A Commanding Weakness Ch. 7

A Commanding Weakness Ch. 7

Kuznetzov, the Inyx's second-in-command, suspects something is wrong with the ship's crew. She brings her suspicions to Alara, the ship's counselor, but Alara has her own source of curiosity regarding possible mind control...

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“So, just to be absolutely clear,” said Counselor Alara Hisarlik, “you believe that the crew of this ship is gradually succumbing to some form of mind control?”

Lieutenant Semya Kuznetzov, Captain Vasser’s second-in-command, shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Hearing it out loud was even worse than she’d anticipated, even though Alara, the Inyx’s counselor, was somehow able to keep her voice free from scorn or incredulity. The chair wasn’t helping. The counselor’s office had big comfy, cushioned, reclining chairs that couldn’t be found elsewhere on the ship. They were meant to be relaxing; for Kuznetzov, they were proving just the opposite.

“Not… I wouldn’t put it quite like that,” Lieutenant Kuznetzov replied slowly. She was choosing her words carefully. She knew she sounded crazy, but hopefully not completely crazy. “I know how it sounds. And I’m not exactly convinced of it. But I am worried about it. It’s what my gut is telling me, I guess. I just can’t shake the feeling.”

“I see.” Alara leaned in, concerned. “And this is because of the behavior of the crew?”

“Yes,” Lieutenant Kuznetzov explained. “I’ve been noticing something wrong with people, all across the ship. I keep catching crew members spacing out at strange moments, like they’re listening to a voice I can’t hear. Often groups of people at once. But afterward, they’ll insist nothing happened. Or I’ll notice them moving in perfect harmony. Unnatural harmony.” She sighed. “There’s this ancient movie: Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Maybe you’ve heard of it. Pod people? It’s like that.”

Alara nodded. “That’s very troubling. I can understand why this would be preying on your mind.”

It was easy to see why Alara Hisarlik was a ship’s counselor. She was, quite simply, perfect for the role. In her early fifties - Kuznetzov had read every crew member’s personnel file - she was older than most of the people on the ship, and had an effortlessly matronly demeanor that made her shockingly easy to talk to. Her office was comfortable, warm, and friendly, and since she didn’t need to wear a uniform she was free to dress herself in a comfortable jumpsuit that made her seem all the more disarming.

The jumpsuit was plenty flattering, too, and Kuznetzov observed that Alara was taking full advantage of the fact that she didn’t need to pass Alliance fitness tests either. Her physique was just as motherly as her demeanor, and it suited her well. Kuznetzov felt a little guilty for noticing that, but it couldn’t be helped. She was a lesbian, after all.

“It has been,” Lieutenant Kuznetzov confessed. “That’s why I’m here. I needed to talk to someone.”

“Why not Captain Vasser?” Alara asked. “If you suspect something’s wrong on the ship, surely she needs to know.”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov hesitated before answering. “I considered it,” she replied eventually. “But I really can’t tell if I’m just being paranoid. If I am, then you’re the person I need to talk to. Not the captain. And if I’m not paranoid, then…”

“Then it’s entirely possible she’s been affected too,” Alara finished. “Is that right?”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov nodded, grateful she didn’t have to be the one to say it. “I’ve noticed she’s seemed a little… off, lately.”

“I see.” Alara took that in stride and smiled kindly. “But you’re happy talking to me. I take it I seem like my usual self?”

“Yes,” Lieutenant Kuznetzov said, before adding: “as far as I’d know, anyway.”

This was the first time Kuznetzov had taken it upon herself to visit the ship’s counselor. She’d never seen the need. Doctor Hiraga handled routine psych evals; the counselor was for the benefit of crew members who just needed to talk, or who preferred to speak with someone who was a couple of steps outside the usual chain of command. Kuznetzov, though, preferred to deal with her own problems herself. She was the stoic type, or so she liked to think. It suited her butch looks and dress sense. But her current troubles necessitated a reality check, and she’d judged that Alara Hisarlik was the best person to speak with.

“Glad to hear it,” Alara replied, a touch playfully, before turning more serious. “Lieutenant, this is clearly a new feeling for you. Have you been under any particular stress lately?”

Kuznetzov shook her head. “No more than usual.”

“That’s good! Now, I know you haven’t been assigned to the Inyx for long. You were transferred just recently. Have you been fitting in well?”

“I believe so. Captain Vasser seems happy with my performance.”

“What about socially? Have you gotten to know the other officers?”

Kuznetzov gave a slight smile. “I’m not exactly a social butterfly. It doesn’t bother me.”

“I see.” Alara sounded a little less pleased with that answer, but didn’t press the issue. “And there’s nothing else that’s been on your mind? Nothing troubling?”

“No, not at all.”

“Hm.” Alara cocked her head to one side. “Well, Lieutenant, I don’t think you’re crazy. That doesn’t mean you’re right about this mind control thing either, of course, but it does behoove me to investigate concerns about the mental states of other crew members aboard this ship. There may be a perfectly innocent explanation. To that end, I think the best course of action is that we keep this between ourselves for now, and I discreetly form my own opinion. Could you give me the names of some of the people you’ve been suspicious of?”

Kuznetzov nodded. “I’ll make a list and send it over.”

“Very good.” Alara smiled again. “I’ll let you know what I think very soon.”

“Perfect.” Kuznetzov felt the tension in her shoulders easing, and she sighed with relief. “And… thank you, counselor. Not knowing whether this is real or not has really been weighing on me. I’m very grateful that you’ve taken me seriously. I’m not sure whether or not I expect you to form the same impression I have, but just knowing that you’re looking into it puts my mind at ease.”

“You’re very welcome.” Alara’s smile grew even warmer. “That’s exactly what I’m here for, Lieutenant.”

***

Alara tapped her soon impatiently against the rim of her teacup as she waited for her next appointment to arrive. Crewman Hannah Weiss was late, of course. Everyone on this ship was always late. They always had excuses, of course. Important duties and important orders, on their important mission to catch Wasp. Everything on the Inyx was so damn important. Everything except for Alara and her counseling sessions.

The one thing nobody on the crew seemed to make any time for was taking care of their own mental health - which meant that, as the ship’s counselor, Alara’s life was devoted entirely to chasing after other people’s problems. After all these years on the job, they were just so infuriatingly cliché. Burnout. Anxiety. Insecurity. She’d heard it all before.

That didn’t mean Alara didn't care, of course. She wanted to help just as much as she had when she’d first started out in this line of work, three decades before. What had made her bored and cynical over the years was learning that she couldn’t help, because no one ever listened. Alara could offer advice, training, medical, therapy - and it didn’t matter because, to most people, she was nothing more than a convenient way to unburden themselves. They didn’t respect her or her expertise, and so she was condemned to the Sisyphean experience of listening to crewman after crewman coming to bleat to her about some inane problem, giving them the perfect advice, and seeing them out the door knowing perfectly well that they weren’t going to heed it.

If only there was some way to make them listen.

As a result, even as Alara had aged into the perfect, matronly counselor everyone wanted, she’d become thoroughly disillusioned and tired of her work. The years had ground her down, leaving her cynical and hopeless. She’d vowed this would be her final tour of duty aboard an Alliance ship, but fate had conspired to drag them out to the far rim for months longer than expected, chasing shadows, leaving Alara more frustrated by the day. The crewmen who darkened her door were becoming nothing more than an indistinct succession of blurred faces, each more forgettable and annoying than the last.

At least, until Lieutenant Kuznetzov.

A conspiracy to take over the ship by secretly mind-controlling members of the crew? In all her years as a counselor, Alara hadn’t heard that one before. It sounded like a paranoid delusion, but Kuznetsov’s psychological profile was rock solid. She displayed no signs of any associated psychological tendencies or conditions that would predispose her to such an elaborate delusion. Which meant that Alara finally had something that could hold her attention.

If nothing else, a spontaneous delusion like this could make for a half-decent case study to write up.

But first, Alara figured that she should investigate what Kuznetzov had been suspecting, and so she’d arranged an innocuous appointment with one of the people the XO had mentioned: Crewman Hannah Weiss. Mind control was unlikely, but not strictly impossible, and talking to her could shed light on reasons she might have been behaving differently or suspiciously.

And if it was mind control? Alara certainly couldn’t miss out on a chance to study it up close and personal. She had a deep, abiding interest in the subject. Strictly professional, of course.

The door to Alara’s office chimed to indicate that her appointment had finally arrived. The counselor set down her teacup, rose to her feet, and went to greet her guest.

“Crewman Weiss,” Alara said, plastering her well-worn welcoming smile on her face as the door opened. “Thank you for coming. Please, come in.”

“Alara.”

Hannah Weiss offered a friendly nod as she entered the room. She was young - less than half Alara’s age, in fact - and much slighter and mousier than most expected of a member of the Alliance military. The Inyx was her first posting, and she’d been struggling to adjust to the rigor and claustrophobia of starship life. Though she’d adjusted over time, following up on her earlier troubles was a reasonable pretext for an appointment.

