Part 42
Seven stood where she'd been told to stand; to do otherwise was unthinkable. There were others present, though not many. Crime deserving of this was uncommon, at least with humans involved, but with the sheer number of beings even a fraction of a percentage was still enough for the aberration to be evident. They had just taken a man out before, large and built in a way that had caused Seven to feel... odd. Her mind tended to drift towards strange fictions she'd like to perform with him, and she found it hard not to indulge them. However, any further thoughts ended when a woman, flanked by two robots, came up to her. She looked Seven over with a critical eye, as if she were a piece of artwork that might have been damaged in a move. She adjusted the lay of Seven's top to reveal a bit more cleavage, then nodded in approval. And that was all, no words of encouragement or to sooth or anything. The truth was, they weren't needed. Seven wanted to be here; it was her duty as a citizen of the Empire.
There was a chime and Seven was sent out onto the stage. She turned, looked out over the crowd, and stood as she'd been instructed, smiling warmly. They weren't here, when you got down to it; Seven was alone in the room. But a holographic projection of each of them was, and they looked her over and checked the catalogue for information on her. It said everything that was needed, about her unique Borg physiology, about her vital statistics, about how much she adored being tickled. She was considered suitable for companionship or as an eye-candy alternative to a robot. She was deemed unsuitable for child-bearing due to her implants. The opening bid was for half a million.
There were only humans here. As low as this treatment might be judged, as much as the human race might want to disown such deviants. there were limits, and letting even one human be owned by an alien dragged the entire species down. There were limits to how far they could punish someone.
There were numerous bids; not as many as Seven would have liked -she thought she had to be worth a lot, being Borg and all- but the final bid was impressive, and Seven was pleased she could bring so much wealth to the Empire. She was led off into a second holding area to wait until she was claimed by her new owner. She didn't have to wait long.
"Seven," Ronald Tetz said warmly, "are you ready?"
Seven smiled and took the proffered hand in hers. "Of course, my master," she said." Hand-in-hand with him, she left the auction house for his private transport, which quickly whisked her away from all that dreariness and into the rest of her life. Seven felt nothing but satisfaction at that thought.
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Mara sat cross-legged on the bed, a big pillow sitting on her lap. She had her arms wrapped tightly around it, and she laid her face against it. She'd been crying; she didn't bother trying to resist it any more, not in here. She couldn't help it any more. That empty spot beside her... there was a hole where a person should be. That bench installed for Seven to work on little projects in private - there was a hole where a person should be. The closet space waiting to be filled with stuff fitting her unique Borg tastes; it was still waiting, because there was a hole where a person should be.
Mara laid back on the bed, pressed the pillow into her face, and cried into it for all she was worth. She put her hand over her heart, but it did nothing to ease the pain that filled it... because there was a hole there where a person should be.
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Samus laid back -though she had no choice- and sighed wearily. Another day, another session of the ridiculous torture she had found herself emerged in since her capture. What, in all honesty, did they hope to accomplish? They never asked her any questions, and what's more, there were surely better ways to make her talk than this. The tickling was torture, no question, but compared to anything she'd been up against before it was the tamest. It could push her to the brink, but there was nothing that threatened to actually push her across it. As much as it may hit her sometimes, she could endure it.
The door opened, and a rather petite woman walked in. "Good morning," she said politely enough, but without any genuine feeling to it, like a chilly tutor would address yet another pupil. "I'm Ms. Danoob; I'm the administrator of Crossroads Facility."
“I recall," Samus said.
"Good. Let's see what we have to work with, shall we?"
A great deal, Samus knew. As she laid on the padded table, her arms had been pulled up over her head and securely fastened to it. Her legs had been put in stirrups and firmly secured at the knee and ankle. There were a lot of vulnerable areas, and Ms. Danoob had the look of someone who lived for exploiting vulnerabilities.
"Let's start with the classics," Ms. Danoob said with a warm, quiet tone that did nothing to reassure Samus. Ms. Danoob held a small feather duster, which she deftly twirled in one hand. She slowly began stroking it up and down Samus' left foot. She bit her lip and tried not to think about it, but it was there, drawing its light wispy touches along her sole like some kind of fluffy advancing army. A snicker managed to find its way out, then another, and finally she was chuckling. Ms. Danoob's application was slow and deliberate, and Samus found herself surprised at just how much this really tickled.
