The Voyorgy Conspiracy

BY : Odon
Category: Star Trek > Voyager
Dragon prints: 13770
Disclaimer: See full disclaimer below.

Title: The Voyorgy Conspiracy

Author: Odon

Fandom: Star Trek Voyager

Pairing: Janeway/Seven, Doc/Torres, and a whole bunch of others.

Rated: NC-17.  Parody.

Summary: Parody of the episode "The Voyager Conspiracy".  Seven's latest experiment to improve her efficiency has unexpected consequences when erotic fanfiction is downloaded into her system.

Spoilers: Umm, let's see.  Vague references to "Cathexis", "Unforgettable" (though if you haven't seen these two don't worry, they're not worth watching anyway), "Resolutions", "Year of Hell", "Infinite Regress" - a whole bunch really.  Oh, and of course "The Voyager Conspiracy".

Warning: Contains explicit language and sexual content, including sex between women, and sex between women and holograms.  If this offends you (holophobia?), is illegal where you live, or you are under 18 years of age without access to a Borg maturation chamber please do not read any further.  There may also be some plot holes, but if the real Voyager doesn't worry about that why should I?  Starfleet Command would like to caution you that use of a multi-spatial probe in the manner depicted in this text is not recommended.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction using characters from Star Trek: Voyager which is the property of...well I can't be bothered rewriting this disclaimer every time they split or merge, so just look it up.  Their depiction here does not detract from the respect I feel for all of them.  This fanfic is written for entertainment purposes only, and no financial profit will be received for this work.

Archiving is welcome, but please try and contact me first.  I'd like to thank Steff Adams, Meagan, and all the others who betaed this story.

Feedback to  Please keep any flames entertaining: e.g. "You are f—ing horrible.  May a beautiful Borg come to your room in the middle of the night only to discuss the nature of individuality.  May someone you hate declare themselves the Son of K'vok and bite you!" etc.



Seven of Nine was having a wonderful dream.

The crew of the USS Voyager had finally achieved true perfection.  Led by its red-haired Borg Queen, the Starfleet vessel forged on an unstoppable course toward the Alpha Quadrant.  Subspace anomalies and ocean planets that might distract them from their goal were blasted out of existence with tricobalt devices.  Crewman Neelix had been put to death and his corpse displayed on the outer hull to deter similar friendly species from engaging in irrelevant conversation.  Naomi Wildman had been placed in a Borg maturation chamber so she could soon take up the duties of bridge assistant.  Best of all, Lieutenant Torres was forced to demonstrate the efficiency of the ship's weapon systems by acting as a target.  Every day, under the firm tutelage of her captain, Seven of Nine got to disintegrate the annoying half-Klingon with the phaser banks, while Borg nanoprobes reconstructed her every night.  Compassion was irrelevant.  In her sleep, the former drone sighed with happiness.

Even while dreaming however, Seven was still at work.  As sleep was an inefficient use of time, she had sought to change this by modifying her alcove to become a cortical processing subunit.  This way Seven could download several months worth of data collected by Voyager (everything from away team reports to xenobiology studies) for analysis while she regenerated.

It was in the midst of this analysis that Seven's interlink node received a lengthy data transmission of unknown origin.  The processing subunit studied its content.  The data did not appear to be related to the information being downloaded from Voyager's central core.

"I can't possibly have relations with a member of my crew it's too COMPLICATED!"

The rose was crushed unnoticed in her hand and Seven felt her eyes swelling with tears.  She thought: This is the emotion of 'sadness', this is the feeling of 'pain', this must be 'unrequited love', this is ANGER and she lashed out at the woman who meant more to her than anything in her existence.  "You tore me from the Collective!  You forced me to exist as an individual!  You required me to develop my own feelings!  Yet I am not ALLOWED to act on them!"

Seven of Nine stirred restlessly in her alcove.

"You will comply," she commanded.  Her enhanced strength easily forced the young ensign onto his knees.  Harry stifled a groan as his kneecaps struck the deck hard.  Placing his palms on the cold metal floor, he prostrated himself before his beloved ice queen.  Heart thumping with fear and excitement, Ensign Kim extended a servile tongue and began to lick Seven of Nine's boot.  The beautiful Borg sneered in contempt at the pathetic human's service to her.  "Freedom is irrelevant," she said coldly, her thumb stroking the manacles she held in her flesh and metal hand as...

Her eyes snapped open and...

"Seven, don't move!"

For the first time ever the ex-drone heard panic in her captain's voice.

"Clarify," she asked, her voice muffled.  She did not see the point in engaging in irrelevant conversation, especially now that she had discovered a much better use for her tongue.

"I think one of my pubic hairs is caught in your ocular implant."

Seven raised an eyebrow, extracting a yelp from Janeway.  "I have observed from my study of Lieutenants Torres and Paris that pain and pleasure are not mutually exclusive." She sat up abruptly, causing Janeway to howl in agony and grab her crotch.  "SEVEN!"