“Have a seat,” Alara said as she beckoned Weiss in.

She was gesturing to one of the two big, comfy chairs that dominated her office’s central space. Alara had made her office as comfortable and welcoming as the Inyx’s small, spartan bulkheads allowed. In the center of the space, between the chairs, was a simple table, and the room was lit by a special bank of holographic lights that could provide gentle, soothing illumination when needed.

The two of them sat down, and Alara immediately leaned forward so that she could pour Weiss a cup of tea from the still-steaming teapot on the table. Weiss accepted it gratefully, and then Alara sat back with her own teacup and teaspoon in hand.

“So, um,” Weiss began nervously. “What’s this about?”

“Nothing serious,” Alara immediately assured her. “I just wanted to check up on you, now that you’ve been with us for a few months. Have you been having any more issues?”

“No!” Weiss answered in a rush. “Um… h-has somebody said something to you?”

“Not at all,” Alara replies gently. Clearly, Weiss was as anxious and twitchy as ever. “This is completely routine. Now - how have you been doing lately?”

Weiss took a cautious sip of her tea; it proved to be too hot for her. “I’ve been OK,” she answered. “Good. At least, I think. I’ve been having an easier time performing my duties.”

“I’m glad.” Alara smiled at her as she lifted her own teacup. “What about the anxiety you’ve spoken to me about before?”

“It’s better,” Weiss said quickly. She seemed embarrassed to have it brought up to her face. “I mean… sometimes, I still… but it’s easier, now. It feels like I can just kind of… zone out a bit. Get in the zone. Do whatever I need to do, without thinking too much.”

“I see.”

That caught Alara’s interest. It sounded more like dissociation than adjustment. According to her superiors, though, her performance was entirely adequate. That level of automatism was outside of Weiss’s psychological profile. It could indicate that her mental state was being tampered with.

This was exactly what Alara had secretly been longing to hear. She’d agreed with herself that if Weiss seemed completely normal, it would be unethical to pry too deeply into her state of mind. But if there was any suggestion that what Kuznetzov had talked about was true, Alara had an obligation to investigate, fully and discretely.

And it was an obligation she’d relish. What student of psychology wouldn’t? Mind control had always been something of a fascination of hers, ever since her days in college. In academic psychology circles it was considered an unusual, quaint, even useless subject, far more hypothetical than practical, but now more than ever, Alara was grateful she’d taken those classes. Thanks to them, she knew exactly what she needed to do with Weiss.

She needed to hypnotize her.

It made perfect sense. How easily she went into a trance could help Alara to gauge if she’d been conditioned to be susceptible to mind-alteration, and if Alara was able to speak to her subconscious mind, she might be able to bypass whatever form of mind control was currently in effect. An unorthodox approach, perhaps, and not one most ship’s counselors would have been familiar with, but Alara always made sure she was brushed up on her technique.

“Hannah,” she said, once she’d made up her mind. “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to hypnotize you.”

Weiss blinked. “Excuse me?”

“It’s a completely standard therapeutic technique.” Alara figured a little massaging of the truth wouldn’t do any harm. “A way to relax. A kind of meditation, you could call it. I think it could really help you.”

“Right.” Weiss still seemed a touch incredulous. “But… hypnosis? Isn’t that just some old thing from twentieth-century media?”

Alara just kept smiling. “Not quite. I assure you, it’s very real. Are you ready to get started?”

“I-I guess.” Weiss glanced down nervously. Alara had known that she’d crumble if Alara pushed just a little. “What do I need to do?”

“Nothing much,” Alara soothed. “Just sit right there and get as comfortable as you can.”

Weiss started to shift in her seat, settling in, and as she did Alara used the console built into the arm of her chair to dim the lights. Weiss was still visibly a little on edge, but Alara was sure she’d relax as soon as the counselor got to work on her. The young crewman wasn’t difficult to influence.

“Good,” Alara said approvingly once Weiss sat back. Even as she made her voice carefully low and rhythmic, she spoke like they were yet to begin and she was just making conversation. “The chairs are comfy, aren’t they? One of the perks of the job.”

“Yeah,” Weiss agreed. She seemed faintly grateful to be talking about something other than herself.

“Not many people on an Alliance starship get chairs like these.” Alara winked at Weiss. “Not even amongst the officers. You might as well enjoy them while you’re here! I know I do.”

“Yeah,” Weiss said again. “They are really nice. Now that you mention it, I don’t think I’ve been this comfortable in months.”

“Exactly.” Alara nodded enthusiastically. “You know, sometimes, when I can get away with it, I just dim the lights - just like this, in fact - sit down, close my eyes, and let myself drift off a little. Let my mind wander. I have to admit, once or twice I’ve actually fallen asleep like that. I must be getting old.”

Weiss giggled. “That sounds nice.” From her voice, it was obvious that she was feeling more and more at ease.

“It’s easy for me, of course. All I have to do is lock the door, and anyone who knocks will think I’m in a private appointment.” Alara heard another, even more relaxed giggle from Weiss. “I know a crewman like you won’t get nearly as many chances to relax. Not with your superior officers breathing down your neck.”

“Yeah…” Weiss replied wearily.

“Well, there’s no pressure here,” Alara promised. “Why not give it a try yourself? Close your eyes.”

Weiss looked up uncertainly for a moment, but then obliged. “OK.”

“Very good,” Alara said as Weiss’s eyelids fell shut. She already knew Weiss could be susceptible to positive reinforcement. “You’re more than welcome to take a few moments for yourself, Hannah. Just sit back. Relax. Forget I’m even here.”

Alara could tell that, whether she meant to or not, Weiss was hearkening to her words. Her shoulders were slumping and her breathing slowing. She couldn’t help but relax.

“Perfect,” Alara encouraged. “You must be very tired. Running all over the ship all the time, being ordered around constantly by your superiors. It’s exhausting. Trust me, I’ve been there - once upon a time. I know how it feels. When you’re tired like that, nothing compares to getting to take the weight off your feet. You just can’t help but sink into it.”

“Yeah…” Weiss let out a weary sigh. “That’s really… um… but s-should we get started?”

Alara had to suppress a laugh. “We already have.”

At that Weiss stirred - but only a little. Alara was pleased to see that already, she was unwilling or unable to shake off her lethargy. She couldn’t even bring herself to open her eyes. The poor girl really was exhausted.

Unless she wasn’t. Unless there was another reason she was so susceptible.

“What do you mean?” Weiss asked. She sounded distant.

“Hypnosis is just a state of mind,” Alara told her. She made her voice softer still; soothing, but so quiet Weiss had to devote all her attention to each one of the counselor’s words. “A nice, relaxed state of mind. You’re nice and relaxed now, aren’t you? That means you’re halfway there already.”

“Oh…” Weiss’s voice was growing fainter by the moment. It was obvious she was already too dazed to really interrogate what Alara was saying to her. Weiss was proving incredibly susceptible. Alarmingly so, in fact.

At least it made it easy for Alara to take advantage.

“You’re doing very well,” Alara assured her. “This is exactly what we want. Going under hypnosis is perfectly easy, and you’re already doing a wonderful job. And because you’re doing so well, you might notice your awareness changing. You might notice that lots of things that normally bother and distract you are just kind of fading away. Maybe it’s the little aches and pains in your body. Maybe it’s some of the little thoughts and worries you sometimes find yourself dwelling on. Whatever it may be, I’m sure you can notice it simply fading into the background of your mind.”

Weiss just nodded and let out a faint, murmured noise of agreement.

“At the same time,” Alara continued, voice soft and melodic. “You might notice some things you usually tune out. For me, when I’m nice and relaxed, it’s always the ship’s engines. When you first come aboard, they seem so noisy, don’t they? But after a few days or weeks, you completely stop noticing them. Everyone does.”

Another nod.

“But when I’m as relaxed as you are now, I seem to find the sound again,” Alara went on. “That low, droning hum. It’s all I can think about. And it’s not just a sound. It’s a sensation. A vibration. Something you can feel throughout your entire body.”

She noticed Weiss shiver slightly. Clearly, she was feeling it.

“Hannah,” Alara said. “That sound is all you need to think about right now. So it’s completely fine if you just zone out and give it all of your attention. You don’t even need to think about my voice. You don’t need to listen. You can just yourself drift and sink, and maybe every now and then, as my voice and my words float through your head, you’ll find your attention naturally ebbing back towards me. Just letting my words be your guide, whenever it feels natural.”

Weiss seemed so very relaxed now. She was barely moving at all, except for the slow, pronounced rise and fall of her chest. She looked all but asleep, but Alara could tell she wasn’t from the telltale way her eyes pricked up, ever so slightly, whenever Alara spoke. She was hanging on the counselor’s every word, be it consciously or subconsciously.

Alara was fascinated. It was like this girl was the perfect subject. She leaned in, eager to drink in every little detail of how Weiss reacted.

“That’s right,” she urged breathily. “Let me be your guide. You can just let my voice flow in and out of you, letting my words guide you, knowing that this is a safe place and that you can trust me. Everything that happens here is safe, Hannah. I’m here to take care of you. Here to guide you.”