"You're probably surprised that this works," Ms. Danoob said, still applying the feather duster along her feet. "You probably thought it wouldn't really tickle, but it can. Believe me, it can overwhelm you under the right circumstances." She switched to the other foot, and Samus was still laughing just as hard as it tackled the fresh sole. "It's technique, for one. That's a very important factor." She lightly twirled it as she went up and down the sole, and Samus closed her eyes and laughed. "But there's more too it than that," Ms. Danoob said.
Samus tried scrunching up her toes to escape; Ms. Danoob didn’t seem to notice. She just continued drawing the feather duster up and down the sole, first along the bottom, then around the instep, and then back along the outer edge. Samus giggled and twisted as much as the restraints allowed, but the tickling was inescapable. Ms. Danoob went back to the first sole, taking hold of her toe and holding it in place while she worked it over. Samus squealed and tried to yank it away, but even her strength wasn't enough to escape the grip. Ms. Danoob wriggled the feather all over the toe and ball while Samus sputtered. "I knew this was the right idea," Ms. Danoob mused aloud, never breaking in her tickling.
Ms. Danoob finally stopped to give Samus a breather. As she did, she stepped between her legs and watched the panting woman. "Having fun?" she asked. Unlike Starbuck and Lara, her remarks didn't seem like cruel teasing, but genuine. Still, Samus snapped at her with a few curses. "Still in denial, I see."
"What the hell are you talking about," Samus growled at her. She was answered by Ms. Danoob leaning forward and applying the feather duster to one breast, and then the other. She giggled and swore in response, but Ms. Danoob didn't do it for long. She started drawing it down Samus' belly, wriggling it back and forth all the way. It ran over her naval, causing her to snicker and her tummy to quiver in response. Finally it reached her legs, and Ms. Danoob began running it up Samus' right thigh.
"You know," she said, "it's quite curious to watch you." Samus was laughing much more now as Ms. Danoob varied her technique. "You've responded to all this with various kinds of laughter." Ms. Danoob began drawing her nails down the left inner thigh at the same time. "You've cursed at me, muttered unpleasant things." Samus was trembling under the effects of the tickling now. "But there's one thing you haven't done," Ms. Danoob said. And with such perfect synchronicity the tickling stopped that it almost seemed that time had momentarily frozen. Gasping a little, Samus looked up at Ms. Danoob. "You haven't asked me to stop."
Samus swallowed as she got her breath back. "It wouldn't stop you. I've learned that much."
"What you've learned," Ms. Danoob said, "is a truth the other ladies here have already figured out for themselves." She held the feather duster in front of Samus face. "Do you know what can make all the difference with this? Technique, the right duster, pacing, all of that. But equally important is that," and her voice dropped to a whisper, "you want it to tickle."
Samus looked into her eyes to offer the retort, but it died in her throat. Something about it somehow managed to hold up a mirror to Samus, and she saw the truth she hadn't wanted to see. This was torture, it really pushed her buttons... but that didn't change the fact that she also liked being tortured like this. There was something about it that flipped all the right switches in her head.
Without saying another word, Ms. Danoob took the feather duster and began slowly stroking it in between Samus legs. She giggled and squirmed as its touches teased across the seat of her femininity. It tickled more and more as the seconds passed, and she found herself laughing lightly. It was torture, and yet, as each moment passed she could feel a stirring in her belly of excitement at the predicament. Ms. Danoob's mastery of the feather duster was obvious as she seemed to hit every little spot just right until a few moans and sighs began to intersperse themselves with the laughter. .
And just as suddenly, Ms. Danoob stopped. She looked up at Samus, then put the feather duster down. "What are you doing?" Samus asked.
"I thought I'd let you reflect for a while," Ms. Danoob said. "Take all this in."
"You can't leave me here, locked down like this?!"
"Why not?"
Samus opened and closed her mouth a few times. She knew what Ms. Danoob was waiting for. She was a prideful woman, but Samus nevertheless knew that being trapped here now, without hope of any more, would be the worst torture of all. As much as it galled her to say the words, she needed this. "Please, don't stop yet."
Ms. Danoob stood there only a moment, and then began to move. She didn't make Samus say anything more; it was enough for this admission. She took up a paintbrush and began carefully using it on Samus sensitive folds and crevices. It was far more intense than the feather duster had been, and Samus laughed hard even as she felt the white hot ball growing deep inside until finally it washed through her and left her panting from laughter and pleasure.
Ms. Danoob set the paintbrush down. "Now," she said, "I think you're ready to meet the rest of the ladies. We all have a lot of work to do."
