Walkies
By Sazzy
August 2008
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Pairing: J/7
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: They’re not mine, I’m
just playing with them for a little bit.
There’s some talk of self pleasure and a minor bit of kinkiness, but
really it’s not scary. This is a bit more smutty and plot-less than I might normally write, blame
everyone at the VC forum for that, perverts that they are. I was sweet and innocent before they
corrupted me. Oh, and it contains all
female action if that wasn’t abundantly obvious, so you best look away now if
that’s not your thing.
Thanks: To Flic for taking
time out from writing Harry Potter smut to beta read this for me – I owe you a
couple of feral gins ;)
Summary: This is
the result of a dare to write a fic based on a picture
of two VC crew members manipped into a rather
compromising position. To make it more
interesting for everyone else I’ve converted the parties involved into Janeway
and Seven, and in fact it’s only vaguely related to the manip
(so sue me!) This fic
assumes that Janeway and Seven are already in a relationship (it’s only a short
drabble and I really couldn’t be arsed making it a first timer as well). It’s set some time during later season seven.
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“I fail to see the purpose
of this, Captain.”
I give a sigh. “Just humour me and put the collar on, Seven.”
She gives me another
uncertain glance before looking down at the studded object in her hands like it
should be assimilated with extreme prejudice rather than worn.
“Will it help if I
show you some of my accessories?”
I ask, partly because I want to put her at ease and partly because I
just want to feel the leather on my skin.
My fingers twitch impatiently at the thought.
“That would be
acceptable,” she answers in her usual understated way. Luckily I’ve learnt the real translation of such
statements over the past few years, which goes something along the lines of…I
would really, really like to see that, so much so that when I do I will rip
your clothes off and fuck your brains out.
Well, the actual fucking part was a recent addition, but I’m certain she
was thinking about it long before we ever did it. I know I was.
Before my mind dives directly to the bedroom I remind myself of why
we’re here. There’ll be plenty of time
for that later.
“Why don’t you set up
the holo-imager while I get them?” I suggest, moving
towards the replicator.
I steal a glance over
my shoulder and notice she has at least acceded to that request. Her back is turned, the glow from the planet
we’re orbiting radiating through the window of my quarters and right through
the shirt she’s wearing. If I stare hard
enough I can just make out the curve of a breast, giving a tantalising hint at
what’s below the material. I knew there
was a reason I asked her to put the shirt on.
The sturdy leather
collar has been placed on the coffee table for now, but she’ll give in
eventually; she always does. The
objecting is all part of the game, but we both know who wears the pants round
here. Or more often than not who starts
off wearing the pants before they quickly get discarded on the floor. They’re firmly on for now though. In fact I am still wearing my entire
uniform. It feels oddly arousing to be
defiling it this way, naughty, forbidden.
If only they could see me at Starfleet Headquarters now.
Lost in thought, Seven almost catches me out as she finishes up placing the
imager on a tripod. However, I’m well
practiced in the art of watching and not being discovered. All those hours staring at her regenerating
have stood me in good stead. I’m focused
on the replicator by the time her eyes fall on my back.
Swinging round, I hold
the freshly produced items, my nerve endings tingling in anticipation. “Just a little something
for me to wear.”
I watch her as I
slowly pull on the gloves, deliberately sliding each digit into the snug-fitting
black leather. Her blue eyes are
mesmerised and I note the way her throat bobs slightly as she swallows
hard. I know how she feels. My hands are hot inside the black leather,
wanting to be put to use. It’s all I can
do to stop myself throwing everything to the side and taking her then and there
on the carpet. Later, I remind myself
again.
I take a deep breath
to try and bring my raging desire under some form of control for the time being. It really doesn’t help that the white shirt
is in fact the only thing she has on. My
eyes keep drifting downwards, to the ridiculously
long, smooth legs emerging from the hem which is teasingly just that bit too
low to reveal anything. I suppose staring at her legs at least makes a
difference from where my eyes usually end up in her presence.
“And I need one more
thing,” I manage to say evenly having ordered the final item from the
replicator. The glow of materialisation
shines off metal links as it appears.
When I turn this time I offer a feral grin, dangling the leash from my
gloved hands, toying with it. “Now are
you going to put that collar on or do I have to punish you?”
Part of me wants her
to refuse, just to see what happens next, but after a couple of seconds of
holding my gaze she reaches down to the table.
“I believe it would be best if you affixed it.”
I’m over in a shot,
coming round behind her and pushing her blond hair aside so I can fasten it round
her neck. She tilts her head to the side
for me to make it easier for me. So much for objecting.
