor beam

pulls the Doorprize in."

"Yeah, right," said Voyde, still fiddling idly with the settings on

the small hand-weapon. He arose from the ash-covered chair and headed

out the door with the inscrutable Nulcan in tow.



Dr. McGoy and Lt. Solo awaited the captain and first officer in

the transporter room. The doctor was an older man, nearing 50, with

the gruff, crusty demeanor of veteran ship's doctors since the days of

the Phoenicians.

Lt. Solo, on the other hand, was a still quite young officer possibly

in line for his own command, one day. "If," he often thought to

himself, "Voyde doesn't get me killed, first!"

"Seems like a nice day for a landing party, huh, Doc?" Solo asked

the physician amiably.

"We're aboard a fucking spaceship, ya moron!" grated the doctor

as he rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

Voyde and Bock entered. They had made a detour somewhere,

and now Bock's arms were loaded with camping gear piled so high that

he couldn't see straight ahead. He tripped on the first step to the

transporter grid, and the heap of aluminum and canvas gear clattered

across the polished floor.

McGoy cocked an eyebrow curiously. "For "Bob"'s sake, Nolan,

you didn't say we were making a weekend of it," he said as he watched

the patient Bock gather back the ponchos, canteens and puptents.

"Better safe than sorry, Bones," laughed the captain merrily.

"This time, we're bringing our own toilet tissue, too. That week on

the planet of the Putridians taught me my lesson."

Solo inwardly cringed at the memory of having to wipe his ass

with his shirt after they had discovered that the native greenery on

Putridia caused immediate and severe boils on contact with flesh.

"Yeah, Captain, that one was a bit of a stinker, wasn't it, sir?"

The three older men looked at him, expressionless.

"You requested him, Captain," Bock pointed out matter-of-factly.

"Hang loose, lieutenant, you'll be alright," said Captain Voyde

paternally. "We need you. Ever since the time the Grotians on Hung

Nine demanded a sacrifice from the landing party, I've had to hedge my

bets. I can't lose Bock, he's a real brick, and McGoy owes me too

much poker money to afford losing him. That leaves you to save the

day, if we need cannon fodder."

Lt. Solo stood rooted, his jaw slack at this assessment of his value

to the landing party.

"Haven't you got a sense of humor?" asked McGoy, his own face

a stony mask.

After a little more fussing with the gear, which consisted of Bock

unloading it into Solo's arms, the four were ready to beam down. They

stood expectantly a few moments.

"Captain," said Bock at last, "I believe we require a crewman to

operate the trans... the beam-down-thing."

"Goddammit, who's in charge around here?" demanded Voyde

as he went to the intercom.

"Nolan, you're the captain," said McGoy. "Beam-down-thing?" he

muttered to himself.




They finally, upon securing a transporter operator, beam down.


"Glad ya'll could come. And I do mean 'come'."

The four star voyagers stared dumbfounded at the reception

committee awaiting them on the pink planet. The apparent leader of

the odd assemblage had a large, matted, multi-colored hairdo, and

makeup caked on it's face so as to make the features below


"Holy shit!" Dr. McGoy gasped in recognition. "It's Lilly White!"

"Lilly White?" echoed Captain Voyde. "Explain, Mr. Bock."

"A so-called 'drag queen' from the late Twentieth Century, Captain.

'The Trash of the South', as she billed herself. A rogue SubGenius

transvestite entertainer from Earth who hijacked a prototype starship

and departed for parts unknown."

"Well," said McGoy, "we know, now!"

"Welcome to Fagotron, you glorious hunks, you. Make use freely of our

planet and people. Especially the people," she smiled engagingly to

Voyde, "if you know what I mean!"

Voyde's eyes widened as his stomach wrenched. "Uuuuggllleeee!"

he thought to himself. "Set your phasers on 'kill'," he said softly

to his crewmen.

Lt. Solo dropped all the camping gear with a resounding crash, grabbed

his phaser from his belt and began resetting the knobs on it.

Instantly, the party was seized and stripped of weapons and

communicators by the large escort of the ancient transvestite.