Seven ignored her complaints.  As Janeway watched in astonishment the statuesque Borg did a perfect somersault onto her hands, hooked her feet into an overhead lighting fixture and tilted her head backward in an attempt to lick Janeway's cunt.

"Seven, what the hell is THAT?"

"A sexual position assimilated from Species 7410, a quadrapedal tree-dwelling life form with a hyper-elongated lingua.  It is...somewhat strenuous."

"I'm a Starfleet officer!  I'm not fucking in that undignified posture!  But then again," Janeway added, her eyes gleaming wickedly.  "We ARE explorers."

And with that her lingua began a detailed exploration of its own.

...she stepped out of the alcove, vaguely hearing the warning of an incomplete regeneration cycle.  Her organic components appeared to be functioning erratically.  The Borg's cortical processor noted unusual symptoms.  Heart rate and respiration had increased.  Blood was being redirected to other parts of her body, specifically the nipples and clitoris.  The flesh between her legs was wet with vaginal fluids, tingling with unreleased tension.  Seven felt an irresistible urge to touch herself there...

As if of its own accord the Borg's hand slid down between her legs.  A sigh escaped from Seven's lips as she rubbed her palm hard against the crotch of her biosuit.  The relief her action created was most satisfactory.  In fact, if she continued to rub her hand back and forth in that region, it resulted in a highly pleasurable sensation.  The fact discomforted the ex-drone.  This activity was clearly non-productive and time wasting, yet she could not bring herself to stop.

Perhaps it did serve a function.  She found herself calming; the earlier tension was gone, replaced by waves of pleasure matching her strokes.  In her research on human mating behaviour Seven had found numerous references to this activity.  It was called 'masturbating'.  She tried accessing the data she had accumulated on the subject, only to have her processor throw her newly assimilated knowledge back at her.  It appeared there were many references to this subject there.

She had been experiencing an inefficient obsession with the captain's hands.  Their shape and form; such things were surely irrelevant.  How could a mere physical attribute possibly be a reflection of the individual?  Whether laid calmly on the desk in her ready room, gesturing at the viewscreen, clutching a container of the liquid stimulant she preferred...or touching her shoulder in Astrometrics - they seemed to express Captain Janeway so well; the affection the former drone secretly craved, the natural command she desperately wanted to serve.  How could such an appendage, only one part of the body's collective whole, be so powerful?

She was discovering their power now.  The hidden excitement Seven felt when the captain touched her in public was nothing compared to the emotions she experienced as Janeway eased open the lips of her vagina.

An amused smile.  "Relax Seven"

"I c-cannot comply, Captain."

"Kathryn, please."

"I cannot__" The captain silenced her with a kiss.

Light touches to begin, stroking the outside surfaces.  Light like...feathers.  The word was pulled from her memory, as was the sensation - stroking a bird's feather as a child.  But that was nothing like this.

Seven had worried that Captain Janeway might not prove an efficient lover.  By nature she was too impatient, instinctive, her years of self-denial perhaps leading her to haste.  But she caressed the petals of Seven's labia like an artist stroking a delicate jewel...

Seven had discovered that sending vibrations through her hand's exoskeleton was an efficient means of self-stimulation.  It seemed to impair her motor functions however as she was unable to continue standing.  Seven fell backwards against a cargo container.  She spread her legs wide and pushed her pelvis up against her palm, rubbing frantically.  The cargo bay echoed with her incoherent moans.

B'Elanna thrust her fingers roughly in and out of her cunt.  "How do you like that you Borg bitch!" she hissed.  Her face was just inches from Seven's and her dark pupils seemed to fill the entire world.  Anger, hatred, lust, love - she could not connect the descriptions she had studied in the database to the emotions that were swirling through her now.  It was all happening too fast!  She had a shameful urge to beg Lieutenant Torres to slow down so she could gain control of these feelings.  Seven bit her trembling lip to steady it.  She was Borg.  She would...she must adapt!

She closed her eyes and felt her opponent pressing warm lips down on hers.  Seven responded with equal hunger, their tongues entwining with a mutual lust they would never confess openly.  She could taste her blood in the Klingon's mouth...

The pleasure concentrated in Seven's groin suddenly swept through her, assimilating her entire body in an irresistible onrush of sensation.  In seconds her newly cherished individuality was swept away before the torrent.  There was only feeling, rapture, total ecstasy.  Resistance was not only futile; she didn't even want to try it.

She regained consciousness, vaguely wondering why the opposite wall had an overhead light strip on it.

'I am Seven of Nine.  I am...on my back'.

The former drone calmly rose to her feet.  Her lapse in efficiency had been brief.  Clearly there were problems involved in assimilating Voyager's extensive data.  Nevertheless there had been positive effects.  She had undoubtedly experienced her first 'orgasm', another step in her ongoing exploration of humanity.  The captain would be pleased.  She had also received a much clearer idea of the complex inter-relationships of the crew.  Previously this was an understanding that had eluded her.  She had even identified a crucial fault in the ship's sensor grid.  Efficiency demanded that the latter problem be corrected immediately.  She slapped her combadge.  "Seven of Nine to Lieutenant Torres."

