The Drone in Picard's Closet

 

After a long and exhausting day of diplomatic negotiations with the Klingons, Captain Jean-Luc Picard was glad to get back to his quarters on the Enterprise.  As he took off his uniform, his aching feet welcomed the freedom from his boots.

 

Now completely undressed, Picard opened his closet and put away his boots.  One of the perks of being a starship captain was that his quarters included a large and luxurious walk-in closet.  Its open door revealed a view of the spacious depths within.

 

Unless you actually walked halfway into the closet, as Picard was now doing, you wouldn't notice the flat-screen panel that divided the closet into two sections while creating an illusion of depth.  The secret interior compartment had been lined with a dense alloy capable of masking all sensor sweeps, and it was programmed not to open except to Picard's own voice command.

 

As he spoke the authorization code, the panel opened, revealing the regeneration alcove at the back of the closet.  One male drone, effectively in suspended animation, stood motionless in the alcove awaiting the command that would wake him.

 

When the Borg had gone back in time to attack Earth and had tried to assimilate the Enterprise, Picard's official reports had stated that all drones aboard the ship died with their queen.  That hadn't been the entire truth, however.  He'd found this one skulking in a Jeffries tube shortly thereafter, undoubtedly waiting for the right opportunity to try it all over again.  Unfortunately for the drone, Picard had other ideas.

 

Picard reached for the control panel on the alcove and tapped in the command to wake the drone.  With a clicking and whirring of cybernetic parts, the drone began to walk slowly forward.  He stepped out of the closet, turned to face a chair, and bent over with his bare white ass up in the air.  Picard hadn't removed many of his cybernetic implants, just enough of the armor to give unhindered access to the target.

 

Although Picard had never considered himself more than a mediocre programmer, it had been a fairly simple matter to insert this uncomplicated sequence into the start-up area of the drone's cortical processor.  Deleting almost all of the existing files in the drone's brain hadn't been particularly difficult, either.

 

And, oh, it was such a delicious sight.  Already fully aroused, Picard approached the drone and moved into position, with just the tip of his painfully hard cock touching that inviting asshole.  He stood still for a moment, feeling his blood pounding through his body as he savored his captive's total submission to his every whim.

 

The drone's designation, as Picard had discovered while exploring the contents of the now-deleted memory files, had been One of Six, Primary Adjunct to Unimatrix One.  He might have been described as the queen's right-hand man, except that anatomical concepts such as 'right hand' were far too mutable when it came to Borg.  Whatever he'd once been, this erstwhile terror of half the galaxy was now Picard's whore.  And the Enterprise's captain intended to enjoy every bit of it.

 

Picard slammed into the hot, tight opening, without bothering to apply any lubricant first.  The feel of the vulnerable tissue tearing under his onslaught aroused him even further.  Seizing the drone's pale hips in a crushing grip, he rammed his cock in as far as it would go.  Then he settled down to a steady pumping, with the slickness of blood now providing suitable lubrication.

 

But even the stink of sweat, blood, and shit didn't smell as bad as the assimilation chamber where they'd turned a Federation captain into a monstrosity called Locutus of Borg.  The Collective had fucked Jean-Luc Picard six ways from Sunday, and now he was returning the favor.

 

As always, the drone lay passively beneath him, making no sound.  No matter what you did to the Borg, you couldn't get them to scream.  Picard himself cried out as he reached his climax with a final thrust, digging his fingertips deeply into the soft tissue of the drone's hips, but the drone remained completely silent through all of this.

 

When his breathing returned to normal, Picard took a dermal regenerator from his night table drawer and set about repairing the damage to the drone's anus.  He also made use of the device to mend the bruises on the drone's hips.  Within minutes, his captive was completely healed, with no signs of injury whatsoever.

 

Until next time.

 

Obtaining the appropriate Borg nutritional ration from the replicator, Picard made sure to delete all record of it from the computer's files afterward.  He fed the drone, allowed his captive to void waste, and then cleaned him up with a sponge bath.  You couldn't put a Borg in a sonic shower, not with all those cybernetic implants; the effect would be gruesome indeed.  Although it might be an enjoyable finale if he ever got tired of keeping the drone around.

 

Picard kissed the drone on his slack lips and sent him back to the regeneration alcove, carefully securing the closet's secret panel behind him.  No one would ever know.

 

The captain felt much more relaxed now, as he showered and put on his pajamas.  A glass or two of red wine would go well with the music of Mozart, he decided.  Life was good, very good indeed.

 

But he still wished that, just for once, he could hear the drone scream.