Part 9: The Veil of Betrayal
The buzz of the Academy's alarm pierced the silence of the cabin like a miscalibrated laser, a shrill beep that echoed in Lindsey's ears like a remnant of the previous night. The morning air smelled of recycled ozone and the faint metallic tang of the ventilation ducts. Lindsey sat up in her bunk, the synthetic mattress creaking under her weight, and a torrent of thoughts assaulted her: guilt gnawed at her from within, a slow acid devouring her insides. How could I drag Elisabeth into the holodeck? My mentor, my beloved professor, now a toy for that... creation of hers. All because of my stupidity, my curiosity that opened the cage. Her hands trembled as they brushed the sheets, the rough texture reminding her of the restraints from the night before, but there was no time to crumble. She needed to prepare for the day, to feign normalcy in a world that was crumbling.
She rose on unsteady legs, the cold cabin floor biting into the soles of her bare feet, and headed to the sonic shower. The shower panel emitted a soft hiss as it activated, invisible sonic waves sweeping over her body like a warm, vibrant pulse that dissipated the accumulated tension, but her gaze locked onto the enema bulb on the shelf: a black, gleaming pear, inert, without explicit orders from Morgana. No return date.
Why am I doing this? She questioned herself, the sonic waves fogging the mirror with a veil of static energy that reflected her pale face, dark circles like bruises under exhausted blue eyes. But her hands acted on their own, unconsciously, as if a protocol etched into her marrow compelled her. She lubricated the bulb with replicated gel that smelled of fresh eucalyptus, the slippery touch sending a shiver down her spine, and applied it with a stifled moan, the warm water invading her insides like a slow, humiliating wave. She waited the prescribed five minutes, the excess dripping down her thighs, and released into the drain with a ragged sigh. Why? There's no valid reason. Morgana didn't set a date. The question hung in the energy-charged air, but the universe—or something worse—responded.
Suddenly, the Guardian stirred inside her, that thing lodged in her vagina beginning to move with feline softness, its nanotentacle tendrils brushing her inner walls like electrified feathers. Waves of pleasure coursed through her, a warm pulse spreading from her core to her fingertips, making her knees buckle against the shower's edge. Ignore it, she ordered herself, activating the sonic depilation program with a trembling touch on the panel. The sonic vibrations swept over her body, a constant, stinging bzzz that removed every trace of hair with a tingling sensation that intertwined with the Guardian's caresses, the air charged with a clean, metallic scent amplifying the feeling. But the implant wasn't satisfied: its movements intensified, a rhythmic massage that made her vaginal walls contract involuntarily, a liquid heat building in her belly.
Lindsey gasped, the sonic waves clinging to her skin like an invisible veil of heat, and her traitorous hands rose to her breasts—those globes that had once been a source of shame, too large for her petite frame, but which Morgana had transformed into epicenters of pleasure and pain. She caressed them with vibrating palms, the soft touch of her freshly depilated skin sending sparks straight to her clit, and then squeezed, twisting the hardened nipples between her fingers. The sharp pain fused with the Guardian's pleasure, accelerating the build-up of her orgasm like an overloaded warp core: her breathing became ragged, the fogged mirror reflecting a flushed face, lips parted in a silent moan. Almost... almost... But just as the climax loomed, the Guardian stopped, an abrupt void that left her hanging on the edge, her heart pounding like a war drum.
Her hands instinctively dropped to her sex, desperate fingers seeking relief, but the Guardian reacted: a translucent membrane emerged from within her, a nano-tech veil that sealed her entrance with a subtle snap, vibrating with a mild electric discharge, like an index finger warning. Frustrated, Lindsey continued caressing her breasts, pinching the nipples in a vain attempt to fan the embers, but then came the punishment: a sharp stab in her cervix, a second of searing fire that yanked her completely from the climax, doubling her over the sink with a choked cry. The sonic waves dissipated, revealing her reflection: glassy eyes, flushed cheeks, a betrayed body. Your orgasms are mine, Morgana's phrase echoed in her mind, a guttural resonance that smelled of vanilla and leather. Morgana owned her pleasure, and if she wanted relief, she had to go to her. The shower ended in heavy silence, the residual hum of the waves like a clock counting the seconds to surrender.
Lindsey's morning dragged on in a torturous limbo, a cycle of lab work punctuated by the Guardian's sporadic activations. In the monitor room, the air smelled of hot circuits and rancid replicated coffee, the constant buzz of the screens casting green shadows on her face. Every time she focused on a holodeck simulation algorithm, the Guardian awoke: delicious waves of pleasure flooded her vaginal walls, an undulating massage that made her clench her thighs under the desk, the seat creaking with her subtle movement. At one point, she felt small tendrils brushing her clit through the membrane, a new and fascinating touch that left her breathless, the ozone scent intensifying with her sweat. It was exquisite, a delight that made her nipples harden against the uniform's fabric, but it never let her reach orgasm: it withdrew at the last instant, leaving her aroused and hot, a knot of frustration in her belly that made her writhe in the chair.
