This will be an open-ended serial, drawing on popular franchise characters. It'll be updated every Friday... but I figured it'd be more fun to meet the four primary girls faster. 🙂 So the first four chapters will be coming out over the course of this weekend. You can check out the story prologue if you haven't already.
Prologue
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Part 1
“Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One. Proceed to Secondary Chamber, Grid Nine Two of Subjunction Twelve.”
Seven of Nine stepped out of her alcove and walked through the Cube. Her steps were slow, but deliberate, the mechanical march precisely calculated as was only fitting for her, a Borg. She passed others, but it was irrelevant; they had their duties, and she had hers. The door opened on her approach, and promptly closed, sealing her inside alone, or at least, as alone as anyone could possibly be within the Borg Collective. With precise movements she kneeled on the platform before her, her knees perfectly fitting into the grooved slots, locking into position. She held her arms straight up, inserting her hands into the openings above. They sealed around her wrists and both parts rose a meter up, the kneeling platform splitting. This had the effect of spreading her legs open as well as stretching her body out.
“Auditory test,” the Collective said.
“Auditory test confirmation,” Seven said back.
“Auditory test complete. Proceeding.”
Seven gasped. “My connection to the Collective Consciousness has been severed,” she stated.
A cable descended from the ceiling behind her and entered her left shoulder blade. Her exoplating immediately changed. It started on her arms, the material disconnected at her shoulder and slid up, collapsing like a telescope until it reached the elbows. Along the sides of her chest, two centimeter-wide strips lifted off and slid around her back. The curves on her chest irised open revealing a thin protective layer underneath which slid back, exposing her massive breasts. There was a zip as a hidden panel slid aside to show her navel. A powerful hiss, and the bottom of her suit split at the crotch, the back swinging around and up to the small of her back revealing her round buttocks, while the front slid up into the suit. The bottoms of her boots opened and slid into the sides. She swallowed; there was no fear, of course, because that would be an indication of self-concern, and she was here for the purpose of her Collective. However, it was difficult not to feel some kind of... apprehension at the session.
There was a sound like someone sliding a concrete slab, and two pipes dropped down, stopping at an even height with her exposed armpits. Two thick camelhair brushes emerged on probes and without any warning began stroking her underarms. Seven grimaced as they moved, then began tittering. They worked in concert at first, perfect synchronicity, with their long slow movements the got Seven to snicker and try to pull her arms down. They made little circular motions in her armpits and she chuckled and shook a little. Then they began following more randomized patterns, and Seven found herself laughing a little more at the touch. Soon they were fully exploring the area and she was roaring; her underarms were obviously one of her worst tickle spots, and she had to struggle to avoid screaming for the Collective to terminate the experiment. It was very hard though, because this was only the beginning, and it only reminded her how vulnerable she was to tickling.
Seven stopped and swallowed as the brushes were removed and snaked back into the pipes. Now two clawed probes emerged; this was the more trying. She braced herself and they began digging into her armpits, and immediately she began laughing. They poked and prodded all around the sensitive hollows, massaging here and stroking there until Seven’s eye was squeezed shut in a desperate attempt to endure. She laughed much harder now as the worked, squeezing the surrounding exposed areas and teasing her skin until she began pulling hard at her restraints. But there was no chance that even Borg-enhanced strength could free her. She was left with no choice but to let them tickle her armpits while she laughed her Borg head off.
Eventually the probe withdrew as well, and Seven took a few seconds to catch her breath while the pipes rotated inward. Again the brushes emerged, but this time they began teasing her gray and white nipples. She giggled and squirmed at the touch; despite being Borg they were nevertheless still tied into the nervous system of her biological distinctiveness, which meant that they quickly grew erect at the gentle touches. After several minutes the probes emerged as well and began squeezing her breasts, and the giggles soon became deep belly laughs. Her ample glands offered more than enough room for them to explore her ticklishness to the fullest, and soon tears ran from her eye as she was overwhelmed by the sensations. Neural examination by the Borg had indicated her body was highly-sensitive to tickling, hence her involvement in this research, but it still was unexpected how truly vulnerable she could be to such sensations. She was Borg, and yet she was still reduced to a laughing, leaking blob just by the proper stimulation of tissue she had no practical use for in the first place!
But there was nothing Seven could do; tickling must be understood, and she was the most promising subject, though the repeated data inconsistencies were troubling. Accurate data would ensure these sessions stopped, and many times as they tickled her body she strongly wished they would. Yet other times, as in this moment, even though the sensations were overwhelming she found herself enjoying them. It was terrible and wonderful all at once - paradox! Clearly tickling was introducing some kind of malfunction into her cognitive processes because her mind was interpreting the same data in different ways. Part of her wanted to shrink away, part of her was trying to arch her back so the probes could more easily knead her breasts. But all the while regardless she laughed without control.
