By Sazzy


August 2008




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.




“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.”




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.




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.