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Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction and is not intended to infringe
on any copyrights held by Paramount or other entities. The characters
portrayed within were created by other authors and are borrowed here for
non-remunerative purposes.

Comments or questions: I am very interested in receiving feedback on this
story and others in the series. Please send comments or questions to
[email protected]”. I also would like to apologize to those who
enjoyed the first story in this series for the long delay between the first
and second installments. But hey, I’ve been waiting for a new Alice in
Chains studio release since 1995, so it could be worse.

Star Trek - Voyager: The Seven Of Nine Spankings Part 2 - New Designation
by Handsofstone ([email protected]) (FFF,spank)

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 B’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 B’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

B’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.

“B’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 B’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. B’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 B’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.”

B’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, B’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. B’Lanna
looked sideways as the captain walked over to her, a look of fear clearly
etched on B’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
B’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, B’Lanna,” the captain asked. She brought the
paddle again, twice in quick succession.

“Yes!!!” B’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 B’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, B’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.

B’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 B’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, B’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.

    

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