Hello. You probably all know who I am. I sleep standing
up, like a horse.
I also wear flexible transparent aluminum panties, so that my unusually prominent vulva does not look like a huge camel’s toe through my clothes. I don't wash these panties, ever. My vaginal secretions are instead absorbed into the metal and do not become a hygiene problem. They do, however, accumulate perpetually in terms of aroma, a fact which may explain why some of the crew seem to become aroused when I enter a room. I often detect dilations of pupils and engorgements of erectile tissue upon entering the Bridge or the Mess Hall.
I also wear a bra made of flexible tritanium in order to hold up my unprecedented breasts and to prevent my often-erect nipples from showing through my clothes like twin plasma jets.
I was assimilated by the Borg at a tender age and had cortical implants placed in my skull. It was extremely painful, but my biggest pain is knowing that I inflicted similar pain upon countless others and never got punished for it. I need to be punished. I have never yet been punished. That is my core problem.
To make matters worse, I act haughty all the time. I treat the other crew members as if they were beneath me, which, due to my height and the fact that I am the only person on board who wears heels, they literally are. I set absurdly high standards for myself due to my feelings of guilt, and then I expect everyone else to live up to those same standards. Few of them do. Maybe Janeway does, but she is my Captain. Sometimes I think she wants me to tie her up and fuck her with a strapon, but it would probably be against StarFleet Regulations to fuck your Captain mental. Too bad. She deserves it.
Tuvok would probably make an acceptable mate, but he is faithful to his Vulcan wife. Even when he went through Pom Far, he didn’t knock on my door. Harry Kim might be acceptable, but I scared him off when I told him to “Take off your clothes. I want to explore my human side.” Apparently those words did not constitute acceptable foreplay. That leaves Tom and Belanna, but they are married. I think I would prefer Belanna – she would probably be wild in bed, even dangerous. I enjoy danger. And getting it on with Chakotay would be ridiculous. He would probably start chanting something about his Spirit Guide while I was grinding my pussy into his facial tattoo. Too distracting. And Kneel-Licks – don’t even go there. It’s not worth it. Those whiskers would probably tickle me to death. I am not afraid of death, but I don’t want to die laughing. There is a risk that rigor mortis would freeze my face in that position, and I would spend eternity, buried in space, with an unattractive grin on my face. How atypical.
That leaves crew members other than the senior staff. That would
be slumming. Besides, many of them have already formed a negative
opinion of me due to my already-mentioned haughtiness and high expectations.
So, what’s a gal to do who’s got a body that won’t quit and a sex drive to match it? As I believe I once said, in a former life, “Resistance is futile.” I’ve got to get off somehow. My problem is, masturbation is too boring. I can adjust the sonic shower to get me off, or send my nano-probed to do the job, but the fact that my own programming was involved makes the results less than surprising. I need to be surprised.
Luckily, I am an excellent holodeck programmer. I am able to program in surprises. And, if I gag myself, I cannot give the program any commands. I tried programming various hypothetical partners whom I had sex with, but they became too predicatable, and I started to loathe their attentions. In researching erotic literature I discovered the concept of self-bondage. It seemed so familiar to me, having spent my entire adolescence strapped into a leather-and-metal outfit, and all of my somnolescent time in an alcove. The idea of being caught in self-bondage was particularly enthralling. I decided to write that possiblity into my holo-program. Janeway or Belanna or some other senior officer with the authority to do so would burst in upon my program to request my services with some warp-thingie or other. They would be shocked, then amused, and finally aroused by my predicament, which they would not help me with. They were be so realistic, with randomized dialogue and attitudes, that I would have no way of knowing whether I really had been interrupted.
Well, today I ran my program for the first time. I had an entire day off, so I scheduled a 12-hour holodeck session. As I had actually never used the holodeck for recreation before, I had plenty of time accumulated for my use. And I had a maniacally evil program for myself to suffer through.
