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“As much as I want to,” B’elanna said with a mournful groan, “My shift starts at oh-six-hundred.” The Klingon pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “I get off at fifteen-hundred. Dinner?”

Seven of Nine quirked her brow at that, pondering. It was more than official then. Her plan had worked. She had successfully appealed to her love interest’s primal nature. She stared down at B’elanna, nodding slowly. “That is acceptable,” she said, hauling her pale, naked body off of the engineer’s bed.

“Then after…” she heard B’elanna say as warm digits loosely curled around her artificial manhood, “we can work on some modifications for this thing.”

Seven glance down at B’elanna’s hand then let her eyes roam the Klingon nakedness in front of her. She gave a small nod and answered “Think on what modifications you would like to make. But do not allow these thoughts to distract you from your duties.”

B’elanna almost looked angry for a moment. Seven began to regret her choice of words when the annoyance melted away into amusement. B’elanna closed her eyes and her lips curled into a smile. “Aye aye, captain.”

As her lover’s fingers fell away from her arousal, Seven straightened up and reached for her biosuit. The nanoprobes that created her phallus began to break them down and re-integrate the matter and energy into her body for later use. In the meantime, she pulled the skin-tight cat suit over her supple curves and carefully arranged herself within. Once she was satisfied with the fit, she arranged her hair as efficiently as usual and turned to leave.

“Hey,” a small voice called behind her. She stopped and looked over her shoulder at her half-asleep lover in bed. “Sleep tight.”

“Pleasant dreams, B’elanna,” she said, calling back to The Doctor’s lessons on pleasantries and small talk. Not wishing to keep the ship’s chief engineer up any later, she turned and strode out of the woman’s quarters and into the brightly lit corridor beyond.

Each step and every bend made her feel more and more unsettled. Every crewman she passed appeared to be staring at her. She stared ahead as always she did, trying to ignore the looks, but each stare frayed her nerves just a little more. She knew it could not be her imagination as she lacked anything resembling one. Imagination was inefficient.

The Borg did not value such things as creativity or imagination. Only logical analysis and solutions sufficed in the Collective. Still, Captain Janeway had suggested she attempt to cultivate her imagination and artistic expression. Despite The Doctor pressing the matter and urging her into Social Lessons centered around that sort of thinking, Seven found it an inefficient use of her time. Her attention and skills were better suited to astrometrics and oft times various engineering tasks most suited to her skillset.

But why would the crew be looking at her if it was not a figment of her imagination? She had dressed as crisply as she always did. She had made sure her hair was as neat and out of the way as possible. Her posture was as straight and upright as ever. She held her head high, squared her shoulders, walked with the same cadence as she always walked.

She cast a furtive glance behind her as the door to Cargo Bay 2 opened, her home as it were. No crewmen were in the corridor outside, and there had been nothing behind her or nearby following her that the people she had passed might be watching. She shook her head slowly and took a breath to calm her nerves. It would do no good to stress over it. Perhaps she had imagined it all along.

Her feet carried her toward her regeneration alcove and the joy at what had transpired that afternoon, evening, and night settled over her again. As she stepped into the alcove, her lips curled into a small smile and her heart fluttered. B’elanna Torres. The woman she had watched from afar for so long, pined after in secret, and had practically raped was now her… what is the common human reference, girlfriend? The engineer had accepted her advances as expected of a Klingon woman. They’d mated in the astrometrics lab. In the turbolift on the way to B’elanna’s quarters. In every room of B’elanna’s quarters. And now there was the promise of more after dinner the next day.

She breathed a soft, content sigh and closed her eyes. Her cortical node connected with the alcove with a whirring beep and a moment later, Seven as in as close a state to sleep as she could ever remember being: Borg regeneration.

A cold draft washed over her as consciousness returned. Seven opened her eyes and quirked her metallic brow. She glanced down at herself and gave a mild start. Her body as naked as it had been before she’d returned to Cargo Bay 2. She cast her eyes around for her biosuit and stepped out of her alcove.

The whirring click of another regeneration alcove cycling down caught her ears and she turned to look. Whom else could have been-…

Her blood ran cold as her worst fear stepped out of the alcove. The woman staring back at her had a small smile lightly curling at her thin, pale lips. Her long legs that appeared to be covered in the tight black bodysuit carried her gracefully down from the alcove with a strange beauty that contradicted the horror of the bodysuit’s claws stretching the pale flesh of the Borg Queen’s upper torso.

“Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One,” The queen cooed in a deceptively gentle voice. “It has been too long.”

Seven tensed up, standing as defiant as a tree in a hurricane. She glared at the being stepping toward her and held her chin high, unwilling to waver despite the Queen’s unexpected presence.

“You are not going to reach for the console?” the queen asked, glancing over Seven’s shoulder toward the console in question beside the regeneration chamber.