Another nod, this one barely perceptible. Weiss was clearly on the brink.

“And because I’m here to guide you,” Alara pressed, “it’s completely OK for you to just let go. To completely let go. To surrender that last little bit of awareness that’s keeping you from complete, perfect relaxation. Doesn’t it sound nice to just give that up, once and for all?”

A quiet, sleepy murmur of appreciation was her only reply.

“Of course it does,” Alara assured her. “You can leave everything up to me for a little while. Even thinking. Doesn’t that sound good? And I think you’re ready for it. I’m going to count you down, from five to zero. When I say ‘zero’, you’re going to feel the burden of every last thought lifting from your shoulders, and you will be perfectly hypnotized. Ready?”

No reply at all this time, but Alara could sense Hannah was primed and ready.

“Five,” she counted. “Feeling yourself beginning to sink. Beginning to descend.”

Weiss’s shoulders slumped still deeper.

“Four,” Alara counted. “Even that hum, the sound of the engines, is starting to grow faint.”

The movement behind her subject’s eyes had all but disappeared.

“Three. Only my voice. That’s all that’s left. Not even in your conscious mind, just in your subconsciousness.”

Weiss’s head began to loll to one side.

“Two. Whether you know it or not, you’re already preparing yourself to let go completely. You’re anticipating how it’s going to feel.”

One of Weiss’s arms slipped from the armrest of her chair, hanging limply off to one side. She didn’t stir.

“One. Feeling yourself on the precipice now, relaxed and attentive and ready to let go as soon as I say… zero.”

Weiss froze. She just froze. She didn’t slump forward or backward the way someone might if they had fallen asleep. Instead, she just became still as her mind shut down, leaving her only just conscious enough to keep herself suspended in the position she’d been resting in. She couldn’t move. Not unless Alara told her to. Hannah Weiss was now nothing more than a blank, open receptacle for whatever the counselor wanted to do to her.

Alara knew the signs well. It had been just as perfect as she’d always dreamed. Weiss was completely and perfectly hypnotized.

As tempting as it was to simply bask in the moment, Alara knew she had to consider what that meant. Weiss had sunk like a stone. Alara was confident of her technique and it was possible that the crewman was simply a natural subject, but given what Kuzentzov had told her, it was equally possible that she’d been conditioned this way. That she was already under the lingering effects of some form of mind control.

But still, it was too early to raise the alarm. Alara decided that more testing was called for. It was the only professionally responsible way to proceed.

“Hannah, can you hear me?” she asked. “Answer me nice and clearly, please.”

“Yes,” Weiss replied. Her voice was far stronger and clearer than it had been while she’d been going under, but it was also completely devoid of any emotion or feeling whatsoever. Hearing it sent chills racing through Alara.

“Good,” Alara said. “Now, raise your right arm.”

Slowly and steadily, Weiss obeyed. Her movements were stiff, even unnatural, like she was little more than a mannequin whose strings were being pulled. But as Alara watched, her right arm - the one that had been hanging off the side of her chair, started to lift up into the air until Weiss was holding it out straight in front of herself.

Immediate, unquestioning, unhesitating obedience. ‘Suggestible’ didn’t even begin to cover it.

That seemed significant, but Alara found herself distracted by how she herself was reacting. Seeing Weiss obey her like that sent even greater chills through her body, and filled her stomach with butterflies. She was experiencing a giddy, intoxicating thrill the likes of which she hadn’t felt in years. This was unbelievable. It was like a dream come true.

Alara had fantasized about things like this for decades. In her youth, those fantasies had even moved her to study psychology. She’d never imagined anything close to them would ever become a reality. It would almost be a shame when she had to put an end to it and wake Weiss up.

But she didn’t yet, did she? Alara decided there was more testing to be done. She needed to establish some parameters. Clearly Weiss was susceptible to mind control, but did that represent any real danger? Raising an arm was something anyone might do if you asked them to. Alara needed to know if Weiss might prove dangerous to the rest of the crew. She needed to test if she could push the boundaries of the young woman’s morality.

“Hannah,” Alara said, very slowly. “Take off your uniform.”

Immediately, Weiss came to life again. She rose to her feet, slowly but steadily, and began to methodically peel away the layers of her standard-issue Alliance uniform. She started with the jacket, unzipping it across her body and shrugging it from her shoulders before she reached down to remove her pants.

Alara watched the entire process, enraptured. She was used to telling the crew of this ship what they should do. She wasn’t at all used to them obeying. The experience was unfamiliar - but far from unpleasant. For once, Alara felt powerful. She felt in control.

And she liked it.

If all the crew were like this, maybe she could actually fix them and their silly little problems. They’d listen to Alara’s every word. They’d have to. She could have them dancing to her tune. They would be perfectly behaved for once. They’d have to be.

An enticing concept.

Once Weiss finished undressing, she was left standing at attention in nothing more than her plain, white underwear. Her blank eyes were fixed straight ahead, seeing and comprehending nothing, and her face registered no embarrassment or discomfort. In that moment, Alara felt like she could do anything she wanted to the girl - and before she could stop herself, an urge got the better of her.

“Those too.” Alara gestured to Weiss’s bra and panties. “Take them off.”

Again, she obeyed. Alara was left rationalizing. Maybe telling her to remove her uniform simply wasn’t pushing her far enough. After all, simply being seen in your underwear was far from the worst thing. Nakedness was the logical next step. Alara was just investigating. That was all.

So what if she was also enjoying it?

Slipping out of her remaining clothes didn’t take Weiss long. Soon enough she was completely naked, and no less hypnotized for it. She was still completely and totally empty-headed. Watching her strip left Alara’s mouth dry. For all her rationalizing, she was conscious of the fact that she’d crossed a line. Anything Alara did beyond this point was truly taboo. It was conduct deeply unbecoming of a ship’s counselor.

But in her heart of hearts, she knew she couldn’t just stop. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.

“Sit down,” Alara instructed. Every time Weiss obeyed, it sent a fresh wave of heat through the older woman’s body. It was addictive. “Spread your legs.”

Hannah sat back down on the chair behind her and robotically moved her thighs apart until her legs were splayed wide, exposing herself to anyone who might have been watching. The pose was unmistakably sexual - but still, she wasn’t waking up. She wasn’t even stirring. There was no hint that Alara was approaching her limits. What had been done to the poor girl? Did she even have limits?

Alara needed to find out. She was burning to find out.

What about touch? She’d yet to try that, and she was so desperately curious. Alara rose from her seat and reached out - slowly, at first, but with a growing eagerness and hunger. There was no turning back now, after all.

At first, she kept it innocent. Her fingertips met Weiss’s skin on the hypnotized girl’s stomach. Hannah was as unresponsive as a statue; it was Alara who gasped faintly at the way Weiss’ soft, pale skin yielded to her touch. A fresh sense of power surged with the counselor. Weiss seemed so much more like a doll than a person, now. That very thought was intoxicating. And beyond that - it was really, irresistibly hot.

Alara’s hand started moving down, tracing a path over Weiss’s navel and beyond, deviating to one side so that her knuckles brushed against Weiss’s inner thighs. Finally, Hannah showed signs of life, but not the way Alara had expected. It was purely physiological: hairs standing on end, a barely-perceptible flush in her cheeks, a slight, suppressed twitch as Alara’s hand strayed closer and closer to her pussy. But through it all, her eyes stayed glassy and unfocused. There was no indication that she might wake up, or that there was even a single independent thought left in her head.

Alara could scarcely believe what she was seeing. It was like a fantasy come to life. It was perfect. Fuck, it was so hot. As if in a trance herself, she kept moving, inching further and further down, until her hand was just about to touch against Hannah’s-

“Oh wow! You’re even more of a pervert than I’d hoped, shrink.”

Alara’s heart leapt into her throat. She wheeled at the voice, her cheeks already scorching hot with shame at having been discovered. She found herself face-to-face with a woman who was sitting in Alara’s chair, entirely at ease, as if she’d been watching the entire time. Except that was impossible; the door to Alara’s office was locked and she hadn’t heard anyone knock, let alone come in.

Then, she noticed the arrays of holographic lights arranged around her office, all of which were lit up and pointed in the intruder’s direction. They were running some kind of program Alara had never written. That settled it. This woman was a hologram. But that still didn’t explain what was going on. Nobody could access the holographic systems in this room except Alara. For someone else to use them, they must have hacked deep into the Inyx’s central computer. Which meant…

“You’re… Wasp,” Alara said cautiously. “Aren’t you?”

She didn’t recognize the hacker on sight. Alara had no reason to pay much mind to the various mission and tactical briefings the Inyx’s crew received, after all. But she couldn’t imagine anyone else out here presenting themselves this way, with dyed, neon-green hair and in audacious, punk clothing that showed off dozens of tattoos.