The black leather is a stark contrast to her pale flesh. I run my own leather-clad fingers round the
collar, brushing her skin. The shudder I
feel at the touch only serves to stoke the fire building inside me. I lean into her back, pressing up against her
spine, my breasts squashed between us as I slide my hands round her body.
She gives a little
gasp, one she obviously thinks I’ve missed as she tries to speak. “As pleasantly stimulating as this endeavour
is, I still fail to understand its purpose.”
Pleasantly stimulating? Another coded message if ever there was one. The way her nipples are pushing hard against
her thin shirt is evidence of just how pleasant it is. Pretty fucking pleasant I’d say. Before my mind wanders further to how I could
make it more pleasant by sucking on those nipples, I answer her question.
“It’s for wanking material.”
“Wanking?”
She turns in my arms,
a curious look coming across her face.
No doubt she’s accessing her internal database of Borg knowledge. Do the Borg wank I
wonder? Perhaps the Borg Queen herself
likes a bit of a four-fingered-frutter when she’s all
alone in her chamber at night. Maybe
I’ll ask her next time I see her; it might make a more interesting topic of
conversation than the merits of resistance.
However, by Seven’s continued look of confusion
I can only deem that the Borg considered the colloquial phrase surplus to
requirements. Time to
get graphic.
“Masturbating? Frigging?
Brushing the beaver? Pampering
the pussy? A night in
with girls?”
I could go on at
length, but I’ve managed to get her to blush.
Of course that was my intention.
It’s just too damn cute.
“I am familiar with
the term masturbation,” she says with an air of indignation that only turns me
on further, “However, I fail to see the connection to…this.” She pulls disdainfully at the collar.
“What do you think
about when you masturbate?”
Another
blush. Two for two.
“Who says I do?”
I just raise my
eyebrows at that one. Does she really
think I was born yesterday? She gives a
small disgruntled sigh at being so transparent.
“Just answer the
question,” I prompt, fixing her with my best information eliciting stare, level
eight at least. As expected it has the
desired effect.
“You.”
My stomach gives a
small flip. Of course I’d hoped that was
the answer, but it still does funny things to my
insides to hear it confirmed.
“That’s good to know,”
I answer smugly, “No visions of anyone else then, Chakotay maybe?”
She makes a face,
horrified to be reminded of that particular lapse in judgement. Thank goodness I was nosy enough to go
poking through her holodeck program or she might still be spending her time with
an artificial Chakotay (though how anyone could tell the difference from the
real thing is beyond me) and I might still be spending my nights with the Vibro-Dildo Deluxe Mk II.
Anyway, that’s enough thinking
about the past, onto the present and back to the point.
“Just as you think
about something while pleasuring yourself…” I pause for a moment, getting a sudden
erotic vision of that scene; Seven frantically fingering herself in her
alcove. I need to finish this
conversation quickly before my knickers get any wetter “…so do I. Only occasionally it can be useful to have
some visual stimulus too.”
She’s finally twigged,
thank fuck, her look changing from mildly puzzled to intently curious. It’s all in the eyebrows.
“You will look at
pictures of this when you are masturbating?”
I meet her eye as I
answer, knowing she’s also trying to get me to blush, seeking to embarrass me
with her bluntness. She’s going to have
to try a bit harder. “Yes.”
The left eyebrow
quirks again, raising the implant above it.
“Maybe I should have a copy too?”
I grin and click the
lead into place on the collar, tugging it slightly so that her body brushes up
against me, a barely contained nipple grazing my arm. “You can have as many copies as you want, in
as many positions as you want, but first…”
I lower my voice to its most husky level, my words carrying the
undercurrent of authority, “get…on…your…knees.”
She complies,
deferring power to me as she kneels before me.
My gloved hand tightens round the leash, leather creaking. With the other I activate the control for the
holo-imager.
It rattles off the pictures in quick succession as I drag her round the
room, her shirt falling about her waist exposing everything to me as I stand
behind her. Eventually I can stand it no
longer.
“Enough images,” I
growl.
She attempts to get
up, but I stop her with a hand on the back.
“No, stay there.”
I’m not letting her
get out of this that easily, not when I have her where I want her. I run my gloved fingers across her bare
arse. It’s just too tempting. Drawing my hand back I smack the inviting
flesh. The slap rings out round the room
and she emits a small gasp. She
shouldn’t have done that, it just makes me want to do it again.
The skin is already
red where my fingers hit, four marks of my ownership. I crack my left hand across the other cheek,
giving her a matching pair. She gives a
little grunt this time. Fuck, I want
her. Now. I yank the leash, bringing her round on her
knees so I can present my hands to her.
“Take these off for me,” I order, “with your teeth.”