No answer.  "Lieutenant Torres, respond."

B'Elanna, interrupted in the middle of beating Tom Paris to another orgasm, was not happy.

"Good morning, Seven.  This better be important."

"I must speak with you at once."

* * * * * *

B'Elanna stared at the moving light panels of the turbolift, refusing to look at the blonde astrometrics officer standing next to her.

It wasn't easy being half Klingon.

B'Elanna had tried explaining that to various people: Tom, Captain Janeway, the Doctor, the crewman whose nose she'd busted last week, but they didn't exactly get the point.  They saw B'Elanna's biggest problem as her temper, but that wasn't it. 

The problem was sex.

Whenever B'Elanna got angry (which was often) she naturally wanted to commit all kinds of mayhem - scratching, clawing, biting, throwing large heavy objects at people.  The only problem was that these had traditionally been signs of Klingon sexual arousal.  So whenever something happened to get her really mad her hormones kicked into overdrive as well.  Once, when she'd been confined to quarters for striking Lieutenant Carey, she'd chucked something at Chakotay the minute he walked through the door.  Too late she'd remembered that this was a Klingon flirting ritual.  So later on when an alien had tried taking over the ship by tapping into the crew's fantasies who does she imagine bonking?  Chakotay!  Not to mention how she'd ended up sharing her bed with the guy who used to annoy her the most, Tom Paris.

And if there was one person on board Voyager who managed to aggravate B'Elanna more than anyone else in the entire universe and all its parallel dimensions it was that cold, patronising, cybernetically-enhanced automaton, Seven of Nine.  Every day the former drone would severely piss her off by talking back to the captain or diverting power to Astrometrics or flaunting those Borg-implanted breasts in Tom's face or addressing her in that supercilious tone until all B'Elanna could think was 'if she raises that fucking ocular implant at me one more time I'm going to rip it off and shove it right up her arse!'  Then every night the engineer would be tormented by wet dreams in which she would melt the Borg Ice Queen with hot passionate sex.

Just yesterday Seven had done it again, tying up the main computer as part of her latest attempt to achieve Perfect Arrogance and extending B'Elanna's shift by an extra three hours as a result.  That night the fiery engineer had dreamed about stalking Seven of Nine through a maze of Jeffries tubes.  Cornered in an alcove, the terrified Borg had promised never to divert processing power during a Level One diagnostic again as B'Elanna carefully sliced off her tight-fitting uniform with a kut'luch blade.  That was nowhere near enough for the hot-headed Klingon.  She had demanded compensation for all the aggravation Seven had caused her over the past two and a half years.  The luscious blonde had been forced to give tribute in the form of her firm ripe breasts, which she'd offered up to B'Elanna's greedy mouth.  B'Elanna had woken up so excited she'd virtually raped Tom before he was fully awake and just as they were approaching a greatly needed climax, SHE had to interrupt them! 

This was shaping up to be another wonderful day.

There was a metallic whine and the turbolift shuddered.  Beside her Seven tensed.  She knew what would happen next.  The lift would grind to a halt and be stuck between decks for hours.  The environmental system would fail and they would remove their clothes in the heat.  The two women would be torn between their mutual dislike and their increasing lust for each other's naked, perspiring bodies.  Inevitably the aroused half-Klingon would force herself on her, biting her face and licking the sweat off her cleavage with her tongue until she__

"Are you all right Seven?"

Startled, Seven turned and stared at B'Elanna.  "I...thought there was a fault in the turbolift."

"It's only a graviton relay."

The turbolift came to a stop and the doors slid open.  B'Elanna cast a wary eye at Seven and stepped out onto the bridge.  Ever since that time when the beautiful astrometrics officer had tried to initiate a Klingon mating ritual in the middle of Engineering, she'd kept a close eye on her.  Seven had supposedly been suffering from some kind of Borg multiple personality syndrome at the time, but you never knew...

Captain Janeway was on the bridge, piloting a coffee mug.

"Captain," B'Elanna said, getting right to the point.  "I need permission to shut down the sensor grid.  Seven thinks a...mating pair of ensigns have disrupted the power flow."  Her voice betrayed what she thought of that idea.

"A mating pair of ensigns?"  The captain and Chakotay cast an incredulous eye at each other.  Ensign Paris looked bemused.  Tuvok's ears perked up, though that was nothing unusual.

"Lieutenant Torres is in error," Seven corrected.  "It was in fact an ensign and a lieutenant whose copulation has caused the malfunction.  Ensign Paris and Lieutenant Torres, to be precise."

There was dead silence on the bridge.  B'Elanna's face went dark.  It was moments like these, when Seven embarrassed the shit out of her in public, that her Klingon half threatened to assert itself with a vengeance.  Right now, for instance, she had this overwhelming urge to rip the Borg's heart out of its chest cavity and feast upon the raw flesh as part of her Day of Honour.  Desperately she tried reciting the Vulcan mantra Tuvok had taught her.

