Command and Control:
I cannot possibly express the exhilaration of the last few days. Oh, the simple joys from a day's honest labor. The measure of success in my chosen lifestyle is so often subjective. But a maintenance check is either correct or it is not. Replacement components are installed properly or they aren't. As colorful as my life has been, sometimes one pines for the clarity of black and white.
In my more corporeal days I would have considered rising before noon as uncivilized, yet here I was bright and early at 4 in the morning of the contrivance that is standard ship time. On my second day I cheated, disabling the subroutines that linked my internal cycles with that of Voyager's chronometer. I would still become fatigued over the course of my shift, but at least the jet lag was gone.
As was customary I first checked in with the chief officer on duty, Lt. Carey. Joe Carey found this shift a refuge from B'Elanna, and was a man who had been pussy whipped by the Lieutenant long before she ever put on the leathers. It was a condition made more pathetic because it was by accident. He was amiable, civil, even charming in a mundane way if it weren't clear that on some level his spirit had been crushed long ago. His only solace was his work. In deference to the man that once resided within the shell, I always endeavored to carry out his assignments pleasantly and efficiently.
This morning's checks brought me in contact with Ensign Harren, a man who, despite Captain Janeway's best efforts, still seemed more interested in theory than practice. I choose to conduct an experiment on Mortimer, waiting until we are alone at his station on Deck 15. As he checked over the padd I delivered, I flashed him, pulling my pants down over my hips and my tunic up to my neck. He got a good look as I ran my hands from my bush up to my breasts, squeezing them briefly for effect. His jaw dropped, a blank stare his only response. I pulled my top back down and turn about so that he got a better view of my ass when I bent over to hike up my pants. He was speechless, and I pretended nothing had happened. Now it was only a matter of seeing if that 'keen intellect' could resist the oncoming rush of hormones.
I also spent time with Gilmore, formerly Ensign Marla Gilmore of the U.S.S. Equinox; now with her disgraced comrades the only crew members lower in rank than myself. I will not discuss her appearance, personality or prospects as her affairs are of no interest of mine. There is, of course, a human being beneath the label, but her purgatory will not be ending during my watch. I treat her with the basic courtesy necessary to prevent drawing out our moments together any longer than required. My only observation is a professional one; that she suffers her sentence in reflective silence, an indication that she has grasped the nature of her sin, and endures it as the true penitent does.
Lt. Carey was partial to assigning me tasks considered too dull for most. This morning I was conducting a visual inspection of every chip, gel pack and conduit in the tertiary thruster subsystem. I suppose he believed that I would be immune to the lapses in concentration that made it so difficult for mere mortal engineers.
It was boring. You don't know how boring. My thoughts would wander, and I found myself reexamining the same component more than once. Fortunately, I am blessed with total recall, and could complete my work confident that I had indeed checked everything perfectly.
It was cleansing in a way, like when a slave is forced to engage in pointless manual labor for days. All the burdens of life are removed to be replaced by the Task, only the Task.
There are burdens in my simulated life, taxing me now as they had before. Watching and appraising my subjects, discerning their needs before they themselves are aware of them. Devising ever creative ways to meet their needs, skating the line between providing variety and sliding into the abyss of ever heightening expectations. And the most difficult of all, separating personal desire from professional detachment. Treading that narrow line is harder than all of the other demands physical or psychological that can be placed on a top.
But I lapse. Work is good, and not without its fringe benefits. This morning, that benefit is a Vulcan named Vorik. What can I say about Vulcans that hasn't been said by a hundred smutty writers before me. Tall, lanky, strong, brooding. All that pent up desire yearning to breathe free. Vorik was but a lad by Vulcan standards, lacking the experience of most, but not so well guarded in his emotions. From practice I've learned that Vulcans get more adept at hiding their inner desires as they get older. Younger ones try for mere stoic bravado. So it is with the boy. I've been curious about him ever since the Ponn far incident with B'Elanna.
Vulcans are well worth the effort. Aside from the more obvious aspects of strength and stamina, their obsession with details and protocols make them excellent slaves. I remember one, who when he finally came to terms with his submissive tendencies, strove to be humiliated constantly. I would parade him naked about the Club, ordering him to rut like an animal with whatever man or woman struck my fancy. He would often speak about his primitive lack of control, yet he never hesitated to utilize his magnificent member whenever I requested it.
I could sense similar possibilities in young Vorik. Close proximity to less 'rational' humanoids had begun the wheels in his brain turning about the alternatives to a life devoid of pure sensation.
