Captured is not conquered. Yet.

I thought Master Levi and I were done with Star Trek: Into Darkness, but apparently not. 

I notified Master that I’d read up on it and it’d taken a bit of a battering from critics. I thought that discussion would summarise and move on from there, as they often do. 

I was wrong. 

Master argues that a film full of negotiations and peace treaties would be boring, and I argue that I’m not against violence provided it’s got storyline and strategy. I want to understand how we got here, not just see the damaged USS Vengeance crashing through a futuristic San Francisco.

I also argue that “boring” is subjective, and for some people, negotiating is half of the fun. 

So in response, Master creates an AI-generated poster for Star Trek: The Peace Accords,  featuring various species from the Star Trek universe sat around in a UN-style room, discussing an agreement for intergalactic peace. 

There was even a Borg there, ironically. But still.

I looked at the picture.

Oh, so that’s how you want to do this? Fine. 

Elsewhere, the Admiral had read my latest post. He’s amused that I dubbed him my “enemy”, but he’s not in the least offended by it. He understands the intention behind it: it’s part of the games we play, it’s not actual hatred.  

So we fall back into the rhythm of this thing we do and the Admiral says that he’s “analysed” my post (because of course he has). He suggests that Star Trek: First Contact would be a better movie for me to watch.

And I’m sure it would be, but the Admiral knows me well — I have more important things to be doing than sitting on my ass and putting myself through another almost two hours of fictional space stuff. We can watch it together maybe another time, but for now, the most important thing is that I understand it.

Well the Borg do try to understand a species before they assimilate them, you know 😉 

So I do a quick five minutes of reading — namely the Google AI summary, plus a few other bits and pieces — then I hit the Admiral with an equally nerdy. Borg Queen-esque “subject analysed, Data updated”.

Sorry, not sorry at all. 

The Admiral sends me some Borg literotica which, at first, I foolishly took for genuine research material. I should have been wiser! I should have been paying more attention. 

It was, in fact, not research material, and not very informative at all. 

And it wasn’t bad, but for something about assimilation, then in my eyes, it could have been more all-encompassing, psychologically and sensually. More… assimilation-y.

Maybe that would have taken away from the Borginess of it all? Hey, I just know what I like. 

There were one or two things that admittedly made my breath catch, but what they were, of course, shall remain a closely guarded secret 😉

Later on, my brain starts falling over itself again. It’s no use, I have to do something about this mess that I’m now in. 

I plan for an earlier night and head for bed shortly after food. I notified the Admiral of my plans for an earlier night, too. 

I’m a bit of an oddball in that when I’m horny, anything but sex annoys me, because I can’t focus on anything but sex. My loins ache and everything becomes full of innuendo. The only way out is through sexual release. 

Master putting the TV on in the next room annoys me. Big Bang Theory annoys me. Taskmaster annoys me. I don’t want another night in front of the idiot box, damn it. I want sex! 

I asked Master if he wanted “dessert”, but his lukewarm response told me sex probably wasn’t on the cards. Not to worry, I have hands, toys and an active imagination. I’m perfectly equipped and capable to deal. 

I allow my mind to roam again, to assimilations — better assimilations. More sensual assimilations. 

I imagined that Master Levi and the Admiral had me bound for my assimilation. Oh, I’d hate them in the moment. Freedom is a right — my right. 

Not that I’d want freedom, mind you, but then freedom can be funny like that. It can look different to different people, or different in different situations. 

I imagined the Admiral and his gloves, and the way the pair of them would probably talk about me, not to me. Oh, that would annoy me too. I am a human, damn it! I have human rights. I demand respect! 

Master knows this, too. He knows that objectifying me drops me into a submissive headspace like throwing a penny down an empty well. I will beg for recognition and that amuses him. He knows that I have a love/hate relationship with being diminished. 

The Admiral decides to send a voice note to my clit, so I return fire and share my own thoughts. If the Admiral wants to play, then, I’ll play. 

The Admiral detects a quiver in my voice and he asks about it. Fuck. My confidence is not where it needs to be right now. 

The bedroom door swings open and Master Levi wanders in. I gasp. 

“Still awake then?” he teases. I could give a nice answer, but if we fighting, then we fighting. 

“You know, I did wonder what this state of consciousness was,” I say dryly. Master understands the assignment perfectly. 

“So that’s the mood you’re in?” he asks, setting his water bottle down on the bedstand next to me. His hand finds my throat and his thumb lifts my chin. I smile. 

“You play with me, I’ll play right back” I warn. 

“If you want to play, Kitten, then let’s play,” he mutters as he leans down and kisses me. I grin and return his kiss with a nibble of his lower lip. Master pulls away and smiles. 

“So you want to bite?” he asks. He turns my head to the side and nibbles my neck. “Is biting people nice?”, I moan. 

“Depends who you ask,” I smile. Master climbs over me, pins my wrists with one hand as he finds my nipple with the other.

“I’m asking you,” he says. 

“People are tasty,” I chuckle. Master smiles a wolfish smile. 

“Indeed, they are” he says, and kisses his way down my sternum. I gasp. How did I not think that through?! 

I’m not sure who won last night, but I do know that we both had fun. Spent, breathless and thoroughly satisfied, I rolled onto my front and kissed Master’s bicep.

“Thank you for your assimilation,” I whispered. 

“Yours too,” he replies. 

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