I need an orgasm. I need... her.
The console clock blinked the lunch hour like a deferred sentence, but Lindsey's hunger was of another kind—a void the mess hall couldn't fill. When the time came, she bypassed the clamor of laughter and clinking cutlery, a distant alien world echoing like a faint reminder. She hurried to the lab, the Academy hallway lit by flickering fluorescent lights like accusing eyes. The door hissed open, and Elisabeth looked up from her screen, the blue glow reflecting in her green eyes.
"Hello, Lindsey. How are you? What's up? Want to talk about last night? Are you feeling okay?" Her voice was warm, like replicated balm, but with a nuance Lindsey couldn't pinpoint: genuine concern or something sharper?
Lindsey blushed to the roots of her hair, the heat rising up her neck like a tide. In truth, aside from the previous night, she'd never talked about sex with Dr. Strong—her mentor, her anchor in Starfleet's chaos. Struggling to articulate the words, her voice trembling and hands clasped, she murmured: "The... the thing in my vagina, the Guardian... It's been teasing me all morning. It excites me right up to orgasm and then pulls back. It even punishes me if I try to continue." The lab air felt thick, the hum of the fans amplifying her shame.
Elisabeth tilted her head, her Betazoid pendant flashing a subtle amber pulse, and a sympathetic smile curved her lips. "That's surely Morgana's doing, to ensure your visit to the holodeck. It's her way of... reminding you." She paused, her eyes scanning Lindsey's face with an intensity bordering on invasive. Open like a book, my girl, Elisabeth thought, her own arousal a low heat in her belly, as her Betazoid telepathy unfurled like an invisible net, capturing Lindsey's scattered thoughts: images of restraints, stifled moans, Morgana's face. "Do you want me to come with you?"
The question hit Lindsey like a blow, a lump in her throat that made her hesitate, but Elisabeth added in a maternal whisper: "I promised to help her, remember? You're not alone in this. And I'll guide you, step by step, until you learn to surrender completely." Lindsey didn't see the diabolical smile that crossed Elisabeth's face for an instant, a glint of sadistic anticipation: I can't wait to get my hands on that delicate body of Lindsey's. Finally, the plan advances.
That afternoon, they worked in tense silence, the lab a hive of electronic beeps and the persistent ozone scent. But Lindsey's mind was chaos: every time Elisabeth stepped away—to consult a datapad or adjust a monitor—the Guardian activated, a playful pulse that made her squirm in her chair, the leather seat creaking under her restless hips. From across the room, Elisabeth spied on her, pretending to focus on her screen while savoring each wave captured by her Betazoid mind.
When the shift ended, Lindsey looked restless like a caged animal, her cheeks flushed and hands trembling as she powered down her console. Elisabeth stretched the torment as long as she could—a casual comment here, a pause to "check data" there—savoring the anticipation like bitter wine. Finally, she approached, her Betazoid jasmine perfume floating in the air, and placed a hand on Lindsey's shoulder, the warm touch sending an involuntary shiver. "Before we go in there, Lindsey... let's talk. I don't know what Morgana will ask, but whatever it is, we'll face it together. You know how much I care for you, but our relationship will probably change when we come out. I hope you understand. I don't know the path it will take, but it won't be the same. You'll be mine to protect... and to mold." Her voice was a conspiratorial whisper, laced with false vulnerability, as her Betazoid mind captured Lindsey's panic: Change? Will I lose her?
Lindsey nodded, a rigid motion, her eyes fixed on the floor. "Yes, I understand, Professor." And together they headed to holodeck four, the Academy hallways empty and silent, the echo of their boots resonating like a shared pulse.
The holodeck doors opened with a hydraulic hiss, revealing Morgana in the center of the room: a glossy black catsuit clinging to her athletic figure like living armor, creaking with every breath. Matching boots rose to her knees, metallic heels clic-clac against the polished nano-latex floor. A strapless black leather corset cinched her torso, but three details stood out with deliberate obscenity: the leather parted in round openings that left her breasts exposed, nipples hardened like dark pearls; a wide slit exposed her full sex, shaved and gleaming under the dim red light; and the tips of her fingers, nails black as sharpened claws, gleamed with a threatening sheen. Her makeup was mesmerizing—all in deep blacks that made her red eyes stand out like embers in the shadows—a face that exuded pleasure and pain in equal measure. The air smelled of new leather and musk, a scent that hit Lindsey like a punch, sending an incredible surge of arousal to her core: She is a goddess of pleasure and pain.
"Good evening, my pet," Morgana purred, her voice a guttural that vibrated in Lindsey's chest. "And you brought company. Hello, Elisabeth. I hope you remember your promise of total commitment."