"Oh, that's too bad ya'll decided not to be neighborly like that.

I was looking forward to being fast friends with you," Lilly cooed.

"Take them to the laboratory holding pens!"



Meanwhile, aboard the Doorprize orbiting above, Lt. Commander

Scotch directed the ship's efforts to simultaneously break the pull of

the tractor beam and locate the landing party which had promptly

disappeared after beaming down.

He took another hit off the whiskey bottle and clicked on the intercom

over his vibrating pneumatic bed. "Quiet, now," he slurred to the two

junior crewmen playfully wrestling naked on the floor. "We don't want

word getting about, now do we, laddies?"

"Word about what, Mr. Scotch?" asked Lt. Swahili's replacement

over the intercom.

"Never ye mind, yeoman! Has Engineering fixed it, yet?" Scotch

raised his voice to a commanding tone.

"They haven't gotten more power to break the tractor beam, if that's

what you mean, sir."

Scotch pondered a moment as he unleashed a rippling booze fart. "Have

ye raised Captain Voyde, yet?"

"No, sir, there's no answer to any of our signals."

"Then try different signals! We're talking about the captain!" he

turned off the intercom and laughed. "The captain, indeed! Come to

your Uncle Scotch, now! There's a pair o' fine lads!"



The four captives stood in their small cell, discussing their


"Goddammit, Solo, you punk! You fucked us up good, this time!" the

doctor was raving.

The captain reached for his cigarets, only to discover that they had

been taken along with everything else. Bock stood by the barred door,

watching the corridor, apparently impassive.

"Goddammit, Solo," Voyde cursed, "couldn't you show a little more

discretion than that, for "Bob"'s sake?"

Lt. Solo whimpered softly, his face in the corner.

Well, Mr. Bock," the captain turned his attention from the cowering

junior officer, "how do we get out of this one?"

"I'm not sure, Captain. The only course of action available at the

present time seems to be to cooperate with our captors and hope to

regain their trust."

"How do you propose we do that?"

McGoy came up beside the other two men. "I know what I'd do, if I had

my way. I'd make that freak a real woman, without anesthesia."

The other three stared at the doctor.

"Someone is coming," said Bock, straining to see down the corridor.

An effeminate little boy came down the hall, his pretty face made up

like a hooker's and wearing a tropical print kimono. He unlocked the

cell door, and in swept Lilly White, while her cronies gathered


"How ya'll butch men doin' in here?" she inquired in her saccharine

Southern belle accent.

"Why are you holding us here? What do you want from us?"

Voyde demanded.

"Ya'll hear that, sweeties? This macho man from Earth wants

to know what Mother wants him for!"

The assembled entourage outside the door launched into gales

of high-pitched laughter and wrist-flopping. A light of understanding

began to dawn in the captive's minds.

"Captain," said Bock, "I believe we are to be the subjects in some

sort of sexual experiment."

While the freak-queens in the hall giggled and shrieked shrilly, Lilly

swept over to Mr. Bock. The Nulcan officer stood erect, regarding her

evenly as she examined him up close. "Hmm, the Nulcan here should

prove most interesting. How hung are you, you hunk of alien

life-form, you?"

"Say," Captain Voyde interjected, "just how have you lived all

these years? You must be over three hundred years old!"

"How DARE you tell my age!" Lilly squalled like a branded panther.

"That does it! Off to the pleasure rooms with them!"



Hours later, the four captives were again back in their bare cell.

All were massaging their backsides as they grimaced in pain.

"Oh, "Bob"," Voyde moaned, "I never got boned like that even

in Starfleet Academy!"

"Even our medical school experiments weren't that painful",

grumbled McGoy.

Bock maintained his rigid Nulcan control over his reactions,

but it was plain that the ordeal had tested even his resources. He

stood silent in meditation as he rhythmically massaged his buttocks.

"Captain," he said suddenly, "I think I know why Lilly White needs


"We ALL do now, Bock," McGoy said sarcastically. He groaned

and tried to sit down slowly with his back against the wall.