After some time the probes and feathers finally withdrew, and Seven gasped for air. The pipes remained, however; something else was going to happen. There was a rumble and a sound of hydraulics as the floor opened and a box-like device emerged. It stopped centimeters away from the back of Seven’s feet, then beams shot out, one for each toe. Seven couldn’t budge them at all, and the stretched her foot out taut. Then a red beam shot out, one for each foot, spread across the entire width just at the point where the toes connected. Seven giggled but they quickly escalated into full laughter as they slid up her foot, reaching the heel and reversing direction. Seven struggled, but her toes were completely immobile, and she roared as the beams hit the center of her sole, then split and headed in opposite directions. Now with twice the tickling she struggled feebly to free her legs, but they were thoroughly locked into place. After five minutes of this, the beams cut out, but she knew what was happening now. A kind of topographical map was now imprinted over the bottoms of her feet, but instead of measure landforms it measure tickle targets. Beams were now fired into the five highest spots on each foot and moved within them on precisely calculated courses while Seven screamed and shook her bonds. She pleaded for it to stop, but pleas were irrelevant; she was clearly only reacting out of emotion rather than clinical assessment. The beams continued tickling Seven’s feet until she didn’t even have the strength to laugh. Finally it ended, and the device closed and sunk back into the floor.
The pipes rotated back around Seven’s body and lowered again. She steeled herself; like the foot tickles, not being able to see it coming made this even more intense. She heard the sound of the probes slithering out, and then it began. She danced as they pinched her cheeks, swinging her upper body around and shifting her legs. She chortled at the prods on her delicate behind, still amazed after all this time how a part of the body designed for sitting could possibly have so many nerve endings. Given the fact that the Borg never sit, it had virtually no contact of any kind except for these sessions, and as always the tickling was intense.
Seven breathed heavily as the probes finally stopped; this was the hard part. This was the part she always dreaded. The ceiling opened and a clawed device emerged in front of her. Her body was pulled completely taut now, and she was helpless as she watched it close in. The claws slid into the gaps in the chest of her exoplating, and Seven stiffened. And then they struck, and she screamed. Her ribs were horribly ticklish, and the machine attacked several of them all at once, all over. “OH HAHAHAHA!! OH STOP NO NO NO HAHAHA!!! STOP THI-HISHEHEHE PLEASE! WAHAHAHAHA!!!” But naturally the Borg weren’t going to stop the experiment at her request, so she just stayed there, trembling and screaming while they tickled her ribs with analytical precision, and if her bladder were still functional, she knew she’d have lost control of it by now. It was completely overwhelming, and Seven, Borg though she was, begged them to stop.
When they did, she gasped with relief at the respite. After that it was always easier. A new pipe emerged now, extending down in front of Seven and stopping at abdominal height. Fine tendrils slid out the end and slipped through the opening, spreading out on the other side. Seven squirmed and laughed as they stroked and prodded her tummy behind her exoplating. A brush emerged and began working about inside her navel, and her laughs got deeper. After all the tickling it was getting to be too much, and she simply hung there, unable to stop laughing at the sensations. Her flat stomach felt like it was being strummed like a guitar by the dozens of little tendrils, and the wriggling in her bellybutton was impossible to resist. But surprisingly, it was getting easier again to endure it... to enjoy it.
Eventually this ended and the tendrils slipped back out again, and the pipe lowered further. With extreme care they fully exposed Seven’s womanhood, and the fine-tipped brushes now went to work. Seven giggled and squirmed as they stroked about there, paying special attention to her clitoris. After a couple minutes the other pipes got back to work, first stroking her nipples, then squeezing her buttocks. Seven squealed and squirmed at the tickling but as it went on her stomach seemed to compress into a softball-sized ball of warm happiness. She chuckled and shook and moaned as they continued tickling her until the ball expanded more and more until finally it seemed to explode and spray the contained pleasure all throughout her body. Seven let out a cry of pleasure, and the machines immediately stopped her teasing.
Seven hung there limply as the exoplating closed back up again. The machinery returned to its hiding place, while Seven gasped in the wake of what had happened. “Assessment?” the Collective asked.
Seven coughed. “Stimulation produced discomfort and pleasure.”
“Elaborate.”
“Tickling was an unpleasant sensation,” Seven said, “yet it also was highly pleasurable.”
“Contradictory.”
“But nevertheless true.”
“Improbable. Data cannot be reconciled logically and must be discarded. Session Two Five Five Five will commence tomorrow.” Seven was released from the device. So, that made two thousand five hundred fifty-four sessions with discarded data. Truly this concept was proving most elusive. But then she was reabsorbed into the Collective Consciousness, and dwelled on it no further.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Ms. Danoob looked at the readings, then down at the unconscious woman. Seven looked perfectly normal, of course, though the readings indicated that in her mind she looked her old Borg self. Good, it would help give the illusions some context to gain root in her memories. Ms. Danoob looked further along the row at the other three women and nodded. Everything was going perfectly.
