The Seven of Nine Spankings: Episode Two - New Designation

 I

“My designation is Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix 0.1. But you may call me . . . Seven of Nine.”

That was the first communication I had with the crew of Voyager, who later were to become my crewmates and, in some cases, friends. It has been difficult reclaiming my humanity and deciding exactly what I am. I feel I am not quite human and I also am no longer a Borg drone. But some Borg circuitry remains in my system and I require daily regeneration sessions, similar to the sleep humans require.

I am not a mutant, because I was not born with the features that make me different from my human crewmates. Perhaps the most accurate definition of what I am now is “mutate.”

Occasionally, I remember little episodes of my childhood before my parents and I were captured by the Borg and I became a drone. But for the most part, I have to learn my humanity all over again. I am something of a child in an adult’s body.

Perhaps that is why Captain Janeway spanks me several times a week - she clearly seems to believe I need and benefit from this crude yet effective method of discipline. She may be right.

What I have been unable to determine, though, is how I feel about these spankings. On the one hand, as a member of her crew, I am expected and, in fact, required to follow her orders, including going across her knees for punishment if that is what she commands. At the same time, we are both aware that Captain Janeway could not put me over her knee and remove the bottom portion of my uniform without my cooperation.

I cannot deny that I am complicit in these spankings. Do I, in fact, want them? I cannot say for certain. But then, why do I sometimes report actions to the captain that she otherwise probably would not hear about, knowing that they are likely to earn me another spanking. I may prefer to deny this, but the truth is that, on some level, I desire these spankings.

The next question is - Do I enjoy these spankings?

It is an even more difficult question. While a spanking is occurring, I can clearly say the answer is no. And if the nervous anticipation I experience right before a spanking is enjoyment, it is of a type I was previously unfamiliar with.

In the minutes, hours and sometimes even days following a spanking, though, I am usually distracted by memories of the event. Enjoyment may be in question, fascination is not.

II

I have occasion to work closely with Lieutenant Be’Lanna Torres, Voyager’s chief of engineering. Like me, Torres is part human. In her case, this is a fact of her birth - she had a human parent and a Klingon parent. As such, she is susceptible to the temper and impetuousness Klingons are known for.

Torres is the girlfriend of Tom Paris, a brilliant engineer and, in my estimation, an excellent Starfleet officer. Yet, as fits the paradox of her birth, were it not for the unusual circumstances Voyager has faced in the past several years, stranded in the Delta Quadrant, Torres would be considered a traitor to the Federation, not a valued officer. Torres was once a member of the rebel faction known as the Maquis - she and some of her comrades joined Voyager only under duress.

In the intervening years, however, before I joined the crew, Torres and other former Maquis, including First Officer Chakotay, frequently proved their value and trustworthiness to the rest of Voyager. They are now fully accepted as members of the crew.

Winning a similar measure of trust from my colleagues has been more difficult for me. This is no doubt in part because of the adjustments I have been making to free will - a mind of my own - but even more due to the fact that I was a member of the Borg collective. The Maquis were never the threat to the Federation that the Borg did and continues to pose - in reality, the Maquis do not even consider themselves direct enemies of the Federation. The two organizations share the same enemies, but divergently different philosophies. Learning about the Maquis and getting to know my crewmates during my three years aboard Voyager, I have come to the conclusion that many of the philosophical differences between the former Maquis and the Federation loyalists aboard this ship have shrunken.

I have never said this to anyone, but I have come to the conclusion that I would have made a good member of the Maquis.

Despite being in a position to inherently understand my internal conflicts, Torres proved to be among the most difficult of my colleagues to win over. In my early months aboard Voyager, as Captain Janeway entrusted me with more and more responsibilities and freedoms, I often felt that Torres was watching me out of the corners of her eyes. Certainly, she wasn’t the only one - but her distrust was that which I felt the most.

Part human, part Borg. Part human, part Klingon. Both of scientific mindsets. Both intellectually stubborn, distrustful of rivals and disdainful toward the vulnerabilities created by the Federation’s Prime Directive. Could Torres and I have more in common? I wanted her friendship badly, but could never bring myself to say so.

III

It turns out that Be’Lanna Torres and I have one other thing in common. We are both well acquainted with the experience of being face-down and bare-bottomed, stretched across Captain Janeway’s lap for punishment.

If I had to choose another member of the crew who would need and benefit from the captain’s disciplinary attention, it would be Torres. However, I might have been equally certain that Torres would never submit to a spanking over the captain’s knees.