Janeway didn't know whether to giggle in a most uncaptain-like fashion or obliterate Seven with her infamous Glare of Death.  "And how did you arrive at this...theory?"

"Eight weeks ago, Lieutenant Torres and Ensign Paris were copulating in Jeffries Tube 47-Beta when they should have been working on their duty shifts.  In order to lower herself onto Ensign Paris' penis, Lieutenant Torres raised her body by grabbing an overhead power relay conduit, causing a momentary interruption in power flow and a stupendous orgasm for Ensign Paris."

"I remember that," said Tom, half to himself.  "B'Elanna told me to stick around to try something hot."  He quailed as Janeway made up her mind regarding what expression she should have.  The Death Glare (it was a good thing the captain hadn't found out about the time he and B'Elanna had done it on the desk in her ready room).

"The interruption caused a feedback loop which has resulted in the sensor emitters losing their resolution," Seven concluded smugly.

"Bite me!" yelled B'Elanna.

Seven turned her blue-grey eyes upon her.  "Is that an insult or a marriage proposal, Lieutenant Torres?"

Deep in B'Elanna's subconscious a long-buried race memory of Kahless roared at her to sink a bat'leth through the impudent petaQ's skull.  Her fingers twitched with the urge to nail the arrogant bitch to the bulkhead with tritanium rivets.  Her cunt was wet with the desire to throw the delicious blonde onto Tom's console, tear off her clothes and push her sopping vagina down over those perfect lips__dammit stop thinking about that!  "How-How can you possibly know all this?" she managed to stammer.

"Last night, I downloaded six months of ship status reports into my new cortical subunit while I was regenerating," the Borg replied.

"Learn while you sleep.  Sounds interesting.  Can I try it?" Tom asked, imitating a kid's whine.

Seven gave him a superior look.  "Your physiology is different from mine."

'No shit?' thought Tom, eyeing her formidable breasts.

"A logical, though highly speculative analysis," said Tuvok.  Though given the hormonally driven nature of the two officers concerned perhaps not that speculative.  He had once caught them engaged in an intimate coupling on top of a console in Engineering.  Unfortunately they had forgotten to switch the console off first.  The resulting series of instructions they inadvertently entered had thrown the warp engines out of alignment for three months.

"I think I'll take a look at this power conduit myself," Janeway said quietly, the air around her turning to ice which fell to the ground in thin shards.  "Lieutenant Torres, come with me.  Seven..."  She paused.  It wouldn't do to put these two in a cramped Jeffries tube together.  If they came to blows she wouldn't have room to dodge.  "Wait here."

Seven waited until Lieutenant Torres and the captain had entered the turbolift, then strode over to Chakotay.  "Chuc...Commander.  I wish to speak to you in private."

The first officer looked at her in surprise, then nodded.  "Sure.  We can talk in the briefing room."

In the briefing room Chakotay sat down in a chair and Seven, as usual, stood in front of him with her hands behind her back.  A sudden thought occurred to her.  She had previously dismissed considerations of her mode of dress and the sexual nature of her body as irrelevant.  Yet she now understood that her rigid stance and the tight-fitting nature of her 'catsuit' (the word sprang into her mind from her newly assimilated data) only served to emphasis her large breasts.  In fact, the relative height difference between herself and Captain Janeway meant that for the past two and a half years she'd been flaunting her tits in her captain's face!

"Are you all right Seven?  Has Lieutenant Torres been bothering you again?"

Seven blinked, hauling herself back to the present.  "I wish to ask you some questions.  Regarding the nature of humanity."

Chakotay was startled.  Seven of Nine was the captain's pet project.  He'd never approved of her presence on board Voyager and the Borg knew it.  They really didn't have that much to say to each other (not that he had much to say in the first place).  "Wouldn't you normally discuss this with the captain?"

"It concerns the captain.  I feel she might be reluctant to discuss this issue with me."

"What issue?"

"The nature of your sexual relationship with her."

Chakotay stiffened in his chair so much he resembled a lump of wood (though the change was barely discernable).  He did not like the way this conversation was going at all, but Captain Janeway had given instructions that the crew was to assist the former drone in her exploration of humanity.  And Seven had always found the area of sexuality difficult.  Lieutenant Chapman was still undergoing orthopaedic therapy after his ill-fated date with her.

"Well that's easy.  There isn't one."

Seven raised her ocular implant.  Chakotay raised his tattoo in reply.


Chakotay frowned, his hands twisting in his lap.  This felt more like a confession than a lesson in humanity.  Still, it hadn't been the first time he'd poured out his soul.  Once he'd overdone it and his soul had become completely detached from his body and gone floating around Voyager, taking over various crewmembers.  The Doctor had required three neural transceivers, two cortical stimulators, and 50 gigaquads of computer memory to reintegrate the two.

"We were stranded on a planet once, the captain and I.  We'd both caught this alien virus and couldn't stay on Voyager.  I thought that we'd be spending the rest of our lives together.  I did everything I could to romance her.  I built her a hot tub, massaged her shoulders, told her one of those 'my people have a story' fables about how I wanted to serve her as an animal guide.  Then, just as I was about to score, Tuvok hails us saying he'd come up with a cure!"

