Commander Riker, Risan Love Slave

    Commander William Riker placed the last crate of vaccines at the planetary governor's feet and tapped his combadge. “Okay, Geordie, that’s the last of the medical supplies delivered. One to beam up.”

A harsh crackle of static burst over the communication channel briefly. “Sorry about that, Commander." Geordie's voice sounded uncharacteristically flustered. “We’re having problems with holodeck 4. It's affecting systems all over the ship, including communications.

“Anything you need help with?”

“I’ve got half of engineering chasing glitches but we’ve managed to isolate the cause - when you’re back, maybe you can tell me the Ferengi that sold you that Risa holosuite program,” said Geordie, his tone exasperated but light-hearted. “Alright, transporters are back online. I’ll have you out of there in no time.”

Riker knew something was wrong even in the hazy moments between as he cycled through the pattern buffer. Something was being taken from him, siphoned away. He was relieved to see the transporter pad appearing around him as he rematerialised, yet he felt… light… somehow hollow. As if his flesh was merely a figment.

He staggered for the transporter terminal, trying to ignore the sway in his juicy ass or the bounce of his pert, gravity-defying tits. The terminal was flickering and erratic but the data was clear enough. The atoms that had once construed the solid, 6’ 2” William Riker had never rematerialised. Instead they’d been routed out of the transporter buffer into the replicator system to be processed into food for the crew. The molecules that had once been his cock were, at that very moment, being repurposed as one of Deanna Troi’s chocolate sundaes on Ten Forward.

The transporter had replaced him with a new template. It was a face he recognised well even when its mouth wasn’t stretched around his cock. He was one of the nymphomaniacal sex puppets he’d been fucking the AI brains out of in the holodeck ever since they left DS9. A 4’9” risan girl, nothing more than a few grams of holomatter and photons held together by forcefields. His plump, fuckable lips, designed by holonovel artisans to provide maximum pleasure - shaped into an expression of horror.

So enraptured by his reflection, Riker didn’t hear the soft hiss of the door, or feel the gaze of the chief engineer drifting over his bare ass. “Another glitch.” Geordie rolled his eyes behind the visor, slapping his combadge. Computer, I’ve located another holocharacter loose in transporter pad 3. Erase it and return it to Risan Love Slave, Part 3.”

“Wait, Geordie, I’m -!”

The rogue holoprogram vanished in a wisp of holomatter. Geordie sighed and returned to work. Perhaps once he got Riker’s mess under control, he’d spend a few hours playing with that risan fuckpuppet. He'd certainly earned it.