"I think what Mr. Bock means is that there's another reason

besides just buttfucking the daylights out of us," theorized the


"Correct, Captain. It seems quite likely that Lilly White is a

practitioner of the Richard Simmons Sperm Diet, which extends human

life far beyond normal. As you know, Mr. Simmons himself lived over

250 years, but the followers of his regimen are rarely encountered,

because in order for the diet to work, the subject must never have

physical contact with a woman."

"That explains why she's lived so long, but not why she needs us,"

Lt. Solo spoke up for the first time between whimpers and sobs. Being

the youngest, he had naturally taken the bulk of the punishment.

"Apparently," continued Bock, "something has happened to cause

the sperm of the cross-dressed males here to degenerate in quality.

Perhaps a virus, or radiation from their sun."

"That's it!" concluded Voyde. "She needs to turn us out and suck

us off to continue living!"

"Except you, Bock," McGoy interjected from halfway in his slow slide

down the wall. "That green sperm of yours would likely gag even Lilly


"Point well taken, Doctor," replied Bock blandly.

"Hey!" said Captain Voyde, a look of cogitational revelation on his

face, "I've got it! We need to have a woman touch Lilly! She'll

shrivel up like her sister in the Wizard of Oz!"

"Hey, good idea!" said McGoy.

Solo spoke up, again. "But, there are no women on Fagotron, sir. How

will we get one to touch her?"

"I believe," said Bock, his mind computing almost audibly, "that we

can set a trap aboard the ship. Tell her there is a sperm bank on the

Doorprize which we were transporting to the Vas Deferens System. It's

on the way past here, and they actually do have an indigenous testicle

parasite that renders males of any Earth species painfully sterile."

"You've done it again, old Bocko!" the captain tried to dance a

victory jig, but stopped in mid-motion, his face twisting with pain.

"Oh, goddamn!"

"So, that's it, then. We lure Lilly up to the Doorprize, have a

female touch her, and she dies a richly deserved horrible death," said

the now-grinning doctor, who had at last lowered himself to a seated




"Commander Scotch", Lt. Swahili's voice was once again on

the intercom, the ship's state of emergency having dragged her from

the jacuzzi, where Scotch himself now hot-bubbled in a half-stupor.

"Aye, and what be ye wantin'?" he asked, coming out of his doze.

"We have the captain on line one."

Scotch threw his bottle across the floor and cursed. "Shit! Can't he

handle it himself? I'm on free time."

"Mr. Scotch, the captain is still down on the pink planet, sir,


"Aye, 'tis right ye be. I'd quite forgot. Put 'im on."



The captain stood before Lilly White, speaking over the communicator

that she had returned to him upon learning of the sperm bank allegedly

aboard the Doorprize.

"After all," Bock had told her, "You don't need us, just good semen.

There's enough on the Doorprize to keep you alive approximately one

hundred thrity-three years, ten months, twenty-seven days, nineteen

hours, thirty-three minutes and five point seven five seconds, with an

error factor of give or take..."

"Yeah", interrrupted Voyde eagerly, "a hell of a long time!" He

silently wished Bock could do as well on a real deadline.

After a little initial skepticism on the ancient transvestite's part,

they talked her into it after mentioning the over three hundred virile

men aboard the ship orbiting above. They tactfully didn't mention the

one hundred women.

"Say, that sounded like woman on the communicator," said Lilly


"Oh, no!" the four starmen chorused at once.

"You see, the Navy has come a long way since you left Earth,"

Voyde babbled hastily. "We have drag queens on board. It helps keep

morale up."

"Yeah, it keeps morale up," the remaining three said together.

"What are you guys, some kind of floor show?" demanded Lilly


"Oh, no!" they all four said together, their faces reddening.

"Fuck you idiots, let's go get that come. Excuse me for saying 'fuck'

and 'come' in the same sentence," Lilly apologized.

"Okay," the captain said to Lt. Swahili after instructions from Lilly,

"I want Scotch to lock in on these coordinates and beam up two people,

myself and the beautiful leader of this peaceful planet. Etgay a

omanway in the ansportertray oomray and avehay erhay abgray isthay


"What the hell was all that gobbledygook?" Lilly asked, suspicion

heavy in her tone.