He took a deep breath.  "Ever since then we've teased, flirted, and violated each other's personal space countless times.  Yet nothing ever happens!" The anguished commander gestured wildly at the stars streaking past the windows in violation of the laws of physics.  "It's as if the mysterious Powers-That-Be who govern this universe have decided we'll never consummate our love.  Just endlessly suffer this constant unrealised sexual tension."

"You are correct.  I have reason to believe that Captain Janeway is the victim of a conspiracy to deny her the fulfilment that comes from an intimate relationship."

Chakotay stared at her, then suddenly realised what Seven must be getting at.  "Q!"

"Cube?" asked Seven, puzzled (her thinking could be a bit three-dimensional at times).

"You wouldn't know him.  I doubt the Borg have assimilated any members of the Continuum." 'Then again if they had it would explain where Seven got her arrogance and lousy interpersonal skills'.  "Q is an omnipotent being with a fetish for human starship captains.  He's made moves on Captain Janeway before.  He thinks his tattoo's bigger than mine.  Perhaps Q believes that by keeping the captain celibate Kathryn will end up so desperate she'll even screw him!"

Seven was unimpressed.  "Perhaps.  Another explanation, Chuckles, is that you are too much of a 'wiener' to make the first move."

Chakotay stood up, his face deadpan with rage.  "You're out of line Seven!  It's the captain's decision not to pursue a relationship with any member of her crew.  It could have an adverse effect on discipline.  It might also affect her ability to make life and death decisions regarding that crewmember.  Now I may not like it, I may not agree with it, but she's the captain and that's the end of the matter!"  He was getting extremely pissed off with this topic and the irritating Borg.  Kathryn might see her as some kind of surrogate daughter, but if that was the case it was about time the captain gave her a damned good spanking!  His groin tightened at the thought of the beautiful Seven squirming over Janeway's knees, as the captain applied the palm of her hand to that delectable ass.

Seven of Nine looked down at the growing bulge in Chakotay's groin.  "You are small," she said, her lip curling in contempt.  "You lack harmony, cohesion, greatness, balls.  It will be your undoing.  The captain could not possibly achieve perfection with such an individual."

"Get out!" yelled the Commander, expressionless with fury.  Captain Janeway would no doubt have had a good speech to put the impudent Borg in her place, but good lines seemed to elude him as much as Kathryn's love.  No doubt the mysterious Powers That Be were behind that too.

Seven raised her ocular implant in a superior manner (a characteristic assimilated from Species 3259 - Vulcan), turned on a four-inch heel and strode out the door.

"Well I'm not surprised she's never been able to 'achieve perfection with an individual'," Chakotay muttered to himself.  "Who'd want a woman whose implants are likely to assimilate them?  And what about her relationship with the Doctor?  You'll never see Captain Janeway falling for a hologram!"

* * * * * *

"Face it Harry, Class Two shuttles just don't cut it in the Delta Quadrant," said Tom Paris, getting in the ensign's face as per normal.  "B'Elanna and I have been working on the design for months."

"A self-replicating shuttle?" Harry smirked.  They were walking down the corridor away from the shuttle bay, where Tom had been proudly showing off his latest brainwave.

Tom was too enthusiastic to notice his scepticism.  "A unique combination of Borg and Starfleet technology," he said, waving an isolinear spanner for emphasis.  "When one shuttle crashes or is destroyed, a new one's created, fully operational, in our shuttlebay by next week."

"With this technology the captain might even let Chakotay start flying shuttles again," was Harry's dry response.  They halted outside a turbolift.

Tom looked at his friend and grinned.  Chakotay's crash record with the Class Two was legendary, greater even than that of a certain conn officer.  He heard the turbolift doors hiss open, and his amusement turned to horror as Harry suddenly turned bright red, his eyes bulged in their sockets and he began to sway on his feet.  "Harry, are you OK?"

"Is something the matter ensign?" came Seven of Nine's cool tones.

"It must be some kind of alien virus," Tom said, turning to look at her...and freezing in his tracks.

Seven of Nine was standing naked in the turbolift, adorned only by her Borg implants.

"The virus appears to be infectious," Seven remarked, as Tom went through similar eye-popping, swaying, and blushing routines.

The two men stepped into the turbolift without a word.  As he stared at her body, Harry Kim's pupils dilated so much that Seven mentally scheduled an immediate drug test for the young ensign.

Tom was the first one to regain the use of his vocal cords.  "So...Seven.  Is your uniform being washed or something?"

"My biosuit was damaged while copulating.  I am returning to Cargo Bay Two in order to replicate a new one."

"Copulating?" groaned Harry, on the verge of dying for the umpteenth time since arriving in the Delta Quadrant.

"Megan and Jennifer Delaney offered to help me explore my humanity.  They decided to use their fingers and tongues in the exploration rather than the lateral sensor array.  However they were unable to locate the zipper on my biosuit and lost patience.  Their decision to rip off my clothing with their teeth was unusual, but...efficient."