Seven stood where she'd been told to stand; to do otherwise was unthinkable. There were others present, though not many. Crime deserving of this was uncommon, at least with humans involved, but with the sheer number of beings even a fraction of a percentage was still enough for the aberration to be evident. They had just taken a man out before, large and built in a way that had caused Seven to feel... odd. Her mind tended to drift towards strange fictions she'd like to perform with him, and she found it hard not to indulge them. However, any further thoughts ended when a woman, flanked by two robots, came up to her. She looked Seven over with a critical eye, as if she were a piece of artwork that might have been damaged in a move. She adjusted the lay of Seven's top to reveal a bit more cleavage, then nodded in approval. And that was all, no words of encouragement or to sooth or anything. The truth was, they weren't needed. Seven wanted to be here; it was her duty as a citizen of the Empire.
There was a chime and Seven was sent out onto the stage. She turned, looked out over the crowd, and stood as she'd been instructed, smiling warmly. They weren't here, when you got down to it; Seven was alone in the room. But a holographic projection of each of them was, and they looked her over and checked the catalogue for information on her. It said everything that was needed, about her unique Borg physiology, about her vital statistics, about how much she adored being tickled. She was considered suitable for companionship or as an eye-candy alternative to a robot. She was deemed unsuitable for child-bearing due to her implants. The opening bid was for half a million.
There were only humans here. As low as this treatment might be judged, as much as the human race might want to disown such deviants. there were limits, and letting even one human be owned by an alien dragged the entire species down. There were limits to how far they could punish someone.
There were numerous bids; not as many as Seven would have liked -she thought she had to be worth a lot, being Borg and all- but the final bid was impressive, and Seven was pleased she could bring so much wealth to the Empire. She was led off into a second holding area to wait until she was claimed by her new owner. She didn't have to wait long.
"Seven," Ronald Tetz said warmly, "are you ready?"
Seven smiled and took the proffered hand in hers. "Of course, my master," she said." Hand-in-hand with him, she left the auction house for his private transport, which quickly whisked her away from all that dreariness and into the rest of her life. Seven felt nothing but satisfaction at that thought.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Mara sat cross-legged on the bed, a big pillow sitting on her lap. She had her arms wrapped tightly around it, and she laid her face against it. She'd been crying; she didn't bother trying to resist it any more, not in here. She couldn't help it any more. That empty spot beside her... there was a hole where a person should be. That bench installed for Seven to work on little projects in private - there was a hole where a person should be. The closet space waiting to be filled with stuff fitting her unique Borg tastes; it was still waiting, because there was a hole where a person should be.
Mara laid back on the bed, pressed the pillow into her face, and cried into it for all she was worth. She put her hand over her heart, but it did nothing to ease the pain that filled it... because there was a hole there where a person should be.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Samus laid back -though she had no choice- and sighed wearily. Another day, another session of the ridiculous torture she had found herself emerged in since her capture. What, in all honesty, did they hope to accomplish? They never asked her any questions, and what's more, there were surely better ways to make her talk than this. The tickling was torture, no question, but compared to anything she'd been up against before it was the tamest. It could push her to the brink, but there was nothing that threatened to actually push her across it. As much as it may hit her sometimes, she could endure it.
The door opened, and a rather petite woman walked in. "Good morning," she said politely enough, but without any genuine feeling to it, like a chilly tutor would address yet another pupil. "I'm Ms. Danoob; I'm the administrator of Crossroads Facility."
“I recall," Samus said.
"Good. Let's see what we have to work with, shall we?"
A great deal, Samus knew. As she laid on the padded table, her arms had been pulled up over her head and securely fastened to it. Her legs had been put in stirrups and firmly secured at the knee and ankle. There were a lot of vulnerable areas, and Ms. Danoob had the look of someone who lived for exploiting vulnerabilities.
"Let's start with the classics," Ms. Danoob said with a warm, quiet tone that did nothing to reassure Samus. Ms. Danoob held a small feather duster, which she deftly twirled in one hand. She slowly began stroking it up and down Samus' left foot. She bit her lip and tried not to think about it, but it was there, drawing its light wispy touches along her sole like some kind of fluffy advancing army. A snicker managed to find its way out, then another, and finally she was chuckling. Ms. Danoob's application was slow and deliberate, and Samus found herself surprised at just how much this really tickled.