“This is not Voyager,” Seven said, glancing around at last. She welcomed the momentary reprieve from staring down the being who had overwhelmed her every thought when she was a drone. But she didn’t want to appear as though she were cowering, either. She turned, staring into the Queen’s yellow eyes once more. “I hypothesize that you have tapped into my subspace transceiver and are accessing my cortical node. This is a fantasy. A dreamland. You cannot hurt me here,” she challenged but in the back of her mind, she was not so sure.

“You are wise to doubt me,” the Queen said, reaching up to gently run her cold leather-clad fingertips over Seven’s cheek in an uncharacteristically motherly fashion that sickened Seven.

The next instant, Seven’s world spun as her feet carried her toward the console. She tried to cease the movements, but it was as though she were in a shuttle craft in freefall. Try as she might, she could not regain control of her body. She grimaced and sneered, but she couldn’t even manage a hitch in her step. As she bent over and braced her naked body against the console, Seven glared over her shoulder at the approaching Borg Queen and spat “Release me at once!”

The Queen gave another thin-lipped smile and shook her crested head. Between her legs, a long black phallus similar to the one Seven of Nine herself had produced earlier that afternoon began to grow, made of the same material as the apparent bodysuit it was attached to. “The Borg assimilate species to learn everything that species knows,” the Queen said as she stepped up behind Seven and set her cold hands against her rump. “I am here to learn something we cannot assimilate.”

“This is pointless,” Seven said, willing herself to run, to spin around the console and put the station between herself and the Queen. “Any information gleaned from this fantasy is irrelevant!”

“Is it?” the Queen asked. “I am learning what motivates you, Seven of Nine. What drives you to research the mating protocols of a species so far removed from your own? What is it that made you alter your sexuality to make it possible to impregnate another woman who is only half of your species? Perhaps those motivations can shed some light on why so many of my drones have chosen to separate from the collective.”

Seven’s heart leapt into her throat when she felt the cool, firm tip of the Queen’s phallus press against her outer lips. She grimaced and groaned, trying with all of her might and willpower to move, even a tiny muscle in her legs. It was futile.

Her stomach turned when she felt her inner muscles spread around the lightly ridged appendage spearing into her. She gasped, clamping her eyes shut as pain lanced through her. A groan spilled from her lips as the Queen’s hips slapped against her rump.

Much like how she had taken B’elanna the first time, Seven felt the Queen withdraw the hard appendage then slam it back in again, taking on a rough, quick pace with her immobile body.

“If you wish to hear me beg,” Seven snarled through clenched teeth, “I will not comply!”

Much to her horror, the pain was starting to change. Deep down, she felt it slowly abating and as much as she tried not to, she was beginning to feel pleasure from the invasion. Her nethers had begun to grow wet and squeeze against the Queen’s every thrust inward, clamping down each time that unwanted phallus filled her so completely. Her knees buckled but not from any effort on her part. The pleasure wracked her body, making her shiver and quake beneath the Borg Queen’s pistonning hips.

“I do not want that,” the Queen cooed. “I only wish to understand.”

The pleasure exploded deep inside of Seven’s belly, rushing through her like a core breach. She clamped her eyes shut and bit back a moan. She would not give her rapist the satisfaction, not even when the Borg Queen seated the tip of her artificial phallus against her cervix and the heat of nanoprobe-laden cum rushed into her womb.

As the Queen withdrew, Seven felt mobility return to her limbs. She straightened on weak knees and turned to face the Queen. She opened her mouth to speak but a pressure in her middle interrupted her. She groaned, feeling a new discomfort rising inside of her. She wouldn’t call it pain, per se, but it was close. She looked down, pressing her palms against her belly over where she felt the growing pressure.

The taut flesh of her toned belly remained firm but a bulge had begun to form. Much more quickly than Seven would have thought possible, she watched with a growing unease as her belly swelled outward. She was no fool or blind to human biology. She knew she was watching the development that usually took weeks and months happen in a matter of moments.

A grimace contorted her features as she a soft kick landed on her ribcage from the inside. Her hands explored the globe of her pale flesh as the swelling stopped. She could only guess, but it seemed she was twenty-eight weeks or so pregnant. Her belly had ballooned outward obscenely and her breasts had swollen to a tender and sensitive proportion.

“What have you done to me?” she gasped, lifting her eyes away from her altered body.

The cargo bay had disappeared. Rather, it had changed. Instead, Seven stood in B’elanna’s quarters. There, standing beside the bed she herself had laid in only hours prior was the Queen, her artificial phallus glistening with Seven’s juices.

“Seven of Nine,” the Borg Queen said, slowly sitting upon the edge of the bed. “Help me to understand and I will release you.” Seven watched her slide back onto the bed and lay in wait with as much vulnerability as a Tarkalian razerbeast.

Seven knew what she had to do, but the idea alone sickened her. She stared at the Queen for several moments then carefully waddled forward. Climbing onto the bed when it had B’elanna had been a simple exercise but now the task was laborious and awkward not for the least bit because it was the Borg Queen she was crawling toward.