I would have been wrong.

I like to think I am discreet, but it turns out that Torres observed me two evenings ago walking gingerly away from the captain’s quarters. Had anyone else seen me, they might have noticed nothing different. But Torres, having made the same embarrassed walk many times, certain that every other person in the hall could instantly tell she had just been spanked and now had a very red, sore bottom to take care of, instantly wondered from my posture and disposition if I had just received a spanking.

IV

So it was that yesterday, I walked into Neelix’s galley for lunch. After taking a tray, I turned to look for a table. Torres was sitting by herself sipping her soup and motioned for me to join her.

“Have a seat, Seven,” she said. “If you want, I can have the replicator make a cushion for you.”

“Umm . . . I find the chairs here in the galley to be adequately comfortable,” I said.

“Even today, Seven? I like to think I’m tough, but I’ll admit I’m impressed.” “I don’t think I know what you mean,” I said, wishing I had chosen to sit somewhere else.

“Seven, excuse me if I’m prying but I have a good idea of what’s going on when you visit the captain’s quarters in the evening.”

“Really. This should be interesting.”

“Would you prefer to finish this conversation somewhere else? I’m off duty.”

“Nobody is paying attention to us, Be’Lanna. Why don’t you just say what is on your mind?”

“I think that several times a week, Captain Janeway calls you to her quarters and finds some fault with some part of your performance or your behavior. Then, I think she makes you remove your bottoms and lie down over her knees . . . so she can spank the daylights out of you. I’ll bet sometimes she even makes you bring her her hairbrush from the top of her dresser.”

“I see.” I could barely make eye contact with Torres and my mouth was too dry to eat. “To what do we owe your new abilities of clairvoyance?”

“Oh come on, Seven,” Torres said with that familiar, knowing smile. “Are you denying it?”

Suddenly, the truth occurred to me. I was stunned at first. Then I managed to blurt out, “You too? She’s done it you too, hasn’t she?”

Torres had finished her lunch and stood. “Could you meet me in the holosuites in 30 minutes?”

V

A few hours later, Torres stood outside Captain Janeway’s quarters.

“Enter,” Janeway said. “Be’Lanna, how are you?” The captain smiled. Over time, she had come to regard some members of her crew as family, and Torres was part of that surrogate family.

“Captain, I wanted to inform you of something . . . I have been somewhat slack in my responsibilities lately.”

“What do you mean, Be’Lanna,” Janeway asked, sitting on her sofa. She was drinking black coffee.

“I . . . uh . . . I’ve been late for some of my shifts in engineering lately and that can’t happen, not if I’m going to set an example for my charges.”

“I agree, but I haven’t heard of this. It must not be too great a problem. Just the same, I am glad you are aware of it. I’m sure you’ll take care to do better from now on.”

“Are you sure, Captain, because I’m not?” Torres walked over to Janeway’s dresser and picked up the hairbrush. She got the chills as picking up the brush flooded her memory with what it felt like to feel that brush sting her bare bottom repeatedly. She turned and faced the captain, with the brush in her left hand, handle sticking outward to be picked up by the captain.

“Be’Lanna, I appreciate you coming to me with this matter, but I hardly think the hairbrush will be necessary. Please do better and we’ll discuss this again next week.” Janeway returned to her reading and Torres immediately understood that she had been dismissed.

As she put the brush back down on the dresser, Torres realized that, despite the dread that brush could stir up in her, she was feeling a sense of letdown, maybe even disappointment.

VI

“I practically begged her for a spanking, Seven, and she just told me it was not necessary,” Torres said. She and I were speaking in Cargo Bay 2, which serves as my quarters. “I don’t understand. She used to put me her over her knee for the most minor of infractions - using too many replicator rations in a month, raising my voice on the bridge, things like that.”

Torres had told me earlier in the day of how Janeway used to spank her several times a week. The spankings had begun around the time I joined the crew and had ended, although Torres didn’t realize it at the time, a few weeks ago. There were times when Torres had to apply makeup to her rear end to hide bruises from the captain’s brush from Tom Paris. More than once, she had grimaced in pain when Paris had caressed a sore spot on her behind in the midst of lovemaking, but if Tom ever suspected that Torres was receiving regular spankings, he didn’t let on.

Comparing notes, Torres and I quickly came to realization that Torres’ spankings had ceased around the same time that mine began. Torres’ failure to obtain a spanking that evening had confirmed our suspicion that the captain only disciplined one crew member at a time. But what about the time before the captain had begun spanking Torres, we wondered.