Tom stood between Harry and Seven, staring at her body and clutching his tool.  He might need it to repair the environmental system; it seemed to be awfully hot in here.  His blood was pounding in his veins and he felt an uncontrollable erection growing.  The handsome ensign had always regarded Seven as highly attractive, but the certainty of being fatally injured by his girlfriend had stopped him from doing anything about it.  But now he couldn't help noticing that over that cold Borg heart lay a pair of large, warm breasts.  Tom stared in awe at her voluptuous body.  Busty of Borg!

It was a relief when the door hissed open and Seven stepped out.  Relief turned to horror as the three of them found themselves face to face with none other than Captain Kathryn Janeway herself.  Shock at finding her surrogate daughter stark naked in a turbolift with two male ensigns rapidly changed to full-powered rage at the men undoubtedly responsible for this debauchery.

It was all too much for Harry.  He fainted dead away.

* * * * * *

It had been a busy day for Voyager's Emergency Medical Hologram.  First of all there was a shipwide outbreak of amnesia that he was tracking.  Apparently the entire crew had forgotten the existence of a crewmember named 'Kes' and never mentioned her in conversation.

"You know, I think I know what you mean Doctor," Commander Chakotay had said.  "The other day I was cleaning out my room and found this sheet of paper.  I'd written on it how I'd met this alien woman named Kellin and fallen in love with her, yet I don't remember a thing about it!"

"I wouldn't worry Commander," the Doctor had replied.  "If you don't remember her, I'm sure the whole episode was pretty forgettable anyway."

Then Captain Janeway had arrived in a furious mood, hauling a naked Seven of Nine by the ear and demanding that the Doctor run a complete diagnostic of her cortical systems.  Ensign Kim had turned up with a sore tongue that had been caught in a closing turbolift door (and for some reason Seven had also insisted on a drug test for Mr Kim).  There were also numerous whiplash injuries caused by Seven walking around in her birthday suit (he'd have to make their next lesson 'Appropriate Dress for Public Occasions').  Then, just after he'd finished spray painting a new biosuit onto Seven, who should turn up next but Ensign Paris (he loved emphasising the helmsman's reduced rank) with numerous injuries he said had come from a Klingon martial arts program on the holodeck.

"That might explain the bruises and restraint marks on your wrists," the Doctor said, a snide look distorting his holographic features.  "But it doesn't explain these scratches on your back, the ones with Klingon-human DNA in them.  I thought BLT stood for 'B'Elanna Torres', not 'Bondage, Lust and Torture'."

Paris laughed unconvincingly.  "Come on Doc, I'm not into that sort of thing!  Besides, you know she hates exploring her Klingon side."

"Yes, but you don't," the Doctor snickered, the size of his smirk threatening to overload his expressional subroutines.  "Besides, all her base instincts are straight from Kahless himself."

"You might want to keep that in mind," growled B'Elanna, striding into Sickbay.  "When you've finished with Tom, I've got some bruised knuckles and err...pelvis for you to look at."

"You can go," said the EMH, waving his hands at Mr Paris as if driving away a particularly annoying macrovirus.

B'Elanna gave a lustful look at Tom's departing ass, then turned to the Doc.  "No snide remarks," she warned, and began to strip off her uniform.

"I wouldn't dream of it," muttered the Doctor.  He'd always treated 'Lieutenant Torrid' with a certain amount of caution.  Once he'd made the mistake of telling her that a Klingon-human hybrid was a medical impossibility due to the incompatible biology of the two species.  The Chief Engineer had retorted that he shouldn't be able to hold solid objects because his light-based hologram couldn't be constrained by magnetic containment fields.  The thought was so alarming to the EMH that his program had shut down then and there.  It had taken weeks of therapy on the holodeck, with the captain reading La Vita Nuova to him, to restore his equilibrium.

"Computer, lock doors."

While B'Elanna worked her trousers down over what the Doctor had to admit was an aesthetically appealing gluteus maximus, his internal processors flagged him.  As part of his diagnostic of Seven's cortical systems he'd downloaded her database for further examination.  Something interesting had turned up.

Ever since a future version of Harry Kim had used a Borg temporal transceiver to access Seven of Nine's cortical implant, the Doctor had installed a 'watchdog' program to warn him if it happened again.  Seven had told him that the Borg had travelled through time; perhaps a past or future Borg ship might try to confuse her at a crucial moment by downloading false data.  The subroutine had picked up just such a temporal data transmission.  It didn't appear to contain any viruses or coded instructions however.  He decided to have a look.

"And the name of this activity?" Seven inquired.  Only the slight trembling of her lips betrayed the emotions he knew churned under that cold exterior.

"It's called...fondling." He kneaded her breasts firmly yet gently, using his thumbs to stimulate the nipples.  She was his creation, more so than the captain's.  The Doctor was the one who had removed her implants, grown her hair, styled her dress and body.  Captain Janeway had tried to make her 'human' but he had known all along this was doomed to fail.  Seven of Nine could only be shaped in humanity's image, just as he was.  They were unique.  Perfect.  They were made for each other.