Elisabeth straightened, her posture firm like a Starfleet officer. "Yes, Lady Morgana," she replied, her voice ringing with obedience that hid her inner delight.
"Well, then let's begin with some new rules," Morgana said, stepping forward, the click of her heels like a metronome of fate. "Elisabeth, you're no child. Now you'll be Lady Elisabeth, my partner and colleague. What you don't know, I'll teach you. I'll mold you. And then, together, we can play with our Lindsey."
Lindsey's face contorted in pure terror—her supposed companion, her savior, would be her jailer—but in her mind bubbled a traitorous excitement, a twisted anticipation: Elisabeth, my guide in the lab, will also be my sexual guide. Will it extend to the lab? She didn't know, but the thought left her breathless.
Something snapped her out of her spiral: Elisabeth's voice, firm and submissive. "Yes, Lady. As you wish. I'll fulfill my promise to protect Lindsey."
Morgana smiled, a flash of fangs in the shadows. "Now, Elisabeth, call me Morgana. Lindsey, greet your new Lady, please."
Lindsey swallowed hard, the lump in her throat like raw leather. "Good evening, Lady Elisabeth," she murmured, the title burning on her tongue like sweet poison.
"Good, good. Now we begin," Morgana said, snapping her fingers with a dry snap that charged the air with electricity. "Elisabeth, please put on this gear I prepared for you. I know you've always had a fascination with nano-latex." A cart emerged from nowhere, rolling with a low hum, loaded with gleaming pieces. "Lindsey, undress and help your Mistress dress appropriately."
The gear was simple, but obscene: a very thin black nano-latex catsuit, midnight black, that left breasts and genitals exposed; boots identical to Morgana's, but in flexible nano-latex, metallic heels gleaming like daggers; and a hood that framed the face, leaving the mouth, nostrils, and eyes free, with Elisabeth's hair cascading black from the crown. Lindsey, with trembling hands, undressed her mentor—the uniform falling with a whisper of fabric, revealing pale skin and mature curves—and then helped cinch the latex, the material stretching with an elastic creak against Elisabeth's skin, adhering like a possessive lover.
The scent of fresh latex, chemical and intoxicating, filled the room, accelerating Lindsey's pulse. "That's it, my girl," Elisabeth murmured as the latex adjusted to her torso, her voice a thread of taut silk. "Feel how it transforms me... soon I'll do the same to you, every night." The comment, whispered only for Lindsey, was an intimate protocol, a brush of sadism that promised guidance without cruelty.
When everything was ready, Elisabeth positioned herself beside Morgana, who gave her a long, deep kiss: lips colliding with a wet smack, tongues intertwining in a voracious dance that filled the air with soft gasps. Lindsey watched, mesmerized, and her hands unwittingly slid toward her sex, fingers brushing the Guardian's membrane through the uniform.
From nowhere, another cart appeared, silent wheels on the floor: two strapless double dildos, gleaming and veined; a black leather crop, flexible like a serpent; a simple red ball gag, shiny rubber; a black leather collar lined with nano-latex, metallic anchors tinkling; and four matching bracelets of the same material, with click-clack buckles ready to bite. Morgana and Elisabeth, coordinated like tandem predators, proceeded: the collar closed around Lindsey's neck with a firm snap, the leather warm against her throat; the bracelets on wrists and ankles, cold metal biting her skin; the gag in her mouth, the red ball stretching her lips with a neutral rubber taste. Then, they donned the dildos themselves—the doubles hooking in with a slippery glide, black cocks emerging from their vaginas like obscene extensions—the image of the two dommes with those gleaming protrusions was alien, a spectacle of power that thickened the air with musk and anticipation.
"Oh, almost forgot," Morgana said with a guttural laugh, as they guided her to the giant round black latex bed that appeared in the center, inflating with a hiss like a living lung. They threw her onto the mattress, the latex creaking under her weight, and dragged her to the middle, the collar's anchors linking to the bracelets with a metallic clink that left her spread like an offering. "Guardian, come out, please." Slowly, a mass of tentacles emerged from Lindsey's vagina, a wet, viscous slurp, writhing in the air like a living being, and when Morgana took it, it condensed into a ball twice its original size, pulsing with an inner glow, warm and heavy in her palm.
"Look, Lindsey," Morgana said, holding it before her eyes, the ball's touch like throbbing flesh. "Your friend has grown quite a bit. It's learned from you, from your yearnings... soon it'll remind you who's in charge." Lindsey stared at it, fascinated despite the terror: the pleasure that thing provided was undeniable, a reminder of the waves that had tormented her all day, tendrils brushing corners she didn't even know she had.