Prologue
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Part 1
“Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One. Proceed to Secondary Chamber, Grid Nine Two of Subjunction Twelve.”
Seven of Nine stepped out of her alcove and walked through the Cube. Her steps were slow, but deliberate, the mechanical march precisely calculated as was only fitting for her, a Borg. She passed others, but it was irrelevant; they had their duties, and she had hers. The door opened on her approach, and promptly closed, sealing her inside alone, or at least, as alone as anyone could possibly be within the Borg Collective. With precise movements she kneeled on the platform before her, her knees perfectly fitting into the grooved slots, locking into position. She held her arms straight up, inserting her hands into the openings above. They sealed around her wrists and both parts rose a meter up, the kneeling platform splitting. This had the effect of spreading her legs open as well as stretching her body out.
“Auditory test,” the Collective said.
“Auditory test confirmation,” Seven said back.
“Auditory test complete. Proceeding.”
Seven gasped. “My connection to the Collective Consciousness has been severed,” she stated.
A cable descended from the ceiling behind her and entered her left shoulder blade. Her exoplating immediately changed. It started on her arms, the material disconnected at her shoulder and slid up, collapsing like a telescope until it reached the elbows. Along the sides of her chest, two centimeter-wide strips lifted off and slid around her back. The curves on her chest irised open revealing a thin protective layer underneath which slid back, exposing her massive breasts. There was a zip as a hidden panel slid aside to show her navel. A powerful hiss, and the bottom of her suit split at the crotch, the back swinging around and up to the small of her back revealing her round buttocks, while the front slid up into the suit. The bottoms of her boots opened and slid into the sides. She swallowed; there was no fear, of course, because that would be an indication of self-concern, and she was here for the purpose of her Collective. However, it was difficult not to feel some kind of... apprehension at the session.
There was a sound like someone sliding a concrete slab, and two pipes dropped down, stopping at an even height with her exposed armpits. Two thick camelhair brushes emerged on probes and without any warning began stroking her underarms. Seven grimaced as they moved, then began tittering. They worked in concert at first, perfect synchronicity, with their long slow movements the got Seven to snicker and try to pull her arms down. They made little circular motions in her armpits and she chuckled and shook a little. Then they began following more randomized patterns, and Seven found herself laughing a little more at the touch. Soon they were fully exploring the area and she was roaring; her underarms were obviously one of her worst tickle spots, and she had to struggle to avoid screaming for the Collective to terminate the experiment. It was very hard though, because this was only the beginning, and it only reminded her how vulnerable she was to tickling.
Seven stopped and swallowed as the brushes were removed and snaked back into the pipes. Now two clawed probes emerged; this was the more trying. She braced herself and they began digging into her armpits, and immediately she began laughing. They poked and prodded all around the sensitive hollows, massaging here and stroking there until Seven’s eye was squeezed shut in a desperate attempt to endure. She laughed much harder now as the worked, squeezing the surrounding exposed areas and teasing her skin until she began pulling hard at her restraints. But there was no chance that even Borg-enhanced strength could free her. She was left with no choice but to let them tickle her armpits while she laughed her Borg head off.
Eventually the probe withdrew as well, and Seven took a few seconds to catch her breath while the pipes rotated inward. Again the brushes emerged, but this time they began teasing her gray and white nipples. She giggled and squirmed at the touch; despite being Borg they were nevertheless still tied into the nervous system of her biological distinctiveness, which meant that they quickly grew erect at the gentle touches. After several minutes the probes emerged as well and began squeezing her breasts, and the giggles soon became deep belly laughs. Her ample glands offered more than enough room for them to explore her ticklishness to the fullest, and soon tears ran from her eye as she was overwhelmed by the sensations. Neural examination by the Borg had indicated her body was highly-sensitive to tickling, hence her involvement in this research, but it still was unexpected how truly vulnerable she could be to such sensations. She was Borg, and yet she was still reduced to a laughing, leaking blob just by the proper stimulation of tissue she had no practical use for in the first place!
But there was nothing Seven could do; tickling must be understood, and she was the most promising subject, though the repeated data inconsistencies were troubling. Accurate data would ensure these sessions stopped, and many times as they tickled her body she strongly wished they would. Yet other times, as in this moment, even though the sensations were overwhelming she found herself enjoying them. It was terrible and wonderful all at once - paradox! Clearly tickling was introducing some kind of malfunction into her cognitive processes because her mind was interpreting the same data in different ways. Part of her wanted to shrink away, part of her was trying to arch her back so the probes could more easily knead her breasts. But all the while regardless she laughed without control.