Slowly, Seven straddled the Queen’s cold waist, ignoring the icy hands that came to rest on her thighs. The sooner she got through with this, the better. She lifted her gravid body up and reached down to awkwardly grip at the lifeless phallus pointing up at her. With as much efficiency as the rest of her tasks aboard Voyager, she guided the appendage into her dripping womanhood and lowered herself down.

She rested her hips flush against the Borg Queen’s, shifting her weight into a more comfortable position on her knees. The Queen’s thin lips curled into another smile and Seven was tempted to dismount and refuse to play along when the cyborg gave a slow nod.

“Begin,” The Borg Queen said, gyrating her hips against Seven’s.

Forcing the bile back, Seven lifted her heavy body upward. As she felt the tip of the Queen’s phallus near her outer lips, she lowered herself gently back down. She would have moved faster and sped toward the end of this charade as quickly as she could, but she was still adjusting to her new proportions and awkward center of mass.

Despite the pleasant sensations travelling through her sensitive flesh stretched around the alien phallus, Seven refused to express any of it. Instead, she cradled the underside of her gravid belly with her hands as if to physically lift the burden from her spine and hips. Slowly, up and down she moved, taking the Queen to the hilt time and again without ever breaking eye contact.

While the gesture had been one of affection with B’elanna, here it was iron defiance, plain and simple. The Queen smiled up at her, her black-clad hips undulating gently against her every movement as she rode the cyborg.

The longer it went on, the more she wanted it to be over. But she would not allow the Queen the satisfaction of knowing she had rushed through it just to end it quicker. She was a strong willed individual who would now cow to the Collective’s wishes, no matter what form they came in.

Instead, she started to tense her muscles every time she took the Queen’s phallus deep into herself. It was imitation at first, copying what her body had naturally done when she had been in B’elanna’s place minutes before, but as the time passed, it began to grow more natural until the pleasure was beginning to grow.

Excitement and disgust coalesced inside of her. On the one hand, Seven was elated that her pleasure was mounting. The sooner they reached orgasm, the sooner she was allegedly going to be set free. On the other, she hated that her body was deriving pleasure from this. Even if she was the one riding the Queen’s aroused appendage, this was still rape. It was as simple as that.

Finally, the burning pleasure her body felt came to a crescendo and rushed through her bloated belly. Seven forced down any kind of audible reaction to her minor orgasm that threatened to spill from her lips. She pressed her hips against the Queen’s own, grinding them together as the Borg Queen’s liquid head rushed up into her again. The sensation alone made her want to vomit, but she forced that back as well.

The Queen gave a long, low moan through her parting lips. She reached up, pressing her cold hands against Seven’s rounded belly. “Seven of Nine,” she whispered. “I understand. I will adapt.”

Pain tore through Seven’s belly and she grimaced, finally showing some reaction in the form of a sharp gasp. She clutched at her middle as she felt the mass within shifting downward. A hand slammed against her throat, forcing her back against the regeneration alcove she had been standing in when this all began. The Queen was standing centimeters away, their naked bodies pressed tightly together. “Resistance is Futile.”

The whirring click of the alcove cycling down brought Seven of Nine to consciousness. Her eyes opened and she stepped forward. Her breath faltered slightly as the images and sensations of her unwanted interactions with the Borg Queen bled away.

There, standing in the middle of the cargo bay in front of the regeneration chamber was B’elanna Torres. Her uniform had been altered. Where once she wore the tight black and gold uniform, now she wore it in jacket form. It spread open around her bulging middle, round and swollen much the same way Seven’s had been in the fantasy.

Her brow creased and she looked around. This was another fantasy. It had to be. Before she could voice her concerns, B’elanna spoke.

“Seven!” The half-klingon’s hands were grasping her own. “Thank God you’re awake!”

Seven turned her attention to the woman who at that moment was kissing her pale flesh. “What has happened?” she asked. “You’re…” She pulled her hands away from B’elanna’s and let them drop down to the engineer’s round middle.

“It’s yours,” B’elanna said in a small voice. “Believe, I don’t know who was more shocked, me or The Doctor.”

If this was real… Seven turned and started toward the door of the cargo bay, a new sense of urgency in her step. “I must speak with the captain!”

* * * * *

As if the ordeal she had suffered through at the hands of the Borg Queen hadn’t been enough, Seven learned she’d been in her regeneration alcove for seven months. Not long after her induced coma began, the Borg began harassing Voyager. Luckily, Captain Janeway had a reputation for knowing how to handle the Collective, but it had been a constant game of cat and mouse.

It had taken Seven several days to discover what she had missed and adapt accordingly. Thankfully, she was still Borg. If only insomuch as she would adapt. To her relief, B’elanna was there for her every available moment. Even pregnant, the Klingon refused to shirk her duties. Being half Borg herself, Seven was much the same. Until they shared off-duty time together at which point Seven wouldn’t allow B’elanna to do anything for herself.

It had begun to grow into a matter of contention between them, but in Seven’s research on Klingon mating practices, she was ready and able to deal with every bout of annoyance and various mood swings. Life hadn’t returned to normal, per se, but Seven was not about to give what she had up any time soon.