"You asked to see me, Captain." The door slid closed behind Seven of Nine.
Janeway remained seated at her desk. "I did." She crossed her arms. "Do you know why?"
"I didn't speculate." Seven stood tall, easy, hands locked behind her.
Rising, Janeway leaned forward, resting her hands on the desk. "You didn't speculate." She paused, looking Seven up and down. "Well, I won't keep you in suspense. It's not for a commendation. You're insubordinate, Seven. And that doesn't speak well of your discipline. Or mine."
"I only do what's best." There was the faintest hint of stiffening in her stance.
"And so do I." Janeway straightened, opening a drawer. "And in this case, I think it's best to try some...extraordinary measures. Come here." And she held up a large wooden paddle.
Seven stared. "You can't be serious."
Janeway lifted the paddle, stroking it against her hand. "I'm completely serious. I told you to come here."
Their eyes locked for a long moment. "Very well," Seven said and crossed behind the desk. "Should I face the wall?"
"No." Janeway sat and swivelled the chair around. "I want you over my lap."
"Captain, I--"
"Just do it, Seven."
Another hard stare, but shorter this time. Then Seven draped her long body over Janeway's knees. It probably looked ridiculous, Janeway thought. Seven's elbows rested on the floor and her long, long legs trailed out behind her. It wouldn't feel ridiculous, though.
"Next time, Seven, obey orders and I won't have to do this." Janeway set one hand on Seven's back, readied the paddle with the other. "I want to hear you count each stroke." She brought the paddle down.
"One."
"'One, Captain,'" Janeway corrected. "Let's begin again." She slapped the wood against Seven's buttocks.
"One, Captain." Stroke. "Two, Captain."
And again, and again, giving each blow measured force and rhythm against the resilient flesh. Seven's breath grew fast and ragged. But it wasn't quite enough, not enough contact.
"Ten, Captain."
"Now, Seven," Janeway said, "I'd like you to strip."
Damn, he would stop right there. Skinner closed Mulder's email message and stared at the screen. How did he get talked into these things? Hanging out with Mulder. Fucking Mulder. Writing round-robin fanfic erotica with Mulder. Why couldn't they just have phone sex like normal people?
Skinner closed his eyes and sighed. Forget it, this time he wasn't going to play. If Mulder hassled him, he'd just plead job-related lack of time. He pushed the chair away from the desk.
Hmm, what if Chakotay walked in on them?
FINIS