"You're probably surprised that this works," Ms. Danoob said, still applying the feather duster along her feet. "You probably thought it wouldn't really tickle, but it can. Believe me, it can overwhelm you under the right circumstances." She switched to the other foot, and Samus was still laughing just as hard as it tackled the fresh sole. "It's technique, for one. That's a very important factor." She lightly twirled it as she went up and down the sole, and Samus closed her eyes and laughed. "But there's more too it than that," Ms. Danoob said.
Samus tried scrunching up her toes to escape; Ms. Danoob didn’t seem to notice. She just continued drawing the feather duster up and down the sole, first along the bottom, then around the instep, and then back along the outer edge. Samus giggled and twisted as much as the restraints allowed, but the tickling was inescapable. Ms. Danoob went back to the first sole, taking hold of her toe and holding it in place while she worked it over. Samus squealed and tried to yank it away, but even her strength wasn't enough to escape the grip. Ms. Danoob wriggled the feather all over the toe and ball while Samus sputtered. "I knew this was the right idea," Ms. Danoob mused aloud, never breaking in her tickling.
Ms. Danoob finally stopped to give Samus a breather. As she did, she stepped between her legs and watched the panting woman. "Having fun?" she asked. Unlike Starbuck and Lara, her remarks didn't seem like cruel teasing, but genuine. Still, Samus snapped at her with a few curses. "Still in denial, I see."
"What the hell are you talking about," Samus growled at her. She was answered by Ms. Danoob leaning forward and applying the feather duster to one breast, and then the other. She giggled and swore in response, but Ms. Danoob didn't do it for long. She started drawing it down Samus' belly, wriggling it back and forth all the way. It ran over her naval, causing her to snicker and her tummy to quiver in response. Finally it reached her legs, and Ms. Danoob began running it up Samus' right thigh.
"You know," she said, "it's quite curious to watch you." Samus was laughing much more now as Ms. Danoob varied her technique. "You've responded to all this with various kinds of laughter." Ms. Danoob began drawing her nails down the left inner thigh at the same time. "You've cursed at me, muttered unpleasant things." Samus was trembling under the effects of the tickling now. "But there's one thing you haven't done," Ms. Danoob said. And with such perfect synchronicity the tickling stopped that it almost seemed that time had momentarily frozen. Gasping a little, Samus looked up at Ms. Danoob. "You haven't asked me to stop."
Samus swallowed as she got her breath back. "It wouldn't stop you. I've learned that much."
"What you've learned," Ms. Danoob said, "is a truth the other ladies here have already figured out for themselves." She held the feather duster in front of Samus face. "Do you know what can make all the difference with this? Technique, the right duster, pacing, all of that. But equally important is that," and her voice dropped to a whisper, "you want it to tickle."
Samus looked into her eyes to offer the retort, but it died in her throat. Something about it somehow managed to hold up a mirror to Samus, and she saw the truth she hadn't wanted to see. This was torture, it really pushed her buttons... but that didn't change the fact that she also liked being tortured like this. There was something about it that flipped all the right switches in her head.
Without saying another word, Ms. Danoob took the feather duster and began slowly stroking it in between Samus legs. She giggled and squirmed as its touches teased across the seat of her femininity. It tickled more and more as the seconds passed, and she found herself laughing lightly. It was torture, and yet, as each moment passed she could feel a stirring in her belly of excitement at the predicament. Ms. Danoob's mastery of the feather duster was obvious as she seemed to hit every little spot just right until a few moans and sighs began to intersperse themselves with the laughter. .
And just as suddenly, Ms. Danoob stopped. She looked up at Samus, then put the feather duster down. "What are you doing?" Samus asked.
"I thought I'd let you reflect for a while," Ms. Danoob said. "Take all this in."
"You can't leave me here, locked down like this?!"
"Why not?"
Samus opened and closed her mouth a few times. She knew what Ms. Danoob was waiting for. She was a prideful woman, but Samus nevertheless knew that being trapped here now, without hope of any more, would be the worst torture of all. As much as it galled her to say the words, she needed this. "Please, don't stop yet."
Ms. Danoob stood there only a moment, and then began to move. She didn't make Samus say anything more; it was enough for this admission. She took up a paintbrush and began carefully using it on Samus sensitive folds and crevices. It was far more intense than the feather duster had been, and Samus laughed hard even as she felt the white hot ball growing deep inside until finally it washed through her and left her panting from laughter and pleasure.
Ms. Danoob set the paintbrush down. "Now," she said, "I think you're ready to meet the rest of the ladies. We all have a lot of work to do."