As B'Elanna lay down on the biobed, the Doctor stood gaping into space, a tricorder held motionless in his hand.

"Isn't there an easier way of doing this?" Janeway complained.  "A hypospray maybe?"

"Typical," the Doctor muttered, expertly working his fingers in and out of the captain's vagina.  "Always looking for the simple fix.  Sometimes there's no better solution than intensive full-body massage with hand relief.  Your body is crying out for release!"

"It certainly is now," moaned Janeway as she neared orgasm.

"I'm not surprised," griped the EMH as he slipped in a vibrating dildo.  "You've been an ABSURDLY long time without erotic stimulus, under CONSTANT sexual tension with Commander Chakotay.  Just how long do you intend to ignore your physical needs?"

"I...can'!" she gasped.  The Doctor switched to direct clitoral stimulation.  "OH GODS! I'll have to...OH YES!...stick holo-GRAMS!"  Her body twisted on the bench as the climax racked her body.

Doc viewed his sweat-soaked superior with smug satisfaction.  "There.  I bet that's better than anything Mr Paris could do."

As his matrix desperately tried to absorb and quantify the temporal data, the Doctor felt the subroutine he'd installed in order to have sex with Denara Pel begin to increase in size exponentially.  He hadn't felt this aroused since he'd downloaded aspects of Lord Byron's personality into his program.  Once again he had the urge to caress Lieutenant Torres' dusky flesh.  'Yes, I definitely could do a better job than Mr Paris!'

"Do'Raq Merash," growled the Doctor in incomprehensible Paramount Klingonese.

Torres stared at him.  "I beg your pardon?"

"I am the son of Slash!  And you, what website are you on?"

"Is this some kind of a joke?"

"You wear the uniform of a Risan lap dancer," he said, ogling her naked body.  "Come warrior, let me leer at you."

"All right that's it!" snapped B'Elanna, sitting up on the biobed.  The Doctor shoved her back down.  "Computer, activate restraints."

Shiny metal clamps sprung up from the sides of the bed and clicked shut around the lieutenant's hands and feet.  "What the hell are you doing!" she yelled, struggling with her bonds.  "Tom put you up to this, didn't he?  He wanted me to join him in a ménage à trois with Seven once.  So I broke his television set...over his head!"

The Doctor was too consumed by lust to take heed of her warning.  "Computer, cut off all transmissions to and from this room.  If anyone asks, I'm rehearsing for a particularly boring opera recital."

"Oh...shit!" said B'Elanna, realising she was in deep targ manure.  This had happened before, when the Doctor's tampering with his personality subroutines had brought evil characteristics to the surface.  "I'm fucked."

"Yes, you certainly will be," Evil Doc replied gleefully.  "Computer, remove my clothes!"

'Removal of clothes violates Starfleet sexual harassment protocols,' the computer intoned pompously.


As B'Elanna stared in amazement the Doctor's regulation Starfleet uniform was transformed instantly into the firm muscled body of a Greek God, right down to a large and fully erect...she gasped in shock.

"'re not supposed to have a...!"

"Let's just say I made an addition to my program," Doc said, smirking.  "Computer, increase size of 'Big Boy' by 99.97%".  The Doctor's penis swelled so much it looked as if he'd turned into one big prick (though as far as B'Elanna was concerned there wasn't much difference).

"Who's the Chief Engineer now?" Doc chortled, eyeing his holographic member with pride.

"Doctor if you don't stop this I'll reprogram you so you can only sing Klingon drinking songs!  Oh NOT AGAIN!" B'Elanna cried, as she felt her cunt lubricating in response to her rage.

"Having some problems with those Klingon genes?  I've got just the cure.  In fact I think I'll write a paper on it for Starfleet Medical.  'The Use of the Holographic Penis in Subduing Lust in Klingon-Human Hybrids - A Case Study'."

With an athletic smoothness only someone of his own sublime ability could appreciate, the Doctor swung up onto the biobed.  Positioning his Ruler of the Universe over her face, he waited until the pretty lieutenant opened her mouth to yell more insults and plunged his holo-penis inside.

For a second B'Elanna thought someone had shoved an exploding warp core down her throat...then she clamped her teeth together as hard as possible.  Her sharp dentures passed harmlessly through the holographic organ.

'Bugger!' thought B'Elanna.

"AAAAARRRGGH!!!" screamed the Doctor, whose tactile sensors were not so unaffected.  He whipped his penis out through the side of B'Elanna's cheek and glared at her.

"Well if you want to play it that way!  Computer!" he said.  "Generate a subspace vibration field around Lieutenant Torres' body.  Increase the field by 500% around the patient's mammary glands and clitoris.  Inject her with 200 ccs of Klingon hormones.  Play the soundtrack to the Orion slave girl holosuite program; the one Mr Paris bought from that Ferengi on Deep Space Nine, on a subconscious wavelength.  And download into my matrix the complete personality subroutine of historical figure Captain James T. Kirk!"