First would be the destruction of his will. The lash would be useless. Physical discipline would seem the obvious expectation, and I had no interest wearing out my arm before it had an effect. No, the first step would be to demonstrate that he could lose control. After securely strapping him in place and displaying the implements of correction, I would surprise him with a blow job. I would touch and stroke and lick his skin until he had a fine erection, and then I would lavish attention on his member. No sentient male can resist oral sex when invoked with vigor and confidence. I would not waste time or effort with the subtler refinements, that would come later. My aim was to get him off, as quickly as possible, to show that I was the one in control of his pleasure. Once he understood that his Vulcan self control was meaningless in the face of certain... biological imperatives, he would be less resistant to studying their associated pleasures.
I could spend weeks just exploring that body, each discovery being shared for the first time by us both. After enough sessions, his self control would no longer be in denying me, but in denying himself between encounters. He was still young. I believe that with enough preparation I could make him beg for me to give him release. Actual sex, when it came, would be intense. I would allow Vorik to take me in my arms, to lay me on my back and drive home with all the intensity of his kind. On other days I would enjoy being the rider, but our first encounter would be about releasing his inner animal. I intended to enjoy every feral moment of it. Would he bite? Would he scream? In what position would he take me? How long before he pushed himself over the edge and emptied himself into me?
My ruminations were disturbed by the arrival of Lt. Torres, who checked her staff's progress and added some new assignments. She put a brave face on, but B'Elanna was clearly nervous about the situation. She chose to overcompensate, becoming a bitch on wheels. I was indifferent about the attitude she displayed to me, it was, after all, part of the fantasy. However, she was taking it out on everyone, poor Lt. Carey, Gilmore, even darling Vorik.
If there is a fault with my dear Kathryn, it is that she is too lenient with the whip. I have a deep appreciation for her sensual side, especially when she's purring under my touch. But this same love of pleasure makes her unwilling to take the steps necessary to ensure true obedience. B'Elanna should have been properly trained or she should have been dismissed within a month. That she was still showing such problems after six years is a disgrace.
It is not for one Mistress to second guess the techniques of another.
I will give the wench rope, bidding my time until appropriate. I'll let
her strut about with that cute ass and perky tits, and when the moment
is right, she'll find that there's more than one way to swing a paddle.
Fortunately, my duties were not limited to Engineering itself. I spent a few hours doing routine maintenance, wandering the corridors of Voyager fixing any of the 286,000 systems onboard. Ever wonder how many holograms it takes to change a lightbulb? Just one, as long as the lightbulb isn't a blood relative.
Thus I found myself in the Mess, fixing the gas jets on Neelix's stove. Neelix was a pleasant enough fellow. Most men that eager to please are expecting to get laid afterwards, yet he just wanted everything to be alright. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Tom and Harry, eating lunch and pretending not to stare. I decided to check all of the other systems in the Mess, making sure that every time I moved from one to another it was past their table. Eventually, the pretension that they were looking at something other than myself would collapse. Their's was an even less certain path than B'Elanna's, since although they outranked me, they were not part of the same chain of command. The prudent thing would be to ignore me, but being men, that was out of the question. Ah, the allure of the forbidden, the dangerous. I so love an audience.
Chakotay was, as always, a party pooper. Upon arrival, he quickly summed up the situation and quietly, properly, sent the boys away to their posts. No hiding for the Commander, no viewing from afar. He struck up a conversation at once. It was polite, it was casual, and it betrayed nothing of the warfare beneath the surface. What a masterpiece. He fell into the role without any prompting. He made no mistakes. He behaved as if I was who I appeared to be. He was courteous, giving me advice on the minutia of crew routines. He never acquiesced, never said anything inappropriate, never displayed any of B'Elanna's bravado. Rare is the slave who can maintain such control, and this man was doing all of it to spite me. It was at times like this I wished I could get Kathryn to share.
The Captain had called a staff meeting, and the Commander offered to escort me to it. B'Elanna and Seven were there as well as my dear Kathryn. She was relaxed in her chair, uniform correct, posture correct, magnificent. Her deftness in dealing with her subordinates, even the willful Chakotay was a joy to behold. Vanity wishes that I take credit for molding her into who she had become. But it was always her. Even in the beginning, before we met, she had the power.
The meeting was a routine matter, an update on the VR interface. Chakotay wasn't necessary. Frankly, I believe he only hung around in case an orgy broke out. The Commander is always willing to lend a hand. The Captain decided to allocate more of my time in the development of the interface, and ordered me to work alongside Seven for part of my shift. We were dismissed and went our separate ways. Chakotay stayed behind a moment. Ship's business, personal matters, a quick one on her desk, I couldn't tell which.