Wordlessly she clamps
her mouth over the leather coating my index finger and gives it a sharp tug
before stopping, the glove still on my hand.
She holds the leather between her teeth, lips curving into a slight
smile. I can see the challenge in her blue eyes, she’s taunting me. She knows how desperate I am to touch her;
she’s making me wait.
God damn it! I’m meant to be in charge here! Bloody tease!
“Do it, now!” I demand.
That one always works. No one
from the lowliest cadet at Starfleet to the Borg Queen herself can oppose the
‘do it’. Not that I’ve tried it on the
Borg Queen…yet.
Seven is powerless
beneath it persuasive force too. She
tugs the glove the rest of the way off, making short work of the second one as
well. I flex my fingers for a second,
the air cooling the sweat coating them.
I know a way to make them warmer again.
Flicking off the leash
and gripping the collar round her neck with my left hand, I position myself behind
her, sliding my other hand down over her buttocks. I can’t help gasping at how wet she is. The inside of her thighs are slick with the evidence
of her arousal, inviting me to push first one, then two, then three fingers
inside her. She rocks back into my hand,
groaning. I’m so wet I can feel it
seeping into my uniform trousers.
I lean over her, my
hand tugging on her collar so she is forced to look back at me.
“Oh…please…” she
moans.
I slowly twist my
fingers, feeling the shudder through her body.
“Please what?”
“Please, Kathryn…”
Good try, using my
name. It always makes me hot and liable
to relent, but not this time.
“Say it!” I demand.
She knows what I want. It’s all part of the game, part of the
thrill.
“Please, Kathryn….fuck
me!”
I grin at the
profanity issued from her lips. The
dampness between my legs is turning into a flood. “Well, why didn’t you just say so?”
I plunge my fingers
into her again. It’s so easy, my hand
soon dripping with her juices. She rocks
back and forth, knees scraping on the carpet in her urgency for me to fill
her. My fingers pump in and out, rhythm
increasing in time with her thrusts.
“Yes, Kathryn! Oh…yes…yes….”
Her uninhibited cries
echo round my quarters, filling my ears, driving me to the verge myself.
Shit! I’m going to come before her at this rate. Time to get dirty.
A few more rapid
thrusts and I can feel she’s getting close, her legs
are starting to tremble, her breathing becoming shallower and shallower. I sneak my index finger out as I continue to
ride her, dropping it just that bit lower.
It only takes the one flick over her clitoris.
Screaming to the room
as her orgasm hits, she cries a single word.
“Kathryn!”
She trembles against
my hand as the crest of climax consumes her, judder after judder until her head
droops, breathless pants issuing from her lips.
I slide out of her, letting go of the collar. My fingers are stiff where I’ve been gripping
it so tightly. The time for that game is
over now as she swings round to face me for the first time, rising to her feet.
When her eyes draw
level with mine, the mischievous glint tells me we’re not finished quite yet. She steps forwards, her breasts grazing mine
as she backs me up until I hit the wall.
I take a gulp of air, my throat so dry it hurts. Her hand falls between my legs, rubbing over
the material of my trousers.
“Oh, fuck!” She barely needs to touch me. I’m so close.
When she presses harder, catching my clitoris under the clothing it’s
too much. “Fuck, fuck…fuck!”
The last one is
screamed so loudly I’m surprised they don’t hear it up on the bridge. My hands grasp at her arms, looking for some
sort of anchor as my orgasm rips through me, raw in its abrupt intensity. Dimly I’m aware of the sound of something
ripping. Finally I manage to open my
eyes, offering an apologetic half-smile for the state of her shirt. One of the arms is hanging loosely off her
shoulder. Guiding her over to the couch
I collapse onto it. She’s still wearing
the collar, seeming to have forgotten as much, but I’m not going to say
anything for now. Maybe I’ll mention it
before she leaves, though it would be amusing to see the look on the senior
officers’ faces if she turns up to the weekly staff meeting wearing it.
Stifling a laugh at the
mental image, I glance at her. “So what
do you think about wrist restraints next time?” I suggest, “I saw some
interesting ones in the replicator patterns.”
Though God knows how they got in there.
Someone back in the Starfleet engineering department obviously had a bit
of an inner pervert they were indulging at the time it was programmed. Not that I’m complaining now. So many things to get through, so little
time. Only thirty or so years before we
make it back to the Alpha Quadrant; I don’t think it’s going to be enough.
She mulls it over, a
wicked look creeping across her face.
She leans in close, her full, red lips hovering tantalisingly close to
mine as her breath whispers out onto them.
“Only if I get to put them on you.”
I consider it for all
of two seconds. “All
right.” Don’t let it be said that
Captain Kathryn Janeway is anything but flexible…very, very flexible.