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The Monster on the Holodeck

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It’s not against the rules really, because unlike the other holograms this one isn’t a member of the crew or anything. When he had been remanded and the new orders issued, they had only said that you couldn’t make holos of Starfleet officers; this man was certainly not an officer in Starfleet. Only his twin is.

And okay, maybe that distinction was a bit self-pandering, and maybe he shouldn’t actually be doing any of this. But he’s come too far now and he just can’t seem to stop himself.

He somewhat hesitantly finishes off his glass of water, letting the idea roll around in his head a little longer. If any of the other patrons of the Ten Forward notice him acting odd as he orders yet another water they don’t say anything. He gulps the glass down like he’s dehydrated; like he hasn’t already had four glasses. He then stands and strides purposefully out of the bar.

By the time he steps up to Holodeck number three, his confidence has somewhat waivered. Slick grey walls and flashing yellow grid-work beckon him in just a little further. He pauses to yet again seriously consider what he’s about to do… what he’s about to let this hologram do to him. Again.

Then the Holodeck asks for the game-code and he gives it.


It’s cold in the strange room; he’s trying to stop the chattering of his teeth because he really doesn’t want to be caught.

He hears the drip, drip of leaky pipes loosing drops of water on the smooth concrete floor or down the rough brick walls and columns. He can’t actually see the wetness of the floor because of the darkness of the room, but he can hear the squeaking of his own leather Starfleet issued boots.

The hand holding his Phaser is shaking, though from the temperature or his own deep rooted terror he isn’t sure. He also isn’t quite sure that terror is the right word to exactly describe the hot emotions bubbling up inside him. He grits his teeth and tries to concentrate on the mission.

Then he hears it, far off on the right side of the room, the harshly eerie sound of something metallic sliding over the slick concrete. He knows that the man in the darkness is ever so close now. He also knows that it is not a ‘man’ in a literal sense, but is actually a metal monster, bent on inflicting it’s evil upon him.

He’s trying desperately not to hyperventilate when he hears the sound again, right behind him. He makes a break, running further into the building, but he knows it’s useless. He’s still running blind, the sickening sound of scraping metal reverberating all around him, when he runs into something hard. At first he thinks he has run into a column, before he sees the glowing yellow eyes looking down at him mockingly and feels the Hypospray at his neck. He doesn’t even have time to scream.


When he comes to he’s already nude. He might honestly have expected such a thing to happen, but it still takes him by surprise; what doesn’t surprise him is that he’s been tied to a steel chair. He has a split second of drugged confusion at why he finds the first thing to be odd but the second not to be before his eyes adjust properly to the lighting of the room.

The sight of his captor, was like a bucket of cold watered reality crashing down over his naked form; if he had not been so tightly bound to the chair he might have actually physically recoiled.

The slick jet-black artificial hair and gold-dusted skin of the android has a harsh, unnatural glare in the over-lighted room.

He wonders if the crew can still track him to tis place; wonders if they might still save him. As far as he can tell the room they are in now is almost identical to the one they were in before, save for the lighting and the chair; in fact for all he knows, it is the same room and his teammates have abandoned him here.

 The water at his feet is chilly, and he tries unsuccessfully to wiggle away from the wetness. The android has yet to move any closer, but it suddenly smirks at him knowingly.

He tries not to turn red as the metal creature eyes him appraisingly. In an instant the smirk is gone, replaced with a look of fierce disgust as the android moves forward; it stops right in front of him, glaring down frigidly. It stretches out an ice-cold hand, pressing like a downward vice on his abdomen.

The air is instantly knocked out of him. He can tell by the satisfied glower and mechanically maniacal laugh that the android finds his painful cry amusing. 

He’s straining now, trying desperately not to show how much it hurts or how much he wants to release himself in any way to remove even some of the pressure,… even if that means letting lose all that water he drank earlier.

Then the android’s other hand reaches down and starts to stroke his manhood.

It’s then that it dawns on him that he’s not going to make it. The crew is not going to make it on time to save him from this; they might come in time to save his life (although he’s beginning to even doubt the possibility of that as well) but they won’t be in time to save him from the twisted games that this metal monster wants to use him for.

He feels his body jolt and arch, hears himself moan as his body acts against his will. The android laughs louder and works him harder, all the while applying more and pressure to his guts and bladder.

He is practically delirious with the indistinguishable mix of pleasure and pain. He isn’t sure how he’s going to burst first, with come or piss… or maybe the android will crush him to death.

Then he feels the android’s unnaturally hot mouth moving along with the hand on his prick. He looks down at the pink mouth and tongue gold-hued lips, the hateful, patronizing eyes and inky-sleek raven hair.

His feet are wet and his cock is wet and he’s caught between a hypothermic inducing metal chair and wickedly perverse metal man… There’s a little voice in his head telling him that there’s no use in being embarrassed because he’s already been so debased it no longer matters. He’s almost certain that if he was in any good state of mind that the mere notion of such a morbid thought would make him depressed; however right now it doesn’t. So he decides to give in.

A hot jet of urine bursts over the android’s face, spilling into his mouth, and gliding across his lips, cheeks and chin. It leaves beads of wet in it’s hair, and slides down staining the front of it’s uniform. He can hear the drops plinking into the water at his feet.

The android doesn’t stop stroking him, in fact he starts using both hands, and it isn’t long before the piss gives way to thick white ribbons of come, splattering the metal man’s tongue and lips.

He is thoroughly sadistically pleased at the mess he’s made. Actually, if the half mad giggling that the android is letting loose is any indication, he thinks they both might be.

He takes a final look at his captor, covered in wet and mess before straightening himself in his chair.

“Computer save program and end.”


One thing that he never likes is the mess afterwards. His uniform is always soaked though with his piss and seamen. But the satisfaction he gets from it does make it all worth it in the end.

He cleans himself as best he can and heads to his quarters for a sonic shower; he wants to look nice for his shift. He’ll be working a tactical-engineering team with Commander Data this evening.