After some time the probes and feathers finally withdrew, and Seven gasped for air. The pipes remained, however; something else was going to happen. There was a rumble and a sound of hydraulics as the floor opened and a box-like device emerged. It stopped centimeters away from the back of Seven’s feet, then beams shot out, one for each toe. Seven couldn’t budge them at all, and the stretched her foot out taut. Then a red beam shot out, one for each foot, spread across the entire width just at the point where the toes connected. Seven giggled but they quickly escalated into full laughter as they slid up her foot, reaching the heel and reversing direction. Seven struggled, but her toes were completely immobile, and she roared as the beams hit the center of her sole, then split and headed in opposite directions. Now with twice the tickling she struggled feebly to free her legs, but they were thoroughly locked into place. After five minutes of this, the beams cut out, but she knew what was happening now. A kind of topographical map was now imprinted over the bottoms of her feet, but instead of measure landforms it measure tickle targets. Beams were now fired into the five highest spots on each foot and moved within them on precisely calculated courses while Seven screamed and shook her bonds. She pleaded for it to stop, but pleas were irrelevant; she was clearly only reacting out of emotion rather than clinical assessment. The beams continued tickling Seven’s feet until she didn’t even have the strength to laugh. Finally it ended, and the device closed and sunk back into the floor.
The pipes rotated back around Seven’s body and lowered again. She steeled herself; like the foot tickles, not being able to see it coming made this even more intense. She heard the sound of the probes slithering out, and then it began. She danced as they pinched her cheeks, swinging her upper body around and shifting her legs. She chortled at the prods on her delicate behind, still amazed after all this time how a part of the body designed for sitting could possibly have so many nerve endings. Given the fact that the Borg never sit, it had virtually no contact of any kind except for these sessions, and as always the tickling was intense.
Seven breathed heavily as the probes finally stopped; this was the hard part. This was the part she always dreaded. The ceiling opened and a clawed device emerged in front of her. Her body was pulled completely taut now, and she was helpless as she watched it close in. The claws slid into the gaps in the chest of her exoplating, and Seven stiffened. And then they struck, and she screamed. Her ribs were horribly ticklish, and the machine attacked several of them all at once, all over. “OH HAHAHAHA!! OH STOP NO NO NO HAHAHA!!! STOP THI-HISHEHEHE PLEASE! WAHAHAHAHA!!!” But naturally the Borg weren’t going to stop the experiment at her request, so she just stayed there, trembling and screaming while they tickled her ribs with analytical precision, and if her bladder were still functional, she knew she’d have lost control of it by now. It was completely overwhelming, and Seven, Borg though she was, begged them to stop.
When they did, she gasped with relief at the respite. After that it was always easier. A new pipe emerged now, extending down in front of Seven and stopping at abdominal height. Fine tendrils slid out the end and slipped through the opening, spreading out on the other side. Seven squirmed and laughed as they stroked and prodded her tummy behind her exoplating. A brush emerged and began working about inside her navel, and her laughs got deeper. After all the tickling it was getting to be too much, and she simply hung there, unable to stop laughing at the sensations. Her flat stomach felt like it was being strummed like a guitar by the dozens of little tendrils, and the wriggling in her bellybutton was impossible to resist. But surprisingly, it was getting easier again to endure it... to enjoy it.
Eventually this ended and the tendrils slipped back out again, and the pipe lowered further. With extreme care they fully exposed Seven’s womanhood, and the fine-tipped brushes now went to work. Seven giggled and squirmed as they stroked about there, paying special attention to her clitoris. After a couple minutes the other pipes got back to work, first stroking her nipples, then squeezing her buttocks. Seven squealed and squirmed at the tickling but as it went on her stomach seemed to compress into a softball-sized ball of warm happiness. She chuckled and shook and moaned as they continued tickling her until the ball expanded more and more until finally it seemed to explode and spray the contained pleasure all throughout her body. Seven let out a cry of pleasure, and the machines immediately stopped her teasing.
Seven hung there limply as the exoplating closed back up again. The machinery returned to its hiding place, while Seven gasped in the wake of what had happened. “Assessment?” the Collective asked.
Seven coughed. “Stimulation produced discomfort and pleasure.”
“Elaborate.”
“Tickling was an unpleasant sensation,” Seven said, “yet it also was highly pleasurable.”
“Contradictory.”
“But nevertheless true.”
“Improbable. Data cannot be reconciled logically and must be discarded. Session Two Five Five Five will commence tomorrow.” Seven was released from the device. So, that made two thousand five hundred fifty-four sessions with discarded data. Truly this concept was proving most elusive. But then she was reabsorbed into the Collective Consciousness, and dwelled on it no further.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Ms. Danoob looked at the readings, then down at the unconscious woman. Seven looked perfectly normal, of course, though the readings indicated that in her mind she looked her old Borg self. Good, it would help give the illusions some context to gain root in her memories. Ms. Danoob looked further along the row at the other three women and nodded. Everything was going perfectly.