“Got it in one!” Wasp giggled. “Now, let me save you some time: yes, I’ve hacked into your ship’s systems. Yes, I have total control. Yes, I’m using holotech to brainwash the crew one-by-one, exactly as Vasser’s right-hand girl suspects.” She winked when Alara looked particularly offended by that last one. “Yeah. I read your patient notes. Oops, my bad.”

“But…” Alara’s mind was racing. “How…”

What Wasp was telling her sounded beyond impossible, but she said it so matter-of-factly, the counselor couldn’t bring herself to be skeptical. And if nothing else, it would certainly explain a few things.

“Never mind that.” Wasp waved a dismissive hand. “Long story. And I’d much rather talk about you.” The cocksure smirk on her face took on a distinctly malicious tone, and she glanced pointedly at the still-hypnotized Weiss. “Having fun, were we?”

Alara flinched and looked down. Wasp had seen everything. Had she recorded it? “I was just…”

“Oh, there’s no need to explain yourself!” Wasp taunted. She rose to her feet and started circling the room, completely at ease. “Trust me, I get it. Frankly, how could you resist?”

"I was experimenting.” Alara tried to make her voice calm and firm. She had a lot of practice with that. “Performing my duty as counselor to investigate the extent of whatever mind control you’ve-“

“Bullshit!” Wasp sang out, plainly delighted. “Admit it, shrink. You’re practically dripping under that jumpsuit.”

Alara couldn’t quite keep her shame out of her face, and Wasp crowed with laughter.

“Don’t worry,” she told Alara once her laughter died. “Trust me, I’m not one to judge. And I’m not going to tell. Your naughty little secret is safe with me.”

“It’s not…” Alara looked away. “I made a mistake.”

“Aw, don’t be like that!” Wasp snorted. “It was a pleasure watching you work. You’re clearly more than a little familiar with that way of getting into people’s heads. Always happy to meet a kindred spirit.”

Alara balled her hands into fists. She needed to move on from this. To regain some kind of control of the situation. “What do you want, Wasp? I suppose I’m to be your next victim?”

Wasp just giggled. “What gives you that idea?”

“Why else would you confront me like this?” Alara shot back. “You have no reason to take the risk of me revealing this to the captain. Not unless you plan to make sure I’m unable to.”

“I like the way you think,” Wasp commented. “But you’re a little off, Alara. I mean, firstly, I already got to Vasser. She was the first, as a matter of fact. But more importantly, no, I don’t want to make you my next victim.”

“Then what do you want?” Alara demanded.

Wasp licked her lips. “I want you to join me.”

Alara’s blood ran cold. “Why?”

“Because that sounds fun.” Wasp paused to shrug as she waltzed around the room. “More fun than making you just another brainwashed bimbo or something. I’m getting a little bored of that. Plus, I hate to see potential go to waste. But doing my part to help the Inyx’s sweet little counselor embrace her wild side for a change? Now that’s a good time.”

“But…” Alara was struggling to process that. The idea that even a reckless villain like Wasp would orchestrate all of this on a mere whim was staggering. “Why would I ever…”

Wasp winked at her. “Same reason.”

Alara bristled and drew herself up. “You’ve made a serious mistake,” she warned. “And frankly, you’re delusional if you think that I would ever consider betraying both the Alliance and all of my comrades just for the sake of… of…”

Her voice trailed off and her conviction ebbed away as she found herself completely distracted by what Wasp was doing.

Wasp had circled around to the chair in which Weiss was still slumped and, as Alara was talking, had draped herself over the back of the chair and was reaching down, sliding her hands across the hypnotized crewman’s body. Alara was transfixed by the spectacle, especially when Wasp slipped a hand between Hannah’s legs and slowly, deliberately, pushed two of her fingertips into her pussy.

Alara’s train of thought vanished. There was just something irresistibly magical about what she was seeing. About the way Weiss remained perfectly blank and still even as she was violated, except for just a few slight, automatic twitches as her body responded to the stimulation. No one who was simply trying or acting could have managed such total lifelessness and mindlessness. Alara’s indignation was dulled, and her curiosity aroused.

It would be completely and totally unethical, of course - but Alara couldn’t help but wonder about all she might be able to do with such a remarkable subject to experiment on.

“You really are a natural,” Wasp whispered to her. She kept her eyes locked on Alara’s even as she started finger-fucking Hannah Weiss in a slow, steady rhythm. “You knew exactly what to do with her. Almost like you’ve been waiting for something just like this.”

Alara wanted to deny it. She wanted to, but she knew how her voice would sound if she tried.

She hadn’t been waiting. Not consciously. But it was beginning to feel like she had.

“It makes me wonder,” Wasp went on teasingly, matching the cadence of her voice to the way she was exploring and enjoying Weiss’s body. “How far would you have gone, if I hadn’t interrupted you?”

Alara shivered. She’d been asking herself the same thing.

“Would you have done this?”

Wasp pushed her fingers deeper into Weiss; all the way to the knuckle, and then further, all the way. Weiss shuddered, back arching from sheer, automatic reflex, and her deep, slow breathing caught as Wasp touched something sensitive deep inside her. When Wasp pulled her fingers free, they were slick and sticky with wetness, and Weiss’s entire body was thrumming with pleasure - but still, she couldn’t wake. It was like she was having a wet dream sitting upright, with her eyes open.

Alara couldn’t look away.

“Or maybe… this?” Wasp teased, bringing her hand back up Weiss’s body. “Is this where your mind was going?”

She turned her attention to Weiss’s mouth, prying her unresisting lips apart and slipping her still-wet fingers into her mouth. Weiss was far too deeply hypnotized to lick or suck without being told, but her tongue still yielded to Wasp as she stroked her fingertips across it, forcing Weiss to taste her own juices and leaving her with her tongue lolling a little way out of her mouth. Alara shivered as possibilities flashed through her mind.

“Ah, yes.” Wasp seized upon her reaction. “She could be very good, you know. You can train her at it. Make her exactly the way you like her.” She toyed idly with the tip of Weiss’s tongue. A drop of saliva formed at the very end. “She’d be perfect. And the best part? She’d never even know.”

“S-stop,” Alara pleaded - but even as she spoke, she knew that wasn’t what she wanted.

She could train Weiss. She could make her exactly the way she wanted. She could make her perfect.

How many times had she yearned for that, in all her time acting as ship’s counselor on the Inyx or some other Alliance warship?

Just for once, Alara Hisarlik could be in control.

“You don’t want me to stop,” Wasp mocked. “Just like you didn’t want to stop yourself. Admit it - we’re way beyond principles now. This is about who you want to be, Alara. A bored, ignored headshrink? Or someone who gets what she wants?”

“Bored…?” Alara blinked. “How do you know that?”

Wasp rolled her eyes. “I’ve been reading your personal logs too. Duh. Hacker.”

Anger flared within Alara - but not brightly enough to outshine her other urges. Her darker urges. Right now, she couldn’t pretend that a little invasion of privacy was what truly mattered. What mattered was that Alara was facing a choice: she could either raise the alarm and go back to her old life as a counselor, or she could embrace what Wasp was offering. She could join her conspiracy, and plumb the depths of her own, twisted desires.

That prospect should have horrified her. It should have, but as she contemplated, Alara realized something alarming: she didn’t care. Not about the Inyx, or the Alliance, or Captain Vasser, or anyone else on the crew. She just didn’t. What had they ever done except take her presence for granted? This wasn’t about them. This was about Alara, and what she wanted.

“It’s your choice,” Wasp told her. “I’m offering you a chance. It’s up to you what happens to poor Hannah here… at least, in a way. Not like she’s going to get her own mind back. No; if you don’t want to have fun with her, then maybe I should enjoy a little taste instead.”

As she spoke, Wasp took the point of Hannah Weiss’s chin between her thumb and forefinger, and tilted it up and to the side until Hannah was facing her. Then, as Wasp leaned in, her hardlight holographic body subtly flickered and changed, and her eyes started to fill with bright, bleeding, pulsing spirals that were being projected out from within.

For the first time, Weiss seemed to respond to something. Acting on some deeply-conditioned reflex, her eyes fixed on the spirals in Wasp’s and shot wide, as if she was drinking in their eerie, mind-altering light. Her face reflected those spinning colors and she started leaning in, swaying like a drunk, her lips perilously close to Wasp’s. Alara still couldn’t fathom exactly what Wasp had done to her, but clearly it was potent. There was no mistaking the fact that Wasp was inside Weiss’s head, and could do absolutely anything she wanted with the helpless, brainwashed crewman.

“Stop!” Alara barked. She was at her limit.

The spirals vanished from Wasp’s eyes and she turned to look at Alara instead, an expression of gleeful malice writ large on her face. “Oh? And why should I?”

Alara met Wasp’s gaze. There was only one answer. “Because she’s mine.”

Wasp threw back her head and laughed. Then, she stood up and straight and walked over to Alara. “Welcome aboard, shrink.”

Alara nodded curtly. Getting into bed with someone like Wasp was still an uneasy proposition, and she remained more than a little shocked at her own feelings. But there was one thing she knew for certain: she couldn’t go back.

