The Enterprise Parasite

It was a sight Kirk had never imagined possible, and hoped to never see again.

Surrounded protectively by the alien's many appendages, Spock crouched in front of its central body. His Starfleet uniform hung in tatters, blue and black shreds of fabric barely clinging to his lithe body. There was a faint sheen to his skin and impressively hairy chest, but whether it was sweat or the parasite's slime Kirk couldn't say. Spock's eyes, normally bright with wit and intelligence, were dull with the mind-numbing arousal the parasite inflicted on all its victims.

It was then that Kirk noticed that the parasite's largest tentacle, the one as thick as his own arm, had penetrated deep into Spock's insides. The person who valued control the most was now being controlled.

If he's still in there somewhere, this can't be good for him, physically or psychologically, especially not so soon after pon farr, thought Kirk. He wished McCoy were there to tell him if Spock would be okay—and as though parasite-Spock had read his thoughts, which wasn't unlikely with Vulcan telepathy, McCoy was dragged into view.

But the doctor was in no shape to give advice. Spread-eagled in the air by sturdy tentacles binding his wrists and curling up his legs, McCoy was almost unconscious from the sexual torture he had suffered. With a thin tendril wrapped tightly around the base of his cock to prevent him from ejaculating, McCoy had been groped and teased until he moaned and shivered uncontrollably at the slightest movement. At the same time, several other thread-like tentacles had slowly stretched and massaged his asshole until, glistening red wet with the parasite's natural lubricant, it was loose and open enough to fit a tribble-sized ball.

The sight of his close friend ravaged so thoroughly sent Kirk into a blinding rage. Literally blinding, as it turned out, for as he charged towards McCoy in order to tear the tentacles apart, the one acting as a cock ring surreptitiously withdrew and the breeze of Kirk's headlong rush pushed McCoy over the edge. Hearing the shout, Kirk barely had time to look up into McCoy's eyes, their light blue deepened and made sightless by involuntary lust, before all the pent-up cum came exploding out, the deluge of semen nearly asphyxiating the three of them in the process.

Before Kirk was able to wipe the semen from his face, he felt a powerful hand close about his arm and yank him to the floor with a heavy thud. Another hand roughly cleaned his face, and the first thing he saw when he finally opened his eyes was Spock's dick, dark green and hugely erect. Still restrained by Spock's Vulcan strength, Kirk could only watch, feeling oddly detached, as his hands were forced up and around the twitching cock. If he craned his neck, he could almost see Spock's face—impassive as usual, but now with a touch of despair.

It's starting to look as though the only way to save him is to...to, well, fuck him, Kirk thought. The sex wasn't problematic; after all, as he'd discovered with many females, it was a highly effective way to defuse a situation. The issue was Spock himself—would he be able to file it away as a necessary thing, when all was said and done?

And, thought Kirk with a sigh, unable to ignore the thrill that ran through him as he began slowly rubbing his hands up and down the ridged Vulcan cock, Do I want him to dismiss this as just...logical? There, I've admitted it. If I can, you must—so I'll get you out, or I'll die trying!