"Uhm, just a recognition signal," said Voyde coolly.

Just then, Scotch's Scottish burr came over the communicator.

"What were ye tryin' to say, man? Lt. Swahili can't make heads nor

tails of it! The poor woman's still trying to decode it!"

"WOMAN! You DO have women aboard!" Lilly White screeched,

tensing for the kill. "Have at them, my queens! Bind them for the

Instrument of Sacrifice!"

"Get down here, Scotch!" Captain Voyde shouted into the communicator.

"Bring Swahili with you!"

"Break their fingernails!" shouted Mr. Bock, "They can't take that!"

Then, it was every man for himself.




The Sacrifice


Scotch stood on the transporter grid, fuming aloud. "Where is that

captain's trollop?" he muttered for the tenth time.

"She has to blow dry and set her hair, and then get her gown from the

cleaners on deck seven," the yeoman, a new guy named Piker, explained.

He made some adjustments on the controls as he idly fantasized beaming

Scotch to the center of Fagotron.

"Goddamn women," Scotch grumbled. "Praise "Bob" I'm queer," he

thought to himself.



The desperate fight was over. The four were bound hand and foot,

and laid at the base of an enormous, polished metal dildo projecting

three feet perpendicularly from the floor.

"Well, boys, I bet ya'll can guess how I've decided for you to die

real slow and horrible-like," Lilly gloated.

"Scotch!" screamed the hysterical captain. "You bastard! Scum!

Where the hell are you, you son of a bitch!"

"Him first," said Lilly, giggling maniacally as she pointed to Lt.


The homos who still had their fingernails intact from the fight lifted

the lieutenant and pulled his pants down as they raised him over the

huge phallus. He blubbered like broken man, and begged for mercy.

"Oh, come on," laughed Lilly, "take it like a man!"

Before the shocked eyes of the three senior officers, Solo was lowered

onto the gigantic artificial penis. He screamed like a clumsily

butchered hog and passed out cold, his bare buttocks now resting flush

on the floor. Blood gushed from his impaled asshole.

Even Mr. Bock turned a paler green at the horrifying sight.

Just then, Commander Scotch at last materialized with Lt. Swahili, who

was dressed as if for the Governor's Ball on Lesion Major.

"What in the name of hell..." began Scotch, taking in the incredible


"You die!" shouted Lilly, starting for Scotch with her retractible

fingernails in killing position. She stopped suddenly, only just then

realizing that the person next to him was not one of her cross-dressed

cronies. "Aiee!" she screamed, "A fish! A woman!"

Scotch followed his instincts and ducked behind Swahili, keeping

her between himself and the horrific apparition dressed like

Frederick's of Hollywood on Rigelian LSD.

Captain Voyde didn't waste his chance. He rolled himself

toward the three combatants and tripped Lilly with his tied feet. It

was over that fast. Lilly tottered a moment on her ridiculously high

heels, arms windmilling wildly, then she fell onto Lt. Swahili. With

a hideous curse and a hissing sound, Lilly melted into the floor,

leaving only a tarry black puddle and a pink feather boa.

The other sickos, seeing that their queen was dead, scurried

from sight like cockroaches when the kitchen light snaps on.




Back Aboard the Doorprize


"Well, gentlemen," said Captain Voyde, gratefully dragging off his

first smoke in hours, "it seems we have survived yet another adventure

on a strange world, though I have to admit it got pretty dicey,


"Yeah, all except poor Solo," said Dr. Mcgoy, his hemorrhoids still


"Yeah, poor Solo," said the captain, exhaling a stream of blue-grey

smoke thoughtfully. "Yeah, it really is too bad. Especially when you

remember that regulations require me to report to his family the exact

circumstances of his death."

"Can you imagine the looks on their faces when they read that?" asked

McGoy solemnly.

"Aye, I certainly can!" said Commander Scotch, as all four officers,

even Mr. Bock, joined in uproarious laughter.





Rogue scholar and Unpredictable Pain in the Ass of alt.slack