That left her only one option. But it wouldn’t be unpleasant, at least. Alara had set aside an entire hour for her session with Weiss. She still had thirty minutes left. A smile came to her face as she thought about all the things she was going to be able to do to that girl’s head in thirty minutes.

And, of course, in the follow-up sessions they were going to schedule.

“I’ll leave you to enjoy yourself in a moment.” Wasp nodded approvingly at the smile on Alara’s face. She knew that look well. “But first, just one thing: let’s talk about what we’d like you to do to Lieutenant Kuznetzov.”

—

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tall bitches really never think you're gonna pin them to the wall. your center of gravity is at grabby height for me and you left a critical opening when you leaned down to kiss me like a fucking rookie. get slammed

tank with "this machine transitions femboys" on it

Infects half of you with the virus that turns you into a haughty, selfish, arrogant princess that is so obsessed with your own status and cuteness that it leaves you completely disconnected from reality

diversity win! this spider is forcefemming its prey!

(full article)

A Commanding Weakness Ch. 9

Alara takes Kuznetzov down to the holodeck to face her feminization fantasies once and for all

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---

The holodeck couldn’t recreate smells, but all the same, Semya thought that she could taste stale tobacco in the air as she and Alara walked down the narrow, hardlight alleyway, between buildings that were made of nothing more than photons and data. Semya wrinkled her nose at the phantom stench, but in truth it was a pleasant distraction from other aspects of her situation.

It didn’t last. The holodeck was extremely capable of creating local temperature adjustments, and the biting cold of the simulated night air on Semya’s bare legs was a constant, unpleasant, forcefully arousing reminder of what she was wearing.

“Are you ready?” Alara asked her.

Semya flashed her a jealous look. Unlike her, Alara Hisarlik was wrapped up in a long, fine, warm coat. Why did Semya have to be so uncomfortable? What sense did it make for her to be dressed in such a humiliating way, while her therapist was comfortable and dignified? What kind of therapy was this, anyway?

Semya thought about voicing that question, but she couldn’t seem to muster the focus. Instead, she just found herself saying:

“Yes, Alara.”

“Good.” There it was again; that wide, unwholesome grin that had Semya convinced the counselor was bad news. “We’re here.”

She gestured to the building they had just arrived outside: a grubby little hole of a dyke bar, charmingly named ‘The Scissors’.

Semya knew it well. It was a perfect, holographic recreation of the real deal, a bar that Semya had gone cruising at often enough during her stints of shore leave on Earth. She’d actually built the simulation herself, although she’d never quite plucked up the shameless daring to go through with any of the deep, dark fantasies that had motivated it.

But now, thanks to Alara, that was about to change. And Semya was about to experience The Scissors in a very, very different way.

Just thinking about that made Semya whimper. She could already feel herself dripping down her leg.

“Don’t be nervous,” Alara cooed. “This is simply the culmination of your therapy, Semya. The final push. It’s what you need to finally break through your own walls and barriers.”

Semya nodded in instinctive submission. The final push. After this, she’d be cured. Cured of the messed-up, embarrassing fetish that had kept her holed up in her cabin touching herself all day long ever since their last session.

Then she could alert the captain and the rest of the crew. She could save the Inyx. She’d have Alara Hisarlik in the brig. She just needed to be cured.

Semya frowned for a moment as she tried to remember why, exactly, what they were doing was so important to her therapy. Her head started to hurt. The memories wouldn’t form. How had she ended up here? Why was she doing this?

She couldn’t remember. When she tried, she just found herself picturing Alara’s pocket watch.

Alara was doing something to her. Definitely. Something sinister. Semya was sure of it, and it terrified her.

But before she could come to terms with that, she needed to be cured.

“I understand,” she whimpered softly.

“Then,” Alara said, licking her lips and reaching out to open the door to the lesbian bar, “let’s get started.”

Before Semya could brace herself, Alara rested a hand on her back and pushed Semya through the door.

It was loud inside the bar, but as soon as the door closed behind the two of them, a distinctive hush washed through the space as conversations fell silent and heads turned, punctuated only by the scraping of barstools as every single patron craned to look at Semya Kuznetzov.

Semya’s cheeks turned bright red. She knew those looks. She knew what she was to them.

Fresh meat.

The Scissors might have been a filthy dive bar, but there was a kind of etiquette to the place that was as rigid as any military discipline. The way the bar worked was that dominant, butch women hung out and drank, and if any submissive, feminine girls wanted some action, all they had to do was walk through the door and pick who got to buy her a drink.

In the past, Semya had always been one of the butches. Not anymore. And now she was learning how all those femmes had always felt, staring down all these hungry, cocky, lustful stares.

Someone wolf-whistled. A moan slipped out of Semya’s lips.

It was little wonder that everybody was staring. Semya was dressed in the outfit Alara had picked out for the occasion - and it was beyond even her wildest fantasies. A metallic, gold minidress, cut tight to her figure, but ruched so that each of its folds caught the light and attracted attention to Semya’s physique. She felt she didn’t have the figure for a dress like that, but from the looks she was getting, the bar’s patrons disagreed.

In one hand, Semya was clutching a tiny purse Alara had given her to hold her badge. Alara had given her a necklace, too: a woven little gold chain that hung down as if pointing the way to her exposed cleavage. And then there was her makeup: under Alara’s stern instruction, Semya had been practicing, and in a few weeks she’d become skilled enough to give herself a perfect complexion, full, vibrant lips, striking eyeliner, and deep, sultry eyeshadow. But Alara had insisted on a heavy hand. The colors were a little too lurid; the pronounced blush and bright lipstick looked slutty instead of simply pretty, and the way she’d used bright pink instead of a deeper red ensured the resulting look was girlish rather than womanly.

All in all, with her mid-length hair, she looked just like a freshly-turned femme looking to get fucked like a princess for the first time.

And it was desperately, humiliatingly hot to know that, in a way, that was exactly what she was.

The crowning humiliation was the tall, dainty, heels Alara had forced her to wear. Semya stumbled like a newborn faun as Alara pushed her a few paces deeper into the bar.

“Go on,” Alara jeered. The rich pleasure in her voice was unmistakable. “Time to take your medicine, lieutenant.”

Semya let out a plaintive little whine. She had never been so turned on. The outfit was bad enough, but now, feeling dozens of pairs of eyes roving over her body, Semya was completely robbed of the ability to form words. Her head was full of steam. She couldn’t think.

“Does…” she whimpered eventually. “D-does it really… have to be… t-them?”

She gestured at the bar’s patrons. They were all dressed for the part, but each and every one of the patrons’ faces was familiar to Semya - because they were holograms of the Inyx’s crew.

“Oh yes,” Alara insisted, giggling. “Private therapy is merely the beginning. To complete your counseling, you need to be properly socialized into your new, feminine social role.

Hearing that didn’t make thinking any easier.

“B-but,” Semya tried to say, “I t-thought… b-but you said…”

She was supposed to go back to normal after this, wasn’t she? She’d be free of her fetish. She’d be able to go back to being butch. Wasn’t that the whole idea?

Semya wasn’t sure anymore. She just couldn’t think. Why couldn’t she think?

“You have to feel seen,” Alara assured her. “By people familiar to you.”

Semya felt seen. She’d never imagined that people would see so much of her. It was as mortifying as it was hot.

For years, she’d had fantasies just like this.

“Go on.” Alara nudged her forwards. “Give them a show.”

Hesitantly but obediently, Semya started walking along the length of the bar.

“They’re… just holograms,” Semya muttered to herself under her breath. A reminder. Alara had promised. The counselor had created this scenario for her. Nobody else here was an actual person. But they seemed so real. “Just… just holograms.”

It didn’t help. Every one of those amused smirks and lustful stares was written into Semya’s body. They were like burning hot coals on her skin. She could feel her legs turning to jelly beneath her - but all the same, she found herself trying her best to obey Alara’s command. As Semya walked, clumsily putting one heel in front of the other, fighting to maintain balance, she tried to make her hips sway appealingly with each step in that hypnotically alluring way femmes always seemed to manage.

For just a moment, she managed it - but then, a harsh spike of shameful arousal made Semya stumble wildly.

Until someone caught her.

Semya gasped at the sensation of a rough hand clamping tight around her bare forearm and hauling her back to her feet.

“Careful there, princess,” said someone, voice full of a familiar swagger. “Let’s at least get a drink or two in you before you go spreading your legs like that.”

Laughter rippled through the room. Semya had to bury her face in her hands to hide her brush. She wasn’t used to this - to being dressed this way, to being desired, to feeling pursued, any of it. In that moment, what left her tongue-tied the most was just how fragile she felt as this woman - a short-haired butch who worked in engineering, Semya thought - grabbed her and pulled her around.

Fragility. That was new. And it put butterflies in Semya’s stomach.

“C’mon now,” the engineer teased. “Don’t I even get a ‘thank you’?”

“Thank you,” rose instantly to Semya’s lips in a flustered, mortified squeak.