I entered the holodeck, stripped off my outer garment, and then removed
my tritanium bra and transparent aluminum panties. My nipples were
already erect and my pussy was starting to secrete. I turned the program
on, and immediately a dungeon appeared, complete with damp stone walls
and a floor with a large drain in the middle. Over the drain were
four wooden 4x6 blocks, two hanging from the ceiling, and two bolted to
the floor, in the form of a St. Andrew’s cross (an X) missing the middle.
On a table beside it was a bright red latex bondage hood with a pump-gag
for the mouth and a second tube leading out of the mouth which was attachable
to a second tube dangling from a two and ½ gallon empty scientific-looking
glass beaker suspended from the ceiling. The hood had two breathing
holes for my nostrils and no other openings except its neck and the tubes
going into the mouth.
Next to the hood were a pair of large adjustable nipple clamps. These I put on first, adjusting them for maximum effect. Each had a ½ pound fishing weight attached to it.
Next I put on the bondage hood, which was powdered for that purpose,
and blindly attached the feeding tube to the dangling tube, and pumped
up the gag, causing a tough rubber bag to inflate in my mouth to the point
where I could not speak, but could still swallow. I was now blind. Also,
there was no way could I say the words “Computer – end program” now.
I reached up to where the upper wooden 4x6’s, and unbreakable Clingon Ptak-leather straps closed over my wrists and buckled and locked. I spread my legs to reach the lower blocks and my ankles were immediately restrained as well. Until the program terminated in 12 hours, or until someone in the holodeck said “Computer – end program” I would be helpless. Resistance was now futile.
The program now began a bewildering array of techniques designed to bring me close to orgasm without allowing me to actually achieve climax. I had fiendishly told the program to monitor my respiration, neural activity, and galvanic skin tension to determine my exact erotic state. At this point I already had goosebumps all over my unusually large gluteus maximi. But exactly what the program would do, I did not know.
Aural stimulation commenced with the sound of people having sex. Sounds of licking, sucking, and moaning began to insinuate their way into my consciousness. In fact, they were being generated by the program through the actual vibration of the latex covering my ears, so the sound was directed at me from the inside of the hood.
Next, I felt the unmistakable sensation of feathers all over my body.
Holograms, of course, can be programmed to be either completely solid, or to allow objects to pass through them. Such objects can include other holograms. In other words, the program had created countless feathers which were solid only exactly where they touched my skin. That way, literally seven million long quill-type feathers were able to contact my skin without interfering with each other’s access. covered head The feathers were even able to pass through the latex hood and the wooden blocks, which were solid enough to me, in order to tickle my scalp, face, wrists, and ankles. The tickling of my eyelids, which were perforce closed due to the pressure of the hood itself, was particularly erotic, as were the feathers I felt in my ears. I had goosebumps on my goosebumps, and my vaginal secretions began to run down the inside of my inner right thigh. My respiration began to increase in frequency.
Aware of what was in store for me, and of the futility of resistance, I nonetheless attempted to think non-sexual thoughts and to ignore the sensations streaming in from literally every skin receptor in my nervous system. I attempted to calculate the distance to the nearest stellar anomoly based on the time elapsed since I had entered the room. Having no functional internal chronometer since my de-assimilation from the Borg upon joining Voyager’s crew (the Doctor had removed it), I was unable to make significant progress on this project.
Apparently reading my mind, through my physical readouts, the program began to escalate in intensity. It had now changed its seven million feathers into one hundred apparently female mouths and tongues. It seemed that each area of my body, measuring one inch wide by four inches tall, was assigned a tongue now. That is, every area except my vagina. I was unable to concentrate on anything other than the two tongues which were licking the areas between my inner thighs and my labia majora. All of the tongues were acting with a single slow rhythm, bottom to top, a pause, and then bottom to top again. Someone with a preposterouly long tongue – I estimated seven inches past their lips – was penetrating my anus with the same rhythm.