While relating her efforts to conceal her spankings from Tom, it suddenly occurred to Torres. “Kes. It had to be Kes,” she said to herself. Tom had been romantically involved with Kes before his relationship with Be’Lanna.

“Kes? The Ocampan who left the ship shortly before I joined the crew? What about her?”

“She was very childlike in her own way - I’m sure that some would find her very spankable. Is that a word? Oh well, you know what I mean.” I nodded. “You’re a Borg . . .” I shot her a glare. “I mean, you WERE a member of the collective, so you must know about the Ocampans. They have a lifespan of nine earth years and they regress, rather than age. She wasn’t here long enough for us to see much of that transition, but it’s very unusual to say the least. Anyway, a woman who is regressing rather than maturing might very well have an increasing need for disciplinary attention, rather than a decreasing need.”

“You are implying that the captain spanked Kes - and that she started out only doing so when warranted, but over time Kes probably required more frequent punishments?”

“It makes sense doesn’t it? And that’s why, when Kes left, the captain turned first to me and then to you. She developed a need for this kind of relationship . . .”

“And Kes’s likely need for increasingly frequent spankings led the captain to spank us for any number of . . . frivolous infractions. Just the other day, I received eight solid minutes over her knees just for wearing a uniform with a hole in the sleeves.”

“You’re missing an important part, though, Seven. Or maybe YOU aren’t. Like the captain, I also developed a need for these spankings. And now that need is going unfulfilled.”

I thought for a minute and then made a difficult confession to this person whose friendship I had wanted for so long. “I don’t know why, Be’Lanna, but I cannot deny that I also need these spankings.”

VII

Be’Lanna and I stood outside the captain’s quarters. Torres had departed, unspanked and confused, just a little more than an hour before.

“Enter,” Janeway said, annoyed as she had just reached a fascinating part of a late 21st century Martian colony intrigue novel. A combination of espionage, exploration and irrigation theory always held her attention.

“Be’Lanna, what a pleasure. Did you stop by to borrow a hairbrush? And Seven. Well now, whatever can this be about?”

“I think you can guess, captain,” Torres said. Janeway didn’t take the bait and remained silent.

Torres looked over at me. It was my turn to continue the script we had rehearsed briefly. Whatever you do, Seven, Be’Lanna had said, please don’t improvise.

“Captain Janeway,” I managed, forcing back severe embarrassment, “we have been bad.” Immediately, I knew that had sounded awkward coming from me.

“What Seven means, Captain . . .”

“I’m pretty sure I know what she meant, Be’Lanna, and you too.” Janeway looked them both in the eyes. “I have a direct order for the two of you.”

“Yes, captain,” I blurted. Force of habit, I suppose. I noticed then that I had reverted to standing at attention, with my hands clasped in the small of my back.

“I want you both to turn around and stand side by side in that corner over by my conference table. You are not to talk . . . not even one little bit. Am I understood?”

We replied by walking over to the corner silently and obeying Janeway’s command.

Then we heard Janeway walk over to her replicator. “Computer, I need an English school paddle, circa 1870 AD, made of wood. It should be one-half inch thick, with a five-inch long round handle and a flat surface measuring four inches by nine inches.”

Torres grew wide-eyed. She knew she had needed a spanking for several days, but now she looked a bit scared. For my part, I remained composed, outwardly at least. How much more could a paddle hurt than the hairbrush, I wondered.

“Now, ladies, I would like each of you to remove all clothing from the waist down and leave it folded neatly in the corner,” Janeway said. Slowly, we began to disrobe. I caught a look from Torres. She did not seem thrilled to be undressing in my presence. Had the captain not commanded our silence, I would have reminded Be’Lanna that this was her idea. “When you are finished,” the captain continued, “you are to stand on opposite sides of the conference table, facing one another.”

We looked up and saw the captain brandishing a large, natural-colored wooden paddle. For the first time, I shared Be’Lanna’s concern. This was going to hurt, I thought, far worse than any spanking I had received previously.

“I want each of you to bend over the table so that you can hold each other’s hands. I am sure you will be a great comfort to one another while I am scalding your bare bottoms.” We began to assume the position the captain had explained. Be’Lanna’s legs were a beautiful shade of brown, similar to coffee with lightened with a pouring of milk. I also caught a brief look at a tuft of darker brown hair at the bottom of her torso before Be’Lanna bent over the table. I noticed her looking at me as well, but her assessment of my form would have to wait for later. For the moment, we had a paddling to get through.