A fresh round of laughter rendered her speechless again. Semya was startled by just how high and feminine her voice came out.

“You’re welcome,” the engineer replied, grinning. “Has anyone ever told you that your voice is just as pretty as your face?”

Semya saw white for a moment.

Pretty?

That was the last thing Semya ever expected to be called. The last thing she wanted to be called.

And yet she couldn’t keep a dumb, shy smile from coming to her face.

“Y’know,” someone else piped up, “I don’t think she has.”

More laughter.

“I’m always happy to take a pretty girl’s first time,” the engineer winked. “Why don’t you let me buy you a drink, princess?”

“P-p-princess?” Semya squeaked. She was used to using lines like that, not having them used on it. It was wrong. It was mortifying. And yet, her body was reacting to it all with supreme eagerness. Each word, each laugh, was a fresh rush of heat across her skin.

She was too flustered to form a reply, but that didn’t seem to matter to the engineer who was currently hitting on her. She was still holding Semya by the arm and used it to guide her over towards where she’d been sitting at the bar. Semya followed meekly. Struggle was beyond her. She was a leaf in the wind.

A small crowd of women, all eager for a piece of the new girl, quickly formed around her.

“So,” the engineer asked, “what do you like to drink?”

Semya was grateful for such a simple question. “I’ll h-have a beer,” she replied automatically.

The chorus of laughter that prompted was louder than ever.

“Aren’t you cute?” the engineer laughed derisively. She held up her hand to get the bartender’s attention. “White wine spritzer for the lady!”

The lady. The humiliation was unbearable. Semya squirmed from the treasonous pleasure that gave her.

Why? Why was this getting to her so much? Semya had always liked feeling strong. Hard. Tough. Feeling strong was comfortable. It suited her. That’s what she’d always thought. In a way, that simple feeling had guided her entire aesthetic. Her identity. Feeling weak? Fragile? Delicate? That was wrong. It made her stomach flutter. It made her feel the way a zero-G-to-atmosphere spacedive made her feel.

And now she was trapped with that feeling of falling. Every look, every whispered comment, every sleazy flirt made it grip her anew. And as the minutes wore on, it was being transformed into a kind of panicked euphoria that robbed all the thoughts from Semya’s head and sent giddy endorphins pounding through her body.

She wished she hated it. But she didn’t. It felt amazing. It was just the way it always was in her fantasies, only the reality of it made it a hundred times more intense.

No. Not reality, she reminded herself. Holograms. These were just holograms.

“So,” the engineer said easily, “what do you call yourself, princess?”

“Don’t let her keep you all to herself,” someone interrupted, sidling up to Semya on the other side and saving her from even deeper embarrassment. She recognized them too. One of Carter’s people. A security officer. “And don’t let her talk your ear off all night either. I know you’re not here for talk.”

“I…” Semya tried to protest, “I’m…”

She stopped when she realized how unconvincing any protest would sound, given her clothes.

“You should try talking for once,” the engineer said to the security officer. “Some girls like it when they know your name before you try getting your hand in their panties.”

“Not sure I agree,” the security officer shot back, a huge, shit-eating grin on her face. “My way hasn’t failed me so far. Anyway, by the time I’m done with them, they don’t even remember their own names.”

She flashed Semya a look. Normally, the lieutenant would have rolled her eyes at a crass boast like that. Now, it just made her squirm all the more.

Then, a third bar dyke joined the fray. “Why don’t we leave these two to bicker?” she suggested to Semya. Semya only vaguely recognized this one - a mess worker, perhaps. “And go somewhere a little more private.”

“Hey now,” the engineer interjected. She leaned across and slipped an arm around Semya’s shoulder, keeping her pulled close. “No poaching! I saw her first.”

The exchange left Semya burning up with flustered heat. It wasn’t just the way the engineer pulled her close so effortlessly, making her feel small and feeble. There was another element, too: the heady intoxication of being desired.

All these women were fighting over Semya. Competing for her, like she was a pretty bauble to be won. That was new to Semya. She’d been appreciated for her looks before, certainly - but never quite like this. It redoubled her euphoria, making her feel light, proud, giddy from the attention. It made the way she was being objectified and swept off her feet feel almost flattering. Like it was a victory, instead of a humiliation.

No, Semya tried to remind herself. This was-

Wrong?

Or was it right? She couldn’t tell. Suddenly, she remembered that Alara was still here, lurking in a far corner, watching. Smiling.

Therapy. This was Semya’s therapy. She had to go through with it. Right?

Suddenly, the sheer wrongness of that struck Semya. She became abruptly aware of the fact that she was on a precipice, teetering, about to lose a vital part of herself. She needed to fight that. She needed to remember who she was. She needed to-

“Hey now,” the security officer piped up. “Who says she’s yours to cop a feel of?”

Semya was about to try and say something - to insist everyone back off - when another arm snaked possessively around her waist. Again, she saw white as the security officer squeezed her.

“I’m sure the princess herself has something to say about it,” the engineer retorted. “She owes me for the drink, remember?”

There it was again. Princess. It made Semya’s stomach do loops. “N-n…” she tried to say. “Nnnno-“

“Oh, I don’t know,” inserted the mess worker. “The pretty little thing seems real tongue-tied. Here, I think you two are crowding the lady.”

Far from helping, the mess worker reached forward, trying to squeeze up next to Semya. In the process, one of her hands came to rest on Semya’s hip, fingertips already teasing at the hem of Semya’s unreasonably short dress. The lieutenant whimpered.

She couldn’t stand up for herself. Why couldn’t she stand up for herself?

“Of course not,” the engineer scoffed. “She’s enjoying my company. She’s my kind of girl. Aren’t you?”

Semya wanted to deny it. All that came out was a moan. She could feel the body heat of these three tall, strong, confident women as they surrounded her. She could smell their scents. She was drowning in it. She felt so light. Like any of them could effortlessly throw her over their shoulders and carry her away.

“I think it’s my company she’s enjoying, actually,” the security officer put in. “Aren’t you, beautiful?”

Semya had to look down meekly as her cheeks scorched with heat.

“See?” the security officer boasted.

“What are you, a high schooler?” the mess worker sneered. “That’s not how you tell if a girl is having a good time. This is.”

In a single deft, well-practiced move, she surged forward and slipped her hand up the skirt of Semya’s minidress. A loud moan erupted from Semya’s lips as she felt the mess worker’s fingertips stroking against her.

She wasn’t wearing anything under the dress.

“See?” the mess worker crowed, holding up two of her fingers for the others to inspect. As she stretched them apart, a long string of sticky wetness formed between them. “She’s loving it.”

Semya had never felt more embarrassed. She wanted the ground to swallow her. Being presented with such visceral proof of her body’s eagerness was humiliating. It made all the denials she wanted to scream seem ridiculous and dishonest, even to her. There was an extra level of humiliation to the fact that she was being treated this way by a mere mess worker - a woman who, normally, couldn’t look her in the eyes without saluting.

But things like that didn’t matter here.

At least it was just a hologram, Semya reminded herself.

That was the only thought she managed to hold on to as the bar around her erupted into mocking, raucous laughter.

“Wow,” the engineer whistled. “Maybe you were right. Maybe she really is the kind of girl who likes to be treated rough.”

As flustered as she was, Semya couldn’t let that pass without comment. She had to hold on - to her butchness, to her strength, to her dignity. To something.

“I’m…” she managed, in a pitiful squeak, “nnottt.”

As ever, her voice, high and girly, completely undermined her. The women lurking around her simply cooed condescendingly and drew even closer.

“Oh? You’re not?” the security officer teased. “Don’t worry, princess. We know how to treat a girl right. Don’t you worry.”

Semya could sense a subtle but sinister change in the atmosphere. The looks she was getting from these other women were growing more and more lustful. More and more predatory. They were no longer competing with each other - at least, not quite in the same way. Their competitiveness had been outstripped by a simple need to see the pretty, feminine Semya utterly ravaged for their collective pleasure.

This was no longer simply flirting. It was a feeding frenzy.

As much as anything else, she could taste it in the air. The pheromones, as all those bar dykes closed in. The smell, too; the musk, really. Sweat, smoke, booze, cologne. Semya was used to it, she’d thought, but not like this. Somehow, it was all the worse for that single, light, floral note; the perfume Alara had made her use before coming here. The dizzying mixture of it all was in her head, making it harder than ever to think. Making her painfully aware of her own weakness.

“So, princess,” the mess worker cooed. “Am I taking you back to my place? Or are you showing the whole bar a good time?”

After a sharp intake of breath at the proposal, Semya glanced gratefully at the woman. There it was. One last offer of dignity - at least, relatively speaking. She wasn’t sure what taking it would even mean, given that she was here for her therapy, but she had to try.

But as soon as she opened her mouth to reply - to beg, in the most humiliating way possible, to be taken home and fucked as a one-night-stand - the mess worker pushed two fingers inside her and expertly hooked them to stroke Semya’s g-spot.