The aureoles of my breasts were being suctioned into two mouths with incredible power and no need to breathe or rest. Had there been that one missing tongue on my vagina and clitoris I would have reached a climax immediately. Instead, my breathing became ragged and uneven.
The rhythm of the tongues began to vary from slow to fast, always working with a perfect synchronicity which would have been impossible for real persons to achieve. My gasps came in and out of my nostril holes at a rate of precisely ten times their cycle of lick, pause, and lick, conjoined with the anal tongue’s rhythm of slow in, rapid out, and slow in, and the breast-sucking mouths’ rhythm of slow pull in, quick release, and slow pull in (combined with tongue flicks on the nipples throughout).
This was where, however, the program got particularly devious. It began to produce punishments for me beyond those of my nipple clamps, which of course did not deter the holographic mouths one bit.
I was now being flogged with deerskin cats. At first, so gently that I felt only a puzzling breeze, the flogging occurred simultaneously all over my body, passing through the holographic female mouths and tongues, and striking my skin simultaneously with the pause between licks. Being blind, I had imagined actual people licking me to produce these sensations; had such been the case, the blades of the cats-of-nine-tails could not have passed through the backs of their heads to strike my goose-bumped epidermis.
The contact with the blades increased gradually intensity until it held a true sting, but was not intense enough to break the skin (due to the holodeck safeties, which were still in effect). This produced the effect of convincing each area of my body that it was under attack. The body’s response to an attack to the skin, is, of course, to dilate the capillaries in order to increase the blood supply to the injured area. This produces the visual effect of a blush, commonly seen in a spanking as twin reddened gluteus maximi. Now, the effect of more blood on any cell is to increase its efficiency in response to the increase in cellular food. That included, more or less inadvertently, the nerve cells which had receptors on my skin. They started firing at a rate exactly seven times normal. Some of those nerve cells were pain receptors, which increased the sensation of pain. But others were specifically designed as erotic receptors. These were concentrated mainly in my poterior, my pelvis, and my breasts, but they were also all over my body, which was, remember, still getting licked in perfect rhythm with the punishment.
It finally dawned on me that resistance was futile. I began to attempt the reverse – to attain orgasm and escape my frustration in that way. I pushed back my ass into the virtual rim-job in rhythm with its penetration of my generous posterior. It occurred to me that, had a real person been performing the analingus, I might have crushed their face like a grape between my cheeks with their mighty contractions. What a way to terminate a lifespan, I thought. But, while I felt a virtual face there, it resisted my contractions perfectly and continued to insinuate itself into my anus with its absurdly long and strong tongue. It also maintained a ring of perfect suction around my rictus which threatened to pull my insides out, but of course did not.
The fact that every part of my skin was now lubricated by holographic saliva made the sting of the cats more poignant. I was now desperate to cum, and I had been in bondage no more than forty minutes, by my estimate!
This was where an unusual feature of the program kicked in. It was programmed to notice when any of the female officers used the toilet facilities on the ship. Normally, urine is reclaimed through a process similar to the food replicators but in reverse: the matter is transformed back into energy. Now, ignoring the feces, all officer-rank female urine would be transported by the receptacles to the glass beaker suspended over my head. A valve clamped to the hose would ensure that the urine would enter my mouth at a trickle. This was not holographic urine, of course, but the real thing, removed from the ships toilets and transported to the beaker. This was part of my punishment. I had not programmed the session to do this, but had asked it to think of the most humiliating things possible, and to inflict me with them. As each person’s urine was transported to the beaker, the program elected to announce (in that same computer voice Star Fleet has used since Nurse Barrett donated her voice to science) the name of that person by again vibrating the rubber covering my ears.
The first female officer to urinate on board during my holodeck session was Katherine Janeway. Her urethra had discharged a pungent stream of warm, almost hot, liquid with a strong brackish flavor. As it entered my mouth at a trickle, I was able to appreciate its taste the way a sommelier appreciates a fine wine. It flowed around and past the inflated rubber gag in my mouth and I was able to swallow it on a regular, rhythmic basis as it reached my tonsils. So that is what Captain’s piss tasted like!
