ATTN: If you are expecting a coherent plot, appropriate content, and a good story, then this is the fic for you!

His entire body is covered in a thick sheen of sweat, and it is impossible for the ex-Borg riding him to get a good grip. She likes to be on top, and it takes a conscious effort to keep from slipping off. His hips are pumping, the muscles of that glorious gluteus maximus contracting visibly beneath his golden-tanned skin. There is an audible, wet slap with each contact of their pelvises, the young woman's cervix vibrating with each tremendous impact. She feels almost unbearably swollen, the fierce heat of arousal spreading throughout her belly, and she is on the cusp of orgasm.

"Oh, Jim! Jim, you're so fucking good. Ohhh, yeah. Yeah, I'm gonna...I'm gonna—Oh! Oh! Oh!"

The ex-Borg suddenly ceases in her movement, grasping his shoulders, mesh fingertips sinking in and drawing blood.

"Stop that," she says, "Desist."


"I am the one fucking you," she says, "and it is my name you should be calling."

He looks mildly off put at this, but smiles as he grabs the ex-Borg's ass and pulls her closer.

"I'm sorry, I've never had any complaints before."

He bucks his hips once, the hot, meaty mushroom tip of his bulbous penis threatening an imminent warp core breach. Seven gasps at this, her back arching, mammoth breasts pressing into his own. He begins to rock his hips and flex his ass muscles, his manhood doing wonderful things inside of Seven.

"Oh, Seven. Do you like that? Do you like how Jim fucks you?"

Seven groans, caught in a vicious rift between annoyance and something beyond pleasure. In this moment, as she lurches and flexes on his lap, she understands self loathing. She is covered in sweat, none of it her own, her mouth is ripe with the taste of the flesh that is buried to the hilt inside of her, and what was once the cockiest man whore in the galaxy is driving her wild.

"Ugh, yeah. Yeah," he groans, "Yeah, Seven, I'm going to come in you. Oh, Jim's going to come. Ooooooh, ooooooooh! Uuuuungh! Ah! Ah! Ah!"

He arches, his testicles contracting, a hot, sticky stream of semen jettisoning deep inside the woman. At this, Seven moans loudly, the feeling of her walls contracting violently around his rod driving her insane, the waves of orgasm crashing over her until, aided by both his sweat and the enormous amount of semen, she slips off and falls to the deck with a tremendous thump.

As she lays in the aftermath, lust dissipating, disgust washes over her.

"I should have used Spock instead," she says wearily, forearm hiding her eyes.

"Now there's a lover," the man says, rolling out of the bed and padding into the bathroom.

Seven sits up and considers his words, and the author of the program, and how close to the real thing it actually is, until he comes strutting back into the bedroom, drying himself with a towel, his half-flaccid penis still palatial and suspended lewdly in front of him.

Her loins contract as she is suddenly overcome with the desire to taste it again.

"Computer, delete all holographic occupants of this room."

There are no holographic beings present.

The man grins, drying his buttocks with the towel suspended between both hands, his cock swinging suggestively. Seven's inorganic eye is threatening to burst from it's titanium socket, shock, horror, and arousal all overwhelming her at once.

"Y-you can't be. No," she gasps, "No, you're dead."

He grins, laughs, and grabs the communicator from the bedside table.

"Kirk to Enterprise. One to beam up."

"Captain, there is an unidentified ship decloaking off port bow," Tuvok says, his cool, Vulcan tones belying any trepidation which might have stirred deep within him. "We are being hailed."

"On screen," Janeway says as she stands, both relieved and somewhat irritated at the interruption. It takes a moment for recognition to dawn, but when it does, the Captain's reaction is one of sheer horror.

"Jim!" she gasps.

"Kathy," Kirk says grinning, "What's it been? Eight years?"

"No. No, you couldn't have. Not again. Oh, God, not again," she moans, stumbling back into her chair.

"Again, Kathryn! Did you honestly think you were safe just because you were in an unexplored region of space?" he says, his voice a crude laugh, "It doesn't matter what age, gender, or species they are, I will have sex with them before you do. Jon, Elisa, Mark, Michael Sullivan, Kashyk, and now--"

"NO! No, please, God, NO!" she sobs, her screams drowning in his horrific laughter, "Seven! No!"


Something is jabbing into her ribs.


A hand is on her arm, shaking her.


A sharp pinch, and wakefulness dawns.

"Seven!" Janeway shouts, jerking upright.

Her spouse observes her curiously, a padd laying forgotten on her lap. "The dream again?" she asks gently.

Janeway nods forlornly, tiredness and despair apparent in her features. "I don't know. It's been six years, and I still can't get over it."

A tender smile plays at Seven's lips, as she reaches an arm around Kathryn and pulls her against her.

"It is not an easy thing to get over," she says, "I assure you."

A patter of footfalls, and suddenly the door bursts open to give way to young Vice Admiral Janeway. There is no mistaking his features; the broad chin, dreamy brown eyes, thin blond hair, and perpetually suave expression. Seven refused to abort the child, or even alter his genetic composition. She named her son after Kathryn's father to lessen the blow, but, love him as she did, Vice Admiral was a constant reminder of Kathryn's haunted past...

...and the best defense against it.

To be continued?