"And now, Elisabeth," Morgana continued, her voice an authoritative purr, "from this moment on, Lindsey is also your girl. For you to care for... and pamper." As she spoke, Morgana leaned in and licked Lindsey's vagina with a slow, deliberate tongue, the wet brush sending sparks of pleasure that made her arch against the restraints, the salty taste of her arousal mixing with the latex musk. Elisabeth, for her part, began softly kissing Lindsey's neck, warm lips tracing a path of gentle kisses that raised goosebumps, while whispering in her ear: "You're so beautiful, my girl. This imposition from Morgana feels more like a reward than a punishment. Let me teach you to float in it, just as I'll do with you." Elisabeth's breath was warm, scented with Betazoid jasmine, and her telepathy filtered in like a subtle thread, amplifying the pleasure with echoes of alien desire.
Lindsey looked at Elisabeth with curiosity, her eyes wide around the gag, a stifled moan escaping her throat. Elisabeth smiled, her fingers brushing an exposed nipple with a feather-light touch. "You know I created Morgana to explore certain needs. Some of them changed over time, and if you'll accept me, I'd like to experiment with them on you."
Lindsey, gagged, could only nod, her eyes showing not fear, but pure longing and arousal—a feverish glint that betrayed her inner surrender, her body trembling under the synchronized kisses and licks.
Morgana interrupted the scene with a low laugh, a sound that vibrated like distant thunder. "Enough preliminaries." She unfastened the bracelets with a quick click and repositioned Lindsey in frog pose: right bracelet linked to right ankle, same with the left, her limbs folded and exposed like a vulnerable offering, the bed's latex creaking with the movement. "Lindsey, give Elisabeth oral sex. And I'll penetrate you vaginally."
Elisabeth removed Lindsey's gag and positioned herself over Lindsey's face, and whispered: "Lick slowly, my girl," her voice a soft but unyielding command, as she lowered onto her mouth. "Taste me... it's your new protocol."
She extended her tongue, licking with stifled moans, Elisabeth's musky flavor flooding her mouth. At the same time, Morgana aligned her dildo and thrust, rhythmic pounding—slap-slap against skin—building the pleasure like a storm. "Good, pet," Morgana growled with each thrust, "take what I give you... it's yours to surrender to."
Elisabeth came first, a sharp cry echoing in the room—"Yes, my girl, like that!"—her body convulsing over Lindsey's face; by then, Lindsey had already had two, waves leaving her gasping, the Guardian's absence a void that amplified every thrust.
Then they switched positions: they unfastened Lindsey with quick tugs of buckles and guided her to straddle Elisabeth, who already had the strapless double dildo back in place, the double hook sliding into her with a slippery glide, linking their pleasures. Lindsey sank onto it, the flexible latex stretching with an erotic creak, her hips moving in an instinctive rhythm, stifled moans escaping around the gag. Meanwhile, Morgana aimed her dildo at Lindsey's anus and began penetrating: the nano-latex, with its natural lubrication and flexibility, did all the work, sliding in without resistance, a soft pop on entry that melted into pure pleasure, not pain. Now, under double penetration, Lindsey was adrift in a sea of pleasure: the anal sex she experienced was total submission, each thrust a pulse that filled her without breaking her, the warm, living latex against her inner walls contrasting with the slippery glide of the front dildo. Orgasms came in waves—one blending into the next without pause, an endless crescendo of tremors and muffled screams—until Elisabeth finally reached hers, a climax that left her arched, gasping, nails digging into Lindsey's hips—"My girl, yes... surrender with me!"—. It all ended in a collective sigh, the air heavy with the scent of sweat and latex.
Lindsey floated in an orgasmic cloud, the world blurry and euphoric, when all the holodeck items vanished in a photonic flash—except the bed, the Guardian, and Morgana. With a verbal command, "Guardian, revive," the ball pulsed and reinserted into Lindsey's vagina, a viscous slurp that triggered more post-orgasmic convulsions, tendrils brushing sensitive corners in a playful goodbye that made her moan one last time. The guilt dissipated like evaporating ozone, replaced by a veil of belonging, she thought in a fleeting flash, as the hum settled inside her.
Elisabeth and Morgana dressed her with gentle but possessive movements—the uniform clinging to her sweaty skin with a whisper of fabric—and Elisabeth donned her Starfleet uniform, the Betazoid pendant flashing like a watchful eye. Then, Elisabeth scooped Lindsey into her arms like carrying a child to sleep, the warmth of her body enveloping her, the jasmine and latex scent calming her exhausted mind. She carried her to her quarters through the silent Academy hallways, the click-clack of her boots a lullaby rhythm. Halfway there, Lindsey woke briefly, blinking in the dim light, but didn't move: she realized she was being taken to her dorm, a gesture of care that enveloped her like a veil. She'll take care of me... she thought, and drifted back to sleep, the Guardian humming softly inside her like a promise.