Seven and I went to Astrometrics. Engineering or the Holodeck would have been more efficient, but Seven enjoy her lair. We spent four hours checking my stimulus subroutines, ascertaining that they could be accessed, viewed and recorded. At noon, the lunch break arrived and Seven was on my menu. She readily agreed to my intentions and was quickly splayed nude upon the floor. A thorough spanking ensued, until both sets of cheeks were properly flushed. She made the most delightful noises went I dived between her legs. She tasted divine. As I lapped at her sensitive nub, her legs twitched uncontrollably and her voice rose and fell in a frenzy of erratic moans and screams. The first of her many releases encouraged me further, and I pressed on, prompting her into a rolling orgasm that lasted many many minutes.
She was allowed no rest. She was soon on her knees as I worked my Curzon appendage into her. My dear Kathryn may have had problems with this special ability, but Seven had no such cultural hang ups. All she knew is that she was getting a fine rodgering with a proper cock. I hammered her. She was covered in sweat, collapsing onto her elbows as she bore down on my strokes. Then she was allowed to test her oral skills. She had talent, and determination, but of course, she would get no release from me. Holographic cum is less filling than the real thing. Her jaw raw, and my pseudo member lubricated, I carefully inched my way into her lovely behind. That ass was created to be fucked. She lost her voice, merely panting, her ample chest heaving, her face lying against the deck. I felt her thighs quiver. I grabbed her by her hair, and pulled her up against me. I went to short irregular strokes as I gripped her erect nipples.
One hand slid down to the dripping wetness between her thighs, and I slid my fingers inside. I felt her convulse over them, tightening as I pushed as deep as I could. She collapsed against me, thoroughly spent, as was I. Holding her with one arm, I removed my fingers and placed them by her lips, where she licked them clean.
We spent the rest of our hour in each others arms. I stroked her
hair as she delicately licked each of my breasts in turn. Such a fine,
obedient creature. The lunch break over, we returned to work, and continued
to do calibrations on my sensor matrix.
Eventually, Seven had other tasks to attend to. I returned to Engineering and considered my lanky Vulcan crewmate. There is nothing like fine sex to focus the mind.
The first obstacle was to make him look on me as a sentient being and not merely as software. I considered the problem for a bit, then opened with an inquiry over sensory analysis. His answer was proper and short, until I worked in a reference to the Vulcan Disassociationist philosopher Samek. That got an eyebrow raised. I detest Samek, whose central premise was that all sensation was a distraction to pure thought. I expressed that sensor analysis was therefore an oxymoron. He felt compelled to respond, and a debate ensued, quiet in tone but intense in content. The end result was a draw, which meant I was winning the war if not the battle.
Mortimer had found a reason to come upstairs to Main Engineering. And although he couldn't stay long, he took every opportunity to glance in my direction. Someone made an aside about his lagging concentration and he blew them off, still maintaining his aloof pretensions. I can't stand hypocrites. No sex for him.
B'Elanna asked me to realign a field coil next to a live coolant line. Normally, the line would have to be drained, purged, the section sealed in a level three force field, and the engineers enclosed in full environmental suits, preferably all while the ship was in spacedock. In theory, I would face none of these problems.
By the time I climbed the Jefferies Tube below the coolant line, a crowd had gathered of all the crewmen who could sneak away from their duties. Sensibly, Lt. Torres had insisted that no one be allowed in the actual section the line was in, so they were all clustered about the base of the ladder. I began working the crowd even as I was climbing, swinging carefully from rung to rung, making sure my butt wiggled in all the right places. At the top, I carefully removed the mobile emitter and placed it on my ankle, keeping it from harm's way.
I took a moment to pause and consider the coolant line, examining the mounting brackets and technical inscriptions, remembering just where the field coil was. I took a last breath and stuck my body into the wall.
It was strange. With my upper body adjusted to be transparent, I couldn't feel the rush of coolant, but I could hear it my ears, a very disconcerting roar like a hurricane in a funnel. The images were stranger still. The radiation from the coolant was interpreted as light, giving a flexing, purplish glow. The section beyond, of course, was completely black, since there was no ambient illumination. I waved around in the darkness, no light or touch to guide me. I could, however, hear the coil buzzing to my right. Don't ask me how a photonic object with solidity set to zero can detect sound waves. I don't feel like discussing advanced holographic theory. Suffice it to say, that if you know the subject well enough for me to explain it, you'd already know the answer.