All that came out of her mouth was a high, loud, unbearably needy moan.

The moment felt like it lasted forever. Once Semya’s moan died and she stopped seeing stars, all she could hear was mocking laughter.

“I guess our princess isn’t such a good girl after all,” the engineer commented, smirking. “Looks like we found our entertainment for the night!”

A cheer went up around the bar. Semya wanted to protest, but that word had robbed her of her voice.

Entertainment. That was her now. The center of attention. The star of the show. Semya had always hated it. Had always hated being flashy. Hated the way people looked at her when she wore makeup and dresses. Like she was nothing more than a feast for their eyes. A treat to be devoured.

Except now, it made her cunt drip all over the mess worker’s fingers.

“Hey, wait,” piped up the security officer, although she was clearly no ally. “Don’t keep her all to yourself. I want a piece.”

Semya squealed as she felt the woman’s hand snake down the back of her seat and cup her ass, squeezing and groping without mercy. The touch made her melt and squeal, and made her painfully aware of just how soft and yielding her body truly was.

It was like she was meant for this.

“Relax,” drawled the engineer. “There’s plenty of her to go around.”

“Yeah,” added the mess worker, “and she’s plenty eager for it.”

Using the hand between Semya’s thighs, the mess worker started to pry her legs open - not forcefully, but again, Semya found herself utterly powerless to resist or protest. As she spread her legs, the hem of her tiny dress began to ride up, exposing more and more of her skin to the air. To the eyes of the hungry predators gathered around her.

“Don’t look so scared,” the security officer cooed. “This is what you wanted, right? This is why you came in here. Don’t pretend. We know what you are, princess. You want this. You need this.”

More than ever, Semya wanted to deny it - but this time, the simple truth of what she was being told overwhelmed her.

The security officer - no, this hologram - was right. She had come here for this. She needed this. Alara had taught her that. What use was there in denying it?

So instead, she found herself nodding meekly.

“Good girl,” the security told her. Semya moaned again.

Everyone was looking at her now. Everyone. Not just the three who were immediately crowded around her. She was the center of attention for the entire bar. Even the bartender was watching. Her moans were the music. Her shifting, writhing body was the entertainment. Everyone was looking, and Semya knew all they saw was a needy, flashy femme who was all but begging to be fucked.

And… was she? Semya was starting to lose track. She needed this, but she didn’t want it. Was that right? But if she didn’t want it, why was her body responding with such vicious eagerness? Why did every touch, every crass comment, every vulgar gaze fill her with violent heat?

She… wanted this?

Why? Because of her fetish? But what was it Alara had been saying? That her fetish was her real desires, repressed, waiting to be released? If that was the case, then…

Semya gasped as, out of nowhere, someone leaned forward and claimed her lips with a messy, forceful kiss. She could taste smoke on their breath and cheap whiskey on their tongue. The sheer coarseness of it left her whimpering.

“Wow,” Semya heard someone say, “she really is eager.”

Semya realized she’d been kissing back just as needily.

As everyone laughed, Semya looked down and tried to hide her face, although some implanted instinct against ruining her makeup kept her from burying it in her hands. One moment, she wanted the ground to swallow her up and shield her. The next, that same sense of humiliation was transformed into a lightness of being; a desire to be swept up and aloft, higher, brighter, more visible than ever. Semya was giddy with the urge - before the shame returned, and crushed her anew.

As she grappled with those warring feelings, she could hear the nearby bar dykes arguing about her - specifically, about who was going to get the first ‘turn’. They were comparing dibs, debating about Semya’s potential preferences, and even, in a few cases, planting elbows on the bartop so they could arm-wrestle for her. Being the center of attention was mortifying, but being actively fought over was lighting an undeniable fire inside Semya.

This was her, now. A trophy. A prize to be claimed.

That was so new. She’d never felt desired quite like that - desired, certainly but in a different way. She was learning that the relationship between butch and femme was far from symmetrical - and that, until now, she’d been blissfully unaware of just dizzying the euphoria that stemmed from being desired and chased could be.

It was hot. It was so fucking hot.

After a few moments, the pecking order was decided and the ‘winner’ presented herself; unsurprisingly, it was the engineer who had first caught Semya when she’d tripped. Once, Semya would have squared up against a woman like her with a grin on her face for the opportunity to take a pretty girl home. Now, as the engineer ogled her, Semya felt nothing but meek, flustered submission.

“Hey, princess,” the engineer said. Her voice was soft, but the cocky shark’s grin on her face made a lie of it. “Don’t worry. I’ll make you feel good.”

The promise made Semya shiver. For the first time, she truly looked at the other woman. She was tall, and wearing a ribbed tank top that left her burly arms on display. She had a thick-set, husky build, but when she moved and flexed, the musculature underneath was clearly visible, attesting to long hours spent lifting and carrying machinery in the bowels of the Inyx. She had sailors’ tattoos on her biceps, marking ships and campaigns served on, and her hair was short and slicked over to one side.

Words came unbidden into Semya’s mind. Words she’d normally reserve for herself, not think about other women. Cool. Handsome. Strong.

Hot.

A nervous, dumb smile came to Semya’s face.

And her eyes went wide as the engineer dropped to her knees and buried herself between Semya’s thighs.

The very first touch of her tongue had Semya moaning. She twitched and writhed as the pleasure hit, although all her efforts did nothing more than encourage the engineer as she started eating Semya out. It overwhelmed her instantly and defied all reason. Semya had always been a giver, not a receiver, but within moments this woman’s skillful tongue unraveled that part of her.

Always a top, always a giver - but not anymore. She couldn’t forget this. Her body couldn’t forget this.

At that moment, far too late, as the first rush of her new addiction hit, Semya suddenly became conscious of the fact that this was wrong. Completely wrong. This wasn’t a cure for her fetish. It was the opposite. It was fuel for the flames. And she was at risk of losing something she could truly never get back.

She needed to fight this. She needed to resist. She needed to-

“O-oh myy gggoddd!” The scream forced its way from Semya’s lips as the engineer’s tongue found its way even deeper inside her. The entire bar laughed at her plight, and the mixture of humiliation and pleasure robbed her of her train of thought.

She needed to… what?

She couldn’t think.

The engineer was making a hopeless puppet of her. She had such power over Semya; whenever she wanted, she could make her moan loud, or gasp breathlessly, or twitch this way or that, all with a single flick of her tongue. She proved it, over and over again. She delighted in it, making a mockery of the feeble resistance Semya tried to put up when she attempted to hold back her moans.

Little by little, she was teasing out and eroding Semya’s resistance. Chewing it up and spitting it out. Every time Semya stifled a moan or bit down on her own thrashing, the engineer noticed and made sure that her next display of ravenous pleasure was all the more humiliating for it. She tongue-fucked her skillfully, slow one moment, fast the next, attacking her clit, or stroking her lips, or pushing her tongue deep inside her until Semya’s back arched and her screams filled the whole bar.

Every time Semya tried fighting back, even a little, she slipped deeper into pleasure-drunk euphoria and she became more and more painfully aware of her own weakness. Her own lightness. Compared to the engineer - to how strong and forceful she was - Semya felt like she was made of nothing.

And all the while, her moans grew louder and louder.

“Settle down, princess,” jeered one of the women who had accosted Semya earlier - the security officer, she thought, although her vision was far too blurred to tell. “You’re getting exactly what you came here for.”

“N-n-noooo,” Semya forced out, even as the bar echoed with mocking laughter. “I’m not… I’m nnnottt… I’m… this… isn’tttt…”

She couldn’t quite get the words out. The engineer’s tongue was turning her thoughts into slurry. Even if Semya could speak without moaning, what would she say? What was there to protest?

It wasn’t like she could pretend not to be enjoying this. The wetness dripping onto the floor of the bar made a lie of that.

“I’m…” she moaned. “I’mmmm”

What?

Masc? Butch? A top?

She wasn’t sure any of those things were true anymore.

Her identity itself was being washed away by the simple fact that nothing had ever felt better than this.

“OK, princess,” said the engineer from between her thighs, drool and stickiness dripping from her lips. “How about we let everyone else take their turn?”

Before Semya could reply, the engineer rose smoothly to her feet and spun her around with her powerful arms, so that she was facing out into the bar. Her deep blush and shameful wetness were on display, and even without someone holding them apart, Semya couldn’t seem to find the strength to close her legs.

She was a spectacle. And everyone was looking. Everyone. A dozen pairs of eyes, each of them full of lust.

And it was all for her. All for Semya.

In the face of that, her soiled pride simply melted away. The simple euphoria of being beautiful and desired and prized cleansed away everything else. Amidst Semya’s frenzied lust, it seemed like clarity.

She wanted this. She needed this.

Because, deep down, it was who she really was.

And with that settled, she found herself nodding and grinning stupidly.

“Y-yes,” she said, in a dumb, high-pitched, girly voice. “Y-yes, please.”

That was all anyone needed to hear. In an instant, everyone else was on top of her, a dozen or more hands exploring every part of her body with the kind of ravenous, destructive lust normally reserved for picking the petals from flowers.