I was actually distracted by Janeway’s urine so much that I temporarily forgot the licking and whipping I was undergoing. Sensing this, the computer created a virtual person to slap my face. Again, the holographic latex was penetrated by the new holographic entity and I felt the actual flesh of a hand I sensed to be the Captain’s slapping me. In Janeway’s voice, I heard “Seven. I’m ashamed of you. Is this what you call exploring your human side? I never expected you to be a slut!”
Simultaneously, the whipping was replaced by what I instantly recognized to be pinwheel anaesthesiometers. Steel wheels with spikes on hubs at the end of steel handles were rolling firmly all over my body with the exception of my eyelids. The tongues continued, but increased their frequency by a factor of seven. Rather than a slow lick up, a pause, and then another slow lick up, I experienced a fast lick, a pause almost too brief to sense, and then another one. The pinwheels were particularly firm on the underside of my buttocks and the ridges of my labia majora. Finally, I experienced my first contact on my clitoral hood – one of the prickly pinwheels was moving side to side and up and down across it with a most distracting intensity.
Now, I thought, as I swallowed another trickle of liquid which had only moments ago been inside my Captain, now I ought to be able to attain physical release through mental concentration on the clitoral area and the by now familiar tongue inside my anus. I came very close, but the computer sensed this and ceased all activity other than the trickle of urine, without warning.
I finally tried to extract myself from my bonds, in order to reach down and finish the job manually. Again, futile. The Ptak-leather was holograpic, and even stronger than real Ptak-leather would have been. I shook in frustration and emitted an undignified moan. Again, my face was soundly slapped on both cheeks, and Janeway said “You don’t deserve to cum. Just drink my pee and suffer, Seven! You’ve been teasing my crew since you got on board – now it’s time you experienced some sexual frustration yourself! Goodness knows I have, like everyone else, when you enter a room!”
I blushed inside my hood, and all over my body to hear the truth of this accusation. In possession of a fantastic body, I had denied it to all and sundry, yet had constantly positioned myself so that my breasts and posterior were in prominent display. Combined with the accumulated pheromones released by my transparent aluminum panties (now on the stone floor of my dungeon), my posture and haughty attitude had driven most of the crew to frantic masturbation sessions at the end of their shifts. Meanwhile, I had denied myself that same release since attaining puberty in a Borg maturation chamber. I was, to use an expression, ripe.
I began to hang limp from my bonds in defeat. I was sexually excited and could do nothing about it. I began to fellate the rubber ball filling my mouth. There was still urine trickling through my mouth and, being blind, I had no idea when it would all be inside my stomach.
The computer began to stimulate me again, this time with hands. I felt apparently human flesh gently grazing my skin all over with the exception of two hands that had been sheathed in latex. One had been lubricated, and was inserting two unusually long fingers up my posteriour. The other was a dry latex glove, and was inserting itself into my vaginal canal, which needed no lubrication whatsoever. A third hand was pinching my clitoris from above, firmly, and two more were tweaking my nipple clamps – my nipples were truly sore, but had more or less fallen asleep to the pain until now.
I drank down another long swallow of pungent Janeway and prepared myself as best I could for this new onslaught. Now, someone was sucking my toes as well. Being holographic, ten virtual individuals were able to suck on my toes without getting in each other’s way. Again, they were in perfect synchronicity and began with a slow rhythm.
Finally, the program began to spank me. Bare handed spanks (holographic hands feel no pain) fell simultaneously on both cheeks, hard, striking the underside of my gluteus maximi. I tried to move out of the way but, again, resistance was futile. Something about the warmth and physical intimacy of a human hand was stimulating me even more than the whipping had. Although some part of me knew that no one was present, I was giving in to the fantasy of being soundly punished for my crimes and my attitude.