A terrifying change came over the Doctor as the latter instruction was carried out.  A holographic toupee appeared over his bald spot, and he leered hungrily at the bound lieutenant.  "Nice!  I bet you'd look good in a miniskirt and knee-high boots!"

"HHHEEELLLLPPP!!!!!" screamed Torres in fear.  "Computer, deactivate Emergency Medical Hologram!"

"Belay that!  Authorisation Chief Medical Officer Numero Uno!" Doc rubbed his hands in anticipation.  "And now...for the luuuurvvv-making!"

The Doctor decided to start with a non-invasive procedure.  "Computer, activate the Tongue of Tantalisation."  His previously acerbic tongue began to flicker at a rate of 4700 licks per second.  Bending his now fully carpeted head to Torres' vagina, he began to skillfully tease the outer petals.  B'Elanna moaned and pushed her pelvis up against the restraints.

"Interesting," said Doc, noting the reaction for his paper.  "But I think a more thorough examination is required.  Purely in the interests of medical science of course."

"Fuck you!" groaned B'Elanna.

The Doctor smirked.  "One step at a time."

His fingers slipped inside her.  Having the combined knowledge of 47 Starfleet doctors and 2000 medical reference sources was a definite advantage.  It meant he was the only man in history who knew the exact position of the G-spot.

Slowly as his fingers and tongue worked their magic B'Elanna's angry growls and Klingon swear words were replaced by the passionate sounds of...growls and Klingon swear words.  Her thighs wrapped tightly around the hologram's face in a grip that would have suffocated Mr Paris.  For the first time ever B'Elanna could screw someone without causing them major injury and she took full advantage of the fact.  Satisfied that the half-Klingon was nicely warmed up, the Doctor activated his Photonic Cannon and got into Attack Position Alpha.

'Sex with Klingon-human hybrids violates Starfleet safety protocols,' intoned the computer pompously.

"Override!" yelled the Doctor and B'Elanna together.

The Doctor's 'Big Boy' expanded to completely fill her cunt.  "How do you like my banana B'Elanna?" he said as he pumped tirelessly.  She responded with incoherent moans that even his universal translator couldn't decipher.  Hearing her passionate response Doc's egotistical protocols swelled even larger than his penile subroutine.  His performance was magnificent.  The experience was ecstatic.  Why, it was so wonderful he couldn't even remember his own name!

'Wait a minute, I don't have a name.'

It was then that his penis disappeared.

The Doctor blinked in sheer surprise.  One minute his Mighty Rod of Tetraburnium Alloy had been pounding away between B'Elanna's legs, next minute...nothing!

He pulled his hips back and looked down.  Yes, it was still there.  He thrust forward…and his holo-penis flickered and vanished, then reappeared again.  Angrily he tried to reinsert his erratically behaving subroutine into B'Elanna's lush pussy.  His penis was buzzing and flickering like a mad bug zapper.  Every time he got it lined up, it faded out of existence.

"What the hell are you doing?" B'Elanna growled, eyes shut tight.

"I'm trying to align my Class One probe with your interspatial flexure!" he snapped.

"You call that a Class One?  It feels more like a nanoprobe!"

He needed a bigger target.  Desperately the EMH tried using his fingers to part the folds of B'Elanna's cunt.  "I'll try opening a rift into fluidic space!"

"Raise your shields dammit!  You're venting all over me!"

"I'm a Doctor, not a contraceptive!"

"Typical Starfleet!  Your warp core goes off-line just as you're about to dive into a wormhole!"

"My holo-penis is losing structural integrity!"

"Try re-routing power to your weapon system!"

"I have!  I can't get it to load into your torpedo tube!"

"Look, just imagine you're Tom flying his shuttle into Voyager's shuttle bay!"

"My penis is disappearing at a faster rate than Voyager's shuttles!"

"What are you raving on about?" She opened her eyes to see the Doctor's entire body begin to flicker and fade.

"Whaa-whaa-whaa-t'ssss haapp-haapp-enning-ng?" he cried in fear.

"Oh Kahless, your matrix can't handle the changes to your personality subroutine.  It's overloading!"

"Computer, unlock biobed restraints!" The Doctor leapt off the bed, virtual-reality semen spraying all over Sickbay.  "You've got to repair me!"

B'Elanna grabbed the Doctor and with one hand threw him back on the biobed.  "Never mind that shit!" she growled.  "You still owe me an orgasm.  I'm not fixing you until I've had it!"

Doc's eyes widened as the lustful half-Klingon straddled him.

"Computer, divert all power to Big Boy," he gasped.  His holographic organ solidified and B'Elanna eagerly took it inside her.  Throwing her head back she pumped desperately, growling with pleasure.  Her body arched as it reached its peak of ecstasy...then the Doctor's matrix destabilised and he vanished seconds before she was about to orgasm.  B'Elanna's pelvis hit the bed hard.

She glared at the thin air where the Doctor once had been. 

"Men.  Typical."





You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story