Everyone wanted a piece of Semya. They wanted to soil her. They wanted to ruin her dress, to smear her lipstick, to leave her eyeliner running down her face. They lived for it. They loved it.

And so did she.

It was a new feeling to Semya. The feeling of being a pretty vase, cracking apart. It was such a thrill. All along, Semya had suspected how good it would feel. That was why had become such a singular, fetishistic focus of hers. But to experience it was something else. It put the lie to all her excuses about it being ‘just’ a fetish.

This wasn’t ‘just’ anything. And Semya could see, now, clearly, that Alara had been right all along. She couldn’t be cured. Not of this. It was too intense. Now she was drowning in the feeling, and all she wanted was more.

She wanted to live this. Every day. Every moment.

She wanted to make sure there was no going back.

So, as the mess worker from earlier dove between her legs and started eating her out, Semya made sure her moans were higher and girlier than ever before. As another, a woman Semya hadn’t exchanged a single word with, yanked the top of her dress down to make her tits spill out, Semya made sure the faux-protest she let out was breathy, weak, and very distinctly feminine.

It felt so good, being violated like that. The fragility, most of all. Fragility and femininity were inextricably fused in Semya’s mind. For the longest time, she’d been laboring under the delusion that it meant femininity was wrong for her. Now, Alara had helped her to understand how breathtakingly pleasurable fragility could be.

And you never felt more fragile than when you were breaking.

“Y-yes!” Semya moaned. No more ‘no’s. No more denials. She was beyond that. “P-please! Moreeeee!”

She was free. Free to embrace her fantasies. Free to sink into the bliss, safe and secure in the knowledge that besides Alara, nobody was watching. These were all holograms. They weren’t really members of the crew.  Nothing more than hardened light. With that fixed firmly in her mind, Semya was free to embrace her darkest fantasies. To breathe deep, and let the overpowering scent of sweat and lust carry her away.

At first, there was only one woman who wasn’t participating in the feeding frenzy. Alara Hisarlik, the ship’s counselor, was still standing off to one side, watching without a word. But anyone who saw her would have been able to tell that her bystanding was anything innocent. There was an unhealthy, lurid glow in her eyes; a fascination that was entirely at odds with her duty as a therapist and a healer. Her enjoyment was evident, but it was just as obvious that this wasn’t enough to sate her appetite. Not even close.

Semya Kuznetzov was simply her first subject. And this was simply the beginning of her new career.

Out of nowhere, another woman appeared next to her. The holodeck’s emitters carefully manipulated the photons passing through the air to form a holographic image that was the perfect duplicate of Wasp, the hacker, right down to the neon green highlights in her hair. After a brief moment, the image came to life, a wicked grin spreading across her face as she trained her eyes on the counselor.

“Nice work, ‘lara,” Wasp drawled. “I knew you had it in you.”

Alara didn’t so much as glance at her. She didn’t want to miss a thing. She wanted to etch every moment of Semya’s fall into her memory.

“I suppose I did,” Alara mused in reply. “All along. I really did.”

For her, as much as for Semya, this was a rebirth. It emanated from her; every mote of dignity and strength that Semya had lost, Alara seemed to have gained.

“I just got one question,” Wasp said, as she sauntered around, phasing through tables and stools as she did. No hardlight today, apparently. With her punk look, she seemed oddly at home in the dark confines of the dyke bar. “Why do it so slow? All the sessions, the old-school hypnosis schtick… why? If you wanted her like this, all you had to do was slip her one of my new little toys.”

Alara smiled a thin smile. “You don’t understand,” she replied. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you? It’s about the journey, not the destination. It’s the personal touches. The little push-and-pull of watching her come apart.” The counselor shivered. “I wouldn’t skip it for the world.”

Wasp stared at her thoughtfully for a moment, but then just shrugged. “If you say so. Not like I’m in any place to judge. As long as you’re still in with me, you can be any kind of pervert you want.”

Alara laughed. “Thank you. And besides, you’ve used the time well, I think.”

Wasp tittered like a giddy child. “Oh, absolutely. I’ve got almost all of them now. Doc, down in medbay, is quite the little worker drone. The whole crew has pretty much got their ‘vaccination’. We’re ready for the endgame.”

“I see.” Alara seemed more interested in her own plans than Wasp’s. After a moment, she nodded towards the bar dykes were fucking Semya. “Speaking of: thank you for their cooperation. I think it’s the perfect little touch.”

“No problem.” Wasp grinned. “I’m no stranger to theatricality.”

Both of them watched the developing orgy. A couple of the women had lifted Semya up onto the bartop, and people were taking turns crawling up between her legs and eating her out. They seemed to be competing to see who could make her thrash the most. At the other end, another group was using her mouth just as forcefully, making her suck on fingers, strap-ons, beer bottles. Whatever they wanted.

Semya was eager for all of it.

She was the center of attention. The focal point of all this debauchery. In a strange, perverse way, she really did look like some kind of princess, in the ruins of her delicate jewelry and golden dress, now hopelessly torn and crumpled from all the groping. Everyone else at the bar was gathered around to pay her a twisted tribute, and her skin was covered with proof of their adorations: cum, drool, kiss marks, love bites, and more.

And Semya loved it. She was in heaven. She had completely given herself over to fantasy.

Now it was time for Alara to bring her back down to reality.

“Time to rip off the band-aid,” she murmured, stepping forward.

“Knock yourself out, shrink,” Wasp said, dissolving back into nothingness as she offered a mock salute to her conspirator.

A vicious smirk on her face, Alara held her head high as she walked to the center of the space.

“Computer,” she said, in a loud, clear voice. “End simulation.”

The ship’s computer responded instantly, and with a shimmer, the world around them dissolved. The bar, the stools, the drinks, even the street outside - all of it phased out of existence as the light dissipated. Semya was still held up in the air, a few feet from the ground, but only by a nondescript, gray, hardlight box generated by the holodeck’s safety subroutines. That was all that remained of the holodeck scenario that had been running. Everything else had shut down. Nothing else was left.

But all the bar dykes were.

“Do you see, Semya?” Alara said to her patient. “I’m afraid I can’t simply allow you to lapse into futile escapism. What kind of cure would that be?”

It took Semya a long moment to rouse herself from the blissful overwhelmed, aroused stupor she’d lapsed into. But when she started to process what was happening to her, her eyes went wide and started trembling.

“Wha…” she panted in disbelief. “What… you’re… they’re…”

Real.

Not holograms. Real people. All of the women who’d been toying with Semya were simply members of the crew, dressed up and playing their assigned parts. It had to be true - it was the only way to explain why they were still here - but even so, Semya couldn’t quite bring herself to accept it.

But eventually, the truth forced her to her knees. As much as Semya wanted to pretend this was simply a cruel trick, now that she was thinking about it, there was something no amount of holodeck deception could explain: the smell. The scent of sweat, musk and sex Semya had been drinking deeply of all evening.

Holodecks couldn’t recreate smells. She should have known.

“That’s right,” Alara confirmed, as she saw the penny drop. “You’ve been doing all this in front of members of the crew. In front of people under your command. And rest assured: they won’t forget it.”

Unpleasant laughter echoed around the now-empty space. Wasp had used her tools of mental manipulation to make them play along, but they were far from mindless drones. They had been enjoying it every bit as much as Semya.

A chance to defile a stern, stuck-up XO? Who wouldn’t?

Semya looked between them like a frightened, trapped doe. There was no escape. All of them had seen her at her lowest. At her most humiliated. They knew her innermost secret. Her fetish had been laid bare. They would never look at her the same way again - and nor would anyone else, once word spread.

Semya’s reputation was shattered. Her dignity was a thing of the past. Her very identity, a facade barely held up by increasingly thin excuses, was now collapsing.

After a few long, unpleasant seconds, Semya made peace with it the only way she could.

By embracing it.

Her eyes fogged over again and, with a vacant, girlish giggle, she beckoned to a familiar face: the mess worker who had first touched her.

“Heyyyy,” Semya slurred. Her voice was breathy. Needy. “Why did you stop?”

In that moment, her pride broke. Her identity broke. Her mind broke. Whatever had been left of the stern, quiet, understated, strong XO of the Inyx was currently dribbling out of her mouth and drooling from between her thighs. In the face of impossible humiliation, Semya had collapsed in on herself and decided that this was all she wanted to do and all she wanted to be.

The women surrounding her exchanged looks. They all knew prey going limp when they saw it. Still, they looked to Alara for permission. She returned a quick nod. With that, the orgy resumed.

They kept at Semya for hours, eating her out, slapping her around, leaving her makeup a ruin - and all the while, she did nothing more than giggle and moan and squeal girlishly in submissive acceptance. Alara didn’t stay for that, though. She had already seen the moment she’d been working towards. She’d won. And for what felt like the first time in her life, she knew satisfaction.

The next day, when Semya Kuznetzov reported for duty wearing a dress, it was nothing more than confirmation.

—

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