Thankfully, Starfleet thought to place a little blinking indicator next to the mechanism itself. In between the flashes I could finally see enough to get my bearings. My head brushed by the coil itself, and my entire body buzzed. For an instant, I felt numb all over. I knew better than to do that again. I began to twist my body into a position where I could actually do something. It was quite the balancing act. My head had to be in the same section the coil was, without actually touching, yet without my eyes being buried in a piece of machinery. My arms needed enough working space that I could solidify my hands. After a few minutes I gave up on binocular vision and just left my right eye tightly closed and submerged in the bulkhead.
It took about three tries to tweak the coil. Each attempt was followed
by my withdraw from the unit to check with the computer on its alignment.
Each time I went back in it was faster to get going, and the whole thing
was over in about ten minutes. After the last adjustment was finished
I gave the crew below a thumbs up and the Jjefferies Tube erupted in cheers.
I bowed once to the throng, then treated them to the sort of death dive
I haven't done since I worked my way through the Academy at a strip club.
I bent over backwards at the knees and slid straight down, head first, stopping
right at B'Elanna's eye level. I swung off the ladder with a flourish
and bowed again. She smirked despite herself, then chided me for showing
off. No skin. She wasn't going to have any skin left at all.
She immediately put me back to work, of course. One thing I must say in B'Elanna's favor is that she clocks more than her share of hours on the job. She would peek in on me from time to time, but usually I was alone to 'sweep up.' It was while I was going over the power output logs that the Captain called me. We exchanged pleasantries for a few moments when it became apparent that she was no longer on duty. I switched to a private channel and disconnected external audio. We were now able to continue our conversation uninterrupted and in complete privacy.
To outward appearances I was continuing my duties, as indeed I was. Inwardly, I was engaged in the most carnal of discussions. My dearest slave was instructed to relay her day, and her observations. She had speculated about my encounter with Seven, and I asked her to elaborate in detail. It varied in many points, but included some of such novelty that I decided to incorporate them at the next opportunity.
She had indeed allowed herself to be carried away by her lover in the Briefing Room, in a session of brief but glittering intensity. I determined that she enjoyed being taken while in uniform. To that end, she was ordered to touch herself shamelessly through her clothing. She was made to feel what others felt, what Harry or B'Elanna or Tom or Seven or Chakotay felt whenever they brushed a little to close or pressed an opportunity a little further. She was thorough, covering her ankles to neck. Inevitably, her sluttish nature consumed her, and she became obsessed with her breasts. I let her play with them awhile, until the moans became apparent over the channel.
I snapped her back to reality, and after the proper chasitizement, had her prepare her cabin for my arrival. She checked the room carefully that all was neat and squared away. She placed the many candles about the room and lit them. She laid out the implements that were to be at my disposal. I had her finally strip from her uniform, and consider her body in her mirror. I had her describe and touch each portion of her body in turn, making careful notes of her reactions. It was something I had made her do in the early days of her training. She was being made to relive it all, the associations making her more powerless. Even her tone became one of quiet submissiveness. It trembled, wavering, unsure. Soon, it would be for her only about the Task.
She still had her slave attire, which was clad one piece at a time. The collar was first, simple black leather, with a D ring at the front. There were bands for the wrists and ankles, each with a ring to ease in attaching her to whatever apparatus I required. A half bra, lifting her breasts while leaving the nipples exposed. The belly chain and nipple rings would only be received by my hand alone. The last was a sheer camisole, since sometimes anticipation was as useful for a Mistress as it was for a slave.
The output logs complete, I moved on to the clearing the buffers.
She had assembled a fine collection of feathers, brushes, dildos and plugs. I had her try each one in turn, never letting her get too involved with any single item, remembering which ones had the strongest effect. The two greatest choices was a five centimeter camel hair brush, and the twenty centimeter dildo. My Kathryn always liked them big. It was clear that she was getting close to the edge, and I could almost smell her passion from ten decks away.
I made her clean all of her toys and told her that I would be by in about half an hour. She was told not to touch herself in anyway until then, and suggested she finish up her personal files while she waited.
I wrapped up my days assignments and prepared to go. On my way I
again came across B'Elanna. I was now officially off duty. She wondered
what I had planned for the rest of the evening.
I drew close and whispered in her ear. "Right now I have the Captain's
wet box to attend to but you're welcome to draw a number."
She turned in surprise and shock. We looked each other squarely
in the eyes. We were locked this way for almost a minute, then B'Elanna dropped
to her knees, head bowed. I patted her sweetly and then whistled my way
out the door and off to my night's labors.