Around this time I swallowed the last of Captain Janeway’s liquid excretions. I was starting to relax and feel a little more comfortable with my state of excitement when a vibrator made contact with my clitoris and surprised me. Immediately I switched from trying to just enjoy my state to trying to get off, quickly, before the program removed this wonderful stimulation. Like my sonic shower, the vibrator seemed to surround my entire clitoral shaft and hood. I got a clitoral erection immediately, just as if someone were sucking my clitoris into their mouth. I began rocking my pelvis back and forth, not to escape but to intensify the physical sensation. Unfortunately, after approximately 49 seconds, the program removed the stimulis.
Apparently, just then, Lieutenant Commander Belanna Torrez took a moment to urinate. Immediately, a new supply of warm, steaming female urine appeared in the beaker connected to my mouth, and the former contents of her bladder began filling my mouth. I knew it was hers because, again, the voice of Nurse Chappel sounded in my ears to tell me who the urine donor was.
Warmer, and perhaps a bit saltier than Captain Janeway’s urine, Belanna’s perhaps reflected her half-Klingon heritage with its earthier taste. How humiliating, I thought, as I swallowed a second mouthful of Belanna’s outpourings.
Then the tongues started up again, or what it the feathers? It is difficult to objectively recall my torments in the proper order. At one point I experienced the pinwheel anaesthesiometers, the tongues, the hands, and the feathers all simultaneously, combined with a strong vibrating artificial phallus that was inserted into my rectum. The program also managed to insert a tongue into the same orifice at the same time, which I may say was unsettling to my composure. I began to wag my posterior from side to side, for no logical reason that I can elucidate now but apparently because it felt good.
Lost on a plateau of arousal, I came close to a climax not once, not ten times, but perhaps a hundred times before I heard the sound of the holodeck doors opening. This was supposed to be part of the program, to trick me, but I noticed that the sound was muffled by the latex over my ears, unlike the other sounds, including the moaning and so on, which were still being generated to keep me aroused.
Perhaps someone really had entered my program! True, senior officers had the command codes to override the privacy lock I had put on the door. But who could it be?
“Arch” I heard through the latex, and was able to determine the speaker
as Belanna Toreez herself.
The Arch gave Belanna a programming interface to my self-torture. I distantly heard the tones of programming keys being touched and a few mumbled verbal commands. Next, I deduced that the valve on the hose from the beaker had been opened as a torrent of Torrez flowed into my mouth. Suddenly I had to gulp, as best I could, to keep up with the flow of warm half-Klingon urine.
In about one minute it was over. She must have a large bladder, I thought, as I polished off the last of the beaker.
Through my hood, I made out the voice of Torrez instructing the program to “rotate bondage apparatus and subject 90 degrees and situation on the floor, face up.” I felt myself being lifted and angled to the specified position. Then I heard “Delete bondage hood, gag, beaker, and transporter interface” and suddenly my face was exposed. There stood Belanna, dressed in red thigh-high latex hose, red latex garter belt, and a red latex underwire bra. “You slutty Ptakk!” shouted Belanna, “How dare you steal my urine?!”
“Computer – Freeze Program” I said, to determine whether this was a real Belanna. To my acute dismay, she did not freeze. “I took the liberty of changing the comands to freeze and terminate this program,” Belanna said, “and I have booked some time at the end of your session of my own.” “What…” I began to sputter, uncharacteristically nonplussed, but Belanna said “Be quiet or I’ll gag you again.”
“You should have realized,” Belanna continued, “that an Engineer would recognize the transportation of her own urine and be able to determine its destination. Once I realized where it had gone, I found out who was using that holodeck and what the program was doing. Then I dressed up in an outfit that Tom likes to worship and came down here to give you hard time.”
She strode over to me and straddled my face. “Now,” Belanna said, “ I want to hear you beg me to let you lick my beautiful hot pussy with your worthless slave-tongue!”
End of Part One