“I want your legs straight and your rear ends sticking out for me. You are presenting me with a target and I don’t want you to think otherwise for a second.”

Be’Lanna groaned as she stuck her bottom, which I had yet to see, out a bit further.

“That’s better. Did you have something you wanted to say, Be’Lanna?,” the captain asked. Be’Lanna remained silent, and looked at her reflection in the mahogany table.

I realized that Captain Janeway was standing beside me. I was to go first, apparently.

“Ready Seven?,” she asked.

I gulped. “Ye OWWWW,” I shouted as the captain caught me by surprise with a quick smack of the paddle. She quickly followed with four more swats and my bottom quickly felt as if it were on fire. I had to admire the efficiency of the paddle. It covered my entire backside with each swat, punishing all areas considerably. In five quick strokes, the captain had accomplished what would have taken several unrelenting minutes with her right hand.

To my relief, the captain had walked to the other side of the table. Be’Lanna looked sideways as the captain walked over to her, a look of fear clearly etched on Be’Lanna’s face.

“So, have you missed these sessions with me, Lieutenant Torres,” the captain said, while standing behind Torres and brandishing the paddle for me to see. Then she quickly smacked Torres’ unprotected bottom. Torres grimaced but did not shout. Janeway followed with three more solid blows and I watched as Be’Lanna gritted her teeth, but kept her protests to herself. Her grip on my hands tightened, just as mine had when I was on the receiving end of the paddle.

“Are you going to answer me, Be’Lanna,” the captain asked. She brought the paddle again, twice in quick succession.

“Yes!!!” Be’Lanna shouted finally, after the sixth smack.

“Yes what?” the captain asked. She swung again and Torres raised her head toward the ceiling, her teeth clench tightly. I remembered that Klingons are raised to bear pain with great stoicism.

Torres stoicism earned her three more quick, solid swats. Neither of us had received anything resembling a warm-up smack. Then, the captain returned to my side, as Torres dropped her head to the table and let out a long sigh. She showed no interest in watching part two of my punishment. For my part, my bottom had cooled a bit from my first five smacks and I decided to hold Be’Lanna’s hands firmly, to keep her from rubbing her enflamed backside.

“Well, Seven, I must say that you share Be’Lanna’s talent for reticence,” Janeway said. She swung the paddle hard and I felt a shock of pain erupt throughout my posterior. “Let’s see if we can do something about that.”

I bowed my head, hung onto Be’Lanna, and prepared for the worst. I was not kept waiting.

Smack, smack, smack, smack . . . After four strokes, I lost count through my yelps and tears. I had never felt a spanking like this and it had been only a few smacks. I had no idea how much more the captain had in store for us, but I was ready to go back to Cargo Bay 2 for a nice regeneration session.

Then, a smack didn’t come and I looked up to see the captain at Torres’ side again. “I’m still curious to find out what you said yes to, Be’Lanna,” the captain said. Then she unleashed eight furious, uninterrupted blows of the paddle. They were easier to count with my eyes than with my bottom.

Be’Lanna thrashed and wriggled. Had it not been for my grip, her hands would have flown to her behind instantly. But she continued to grit her teeth.

Smack . . . the captain hesitated. SMACK!!! She swung harder than ever before and Be’Lanna let out a cry that sounded like a wounded animal. Then her tears flowed. “Yes, captain, yes,” she cried. “I’ve missed these sessions. I ... I need them badly.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Be’Lanna. I won’t disappoint you.”

I realized that the captain’s voice had come from behind me. I had been so busy watching Be’Lanna and feeling sorry for her that I had completely forgotten that my turn would come again.

The captain proceeded to remind me, however, smacking and smacking and smacking until I was sobbing. Then, it was Be’Lanna’s turn again. She had regained a bit of composure while I took my punishment.

On the captain’s fourth smack, her intercom beeped.

“Janeway here.” She sounded completely unruffled. I can tell you her hair and face were not.

“Captain, we need you on the bridge right away.”

“Can it wait, Chakotay?”

“I’m afraid not, captain. I’m not sure I can even explain what I’m seeing on the viewscreen. You’ll want to see it for yourself.”

“Very well. I’m on my way. Janeway out.”

She turned to us. “Saved by the bell. Oh well, I think you’ve both learned a valuable lesson. I am going to the bridge. I want each of you to take a moment, get dressed and regain your composure. And wash your faces. You both blubber like a pair of school girls. Then, join me on the bridge. You have 10 minutes.”

“Yes, captain.” Torres and I spoke simultaneously.